A Decade After the Boxing Day Tsunami

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Do you remember what you were doing on this day in 2004?

It was, of course, the day after Christmas. I had made plans to meet my brother to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou," which had just premiered the day before.

We never really decided on a time or place to see it, though, until virtually the last minute that day. We met for lunch at a burger place and looked through the movie listings in the Dallas paper until we found a good starting time at a theater that was reasonably close. It was a Sunday, and it was kind of wet and dreary. The Cowboys were playing the Washington Redskins that afternoon, and we kind of hoped that would keep people at home in front of their TV sets, but nobody really seemed to care about the game. The Cowboys were on their way to a dismal 6–10 finish.

Consequently, my memory is that the theater was kind of full, and we wound up getting seats that were less than ideal.

Such a problem would be seen as trivial a few hours later after the world became aware of the deadly tsunami that had rolled across the Indian Ocean that day. The tsunami was triggered by an underwater earthquake that registered a magnitude of 9.3; that is only an estimate, of course, but if it is accurate, that would make it the second– or third–strongest earthquake in recorded history.

How strong is a 9.3 earthquake? The one that struck 10 years ago today is thought to have had the energy of 23,000 Hiroshima bombs. It caused at least 227,898 deaths.

In the aftermath of the tsunami, some proposed the creation of a global tsunami warning system, but because of the relative rarity of tsunamis in some areas — including the Indian Ocean, even though earthquakes are fairly common in Indonesia — a global network of sensors would be necessary, and that can be too costly for poor countries. Also, the world has so little experience with tsunamis that it would be extremely difficult to find enough people with the expertise to monitor and assess global conditions for tsunamis in the making. The first real sign of a tsunami is the earthquake itself, but if it happens far from shore, the tsunami may travel a great distance, as it did in 2004, before striking areas where the earthquake was barely felt, if at all, before it is noticed.

Tsunamis eventually reach a point where they begin to dissipate if they don't strike land, but they can still cause damage when they do; and tsunamis can be deceptive. Initially, they may resemble rising tides.

Something else to keep in mind — not all undersea earthquakes produce tsunamis. An undersea earthquake in almost the same area about three months later was estimated to be 8.7 (which would still make it one of the 15 strongest earthquakes in recorded history) but produced no tsunami.

The 2004 earthquake struck, as I recall, off the west coast of Indonesia that morning, which would have been Christmas evening here in the United States.

But, initially, no one knew what had happened, and it wouldn't become apparent to the world that anything out of the ordinary had happened until the tsunami wave had traveled across the Indian Ocean to the east coast of Africa, a journey that probably took about 10 hours.

Actually, what many people don't realize is that a tsunami is not a single wave but rather a series of waves that can come in surges separated by five minutes to an hour. The first wave is not always the most dangerous.

"A tsunami, when it approaches, is silent," observed survivor Alexa Moses, a writer from Australia, in The Age. A tsunami simply doesn't attract attention until it strikes land. The longer it takes to strike land, the more strength it can accumulate — until it reaches that point where its strength begins to diminish.

And a portion of the tsunami did strike India shortly after the earthquake, but most of it traversed the Indian Ocean unobstructed until it reached Africa.

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For that matter, more than 130,000 of the casualties were in Indonesia, but not all of those deaths could be blamed on the tsunami. If you've ever seen footage of the aftermath of land–based earthquakes, you know that people die when buildings and bridges collapse, when they are struck by falling debris, etc., and it is reasonable to assume that many of the deaths in Indonesia were the result of being near the epicenter of a 9.3–magnitude earthquake.

Many deaths, of course, were the result of the tsunami, which was quite powerful in the immediate vicinity. Take a look at the link to Moses' article. You will see aerial photographs that clearly show how the topography was changed.

None of what had happened was being reported on TV as I prepared to meet my brother or on the radio as I drove to the burger place. After I got home from the movie, I saw the first reports I had seen of the destruction. It was astonishing.

It was also astonishing to see the world's response to the disaster. Relief efforts raised $14 billion. Many of the survivors of the tsunami still have a long journey in front of them, but that money made getting started on that journey less difficult.

Making a Name For Himself

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"There is not a liberal America and a conservative America. There is the United States of America. There is not a black America and a white America and Latino America and Asian America. There's the United States of America."

Barack Obama
July 27, 2004

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Sometimes destiny is hard to recognize, even when it slaps you silly.

Until 10 years ago tomorrow night, no one knew who Barack Obama was. Well, some people knew who he was — but it is fair to say that most Americans, probably even most of those who did know who he was, did not know, when they saw Obama on their television screens, that they were getting a preview of coming attractions.

The keynote address he delivered 10 years ago before the delegates at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston has been credited by many with making him president. I disagree. It certainly contributed to his political rise, it gave him national exposure, but I think it is an exaggeration to credit the speech with making him president. He was just a state senator from Illinois trying to win a seat in the U.S. Senate. Three years later, he hadn't distinguished himself in the Senate, and he was not the front–runner in the polls when Democrats began holding presidential primaries; Hillary Clinton was.

People often forget that she, too, spoke to the delegates in Boston, who had gathered to nominate John Kerry for president.

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But her speech seemed to stir little in the way of enthusiasm. The audience cheered her politely — probably more in gratitude for her husband's presidency than for her contribution, at the time, as a U.S. senator. In a way, perhaps, it foretold what would happen in the Democratic Party when it chose its next nominee.

It is true, as David Bernstein wrote in Chicago Magazine in 2007, that the address "changed Obama's profile overnight and made him a household name," but it is also true that it was not a history–changing speech.

And I would also dispute that it made Obama a "household name" in 2004. That came later.

"It was good, but it was nothing awe inspiring," his press aide, Robert Gibbs, said of Obama's speech. It wasn't until Obama won the Iowa caucuses in 2008 that opinion polling started to show movement in his direction — until then, Hillary Clinton was still the front–runner.

Obama's speech 10 years ago was greeted with enthusiasm, but I honestly don't recall the extent of the positive response that Bernstein did. I suppose there may be something to it; Bernstein's article, after all, was published several months before the Iowa caucus — long before the idea of an Obama nomination qualified as more than wishful thinking.

But I'm inclined to think Bernstein was looking at it from the perspective of sustained candidacy, not necessarily nomination.

"Before the speech, the idea of Obama running for president in 2008 would have been laughable; he was a lowly state senator from Chicago's Hyde Park, and while he stood a good chance at winning his U.S. Senate race, he would enter that powerful body ranked 99th out of 100 in seniority," Bernstein wrote. "After the speech, observers from across the political world hailed the address as an instant classic, and Obama was drawing comparisons (deservedly or not) to Martin Luther King Jr. and John F. Kennedy."

Now, whether it is true or not, I do fancy myself to be current on politics and what journalists write about things like primaries and conventions and keynote addresses. In the summer of 2004, I did a lot of reading, and I remember reading many accounts of the speeches at both of the major parties' conventions.

And I simply don't remember the kind of reaction that Bernstein did. I mean, come on. King? Kennedy? Really?

Other black politicians have given speeches to national conventions — Barbara Jordan, Condoleezza Rice, Jesse Jackson, Colin Powell — and they didn't make that kind of impression.

Well, except for one.

Jordan was the first black woman to give a keynote address. American Rhetoric ranked her 1976 speech fifth in its list of the Top 100 speeches of the 20th century, behind only King, Kennedy and Franklin D. Roosevelt (twice).

And, although the convention was already set to nominate Jimmy Carter that summer, Jordan did receive the support of one delegate in the nominating ballot. However, I don't recall reading any articles promoting her as a future nominee — in fact, she retired from politics a couple of years later.

Jackson's 1984 address was ranked 12th, and his 1988 address was ranked 49th. I do remember reading some articles promoting Jackson as a future contender for a presidential nomination, but I'm sure I read just as many articles arguing that he should not seek the presidency — not because he was black but because of concerns about having a religious leader in the Oval Office.

Jackson, of course, was not a keynote speaker.

Pundits often refer to keynote speakers as if they are future presidential nominees. In my experience, few have come close to that — so, while there probably were those who, swept up in the excitement of the moment, spoke of Obama as a future nominee 10 years ago, it is likely that most of the people who heard them did not really think it was possible.

The Day Reagan Died

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"I was friends with President Ronald Reagan, and he once said to me, 'I don't know how anybody can serve in public office without being an actor.'"

Warren Beatty

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Ten years ago tomorrow, Ronald Reagan died at the age of 93.

I remember when I heard the news. It was a Saturday afternoon in early June — kind of hot, too, which isn't unusual in Texas — and I was watching TV. All of a sudden, there was a news bulletin announcing that Reagan had died.

A press statement made on behalf of Nancy Reagan was read on the air: "My family and I would like the world to know that President Ronald Reagan has died after 10 years of Alzheimer's disease at 93 years of age. We appreciate everyone's prayers."

I didn't expect it. Often, it seems, famous people get sick and then linger for awhile before they die. You get some warning. That's how it was with Richard Nixon. He had a stroke, then he lapsed into a coma, and then he died.

But I don't remember being aware that Reagan had been sick. Oh, I knew, like everyone else did, that he had been suffering from Alzheimer's disease for several years, but, as anyone who has watched a family member with Alzheimer's can tell you, that can go on for a long time.

I learned later that he had been suffering from pneumonia in his final days. (I didn't know that at the time, but I had no trouble comprehending it. Much the same thing happened to a good friend of mine years after Reagan's death. My friend had cancer, which seemed to be in remission, but the aggressive treatment she had received had compromised her immune system, and pneumonia finished her off.)

At the time, no president had lived longer; Gerald Ford has since replaced Reagan as the longest–lived president. (Reagan's vice president will turn 90 a week from tomorrow — and that will be a first in American history, a president and his vice president both living into their 90s.)

There is a certain irony in that since Reagan was the oldest person to be elected president when he won the office in 1980 — and, before he became president, I had often heard it said that the presidency was a man–killing job, that those who held the office tended to have shorter lives than most of their contemporaries after they left the White House.

When Reagan became president, I was convinced he would not live to the end of his four–year term, that the presidency would crush him, and his vice president, George H.W. Bush, soon would be our next president.

Yet, Reagan lived more than 15 years after serving two complete terms as president. Bush did become our next president — but not right away.

Reagan was always defying my expectations. I wasn't one of his fans when he was in office so my expectations for him usually weren't too high to begin with, but he not only exceeded them, he did so with considerable room to spare on many occasions.

I'm not speaking of policy. I'm speaking about those times when Reagan really earned his reputation as the Great Communicator because he communicated with everyone — not just those who were his admirers.

On those occasions that called on his communication skills — two of the most noteworthy, I suppose, were when he spoke on the 40th anniversary of D–Day (just about 20 years to the day before his death) and when the space shuttle Challenger blew up in 1986 — he made just about everyone, even those who frequently disagreed with him, feel a little bit better or a little prouder.

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I considered myself a Democrat during Reagan's presidency. (I now regard myself as an independent.) And, when I look back on his presidency, I remember being envious of his speaking skills. He was able to reach out to those with whom he disagreed — without feeling compelled to belittle them. When he did poke fun, he did so with a gentle kind of wry humor that he often aimed at himself.

That's always been a rare trait, I guess. It seems to be in particularly short supply today.

Ten years ago, the television coverage — of Reagan lying in repose in California, then being transported to Washington where he would lie in state, then finally his return to California for one last memorial service prior to his burial at the Ronald Reagan Library — was pervasive. After awhile, it all looked the same — except for the backdrops and the faces in the crowds. There were processions and eulogies and a flag–draped coffin.

If you weren't paying close attention, it could be mistaken for footage from previous days.

I'm sure it was all a blur for the Reagans. I remember watching Ron Reagan being interviewed later about the funeral and observing that it occurred to him, as the motorcade made its way through the streets of Washington, that there were two people being mourned — the private Reagan, the one he knew, and the public Reagan. He said he saw someone holding a sign that said, "Now there was a president" and realized what his father meant to the people of his country.

Even his detractors.

The most memorable moment — for me — came at the end of the final service, which came at the end of what must have been a very long week for the Reagan family.

Nancy Reagan, who will never be on my list of favorite first ladies, was given the folded American flag that had adorned her husband's coffin, and she was escorted to the casket to pay her last respects. She placed the flag on it, then rested her head on the lid of the coffin and whispered to it. A thought that flashed through my mind as I watched was that she must have placed her head on her husband's chest at times when he was alive.

She remained that way so long that, finally, her children, Ron and Patti, came to her, embraced her and whispered to her, apparently nudging her away from the casket. She seemed hesitant to leave her husband. I'm only guessing now, of course, but it's a guess born from experience. I've been in similar situations in my life — although not with hundreds of people, most of them dignitaries, watching in person and millions more watching on TV — and I think I can imagine what her children said to her.

"We can come back later, maybe tomorrow, when no one else is here, and we can stay as long as you want."

As they spoke to her, she kept rubbing the lid of the coffin, almost as if she was dusting it, which makes no sense, but it was clear from her face that she was not focused on what she was doing, anyway. It was an absent–minded sort of thing, a reflex.

I remember my grandmother doing something like that after my grandfather died.

Whatever was said, it coaxed Mrs. Reagan away from the casket. She nodded at something her daughter whispered in her ear, bent to kiss the coffin and allowed herself to be led away.

After she had gone, I kept watching — and I saw members of the Reagan family who were seldom, if ever, seen during his presidency. I guessed, based on those I could identify, that we were looking at Reagan's grandchildren, some nieces and nephews, perhaps, maybe some close friends.

It was a reminder that, when someone dies, many people are affected. When that person has been president, regardless of politics, the sense of loss is even greater.

It was a poignant scene.

Mrs. Reagan recently said that she finds it difficult to believe her husband has been gone for a decade.

"I still feel his presence every day," she said, "and often find him in my dreams at night."

Choosing a Running Mate

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With the primaries over and the battle for the Republican presidential nomination apparently decided, political writers find themselves in an historically dreary period until the parties gather for their conventions.

It is at this time when there is much speculation about the ultimate identity of at least one of the major parties' running mates.

Of course, in 2012, we already know the name of one of the running mates. That would be Joe Biden, the incumbent vice president.

Four years ago, it was a much less common situation — in which no incumbent was running — so there was a great deal of speculation regarding the identities of both party nominees' running mates.

But this year, as I say, we already know who will be the running mate on the Democrats' ticket — unless, as a few folks have predicted, Barack Obama decides to drop Biden and put Hillary Clinton on his ticket.

I have argued repeatedly that this is highly unlikely. In their zeal to whip up a discussion about a non–issue, such observers show an appreciation only for drama, not history.

Realistically, only Republican Mitt Romney will be selecting a running mate in this election cycle.

Recent speculation about Romney's eventual running mate has focused, as usual, on the most well–known names — but history tells us that presidential nominees, in what is often described as their first presidential–level decision, are likely to surprise just about everyone — perhaps spectacularly so.

I believe the reason for that is, while it is always possible that a vice president could become president at any time, presidential nominees don't tend to treat the decision with the kind of reverence it deserves.

Don't get me wrong; it's an important decision, but the overriding consideration is usually political — which potential running mate can give the ticket the most bang for the buck on Election Day?

Thus, the decision offers a fascinating glimpse into the logic of the nominee, but, as a barometer for the kind of decisions he might be likely to make in office, it is virtually worthless.

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Like four years ago.

There was a lot of speculation about the running mates Obama and John McCain would choose, but, in the end, the selections of Biden and Sarah Palin were complete surprises — and seemingly motivated by entirely different considerations (even though both choices came down to politics — as usual — no matter how the campaigns chose to spin the decisions).

They addressed weaknesses — either real or perceived — of the presidential nominees.

Domestically, in 2008, there had been concerns about gas and food prices, but there were also international tensions that summer, and foreign policy was an area in which McCain, a Vietnam–era prisoner of war, was believed to have an advantage.

As a presidential candidate, Biden hadn't attracted much support, and he came from a tiny state that was already believed to be in the bag for the Democrats, but he was chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and, as such, he brought foreign policy credibility to the Democratic ticket.

So, while conventional wisdom holds that a running mate is chosen in large part because of the votes he can bring or the states he can help the nominee carry, that didn't appear to play much of a role in Obama's decision. The selection of Biden was praised because it was believed to have addressed an administrative need, not an electoral one.

But it was political in the sense that it was designed to reassure voters who saw the war on terrorism and border security as the most crucial issues in 2008 (remember, when the Democrats convened in Denver, the economic collapse had not yet happened.)

McCain's apparent motivation in selecting a female running mate, on the other hand, was to appeal to the millions of women who had supported Hillary Clinton's campaign and were said to be lukewarm on Obama.

It was an electorally motivated decision, and it was seen for the transparent maneuver that it was. The Republicans entirely overlooked the fact that women who participated in the Democratic primaries had an ideological agenda, too. Palin was simply too extreme for most of them.

In fact, after the votes had been counted, I heard several people second–guessing McCain's choice. They argued — correctly — that there were centrist Republican women who could have had broader appeal to female voters.

(Most of those people, it is worth noting, had nothing but praise for Palin when she was chosen and during the campaign.)

But, on the other hand, Palin had to be extreme to keep the conservatives in line. There was already a widespread perception of McCain as a "RINO" (a "Republican in Name Only"), and he needed to give the conservatives a reason to show up at the polls.

Also — although it was hardly mentioned — Palin was the only candidate who, as a governor, brought executive experience to the table.

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Traditionally, there are many factors involved in choosing a running mate, most aimed at providing some kind of balance to the ticket. Everyone has shortcomings, and the philosophy behind running mate selection has emphasized minimizing them.

As I said, Palin's executive experience carried some weight with voters who saw nothing but legislative experience from Obama, McCain and Biden.

In 2004, John Kerry apparently felt party unity was the most important factor so he chose North Carolina Sen. John Edwards to be his running mate.

Edwards had been Kerry's chief rival and the second–leading vote getter in the Democratic primaries — even though he won only two. It must have been a disappointment indeed for the Kerry team when their candidate received virtually no post–convention bounce in the polls. I'm sure they expected something, if only from the disgruntled Democrats whom they sought to appease.

Party unity never seemed to be a factor when George W. Bush made his choice in 2000. In fact, he appointed Dick Cheney to lead his vice–presidential search committee, but then Bush took the remarkable step of asking Cheney himself to be his running mate.

Had party unity been at the top of Bush's concerns, he probably would have picked McCain, his main rival for the nomination, to be his running mate.

Party unity apparently was behind Ronald Reagan's selection of George H.W. Bush in 1980.

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Things got a little out of hand at that year's Republican convention. A rumor that former President Gerald Ford would be Reagan's running mate swept through the delegations like wildfire.

The idea was that Ford and Reagan, who had waged a bitter campaign for the GOP nomination four years earlier, would be co–presidents.

But negotiations broke down, and the dream ticket never came to fruition. In the end, Reagan picked Bush, who had been his chief rival for the nomination that year.

One of the longest–standing considerations in choosing a running mate has been geographical. The idea was to attract votes in states and/or regions that the presidential nominee might not otherwise get. I'm inclined to think that was more important in the 19th and early 20th centuries, but, with the rapid emergence of technology in the last 50 or 60 years, geographical factors have become less important.

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Certainly Bill Clinton, in 1992, did not feel it was necessary to select someone who would provide geographical balance.

He chose Al Gore, a senator from Tennessee, one of the states that borders on Clinton's home state of Arkansas. Perhaps Clinton wanted to double down on his Southern credentials; most Southern states, after all, had only voted for Democrats once, perhaps twice, in the previous 30 years.

Also, with two Southerners on the ticket, the Bush campaign could not portray either candidate as a Northern liberal like previous Democratic candidates (i.e., George McGovern, Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis), and Gore's military service negated criticism Clinton had received on that during the primaries.

In his memoir "My Life," Clinton said of Gore, "I liked him and was convinced that he ... would be a big addition to our campaign."

Sometimes personal chemistry trumps everything else.

Presidential nominees choose their running mates for reasons that probably wouldn't occur to most people.

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In 1968, Richard Nixon reportedly was so impressed with Spiro Agnew's speech placing his name in nomination that he offered him the second spot on the ticket.

Agnew was virtually unknown outside his home state of Maryland, but Nixon believed Maryland could be his beachhead in the South.

Nixon didn't carry Maryland in 1968, but he did carry five Southern states as he introduced the Southern strategy to modern American politics.

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And, in 1964, Barry Goldwater picked New York Rep. Bill Miller to be his running mate because Miller was known to be the congressman who annoyed Goldwater's opponent, President Lyndon Johnson, the most.

There will be a lot of talk in the next two months about who will run with Romney in the fall, and the names you're likely to hear the most are the rising stars in Republican circles — Marco Rubio, Bobby Jindal, Chris Christie and others.

But don't be surprised if, when the smoke clears, someone you never heard of is standing on that podium with Romney in late August.

Elizabeth Edwards

In 2004, I voted for the Kerry–Edwards ticket.

And, knowing what I now know, I would still vote for Kerry over Bush — in spite of John Edwards' presence on the ticket.

But I don't want to think about John Edwards today. I think I made my feelings about him pretty clear in this post nearly a year ago.

At that time, I acknowledged that I had been one of Edwards' supporters in 2008. If I had the chance to make that choice again, I would choose someone else. I don't know if I would have supported Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton in the primaries, but I wouldn't have supported John Edwards.

And I feel that, if he had the opportunity to make that decision all over again, John Kerry would choose someone else to be his running mate.

On the surface, of course, North Carolinian Edwards failed to deliver any Southern states for the Democratic ticket. If he had, he might be vice president today.

And, as we have all learned in recent years, Edwards simply lacked the moral fiber that Americans expect from their leaders.

I have heard of presidential tickets in which voters complained that the nominees should have been reversed, that the nominee for vice president should have been the nominee for president and vice versa.

In hindsight, that doesn't really seem to be the problem with the Kerry–Edwards ticket.

The problem may have been that the wrong Edwards was nominated for vice president. His spouse possessed all the qualities — with the exception of a political resume — presidents want from their vice presidents.

But we will never know if she might have been up to the job.

Edwards' wife, Elizabeth Edwards, died of cancer today at the age of 61. She first learned she had breast cancer on Election Day 2004.

For awhile, it seemed Edwards had beaten the cancer. But then I heard it had returned and had spread to her bones.

Then, yesterday, we were told that she had halted her cancer treatments. Medical science had done all it could, we were told, and her prognosis appeared grim.

But her death did not appear imminent.

I always admired how she dealt with the ordeals she had to live through — which included her husband's infidelity, the loss of her oldest child, her cancer diagnosis.

And the only thing I have left to say, besides "Rest in peace," is to remind you of something you've probably heard before.

It isn't too early to start screening for breast cancer, especially if there is a history of breast cancer in your family. Early detection can save your life.

What If ... ?

Here's a hypothetical for you to ponder.

What if 60,000 Ohio voters who voted for George W. Bush in 2004 had decided, instead, to vote for John Kerry?

I know the history books tell us that Bush won that election, and it may be hard to imagine him losing, but it wasn't so outlandish at the time. Kerry actually led Bush in public opinion polls through much of the campaign. He had a lot of financial support, and he did well in his debates with Bush.

And if 60,000 Ohioans had voted for Kerry instead of Bush, Kerry would have won the state — and the election.

But Bush, who got less than 50% job approval in two polls of likely voters that were released less than a week before the 2004 election, managed to win because:

• Bush exploited Kerry's own words on Iraq: "I actually did vote for the $87 billion before I voted against it."
• the "Swift Boat Veterans for Truth" undermined the qualification for leadership that Kerry emphasized at the national convention — his service during the Vietnam War; and
• Kerry was vulnerable to the Bush campaign's portrayal of him as a Massachusetts liberal.

At the very least, we would have had practically a reverse of what we had in 2000 — when Bush won the electoral vote but lost the popular vote. Kerry would have finished with 271 electoral votes (assuming there were no "faithless electors"), the same number Bush had four years earlier. Kerry would have lost the popular vote — by an even wider margin than Bush did — and America would have had back–to–back elections in which the president–elect was the winner only in the Electoral College. Bear in mind, though, that, in this scenario, in which only 60,000 votes in Ohio are taken from the Republican nominee and given to the Democratic nominee, the results in none of the other 49 states would be altered. And, while it is reasonable to assume that most, if not all, of those 60,000 Ohio voters also voted for the Republican Senate nominee, incumbent George Voinovich, and other Republicans on the ballot, that is more detail than this scenario calls for. Without knowing where these voters were living in 2004, it is impossible to ascertain which congressional races, if any, might have been affected. But Ohio only has 18 congressional districts, 12 of which elected Republican representatives in 2004; even if all 12 could have been reversed in this scenario (and 60,000 votes would not have been nearly enough to accomplish that), Republicans still would have held the advantage in the House. For that matter, Voinovich would not have been denied re–election if he had lost 60,000 votes. He was re–elected that year by 1.5 million votes. Obviously, the GOP's 55–44 advantage in the Senate would have been unchanged. So this would have had little, if any, influence on the party divisions that existed in Congress. All that can be said is that, if 60,000 votes in Ohio had switched from Bush to Kerry, America would have had divided government from 2005 to 2007. Clearly, certain things that happened during Bush's second term — Hurricane Katrina comes to mind — almost certainly would have happened anyway. Natural disasters happen regardless of who sits in the Oval Office. Whether Kerry would have been more engaged in evacuation efforts and other preparations before Katrina made landfall is something about which we can only speculate. Likewise, it seems to me, the legal battle over Terri Schiavo that took place in the early months of 2005 would have happened whether Bush or Kerry had been elected president. But, without Bush in the White House, I believe Republicans in Congress would have been hesitant to interfere. And I definitely believe Kerry never would have signed the infamous "Palm Sunday Compromise."
Kerry probably would have had to come up with at least one Supreme Court nomination. Chief Justice William Rehnquist died of cancer in September 2005.

And, considering her husband's health problems, it seems likely that Sandra Day O'Connor would have chosen to retire when she did. She was reported, in 2000, to be reluctant to retire while a Democrat was in the White House, but who knows how she might have felt if Kerry had been president and her husband was in the last stages of Alzheimer's disease? She might well have decided her husband was more important than politics.

Whether O'Connor would have decided to retire may be in doubt, but one thing seems certain. If Kerry had been president, Harriet Miers assuredly would not have been nominated to replace her if she had.

For that matter, it seems doubtful that John Roberts would have been Kerry's choice for chief justice. In fact, Kerry was one of the 22 senators who voted against Roberts' confirmation.

Based on the rhetoric of the campaign, I assume that Kerry would have ended American military involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan by the time he would have sought re–election in 2008, which certainly would have eased the budget squeeze to a certain extent.

So I guess the main question that remains is, if Kerry had been elected in 2004, would America have avoided the economic meltdown from which it continues to suffer? That may depend on whether one is inclined to believe that the problems that led to the current recession had been put in motion many years before.

Would Kerry have been able to enact policies that would have spared the nation the anguish of the recession? Or would he have had to ask the nation for a second term while the economy collapsed around him?

And who would have been Kerry's Republican challenger in 2008? Would it have been McCain? If it had been, would Sarah Palin have been his running mate? Or would the Republicans have nominated Mitt Romney under those circumstances?

Whoever got the nomination, would he have been relentless in linking the Kerry administration to the bad economy? And would Kerry have retaliated by trying to make the case that the policies that led to the downturn began under one of the Bushes — or Ronald Reagan?

What would America and the world be like today if 60,000 people in Ohio had chosen Kerry over Bush?