2004 Election: Inside The War Rooms

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This could be a problem," said Hughes, watching the first debate from a black-curtained boiler room backstage. It was hardly the knockout punch the Bush team had hoped for. Instead, as the debate unfolded, Bush looked more and more ... well, undone. With each smirk and scowl and shake of his head, the President ratified every charge John Kerry had made about his stubbornness and inability to admit mistakes. He not only looked cranky but he sounded it, shearing off his answers, forgetting the more expansive and compelling explanations he routinely gave on the stump. As the squalls continued, Hughes stood huddled in the corner with communications director Bartlett to discuss the setback in the making. Chief strategist Matthew Dowd held both hands to his mouth as if in prayer. "We were watching our lead disappear," says a Bush official.

That was the last thing the Bush team had expected. Instead of employing his legendary charm to put the White House out of Kerry's reach, the opposite occurred. Bush was alienating a huge proportion of the audience with his manner. Spinning reporters afterward, Rove insisted that the President had been "thoughtful" and "pensive"--the epitome of revisionism. Hughes went about her work too, feeding a wreath of microphones and tape recorders with argument after argument that Bush had done well. Later Hughes spoke to the President via cell phone about the early story line. "I was not irritated," he said, irritated. "Sir," said Hughes, "you were."

Over the next 24 hours, the damage seemed to have no end. The crucial block of undecided women voters later told pollsters that Bush reminded them of their husbands who wouldn't stop and ask for directions. Americans who may have been willing to stand behind Bush again if he showed a little bend or a little learning heard no evidence of either. Just as important for the Bush campaign, which had so carefully courted its conservative base, the President's performance set off gnashing and moans among the faithful.

The next morning even Bush was angry--with himself and his staff. "You're losing the spin war," he told his aides. Now he wanted the debate preparation streamlined. Too many people had pelted him with too much advice for him to keep it all straight, he said. So Rove told aides to leave the President alone. "Don't take that to him now," Rove was heard to say, "he's got campaigning to do."

For days the question lingered, Why had Bush bombed? The President had prepared carefully, listening to audiotapes of Kerry's most pointed attacks on the Administration. Everyone--Rove, Hughes, even Laura Bush--had a pet theory. Was Bush tired from visiting hurricane victims? Had he been so blinded by Kerry's claims that he'd forgotten the warnings that his facial reactions as Kerry spoke would be seen by tens of millions? "I still don't know where that person went who showed up to those last practice sessions," said an aide, looking back. The best guess was also the simplest: Bush is incapable of hiding what's on his face when he's angry. And it had been a very long time since anyone had gone into the Oval Office and criticized him so directly and relentlessly.