By Sue Bergeron
February 11: Primary Election Day has finally arrived in the granite state and I'm blessedly relieved the pain will almost be over. Donald Trump has ordered freezing rain for us again. It's only 6 AM and my phone is blowing up already. I'm promised an "easy day." I pick up my packet and head out to walk the streets of a Biden-friendly suburb that I'm familiar with. By now, I have come to know many of these people and they feel almost like friends. I will truly miss them. I approach a door with a giant Valentine heart and there's a notice to all campaign workers thanking us for our hard work. Are there tears in my eyes? I'm not sure. It's raining too hard. I meet a man who came here after the Czech Velvet Revolution of 1989; as he tells his story about the "Velvet Divorce" that followed, when the Czechs and the Slovaks split the country into two, I'm pretty sure I see tears in hiseyes, though. We are standing under his portico in the rain as he unloads on Trump. This man describeS all the same signs he has seen before, when his country was beseiged by tyranny and conflict. I push the Biden flyer into his hands. "I'm waiting for my wife to come home, then we vote. She wants Amy," he shrugs, "but too many! I'm confused. Still can't decide. But I tell you this---come November it's the Democrat no matter who it is."
I try canvassing with an umbrella. It doesn't work. I toss it in the truck and resign myself to getting drowned again. I'm wearing my bright orange rain parka today, left over from my railroad days. Traffic is quite lively, but not with the snarls or jams I expected. However, I'm beginning to see way more last minute canvassers from the other campaigns sneaking up on me in their silent little Priuses, and swirling about in their zippy little fuel efficient cars. The "Bernie People" are the ones with the most foot traffic; I suppose they don't want to be seen burning any fossil fuel while pushing their New Green Deal agenda. I get that. But I can't help feel a teensy bit of resentment, as I watch the college-age door-knockers stride past me and bound up the terraces of rich folks to ask for Sanders' or Warren's vote. Where were youfor the last 8 months, kiddo? I wonder. Where were you ?---while I was building relationships, making multiple contacts---while I put my personal affairs aside, neglected my family and friends, to stump formycandidate in this state. Through the summer, through the fall, and now the bitter cold winter I never saw your flyers before! Only now you come out of the woodwork, at the last minute. I guess the old ways don't work anymore. It's an instant cup o' soup world. Marshall McCluhan predicted this kind of sound bite media-driven world, over fifty years ago in his bestseller The Medium is the Message.
I save Mary's house for last. She will be my final door knock in New Hampshire. Mary is a fellow volunteer, who in her late 70's, has covered her lawn and door with Biden posters and signs. I bang on the door. "Mary, it's Sue! I came to say good-bye." Her smiling face appears and she literally pulls me into her living room. "Come in here and get warm!" A handsome silver-haired woman, she's dressed for the day in a smart red white and blue sweater with gold jewelry that says, "VOTE!" Her home is classic country style with a toasty fireplace, colonial furniture, colorful quilts and antiques everywhere. She pulls me into her kitchen and invites me for tea and maple cookies. I no sooner bite into a sandwich creme cookie when she leans across the table and inquires, "Are you going to the big party in Nashua tonight?" "Of course!" Next: "Did you hear?" "What?" "Joe's not coming."
I call HQ. It's three hours before the campaign workers' celebration and press event is scheduled to begin at the Radisson Hotel in Nashua. "I'm at Mary's. Fox is reporting out that Joe is going to stand us up at the party tonight. Is this true?" There's a long pause. "He's already left the state. Yes. He's gone on to South Carolina."
I twist through the city streets with the heat blasting in the truck, windows down, so I can dangle my bullhorn out the window: "Vote for Joe today in the New Hampshire Primary!" I get a lot of smiles and thumbs-up. Back at HQ I drop off my packet and unload all my lawn signs. My Phone is blowing up again. "Are you still coming to the party? Everyone will be there to say good-bye and Joe's gonna do a live stream." Live stream. Big deal.
I go back to the room, shower and put on my party dress. The drive to Nashua is scary---there's fog. I arrive solo, and entering the huge ballroom at the Radisson I'm overwhelmed with the amount of press corp there. I've worked in the film and TV industry, as a side gig, for 25 years, and I've never seen anything like this. Not even for Brad Pitt! Don't they know Joe's not coming?
I catch up with my peeps and there are selfies all around, lots of war stories and major mingling. There's great music. But nobody's dancing tonight. There are no seats! I'm so tired. I see a few people start to sit on the floor. Then the speechifying begins: former Governor Lynch of NH, then Valerie Biden Owens, who is Joe's sister. The press are jerks. They ignore all the campaign workers and the big city teams that drove the campaign. They're looking for dirt, spin. They want a high profile pol to say publicly, on the record, that Joe has pissed off the campaign workers of New Hampshire by cutting and running, by heading straight to South Carolina, to "court the black and brown vote" before the votes are even counted in NH. John King is at the big board, on the multiple big screen TVs that surround us. No one is watching the TVs, though. The news is terrible. Joe Biden is struggling to hang onto 8% with half the precincts reporting in already. I stay to listen to his ten minute TV speech, the ever-supportive Jill by his side. He says all the right things. "Thank-you...New Hampshire is very special to me...and blah blah blah." But after seconds, I'm not listening anymore. I'm still pissed-off. I walk out.
Others are leaving in a trickle and it's only 9 PM. Joe should be here with us! He robbed us of a chance to say good-bye and to wish him well. And what about the culinary workers' unions of Nevada. They've already rejected Sanders and Warren, leaving a big opening for Biden in the Nevada caucuses. Are you going to leave cards on the table, Joe? They can't be pleased about him hop-scotching over Las Vegas. What the press doesn't report are the little conversations that took place at the party among lower level campaign workers and volunteers (like myself) who were overheard to be saying, "...and to think that just yesterday I was looking for flights out to Las Vegas. Not now!" It's a domino effect with the donors, as well. Everyone's in a holding pattern---should I throw good money after bad?
February12:I drive home in blinding sunlight. Where were you all week, Mr. Sun? I'm deep in thought as the beautiful pines and the endless stream of pick-up trucks slide past me. I reflect on what this experience has meant for me. Would I do it again? Absolutely! This was a character-building exercise for an aging hippie who has still not given up on democracy and clinging for dear life to one of her oldest heroes. Will Joe even make it to Milwaukee? Who can say. Maybe it's on to Massachusetts for me, next. They're included in the Super Tuesday Primary on March 3rd. Rumbling down the highway, all the flotsam and jetsam that have been floating around in my brain for weeks now start to ebb a little bit. If Joe suspends his campaign, I'll probably go with Amy Klobuchar. I saw an alliance forming between them on the debate stage. She is a plain-spoken squeaky clean moderate with Senatorial experience and knows how to get things done. If Joe gets the nod in June I hope Joe Biden picks Amy Klobuchar for a running mate. If not, I hope he endorses her.
I can tell you this: the people of New Hampshire fell hard for Amy Klobuchar! That's the lede that got buried: Nevermind about Mayor Pete. Soon you will see ads with Amy, from the day she announced her run, in Minnesota, with the snow piling up on top of her until she looked like a snowwoman. She kept going and going, right through a blizzard! And she's not done yet. Amy Klobuchar is the realrising star.
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