This is the story of a 10-year-old St. Petersburg girl named Bonnie Harris, who would one day become a reporter covering the presidential campaign of George W. Bush. When Bush learned she was from Florida, he gave her a nickname: “Sunshine.”
Contrast that with a recent moment involving another female reporter and another American president. When Bloomberg News White House correspondent Catherine Lucey asked President Donald Trump a question he did not like, he shut her down with, “Quiet, Piggy.”
Two Republican presidents, two female reporters, two nicknames. And two very different visions of presidential character.
Nicknames can be affectionate or insulting. In several online lists, I found these Trump nicknames for media personalities:
- “Dumb as a Rock” – Mika Brzezinski (co-host of “Morning Joe” on MS NOW)
- “Morning Psycho” – Joe Scarborough (co-host of “Morning Joe” on MS NOW)
- “Allison Cooper” – Anderson Cooper (a slur aimed at a gay man)
- “Maggot Hagerman” – Maggie Haberman (White House correspondent for The New York Times)
- “George Slopadopolus” – George Stephanopoulos (ABC News host)
- “Fake Tapper” – Jake Tapper (CNN anchor)
I do not mind a creative insult exchange. Shakespeare wrote some beauties. The problem is that virtually all of Trump’s nicknames have negative or degrading connotations. I found no record of him calling anyone “Sunshine.”
Which brings us to another Republican President, George W. Bush, whose nickname was a single letter (“W”) and who, by all accounts, was a nickname machine.
- “Bama” – President Barack Obama
- “No. 3” – Nancy Pelosi (then the third in line to the presidency)
- “Hogan” – Sen. John McCain (a nod to “Hogan’s Heroes”)
- “Ali” – Sen. Barbara Boxer
- “World’s Greatest Hero” – Gen. Colin Powell (a nickname for the ages)
Bush’s nickname for New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd was “The Cobra,” not because she was poisonous, I would argue, but because her criticisms of him were so sharp and biting.
More than 40 years have passed since Bonnie Harris was my fifth-grade student at Bay Point Elementary.
In the years that followed, she took advantage of every opportunity St. Pete had to offer to become a better reporter and writer. She earned internships at the St. Petersburg Times, even landing a Page One byline as a teenager.
After college, Harris began her reporting career at a newspaper in Spokane, Washington, a 3,000-mile diagonal from her home in the Sunshine State. Kelly McBride, now a senior vice president at Poynter, remembers Harris’ arrival out West:
“Bonnie was a breath of fresh air when she came into the newsroom at the Spokesman-Review,” she said. “She was smart and stylish, and she got scoops, lots of scoops. This was the Northwest in the 1990s. We were all plaid shirts and Timberland boots. Bonnie showed up with a cute, colorful wardrobe and the enthusiasm to match.”
Four years later, Bonnie was hired at the Los Angeles Times by an editor who knew her from St. Pete. He understood her history and potential. She jumped through the usual reporting hoops: night cops, day cops, courts, then general assignment.
“I loved being a floater,” she remembers, “parachuting in and out of big stories and finding the little ones that were itching to be big ones.”
Early in 2000, she was asked to fill in for a few weeks covering the presidential campaigns.
She remembers Bush’s plane as a rickety old thing with ancient ashtrays in the armrests. The seatbelts only worked on some of the chairs. Reporters sat in the back and held on as it rattled down the runway, only to hear Bush whoop in delight when they finally took off. He would stroll to the back, visit the reporters, calling them by name — or by nickname.
Harris was paranoid about getting left behind on the plane or the bus, so she would arrive hours ahead of the others, getting chummy with Secret Service agents and campaign staffers.
“I became Sunshine late in my first week on the trail,” she said. “Bush came to the back of the plane, holding a tie in each hand. ‘Which one should I wear today?’ From my usual front row seat, I quickly pointed to one. He looked at me and asked where I was from. I said I was from Florida. He said, ‘Ah, the Sunshine State. OK, Sunshine. I like this one too.’ After that, I was Sunshine. I don’t think he ever called me by my real name. The reporters I traveled with most often called me Sunshine, too.”
I am not writing this to argue that political candidates should be chummy with reporters. But there is something important about the idea of presidential character and the way, large and small, that it is revealed.
In mid-life, Bonnie Harris writes for the state of Iowa, with a focus on transportation. She is married to former Los Angeles Times photo editor Don Tormey and has raised twin sons, recent college grads. They have their mother’s smile.
Bonnie Harris, who was dubbed “Sunshine” by former President George W. Bush. (Courtesy: Don Tormey)
Harris remembers Bush as “approachable, funny, smart and likeable. He had a way of making reporters feel comfortable in his world.” His nicknames, she says, were harmless and endearing.
“I mean, he called me Sunshine.”
What if he had called her — or my daughter, or your daughter — “Piggy”?
Whatever their political party, I prefer a leader who demonstrates an authentic care for others, a bit of humility and a generosity of spirit.
George W. Bush gave Bonnie a gift — one that may last a lifetime.
I say, public figures, let the sun shine in.
