John F. Harris is editor-in-chief of POLITICO and author of "The Survivor: Bill Clinton in the White House."

The memorial service for George H.W. Bush was a perfectly civil and eminently civilized event, and if one was listening in a literal-minded way it all sounded like a grand exception to life in modern Washington—two hours of stories and tributes that were entirely bereft of political tension.

The only way to listen in a literal frame of mind, of course, was through some equivalent of self-lobotomy—to be willfully oblivious of context, guileless in a way that certainly does not describe Bush or any of the people he chose to speak at his farewell.


The service was replete with praise for the 41st president that could, with just the slightest nudge of interpretation, be heard as implied rebuke of the 45th president. But only implied, never explicit—this, unlike almost everything else in American politics today, was not about Donald Trump.

And yet it very much was. Speakers rhapsodized about Bush’s natural good cheer and optimism; his willingness to share credit and accept blame; his preference for self-deprecating humor; his gift for personal diplomacy; his loyalty to friends when they were down; his talent at assembling international coalitions; his mistrust of “unthinking partisanship”; his inaugural address in which he said that Americans must judge our lives by kindness to friends and neighbors rather than the pursuit of “a bigger car, a bigger bank account”; his commitment to truth and to living up to the obligations of a “gentleman.”

Who wouldn’t admire these traits? Or expect that any president should try to emulate them?

To be political while sounding apolitical is a lost art in contemporary times, and it would be hard for President Trump to claim injury because his name was never mentioned. President George W. Bush—who, like his father, broke with his party in not supporting Trump—swerved skillfully around that by starting his remarks by thanking “distinguished guests” and then, with seeming emphasis, adding “including our presidents and first ladies” but mentioning none of them by name.

The four living ex-presidents other than George W. Bush all sat together in the front row and the cameras caught Trump in a pose that, if he were a child, might have gotten him a whispered correction from a parent—don’t cross your arms in a church service! That’s a pretty minor sin—who among hasn’t fidgeted in our seats or snuck a furtive glance at our phones?—and hardly detracted from the general mood of Washington on best behavior.

Hillary Clinton likewise deserves some forbearance on body language. When Trump arrived he shook hands with former President Obama, with whom he has not spoken in some two years, and former President Bill Clinton looked over with what seemed to be the slightest nod of recognition while his wife looked straight ahead. Some social media commenters said this was rude. But the rap on Clinton as candidate was that she was supposedly calculating and un-genuine. It was hard not to appreciate the sincerity of her straight-ahead stare, avoiding eye contact with the man who led crowds in chants of “lock her up” and still assails her regularly on Twitter. Given the heat of everyday political discourse, the coldness of the moment was in its own way more compelling.

Three months ago, the same space—the Washington National Cathedral—hosted another memorial service after the passing of Sen. John McCain. Like Bush, he had the lead time to carefully plan his own service, which became weaponized after a dying McCain made clear that he did not want the man who derided him for having been captured in Vietnam to be present. The Bush family, by contrast, was willing to set aside its disdain for Trump—the taunts of “low-energy” Jeb, the relentless criticism of George W.’s Iraq war. Whether out of respect for the office or a desire to avoid another politicized Washington funeral, they made it clear that their leader had very much wanted the current president to be there, and in remarks in recent days family members had emphasized that Trump has been “very gracious.” Assuming that comment to be entirely sincere, it is still a shrewdly effective way to shift the week’s events toward ground—polite, decorous, devoid of controversy—that is hardly Trump’s natural terrain. One supposes that he was not sorry when the plane that is normally Air Force One lifted off to carry the 41st president back to Texas for burial, allowing Washington to return to normal business for the first time since Friday evening.

The commentariat’s focus on Bush’s contrast with Trump tended to take attention from what might otherwise have been the dominant motif of the memorial service: the contrast, and communion, between generations.

Like many people his age, Bush—who was born in 1924—reached adulthood in accelerated fashion, with the onset of war and the self-possession that comes with facing ultimate danger in combat, the sense of perspective from knowing plenty of young people who never came home.

But, also like many people his age, Bush in some ways became an old person in accelerated fashion. By the time he was in early middle age, at age 40, one of the themes of his public career was already taking shape—a tension with a younger generation who challenged the establishment values that Bush held dear, who didn’t share his faith the old verities.

This generational jostling took place in his own family. George W. Bush, born in 1946, never joined the counterculture but he did dabble in the spirit of rebellion and libertinism that defined the 1960s, and he didn’t join in the Bush family tradition of professional overachievement until he was approaching age 40.

And the elder Bush was never comfortable with baby boomer values as they became ascendant in politics. After his victory in the first Persian Gulf War in 1991, Bush boasted, “We have finally kicked the Vietnam syndrome”—his derisive term for people who were skeptical of the efficacy and virtue of American military force. (That notion, of course, proved overly optimistic decades later in the broiling sands of Iraq.)

A year later, Bush was mystified to be beaten by someone his supporters disdained as the personification of flabby baby boomer values: Bill Clinton. During Clinton’s presidency Bush—and, in particular, former first lady Barbara Bush—made plain at key intervals their dim appraisal of Clinton’s character. It was only later, after Clinton left office, that a genuine friendship between the two men blossomed.

W. cited this post-presidential bond during his remarks, calling Bill Clinton one of several “brothers from other mothers.”

One advantage of living to 94 is that one gets to witness even people regarded as impertinent youngsters become old men. George W. Bush and Bill Clinton are both now 72 and look it.

And that perhaps was another one of the enduring conclusions of Bush’s elegant memorial service: Public figures, including presidents, tend to live awfully long these days. Joining Bush, Clinton and Obama among the living ex-presidents in attendance was Jimmy Carter, age 94, who if he lives into April of next year will surpass George H.W. Bush as the oldest ex-president ever.

Joining George W. Bush and historian Jon Meacham in the eulogies were former Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, who will turn 80 in March, and former Sen. Alan Simpson (R-Wyo.) who is 87. There were references in remarks to George H.W. Bush’s longtime friend, James A. Baker III, age 88, who wept in a reference to his visit to Bush’s deathbed in Houston.

This trend toward longevity has been evident for a while. Ronald Reagan died in 2004 at age 93; Gerald Ford died in 2006, also at 93. This recent record may obscure how unusual this is. George H.W. Bush lived more than twice as long as John F. Kennedy, the youngest president to die. And such icons as Theodore Roosevelt, who died at 60, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who died at 63, or Lyndon B. Johnson, at age 64. Even Richard Nixon, who seemed like quite an old man at his death in 1994, made it only to 81.

Perhaps the living presidents in the cathedral Wednesday had the same thought: With a combination of good genes and good luck it is now reasonable to suppose they may, like Bush, live long enough to see the process of historical reappraisal take place in their own lifetimes.

And perhaps, as he folded his arms and listened to the encomiums for his predecessor, that was what Trump was thinking, too.