FILE -
Presidential
hopeful
Sen. Bob
Dole,
R-Kan.,
speaks
to
supporter's
in
LeMars,
Iowa.,
Feb. 10,
1996.
Bob
Dole,
who
overcame
disabling
war
wounds
to
become a
sharp-tongued
Senate
leader
from
Kansas,
a
Republican
presidential
candidate
and then
a symbol
and
celebrant
of his
dwindling
generation
of World
War II
veterans,
has
died. He
was 98.
His
wife,
Elizabeth
Dole,
posted
the
announcement
Sunday,
Dec. 5,
2021, on
Twitter.
(AP
Photo/Dave
Weaver,
File) |
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FILE -
Former
Senate
Majority
Leader
Bob
Dole,
R-Kan.,
attends
the
unveiling
of his
portrait
at the
U.S.
Capitol,
in
Washington,
July 25,
2006.
Bob
Dole,
who
overcame
disabling
war
wounds
to
become a
sharp-tongued
Senate
leader
from
Kansas,
a
Republican
presidential
candidate
and then
a symbol
and
celebrant
of his
dwindling
generation
of World
War II
veterans,
has
died. He
was 98.
His
wife,
Elizabeth
Dole,
posted
the
announcement
Sunday,
Dec. 5,
2021, on
Twitter.
(AP
Photo/Lawrence
Jackson,
File) |
|
Robert
J. Dole,
longtime
GOP
leader
who
sought
presidency
3 times,
dies at
98
By
James
Gerstenzang
washingtonpost.com
Mr.
Dole’s
life was
a
trajectory
played
out
against
nine
decades
of
America’s
political,
economic
and
cultural
transformations,
from his
birth in
a
one-bedroom
house to
a career
that
lasted
more
than a
third of
a
century
under
the
Capitol
dome,
where he
was
presented
the
Congressional
Gold
Medal in
2018.
Arriving
in
Washington
a few
months
shy of
his 38th
birthday,
a House
backbencher
from
Kansas
among
the
minority
Republicans,
he
methodically
climbed
the
Washington
ladder,
possessed
of a
talent
for
counting
votes
and
finding
the sort
of
consensus
rarely
achieved
today.
His
rise
paralleled
a
personal
evolution
from
abrasive
partisan
to a
more
statesmanlike
role in
which he
worked
across
party
lines to
forge
compromise,
whether
bailing
out the
Social
Security
system
or
recommending
an
overhaul
of
long-term
care for
wounded
veterans.
Mr.
Dole was
often
critical
of the
Republican
Party
after
leaving
office,
telling
audiences
that it
had
become
too
conservative,
with
far-right
positions
that
recalled
those of
his
former
rival
Patrick
J.
Buchanan.
But he
remained
loyal to
the
party
and, in
2016,
became
the only
former
GOP
presidential
candidate
to
endorse
Donald
Trump,
whose
campaign
advisers
included
former
Dole
lieutenants
such as
Paul
Manafort.
Despite
the
harsh
turn his
party
took
under
Trump,
he said
in an
interview
in July
with USA
Today
that he
regretted
the
former
president’s
loss in
November
but
broke
with him
over
claims
of
election
fraud
and was
“sort of
Trumped
out.”
Bob
Dole,
the
longtime
senator
from
Kansas
and 1996
Republican
presidential
nominee,
died on
Dec. 5
at 98.
(Joshua
Carroll,
Jayne
Orenstein/The
Washington
Post)
His
influence
reached
a peak
in the
early
1980s as
Senate
Finance
Committee
chairman
and then
as
leader
of the
Senate
Republicans
— in the
majority,
the
minority
and
majority
again —
from
1985
until
his
retirement
from
Congress
in 1996
as his
party’s
presumptive
presidential
nominee.
Mr.
Dole had
a
reputation
for
keeping
his eye
more on
the
votes
than on
a bill’s
philosophical
underpinning.
Facing a
considerable
budget
deficit
from
President
Ronald
Reagan’s
tax cuts
that he
helped
engineer
in 1981,
Mr. Dole
masterfully
pushed
through
a tax
reform
plan the
next
year
that
repealed
some of
the cuts
and
increased
taxes on
corporations.
“Dole
was a
wizard
at
putting
together
coalitions.
It was
always
the art
of the
possible
with Bob
Dole,”
said
Kenneth
M.
Duberstein,
who,
first as
the
Reagan
White
House’s
chief
congressional
liaison
and
later as
Reagan’s
chief of
staff,
worked
closely
with the
senator.
Whatever
the
issue
being
pushed
by the
White
House,
Duberstein
said,
with Mr.
Dole it
always
came
down to:
“You got
the
votes?
You got
the
votes?
You got
the
votes?”
With
his dry
wit,
sharp
tongue
and dour
demeanor,
he fit
easily
into
Darth
Vader-like
assignments
as
chairman
of the
Republican
National
Committee
during
President
Richard
M.
Nixon’s
reelection
campaign
in 1972
and as
President
Gerald
Ford’s
running
mate
four
years
later.
Ford had
told
him,
“You’re
going to
be the
tough
guy.”
In
the
vice-presidential
debate
with
Sen.
Walter
F.
Mondale
of
Minnesota,
he said
that the
U.S.
wars of
the 20th
century,
from
World
War I to
Vietnam,
were
“Democrat
wars.”
Mondale
responded:
“I think
Senator
Dole has
richly
earned
his
reputation
as a
hatchet
man
tonight.”
That
was his
introduction
to the
national
audience.
By
playing
the
attack
dog, Mr.
Dole
allowed
Ford to
run a
“Rose
Garden”
campaign
intended
to take
advantage
of his
incumbency
and
project
a
presidential
appearance.
Years
later,
Mr. Dole
lamented
the
remark.
“One of
my
heroes
was FDR,
and I’m
a World
War II
veteran,
so it
wasn’t
my view
to run
around
and say,
‘Well,
the
Democrats
started
all the
wars in
the
world.’ ”
It
upset
him
politically,
too. “I
went for
the
jugular
— my
own,” he
said.
Over
the
years,
his
appearance
—
perfectly
creased
trousers,
dark
suit,
immaculately
combed
jet-black
pompadour,
even his
cultivated
deep tan
— lent
him the
aura of
a man
not to
be
trifled
with.
So, too,
his
matter-of-fact
delivery.
The
tough-guy
image
was
underscored
by a
sardonic,
though
sometimes
self-deprecating
— and
perfectly
timed —
humor
delivered
in a
droll
staccato.
After he
lost the
1996
presidential
race, he
feigned
indifference
to the
result:
“I slept
like a
baby,”
he said,
then
adding:
“Woke up
crying
every
two
hours.”
And
his
repeated
references
to
himself
in the
third
person
became
rich
fodder
for the
NBC
comedy-skit
show
“Saturday
Night
Live.”
Behind
that
mask,
though,
was a
soft
spot for
— and a
legislative
record
that
supported
— the
underdog,
with
whom he
felt a
special
kinship
born of
his
hardscrabble
young
life and
shattering
war
wounds.
Two
months
shy of
his 22nd
birthday,
he was
struck
by
shrapnel
in the
Allies’
Italian
campaign,
wounded
so
grievously
that he
was not
expected
to walk
again.
He
emerged
steeled
for the
future.
“What
can you
do to a
guy
who’s
lain in
a
hospital
bed for
three
years?”
former
senator
Alan K.
Simpson
(R-Wyo.)
once
asked.
“You
can’t
spook
him.
He’s
invulnerable.”
His
inclination
toward
lesser
government
notwithstanding,
Mr. Dole
carried
throughout
his life
a
hard-learned
appreciation
for what
government
could
do:
Government
doctors
saved
his
life.
The G.I.
bill
sent him
back to
school.
And as
county
attorney,
he
signed
welfare
checks
for
tenant
farmers
who had
lost
their
land and
relied
on
government
help —
his
grandfather
among
them.
Building
a
complex
legislative
record
that
reflected
such
crosscurrents,
then-Rep.
Dole
voted
against
Medicare
in 1964.
Early
on, he
opposed
aid to
Appalachia
and much
of
President
Lyndon
B.
Johnson's
anti-poverty
program.
Thirty
years
later,
he
fought
President
Bill
Clinton’s
effort
to
overhaul
health
care,
saying,
“There
is no
crisis
in
health
care.”
But
he also
played
key
roles in
expanding
Medicare
to cover
hospice
care and
providing
support
for
rural
medical
clinics
and a
drug for
hemophiliacs.
He
worked
to
expand
Medicaid
for
children.
There
were
issues
for
which
Mr. Dole
developed
a
personal
passion:
His
first
Senate
speech
was on
aid for
the
physically
impaired;
he
became a
leading
force
behind
the
sweeping
Americans
With
Disabilities
Act of
1990
and,
after
leaving
office,
became
one of
the most
vocal
supporters
of the
United
Nations
Convention
on the
Rights
of
Persons
with
Disabilities.
He
pushed
enactment
of the
Martin
Luther
King Jr.
federal
holiday.
And he
was the
driving
power
behind
creation
of the
National
World
War II
Memorial.
After
the
memorial
opened
in 2004,
he
visited
two or
three
times a
week
each
summer,
greeting
fellow
aging
veterans
or
quietly
standing
by
during
their
pilgrimage.
He also
pressed
for the
opening
of the
nearby
Dwight
D.
Eisenhower
Memorial,
honoring
a fellow
Kansan
whom he
served
under in
World
War II.
The
broad
web of
Mr.
Dole’s
legislative
record —
voting
to cut
taxes
one year
and
raising
them the
next;
supporting
government-funded
nutrition
programs
(that
also
benefited
Kansas
farmers)
while
giving
voice to
reduced-government
conservative
dogma —
was
often
masked
by the
hardball
partisan
edge he
brought
to
public
debate.
Eye
on the
presidency
Across
two
decades,
Mr. Dole
strove
for the
ultimate
political
prize,
the
presidency.
After
his
unsuccessful
vice-presidential
candidacy
in 1976,
he
failed
in his
first
run for
the
party’s
presidential
nomination
in 1980.
He
failed
again in
1988.
When at
last he
succeeded,
in 1996,
he was
swamped
in a
general
election
that
largely
stamped
the
nation’s
approval
on Bill
Clinton’s
first
term as
president.
Mr.
Dole
received
40.7
percent
of the
popular
vote and
159
electoral
votes to
Clinton's
49.2
percent
and 379
electoral
votes.
Although
a
traditional
Midwest
fiscal
conservative,
he moved
into
positions
of
increasing
authority
even as
his
party
moved
increasingly
to his
right.
Its
grass-roots
activists
harbored
suspicions
of his
old-time
Republicanism.
They
were
unimpressed
by his
decades-long
fight
against
budget
deficits.
And the
party
embraced
a
conservative
social
ideology
with
which he
was
never
fully
comfortable.
“Ironically,
he rose
in a
party
that in
many
ways was
moving
in a
different
direction,”
said
Richard
Norton
Smith, a
historian
and
occasional
Dole
adviser
who was
the
first
director
of the
Robert
J. Dole
Institute
of
Politics
at the
University
of
Kansas.
“As he
matured
and
became
less
reflexively
partisan
and a
more
complicated
conservative,
he found
himself
reaching
for the
brass
ring in
a party
that was
becoming
less
complicated
and more
partisan.”
That
Mr. Dole
and the
conservative
ranks
were
growing
apart
was
apparent
after
the 1994
midterm
elections:
Even as
he
continued
to lead
the
Senate
Republicans,
he was,
in
effect,
hostage
to the
conservative
followers
of the
new
House
speaker,
Newt
Gingrich
of
Georgia,
who
orchestrated
the
campaign
that
gave the
GOP its
first
House
majority
since
the
Truman
administration.
It
was
Gingrich
who,
angered
by Mr.
Dole’s
support
for tax
increases
in the
1980s to
reduce
the
deficit,
called
him the
“tax
collector
for the
welfare
state.”
The
division
only
grew
during
the 1996
campaign.
Despite
the
support
of the
state
Republican
establishment,
Mr. Dole
was
stunned
in the
New
Hampshire
primary
by the
upstart
campaign
of Pat
Buchanan,
who
summoned
the
image of
peasants
“coming
over the
hills”
with
pitchforks
as a
metaphor
for a
conservative
insurgency.
Buchanan
won 27.2
percent
of the
vote;
Mr. Dole
finished
with
26.2
percent.
Mr.
Dole
fought
back,
all but
securing
the
nomination
within
four
weeks
with a
series
of Super
Tuesday
victories.
But
trailing
Clinton
throughout
the
spring,
with his
party
never
fully
behind
him, Mr.
Dole
announced
in May
that he
would
resign
from the
Senate,
opening
a
go-for-broke
strategy.
The
emotional
pain was
evident.
In his
final
Senate
speech a
month
later,
he said:
“I would
no more
distance
myself
from the
Senate
than I
would
from the
United
States
itself.”
His
choice
of
former
congressman
Jack
Kemp
(R-N.Y.)
as his
running
mate in
August
reflected
a
last-ditch
attempt
to reach
out to
the
“supply-side”
wing of
the
Republican
Party,
seeking
compromise
with
conservatives
favoring
tax
cuts,
above
all
else, as
the
foundation
of
economic
progress.
Before
he
resigned
from the
Senate,
he had
declared
that he
would
“seek
the
presidency
with
nothing
to fall
back on
but the
judgment
of the
people,
and
nowhere
to go
but the
White
House or
home.”
With
his
defeat,
he was
neither
in
office
nor
running
for
office
for the
first
time in
nearly
half a
century
— and
the
shift
within
the
party
was
cemented.
Three
years
after
his
final
presidential
campaign
and his
departure
from the
Senate,
he was
still a
player
in the
Republican
arena,
advising
his
wife,
Elizabeth
Dole —
twice a
Cabinet
secretary
— on her
own,
ultimately
unsuccessful
race for
the 2000
Republican
presidential
nomination.
She
later
served
one term
as a
senator
from
North
Carolina.
After
she left
office
in 2009,
the
Doles
continued
to
reside
in their
apartment
at the
Watergate.
After
his 1996
campaign
failed,
Mr. Dole
accepted
a job as
a
television
pitchman
for
Viagra,
the blue
erectile-dysfunction
pill.
The
Viagra
assignment
grew out
of his
own
experience:
He had
been
treated
for
prostate
cancer
and made
televised
public-service
announcements
encouraging
men to
be
screened
for the
disease.
Erectile
dysfunction
is
sometimes
a side
effect
of the
treatment.
Three
days
before
the 1997
inauguration,
Clinton
awarded
his
erstwhile
rival
the
Presidential
Medal of
Freedom,
the
nation’s
highest
civilian
honor,
declaring
that Mr.
Dole had
“turned
adversity
to
advantage
and pain
to
public
service,
embodying
the
motto of
the
state
that he
loved
and went
on to
serve so
well: Ad
astra
per
aspera,
to the
stars
through
difficulties.”
Even
in
seeming
retirement
and well
into his
90s, Mr.
Dole
took on
lucrative
lobbying
assignments
and
helped
smooth
the way
for a
telephone
call in
December
2016
between
President-elect
Donald
Trump
and the
president
of
Taiwan —
shattering
precedent
because
the
United
States
had
shunned
such
contact
since
establishing
normal
diplomatic
ties
with
China
nearly
four
decades
earlier.
Depression
childhood,
then war
Robert
Joseph
Dole was
born on
July 22,
1923,
and
raised
in
Russell,
Kan.
Life
there
was
emblematic
of
rural,
Midwest
America
between
the
Wars,
scarred
by the
Depression.
Candidate
Dole
proudly
reported
on the
stump
that his
father,
Doran,
“wore
his
overalls
to work
every
day for
42
years” —
first
when he
ran a
small
dairy
station
and
later
while
managing
the
local
grain
elevator.
His
mother,
the
former
Bina
Talbott,
“sold
Singer
sewing
machines
and
vacuum
cleaners
to try
to make
ends
meet.”
To
take in
extra
money,
the
family —
parents,
young
Bob, his
brother
and two
sisters
— moved
into the
basement
and
rented
out the
upstairs
quarters.
From
the time
he was
12 or
so, the
future
senator
worked
the soda
fountain
at night
and on
weekends
at
Dawson’s
drugstore.
With a
$300
loan
from a
Russell
businessman,
he
enrolled
as a
pre-med
student
at the
University
of
Kansas,
but his
major
could
have
been
freshman
basketball
and
track,
Kappa
Sigma
fraternity
and
parties.
By
December
1942,
one year
after
the
United
States
entered
World
War II,
he
joined
the
Army’s
Enlisted
Reserve
Corps.
He was
called
to
active
duty in
June
1943
and,
after
Officer
Candidate
School,
was
appointed
second
lieutenant
in
November
1944.
On
April
14, 1945
— 24
days
before
the war
ended in
Europe
and two
months
after he
first
saw
combat —
his life
was
changed
forever
near the
town of
Castel
d’Aiano
in the
Apennine
Mountains
southwest
of
Bologna.
He wrote
in his
memoir,
“One
Soldier’s
Story”:
“As the
mortar
round,
exploding
shell,
or
machine
gun
blast —
whatever
it was,
I’ll
never
know —
ripped
into my
body, I
recoiled,
lifted
off the
ground a
bit,
twisted
in the
air, and
fell
face
down in
the
dirt.”
He
continued:
“Then
the
horror
hit me —
I can’t
feel
anything
below my
neck! I
didn’t
know it
at the
time,
but
whatever
it was
that hit
me had
ripped
apart my
shoulder,
breaking
my
collarbone
and my
right
arm,
smashing
down
into my
vertebrae,
and
damaging
my
spinal
cord.”
The
lieutenant
was
given a
shot of
morphine
— his
blood
was used
to mark
the
letter
“M” on
his
forehead
to avoid
a second
and
possibly
fatal
dose —
and
little
hope for
survival.
Eventually
the
battle
moved
on, he
was
moved to
an
evacuation
point,
and,
from a
hospital
in
Casablanca,
shipped
stateside,
arriving
at
Winter
General
Army
Hospital
in
Topeka,
Kan.,
plaster
encasing
him from
chin to
hips.
So
began 39
months
of
recuperation
in and
out of
military
hospitals.
He could
not feed
himself
or hold
a
cigarette.
Life-threatening
infection
led to
the
removal
of a
kidney
and his
treatment
with
what was
then an
experimental
antibiotic,
streptomycin,
initially
used to
treat
tuberculosis.
The
people
of
Russell
collected
money in
cigar
boxes to
help pay
for
reconstructive
surgery.
He
eventually
returned
to
college,
earning
undergraduate
and law
degrees
at
Washburn
University
in
Topeka.
He
overcame
what
wounds
he could
and
learned
to live
without.
Such an
elemental
task as
buttoning
a shirt
became a
painstaking
chore
for the
onetime
basketball
and
track
star.
Mr.
Dole
married
a
physical
therapist,
Phyllis
Holden,
who had
helped
him
during
his
recuperation.
(They
had a
daughter,
Robin
Dole,
and
divorced
in
1972.)
After
serving
two
years in
the
Kansas
House of
Representatives,
he
became
the
Russell
County
attorney
in 1953.
He went
to the
U.S.
House in
1961 and
the
Senate
eight
years
later.
In
1975 he
married
Elizabeth
Hanford,
who was
then
serving
on the
Federal
Trade
Commission.
Complete
information
on
survivors
was not
immediately
available.
When
he
campaigned
for the
Republican
presidential
nomination
in 1988,
Mr. Dole
told
this
story
about
his
entry
into
politics
upon his
return
to
Russell
after
the war
and his
recuperation.
The
leading
Democrat
in town
said he
should
consider
running
for
office.
The
young
veteran
protested
that he
knew
nothing
about
politics.
His
visitor
replied:
“It’s
not
necessary.
You got
shot. I
think we
can get
you
elected.”
The
leading
Republican
visited.
He, too,
said the
young
veteran
should
run for
office,
but as a
Republican.
“Because
there
are
twice as
many
Republicans
as
Democrats
in
Russell
County,”
came the
reply.
“So,”
the
candidate
for the
Republican
presidential
nomination
told
potential
voters
in
characteristic
sardonic
humor,
“I made
a great
philosophical
decision
right
there on
the
spot.
I’d
learned
how to
count in
the
Army.”
Harrison
Smith
contributed
to this
report.
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