Bush - 41

I N LATE MAY 2014, I received a phone call from Jean Becker, my fathers longtime chief of staff. She got straight to the point.

Your dad wants to make a parachute jump on his ninetieth birthday. What do you think?

About eighteen months earlier, Jean had called to review the funeral arrangements for my father. He had spent nearly a month in the hospital with pneumonia, and many feared that this good man was headed toward eternity. He could not walk, and he tired easily. In my phone calls to Dad, he never complained. Self-pity is not in George Bushs DNA. Now he was hoping to complete another parachute jumpthe eighth of his life, counting the one he made after his torpedo bomber was struck by Japanese anti-aircraft fire over the Pacific in 1944.

Are you sure this is what he wants? I asked.

Absolutely, she said.

What do the doctors say?

Some say yes, some say no.

What about Mother?

She is concerned. She knows that he wants to do it. But shes worried that the jump will tire him out and he wont be able to enjoy the birthday party that shes planning for that night.

After some thought, I said, I think he ought to do it.

Why?

Because it will make him feel younger.

The truth is that my opinion didnt matter much. After a parachute jump on his eighty-fifth birthday, my father had announced that he would make another jump on his ninetieth birthday. And George H.W. Bush is a man of his word.

A few weeks later, Laura and I arrived for the birthday celebration in Kennebunkport, Maine. The jump logistics were complete, the party was planned, and Mother was now on board. The afternoon before the jump, I sat next to Dad on the porch of his beloved home at Walkers Point, perched on a rocky outcropping over the Atlantic. I had been painting an ocean scene and was wearing cargo pants stained with oil paint. For a few peaceful minutes, we stared quietly at the sea.

What are you thinking about, Dad? I asked.

Its just beautiful, he said, still looking out at the ocean. It seemed that he had said all that he wanted to say.

We sat quietly for a few more minutes. Was he reflecting on the jump? His life? Gods grace? I did not want to interrupt.

Then he spoke. Do those pants come in clean?

I laughed, something I have been doing with my father all my life. His quip was typical. He was not nervous about his jump or his life. He was at peace. And he was sharing his joy with others.

The morning of Dads birthday, June 12, dawned chilly and gray. There was a modest breeze, about fifteen miles per hour. At first, we feared that the clouds might force a change in plans. Fortunately, the veteran paratroopers coordinating the jump, known as the All Veteran Group, determined that the visibility was sufficient. The mission was a go.

The crew fired up the Bell 429 helicopter that was parked on the lush green lawn outside the two-story wooden cabin that served as Dads office at Walkers Point. Dad was clad in a custom-fitted black flight suit with a patch that read 41@90. His preflight routine included a final weather clearance, a harness check, and an interview with my daughter Jenna, a correspondent for the TODAY show. Even with his jump looming, he was willing to share his time to help his granddaughter.

Whats your birthday wish on your ninetieth birthday? Jenna asked.

For happiness for my grandkids, he replied. I hope they have the same kind of life I have for ninety yearsfull of joy.

He did have one more wish: Make sure the parachute opens.

Family and friends gathered at the landing zone: the lawn of my parents church, St. Anns, the same place where Dad had landed five years earlier and where his parents had been married ninety-three years earlier. (As Mother put it, if the jump did not succeed, at least we wouldnt have to travel far for the burial.) At about ten forty-five a.m., one of the members of the jump team approached me.

Mr. President, he said, your father is airborne.

A few minutes later, we spotted a small speck in the skythe chopper at 6,500 feet. After the helicopter made a circle around the church, we saw several chutes pop open. Two belonged to the video jumpers tasked with chronicling the leap. The other was a large red, white, and blue chute carrying Dad and master jumper Mike Elliott, who was making his third jump with Dad and his 10,227th jump overall. The crowd cheered as the tandem headed our way.