Small Moments

A political campaign, like life itself, is a stream of small moments. Tiny incidents are the current, and they flow around major events as if they were stones in a stream. 

Here are a few of those small moments. 

.....

On Thursday of last week some of Ben's family arrived at the office toward evening.

 Their arrival wasn't scheduled, and in fact Ben wasn't there to greet them. The group included his mother, Susan, and two sisters, Jackie and Becky. 

Ben has a reputation with the staff and volunteers as the ultimate nice guy. Virtually all of us came on board because we agreed with one or another of his political positions. We're still there, and working crazy hours,  because long ago position papers gave way to profound respect and affection.

So I asked Becky if he was always this easy to like? Did Ben play this same sainted role in his family that he now enjoys in the campaign?

"Are you kidding?"she replied, "I was happy we had a hard back edition of the Book of Mormon. It gave me something substantial to throw at him."  

Then she sat down and tirelessly made calls in his behalf until 9:00 PM. 

.....

Half-way through that same evening I thought Ben's mother, Susan, could use a break. And besides, I wanted to share something that might show off her son in a good light. 

Once her present call concluded I walked over to her, "Hey, I'd like to show you something." 

I took her back to the conference room. On the wall was a whiteboard that should have been erased, but it still showed Ben's schedule. It didn't leave an hour with less than three places to be, and there were were fundraising objectives, specified by the hour, which seemed especially aggressive. 

I assumed she would be flabbergasted and filled with pride by all he was doing. Instead, she looked at this proof of an overly programmed life like she'd seen it all before. It was nothing remarkable or even worthy of sympathy. 

She looked at me with a deadpan expression and said, "You know who I think is the real hero? It's Ben's wife, Julie. She's brilliant and totally selfless when it comes to supporting Ben."

Then she walked away looking for that phone from which I'd taken her. She sat down and dialed her next call.

......

Late Saturday afternoon I was sitting in the office of Joel Freston, our field director. Joel is famous for working like a man in a flood sandbagging his own home. I asked if he was taking care of himself? 

"Yes," he said over the lid of his laptop, trying to multi-task our conversation.

"Measure yourself," I cautioned.

Then he dropped his hands from the keyboard and engaged me directly. "I know," he said, "a campaign is filled with more things in a day than anyone can possibly do. And maybe it's crazy to try. But the good part is that very same thing."

"How so," I asked.

"Well there is always something to do. Every day is filled with a thousand of those somethings."

"Joel, life is like that," I argued, "not just campaigns."

"No," he insisted, "campaigns are different. They accelerate until one morning in November you wake up and it's over. If you didn't win you feel miserable knowing there's nothing - not a single thing - you can do about it. You look back at all those days with so many things that needed to be done, and you're filled with longing." 

If I were running for political office, I'd want Joel working for me. If I were selling health insurance, I doubt I'd call him.

Avenues Street Fair

Avenues Street Fair

On Saturday I helped staff our booth at the Avenues Street Fair. I've attended many fairs, in many places, and this is the zenith of street fairs. The booths are filled with creativity and they're visited by crowds that are a delight to watch. 

Of course, one of those booths contained orange t-shirts announcing that Ben McAdams is different. (Odd, whenever that's said about me it's never a complement.)

Most of my time I sat in the company of Ryan Curtis. He's a young bear of a fellow who gives more time to the campaign than I give to day dreaming about my next meal - and that's a lot of time. He has a reputation as king of the telephone and routinely squares a call objective the rest of us struggle to meet. 

However, he is unassuming and McAdamsville is filled with highly verbal and animated people. Therefore, Ryan is easy to ignore and under-estimate. I'm not sure which of those is the bigger error. Ryan's brain is a full-time fact checker. 

Ryan Curtis (center)

Making conversation with Ryan I shared my hope that Hillary would one day run for President. Then I tossed off a guess as if it were gospel. "At the end of Obama's second term," I decreed, "she'll be a lot younger than Reagan when he became President."

Ryan's head turned and he gave a quizzical look. "Not really, Reagan was seventy when he took office, and Hillary would be seventy if she's inaugurated in 2017."

I let a beat or two pass while I descended from Mount Olympus, "Are you sure?" I said, never guessing my factoid would be challenged. 

"Do the math," he replied, "Reagan was born in 1911, and Hillary in 1947."

"They'd be the same age?" I inquired, weakly. 

"Yes," he replied, as if reporting that Columbus sailed in 1492. 

Then he noticed an expression on my face half-way between embarrassment and humility. "Give or take a few months," he said reassuringly, "she might be a little younger." 

His consolation only had the effect of making me feel older than the Gipper - the day he left office.

The Week That Was

This photo is on the Crockett Facebook page. I've taken liberty with what appears to be the unhappiest group of Republicans on planet earth. It was purportedly taken at a yard party, but it could just as easily be a funeral.

.....

As you know this past week was dedicated to playing the role of a staffer. Now the pros are back in town so my cameo role comes to an end. My week was spent making phone calls using a program that displays a profile of the person we're hoping to contact. 

Out of those hundreds of calls let me offer three that were particularly memorable. 

One

After a string of unanswered attempts a man answered the phone. I glanced at the screen and realized he was an elected Republican official. There had to be a mistake. Would my next call be to Orrin Hatch? 

I played dumb, which for me is not a stretch. Following my canned pitch I asked if he could volunteer. (That's when I winced.) "Sure," he said, "I like Ben. What do you want me to do?" 

"We have a huge demand for yard signs," I said tentitively, "and we're behind with delivery, could you help with that?" 

"Sure," he said, "but next week there's a council meeting, after that a party get-together. Would later this week be alright?"

"Yes," I replied, "It would be fine." 

And so he came, and so he delivered. Never let it be said Republicans don't follow through. 

Two

The phone rang and a woman anwered. I recited my appeal and she responded with kind words. "Could you volunteer? I asked. 

She answered in a definite tone, "I'm a doctor and a single mother. I have sixty-hour weeks and get only Wednesdays off. I'm on call at three hospitals."

"Point made," I said, "a yard sign would be more than enough."

There was a significant pause before she continued, "No, I should do this. Put me down for Wednesday of next week." 

Three

A woman picked up. After my introduction she replied with praise for Ben. "Could you volunteer?" I asked.

"No," she said, "I'm taking physics and chemistry this semester. I'm hoping to graduate in June with a degree in geology." 

I referred to her profile and chuckled at the obvious mistake, "Our database says you're eighty-five years old."

"Exactly," she said. "that's why I have to hurry up and graduate."

The Telling Detail

Once I dated a girl in college whose beauty was out of my league. I remember feeling lucky, and that sense of good fortune was based entirely on her looks.

Perhaps a week after that relationship began, we were walking hand in hand down a sidewalk. Distracted by one another's company we lacked the intentionality that comes with paying attention.

Then, in front of us, appeared a fuzzy green caterpillar inching its way across the sidewalk; its path out of synch with our natural stride so that our step would leave it unharmed. 

However, this young woman, out of habit, broke her stide and left a green stain on the sidewalk. Here was implied the very brief future we had ahead of us.

That's called the telling detail. 

It's a small thing, revealed without calculation, that has the power to indicate something more profound

So it was with Ben at the Labor Day Picnic.

In a previous post I described, tongue in cheek, how busy we were that day. In fact, we were extremely busy. The task of preparing and giving away cotton candy to a sea of children is no small thing. We had two tubs spinning, but five tubs would have been too few. The challenge was impossible. 

Of course, Ben was there. After all, it was the McAdams booth. It was our contribution to the event - an event designed, by us, to show off Ben. His role was the grand signeur, the benefactor, the face attached to all that generosity. 

Then, about an hour after Ben arrived, it occured to me; Ben's invisible, his head is buried in a tub of pink confectioners thread feeding the shuttle to a long line of families. He was clueless that his interests were best served at the other end of that shuttle. 

Ben's sole intention was keeping up with the demand, no matter what place he took in making that happen. 

Finally I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed toward the counter and said, "You belong there, I'll do this."

He looked up, realized the wisdom of my advice, and surrendered the tub. 

There's the telling detail, that small bit of unconscious truth revealing something more profound. In that instant was contained every reason why I'm attached to this candidate, and to this campaign. 

A Fat Ugly Lie

Today was my first day impersonating a staffer. I bicycled to the office at 10:00 AM and presented myself for inspection. "What would you have me do?" I asked.

Joel thought making phone calls would be nice. Of course, Joel always thinks making phone calls would be nice. So Martha sat me down at a desk, accessed a computer list, and I set about making call after call to prosepective volunteers. 

As one of those volunteers I've made similar calls. I'd arrive at the office, work a couple hours, then stand up from my desk, grandly announce my departure, and leave to effusive praise feeling like a hero.

I know the drill. 

Except today a couple hours came and went, it was still 12:00 o'clock, and I had another eight hours to go. 

Eventually I enquired, "Hey Ryan, how may calls are we expected to make in a day?"

"At least one hundred and ten," he said, in a tone that was flat and factual. 

I swallowed hard and returned to my list with grim determination. 

After a respectable time, I paused once again, "Hey Ryan, have any idea how many calls I've made?"

"I could check," he said. 

I was sure my laser like focus would yield an impressive number. "Sure," I said, "please do."

His fingers touched a few keys and a fat ugly lie popped up on his screen. "Fifty-eight," he replied. with that same monotone voice?

"Fifty-eight?" I replied weakly, "are you sure?"

"Yep, fifty-eight." he said, "With a .625% success rate."

I almost asked, "Is that good?" but his expression prevented the question from ever being offered.

Day one yielded an important lesson. It's only right so much praise and glory are given to campaign staffers, because their job sure isn't easy. 

Pretty in Pink

Lesson one about being on a campaign, or at least a field staffer on a campaign: there are no holidays (at least not for you, and not for the candidate.)

Today I was assigned to the AFLCIO Labor Day picnic in Magna. If I had been Ben, this would have been one of several places to be, but my role was confined to that one event. 

When I first sighted the booth I was filled with excitement. There was a line leading to it at least a hundred feet long filled with families eager for the front. "Wow!" I thought, Ben's popularity in Magna is huge! 

Then, when I got to the booth itself, I found two large spinning tubs filled with pink gosamer thread, orange shirted volunteers spinning as fast as the tubs, and a huge sign reading "FREE COTTON CANDY."

When the volunteers caught sight of me their unanimous expression was "Help!"

Never in my life had I made cotton candy. This moment had the feel of joining a circus fifteen minutes into a show and being told, "You're the clown."

Under the best of circumstances the creation of cotton candy is not a neat affair. When you have no idea what you're doing, soon you resemble a giant sized version of the very thing you're handing out. By the time my shift was over the incredible hulk could have picked me up, placed me against a wall, and I would have stuck there. 

Never the less, everyone should do it at least once. Only Santa Claus gets to make this many kids happy in such a short period of time. And there's the additional advantage of watching a candidate, wrapped up like a fly in a web of pink sugar, trying to convince people they should vote for him. 

A Week in McAdamsville

This should be interesting.

Until today I've been an unpaid volunteer dodging in and out of the campaign. This week we're short staffed with TJ and Justin going to the convention. So I've taken a week's vacation and I'll be functioning as a full-time staff member (or, more accurately, I'll be functioning as a full-time gopher for the actual staff.) 

I'm still unpaid, but this opportunity offers special advantages. 

For instance, while our dear campaign manager is in Charlotte, I'll attempt to rifle though his desk and blog about campaign secrets. Next, I'll find the keys to our red school bus and take it out for a joy ride. Finally, I'll hack our computer and change the tag-lines to our "Yeah, he's different" billboard campaign. I'm thinking...

• "Small carbon footprint, eats gridlock for breakfast."
• "Never throws a tantrum, yet gets what he wants."
• "Doesn't own a business, just works for a living." 
  

If you have any additional ideas, just leave them as comments. 

For this week I intend to leave more frequent, but far shorter posts. My hope is to offer a glance of the campaign as a fully involved member of the staff.  

Therefore, I'll tweet new entries from @geopence, but I won't overload my Facebook page with McAdams Apple announcements. If you're not a subscriber to my tweets (which would include the world's population, minus three) simply check back here at McAdams Apple and you'll find new posts. 

Have a great week, I'm sure I will!