A Simple Twist of Fate

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
the saddest are these, "It might have been!"
- John Greenleaf Whittier

The year was 1996. The place was a county courthouse in Austin Texas. Inside was newly minted Texas Governor George W. Bush, and he was a man with a problem.

He had received a summons to appear for jury duty. This is normally not a problem for most people, and in the case of a politician it can be an ideal opportunity. Indeed, Bush looked as if he was moving to capitalize on it by telling the local press that he was "prepared to serve" the public just like any other upstanding citizen. There was one slight hitch, though. The case to be heard was that of a stripper from a local club who had been arrested on a drunk driving charge.

George W. Bush knew that he had a Driving Under the Influence conviction on his record from his days in Maine. He had kept that tidbit of news out of the public eye so far, and knew that he had to keep it buried for as long as humanly possible if he ever wanted to see the inside of the West Wing without a visitor's pass. He also knew that, should he go through the jury process, he would be hit with two very uncomfortable questions. One would be on the jury form where he would have to fill in an answer to the question, "Have you ever been accused in a criminal case?" Bush left that question blank on the form. The next would be during the juror vetting process, where he would be publicly asked if he had any experience with drunk driving cases that might influence his ability to render a fair and impartial verdict in the dancer's case.

What's a governor to do? Well, if you're Dubya, you call up Alberto Gonzales (yes... we mean that Alberto Gonzales) and have him get you off of jury duty... PRONTO.

...before the case began, Gonzales asked to have an off-the-record conference in the judge's chambers. Gonzales then asked Crain to "consider" striking Bush from the jury, making the novel "conflict of interest" argument that the Texas governor might one day be asked to pardon the defendant (who worked at an Austin nightclub called Sugar's), the judge said. "He [Gonzales] raised the issue," Crain said. Crain said he found Gonzales's argument surprising, since it was "extremely unlikely" that a drunken-driving conviction would ever lead to a pardon petition to Bush.

But "out of deference" to the governor, Crain said, the other lawyers went along. Wahlberg said he agreed to make the motion striking Bush because he didn't want the hard-line governor on his jury anyway. But there was little doubt among the participants as to what was going on. "In public, they were making a big show of how he was prepared to serve," said Crain. "In the back room, they were trying to get him off."

That certainly was a piece of luck, wasn't it? I mean, Gonzales coming riding in on his white charger at that moment, sweeping Dubya up behind him like a maiden in distress, and riding off into the sunset before any nasty county officials could ask him uncomfortable questions? You'd think somebody like Gonzales would be handy to have around in a pinch. You might even be tempted to reward him with something. Perhaps something like.... oh, I don't know... some high federal office?

I have Bob Dylan's "Simple twist of fate" playing at my desk right now. Just think about it for one tragic moment, assuming your heart can bear it. In a universe only slightly different than this one, Bush is forced to admit the truth in court or is later found out to have lied on his jury form and in his testimony. He is discredited in Texas and the GOP passes on him for the 2000 presidential run. Al Gore is in the White House on 9/11. Osama bin Forgotten is long since dead or in jail, and Gore never has any motivation at all to invade Iraq on trumped up charges.

He told himself he did not care,
pushed the window open wide,
felt an emptiness inside
to which he just could not relate.
Brought on, by a simple twist of fate.

This guest post is cross linked from over at my home stomping grounds, Running Scared.