Arthur as Author

Tuesday, February 11th – the day of reckoning is here! I’m writing this about 4 pm, with the polls still open. Maybe I’ll drop in to the nearest one (there is a convenient list online) and ask the workers about turnout.  Something we top=notch political reporters do, all the time – because everybody knows turnout is crucial. 

I suppose it is, if one candidate is especially popular among people who are, relatively speaking, less likely to vote.  That means Bernie, champion of the young and the disaffected. I think. Later, in other states, it might mean Joe Biden, popular among black voters. I don’t think any of the others has a special cadre of support that would be distinctively affected by turnout. Women, for example, who I think vote at about the same rate as men. Or liberal voters… oh sorry, they’re all liberals.

As long as I’m here, I should write down my guess like everybody else, for the record. I assume no one among my (millions of) readers reads this blog for its acute political analysis or breathtaking command of voter trends. So I’ve got nothing to lose. But maybe I’ll hit it just right and folks will be amazed! (Did you know that Yankees manager Aaron Boone actually predicted the score of this year’s Super Bowl, exactly? Wow! But not really wow – thousands of prominent people of all stripes ventured predictions; probability says that one, or a few, are likely to nail it.)

So here goes. New Hampshire is next door to Vermont, and folks have known Bernie Sanders for a long time. And he ran four years ago and won here, got 60% of the vote. Massachusetts is next door too, but I don’t sense New Hampshirites adopting Elizabeth Warren as an almost native daughter the same way.

Amy Klobuchar had a very good debate showing last week (people said). And Pete Buttigieg is a good campaigner and personally appealing. Joe Biden, for all I loved him in his town hall appearance, did not have a huge cheering section at the Shaheen Dinner. Andrew Yang is a blast, so much fun, but is going to attract only those who are impractical enough to vote for the guy they actually like best even if he can’t win. In New Hampshire, that is pretty many people though. Tom Steyer is sound and fury signifying nothing. Tulsi Gabbard and Deval Patrick seem to be treading water without much support, and Michael Bennet is under water.

Distilling all that wisdom: Let’s say Bernie wins at 26%, with Pete a solid second, 22%, then Klobuchar, Warren and Biden battling for third; Klobuchar has the momentum and takes third with 15%, Warren 13% and Biden 12%. By my math that leaves 12% to divide among five others. (Votes for Bloomberg, not campaigning here, will be negligible.) Say that Yang ‘wins’ the also-rans, with 4%. Gabbard, Patrick, maybe 3% each, and Bennet and Steyer around 1%. each.

There you have it! What prize do I get? More important, what prize does the winner, or top finishers, get in real terms? Not much, I’d say. Unless there is some marked departure from the rough expectations, New Hampshire likely has little effect on what follows; South Carolina and Nevada are so different from this state that success here does not spell success there. And Super Tuesday looms, when Bloomberg might possibly be a factor (though I doubt his national appeal).

But that is not to say this place is unimportant. For one thing, it may narrow the field as the laggards realize their campaigns have no legs, and drop out. For another, New Hampshire hones the campaigning skills of those who will go on. They have had to face real people with real questions, and decide whether to give real answers. And, for the real ones, how to tighten up the wording of their answers.

For that, we all owe the people of New Hampshire. We owe them big time. This place is where folks expect to have met each candidate personally, and more than once too. A place where a candidate may lie to you, but has to look you in the eye to do it.

That matters.

I don’t want presidential campaigns waged only on tv, through social media, or at 10,000-seat rallies. If in theory all politics is local and all politics is personal, then this little, unimportant state makes that so in fact. For a week, these would-be world leaders have to stand up and face a question from a kid about plastic bags, or from a guy who’s just lost his job, or a veteran in a wheelchair, or an immigrant who is proud she has just become a citizen.

Everyone should come see this happen and be part of it. Especially Americans.

It’s Monday, February 10th. One day before the primary. One more day to reach the voters, shake the hands, snap the pictures, wave the signs. The end is nigh. For me, one more drive to make, to join a crowd of people who fall mostly into two camps: devoted followers coming to cheer, or undecideds coming to judge.  One more candidate.  Today I’ll see Elizabeth Warren up close; I’m still not sure what makes her tick.

First, however, lunch. I walk down to the Red Arrow for lunch. There is a line stretching slightly out the door. There’s a Manchester cop helpfully directing people in and out, keeping them from blocking the doorway. Sirius XM Radio has commandeered one corner of the small place from which to broadcast – the front windows are covered with a big Sirius sign advertising the fact – so the scanty seating has been further reduced. Still, things move pretty quickly for someone just needing one seat, and soon I’m on a stool at the counter.

A group to my left finishes and leaves, and a group of four young men who’d been waiting some time sit down. I listen idly to their talk as I await my turkey club sandwich. Have I mentioned that this is the only diner I’ve been to where, ordering a turkey club, you are asked if you’d like white meat, dark meat or a mixture? Makes all the difference, to some of us. I get a mixture.

I hear a familiar phrase and turn to my left. Did one of these boys say ‘Mamaroneck’? Yes, serendipity has struck again. These four are part of the Mamaroneck High School contingent visiting the primary for a few days to soak up democracy in action. Their teacher, who runs the program, is Mr. Liberti; I believe the class is AP History. (In my 2016 sojourn here I’d actually dropped in on Mr. Liberti and his group at a neighboring motel, hoping to exchange stories or interview some kids, but I must say the teachers were less than wildly welcoming. No worries; I can understand that when chaperoning a large group of kids, it’s highly inconvenient to entertain visitors.)

So here are four who have temporarily spun off from the group to visit the famous Red Arrow. They advise they were given leave for the moment to do that. We talk a bit about what’s on the agenda. They are going to visit a news operation – CBS I think – and I am headed to Portsmouth for a Warren rally. All are MHS seniors and feel lucky their senior year coincides with the presidential primary. They consent to my naming them: they are Mohamed Flitti, Zisis Zias, Iain McLaren, and Andrew Basta (I apologize if I’ve got spellings wrong). As they admit to the waitress that they are first-time visitors to the Arrow, they get the traditional bell-ringing, hand-clapping treatment by the place, and get stickers saying they have been ‘de-virginized,’ all in good fun. This diner really is a little community – enough regulars to provide continuity and play off all the visitors from wherever.

I’m amused that the boys readily agree to try some cream pies – half slices each so they can each try two – before they get into their burgers and such. Ah, youth.

Late afternoon I drive to Portsmouth and find the South Church, and duly take my place in the queue outside. We will wait about 45 minutes for the doors to open, and no one is complaining. The two young women in line behind me are going to college in Massachusetts but are more connected to California – they will vote there. They attend the Olin College of Engineering and I can tell they are refreshingly smart, despite the occasional phrasings that make today’s college women sound to my ears like complete ditzes (“We are actually going to see her! This is so cool!”) A Warren volunteer comes along, signing in everyone (via a phone text; he shows me how to do it) and asking for poll workers for tomorrow. We all make our excuses without guilt because we don’t live here. The volunteer asks if we have any questions for him, and one of the girls asks “So… why Warren?” which is as succinct a call for justification as I’ve heard all week. For a moment it takes the worker aback. Then he says “I really like her policies,” or words to that effect, but he doesn’t specify any, or why.

We all get inside (or almost all; I learn later about 150 people are overflow and are sent to the basement to watch the event via closed circuit tv). The church looks from outside like an old, slightly decrepit survivor, all dark brown weathered stone and no ornamentation. Inside, it is dazzling, a majestic space that looks freshly painted in wondrous tones of pink, beige, peach. A grand proscenium up front, but no crosses or altar. It’s a Unitarian church, which I think is a house of moral uplift and organizer of public philanthropy for almost-atheists. The stage, or whatever, is set with a big Warren banner flanked by American flags.

The crowd, about 400 in the sanctuary, gets to hear an intro from a former Speaker of the New Hampshire state senate, who praises Warren as a fighter.

Warren enters to a standing ovation. She gets a big cheer by asking, “Isn’t it time for a president who likes dogs?” In fact, Warren’s dog Bailey is here – a lovely golden retriever, handled by Warren’s son. Warren tells us that later we can take selfies with Bailey, who is very good at that.

She recounts that she is used to winning unwinnable fights. She wanted to be a public school teacher since second grade. (I expect the “public” is a later political addition to the little girl’s original dream.) Her parents, “a janitor and a minimum-wage worker at Sears” did not view college as within reach for any of the family, but Elizabeth found schools that might give scholarships for debating (“I don’t do sports. Or music”) and used her baby-sitting money for the application fee. Eventually she made it to her “dream job” as a special education teacher.

The transition from that to financial regulation and later, government positions is unclear to me, and not addressed in the speech. But she gets a big hand as always with the story of Mitch McConnell’s remark “Nevertheless, she persisted.”

The country has deep problems, she says. It works better and better for a small group at the top, not for the rest. It works great for giant drug companies, for private detention centers near our borders, for oil companies but not those of us worried about climate change.

The speech is heavily slogans and imperatives. “We can’t nibble — it’s gonna take some big structural changes.” Some of it, to me, doesn’t quite parse: “When the system works for a few and not everybody else, that is corruption pure and simple.” No, I don’t think so. Corruption needs an element of self-profit, I think. Not that we don’t have that too. But what she describes might just be unregulated capitalism. I hope she doesn’t consider them synonymous.

She takes questions from the audience, but with a different method: people who want to ask questions get little lottery tickets, and Warren’s introducer pulled five numbers out of a bucket – those with the winning tickets get to ask their questions. It’s democratic and random, but it’s less spontaneous. And it lets everybody know in advance that she will be taking only five questions; no hopeful hands will go up.

Q1 concerned the boycott of Israel, and Democratic candidates’ failure to censure a congressperson from Michigan who is anti-Israel. Warren answers that ‘We – they all – are looking for peace. Peace for Israel and self-determination and dignity for Palestinians.’ We must encourage them to negotiate for a lasting peace. Trump is too close to Benjamin Netanyahu, has moved him in directions ‘not conducive to peace.’ We should not have a thumb on the scale. Warren says ‘I don’t support the boycott, but I don’t support anti-boycott legislation as I believe it infringes the First Amendment.’ (No mention of Congresswoman Tlaib.)

Q2 asks about student loan debt and especially relief for the parents who (also) assume such debt. Warrren says parents are included in her student loan bill package.

Q3 is about personal family leave, for part-time employees and people who own their own businesses. Warren says she asked Kirsten Gillibrand if she could take her plan after Gillibrand dropped out, and she’s adopted it. Likewise, she added Kamala Harris’s reproductive rights plan to her own platform. Look on her website for family leave provisions. (To me, it’s a factually correct answer, but unsatisfactory for a town hall setting.)

Q4 Asks for Warren’s plan to end Wall Street corruption and eliminate or deal with household debt that is in private hands. Warren says we need regulators who believe they serve interests of the customers, not the banks. Protect the consumer. “It’s time to admit trickle-down economics just doesn’t work.” For 40 years, GDP and the stock markets have gone up, but all that wealth has been soaked up to the top. Wages have been flat, adjusted for inflation. And the cost of housing, healthcare, education is all through the roof. So families build up debt. “It’s time for a wealth tax in America – 2% on wealth over $50 million; 3% on wealth over [some higher figure: $1 billion?]. She says, “It’s a property tax, but not just on the house, it’s on the diamonds, the Rembrandt and the yacht.” Because ‘when you made it big, you used people we all paid in part to educate; used roads and bridges we all paid for; police and fire we all paid for. So when you make it really big, chip in two cents of each dollar.” This gets a standing ovation.

Now, for me, it’s been a productive campaign event: I detest Donald Trump as president and am willing to bend a lot of political positions to see him out of office, but Warren has confirmed she is a bridge too far for me. Several bridges, yachts, and Rembrandts too far. Not that I have any of those things. But I evidently see the country oppositely from her. I am unwilling to put America in the hands of Elizabeth or, for that matter, Bernie. (Bernie at least is lovable.)

Q5 asks how to fix a system where the popular vote is overturned by the Electoral College. Warren answers “I want to get rid of the Electoral College.” And more: We need a constitutional amendment to protect the right of every citizen to vote and to count that vote. And a law to outlaw political gerrymandering. And we need to overturn Citizens United. “This is no time for small ideas. This is the time for Big Structural Change.” The crowd is on its feet again, screaming approval.

Well, that clinches it. I may be the last remaining person in the country who likes the Electoral College, which forces candidates to win states, not just people. Racking up 90% of the vote in California and New York (or Texas and Florida) isn’t enough, and shouldn’t be. And don’t get me started on Citizens United.

Afterwards, as is her tradition, Warren poses for selfies with all who want to. It takes a while, even though her staff by now are a well-oiled machine moving the people through. I question the political value of it – her time could be better spent squeezing in an extra appearance each day. A photo with her hardly cements anyone’s vote; it’s just a souvenir. Take me, for instance:

As I drive back in darkness to Manchester I am reminded that a ‘huge’ Trump rally is about to take place there. In fact, as I drove east to Portsmouth for the Warren event, I saw – on the other side of the divided highway – a convoy of police cars, blue lights flashing, followed by a large bus labeled TRUMP – PENCE. Then more police cars; even some parked on the overpasses, keeping watch.

Sen. Warren was right about one thing: she said “They’ve got lots of money and power, but we have our voices and votes.” Amen to that. She also said “And there are a lot more of us.” That’s the real question for tomorrow, isn’t it? First, who has more, among this gaggle of Democrats? And then second, in November… but first things first. Because the answer to the second will depend in large part upon who wins the first.

Sunday morning I woke up about 9:30 after a good nine hours’ sleep. My first and only event today is a Biden rally scheduled to open at 3:15. Anyone who knows me well can surmise what I did next: rolled over and went back to sleep. If I’m not going to church, why be up at 9:30 on a Sunday morning?  I next awoke at 11, which was better.

I did some writing and soon it was time to go. The event was at Alvirne High School, in Hudson, a half hour’s drive; the school was easy enough to find and had plenty of parking. The rally was in the main gym. Despite my being on time, it was already full of people on chairs surrounding a square speaking area, with more standing in the wedge areas between the four seated sections. It’s a big crowd. (I checked the occupancy sign that’s always present someplace in a public space like this, and it said the capacity for people in seats on the gym floor is 1,350.) I stood, and wiggled my way forward. The cameras and press, on a slightly raised platform, were arrayed behind the main seating section, facing the podium.

The warmup music included Sly’s “Everyday People,” the Supremes’ “Keep Me Hangin’ On,” and Springsteen’s “We Take Care of Our Own.” (I’m sure that somewhere in this great land, a grad student in Political Science is doing a Ph.D. thesis analyzing candidates’ walk-on and exit songs.)

Biden is introduced by Michelle O’Leary, a school psychologist whose son, then 4, had a seizure later found to be the onset of Batten disease, an extremely rare neurological disease with a bleak prognosis. He received a drug that was in clinical trials. He’s now the first kid in the country with this disease to still be walking and talking on his own, at the age of 10.

It is a heart-rending and inspiring story, although its connection to Biden is not explicit. Presumably, the Affordable Care Act helps people pay for drugs they otherwise couldn’t afford (such as after a clinical trial ends in approval); more generally, Joe too has endured heartbreaking losses and cares about people like this, with stories like this.

Joe then enters to huge applause and hugs Michelle. The start of his speech reinforced my concerns from seeing Biden on tv, as it was absolutely conventional: “Hello hello hello hello hello. It’s great to be in Hudson.”

But then, speaking conversationally, he builds onto Michelle’s story with his own, about getting the diagnosis on his son Beau, and being told by the cancer doctor that all he could do was to “Go home and love him.” The doctor asked Biden what Beau had planned to do and Joe had replied, “He was going to run for governor.” The doctor said, “Let him run. There’s always hope.” That didn’t pan out for Beau but might for Mrs. O’Leary’s son and others.

Biden had brought notes with him but they are sitting on the lectern as he walks around, holding a long conversation with the various sides of the audience. He relates how people come up to him; how a man at one rally had nervously asked to speak with him, how they spoke afterwards and the man said he had lost his job. Joe talks about the day his own father told him and the family that he had lost his job and they would have to move (from Scranton PA to Delaware, where there were more jobs) but his dad had said, “It’s going to be okay.” Biden says he’s worried that today, families in that position don’t believe that it’s going to be okay; that the faith and optimism are gone.

He switches to the story of a woman from Hudson who’d been abused and battered at home. He says the Violence Against Women Act must be re-authorized, but it’s on Mitch McConnell’s desk, because of a new provision that would bar abusive husbands, fathers or boyfriends from being gun owners. At this point, Biden suddenly raises his voice – he’s yelling: “It’s WRONG. Trump is owned by the NRA. It can’t pass.”

He does the same with his story of people lined up to get boxes of food on a freezing day. He yells “What is happening to us? This is the United States of America!” I’ve heard the story before from him, but more in sadness than anger. Though I’m sure the anger and shouting are scripted, they still make an impression.

He is still worked up, talking about white supremacists and how Trump later said “There are very fine people on both sides.” Biden concludes that “This election, America’s character is on the ballot.” His ending is beautiful: “I’ve lost a lot in my life. Lost my wife and daughter in a car accident. Lost my son to cancer — but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my country. It will not happen.” You can imagine the applause.

Then he invites questions. Hands go up, he calls on people. All told, he takes at least a dozen questions – two or three times what I’ve seen other candidates take. And his answers are long, with stories and digressions: this man can talk and loves to talk. But he never got lost; the digressions were always brought back to reflect on the original question. He is in his element, not only getting to hold an extended conversation with a thousand people, but displaying depth (backgrounds of bills, US history, empathy) and breadth (familiarity with foreign rulers, areas of the US, demographics).

A few of the Q and A:

Q1: A woman says “I love you but I’m undecided.” Biden says, “You sound like my old girlfriend.” She has concerns about electability; Biden says “If I am the nominee, I will beat him.” “Could you put a dream team together? any thoughts of people for vice president, defense, commerce?” All he can say now is, “my administration will look like the country.”

Q2: About gun violence. Biden’s answer is good, by starting off saying “I own two shotguns.” He shoots skeet, and plenty of people hunt. They’re not the problem. The Second Amendment is not absolute; no amendment is. You don’t get to own a tank or a bazooka. No one should have an assault weapon, and no one needs a magazine with 30, 40, 50 rounds in it.

Q3: Man starts off “I’m 92 years old.” Biden says “Let me see your license; I don’t believe you.” Man says “I haven’t got one.” We’re all laughing. The man is worried about erosion of constitutional checks and balances. Biden says “I taught constitutional law for 22 years.” Gives a mini-lecture on the three branches, says this president has clearly overreached more than any modern president; “that’s not hyperbole, that’s fact.” Proud of his service in the senate, but “we don’t have a lot of Warren Rudmans any more, or Dick Lugars.” And goes into judicial appointments – his test would be whether a judge believes there are unenumerated constitutional rights. The Ninth Amendment says yes. Ends with “So we have to take back the Senate too.”

Q4: From a boy of 8 or 10: what to do about all the plastic going into the ocean; fish eat it, it kills them. Biden says we need a deposit on plastic bottles; federal. He did the coastal protection act when he was in the Senate. Climate change is the most important global issue we face.

Q5: How quickly can you undo all that Donald Trump has done? Biden says if it’s executive orders, I can undo them on the first day.

Q6: A woman who leans toward Buttigieg asks about plans to help Puerto Rico, because no candidates are talking about it. Biden says he’s been there many times, as Puerto Rico is in the same judicial circuit (the 3d) as Delaware. And his wife headed up the Save The Children operation there following the hurricane. Largest Hispanic population in Delaware is from there. But Trump doesn’t even know that Puerto Ricans are citizens.

Q6: Questioner urges Biden to pick someone from the top five candidates to be his running mate. Biden says his criteria are that it be someone younger than he, ready to be president on Day One, and with views similar to his. For example, no Medicare for All – too expensive. He says it would be presumptuous to name names, but “there are a number of people who I am simpatico with” like one “from Indiana.” But “I’m going to get in trouble if I say any more.” Also, among those who have already dropped out, potential cabinet members or national security heads. (Have we heard news here? Biden thinking of Pete for veep?)

Q7: An elderly woman in first row says “You would make America proud again.” Biden gives her cheek a kiss, poses with her for a photo.

Q8: Drill in the arctic refuge? Biden is “totally opposed to it.” Thinks he’s the only candidate who has actually been there (went after the oil spill). And no more drilling on federal lands, at all.

Q9: How to restore the US’s image across the world? Biden says on Day One, president has to be able to deal with international matters; no on-the-job training. I was chair of the Foreign Relations Committee; one reason that Barack Obama picked me. I know Putin; I know Xi Jinping. All politics is personal, and foreign policy is personal too. I’d tell NATO on Day One, “we’re back.” Must uphold Article 5. NATO is not a protection racket where we threaten our allies for money. Erdogan in Turkey has become an autocrat. I know Abe in Japan, need to restore the alliance between Japan and South Korea. We shouldn’t have withdrawn 5,000 special forces from support of the Kurds. “He [Trump] doesn’t have any idea of strategic thinking.” Notably absent from Biden’s answer is any popular promise about bringing troops home or staying out of wars. Maybe he just hadn’t got to those points yet, but his choice at least to cite other things first is encouraging to me.

Q10: A woman who is on the autism spectrum – what will you do for people with disabilities? And thank you for the ACA and mortgage lending bill. Biden says extend ACA, with a public option, and it will provide that there is no difference between physical and mental illnesses; there is no shame in mental illness. I check the troops update every day. 6,905 killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. And 22 US service vets commit suicide every day. [Arthur’s note: that figure included active duty plus vets. Current figures are 16.8 vets and over 3 active duty – still bad.] And Biden says he will propose to fund the Disabilities Act completely – cost, $45 billion.

I am impressed, and revise my view, mostly from the debate, that he had lost a step. If my choice is between Biden and Trump, I believe Biden will do less harm to the country’s interests.

As he finishes, one of two young women standing in front of me turns around and recognizes me. Can this be? We say hello – again. Diligent blog readers might remember (from the “Team Bernie” post) that two days ago – Friday night – I met several Europeans at the Red Arrow Diner, including Celia from France and Giovanna from Italy. And here they are at the Biden event. My quick photo is unflattering but serves the documentary purpose:

From here, they are headed back to DC and Brookings. I am headed back to Manchester, amazed once again at how paths intersect.

I bet this doesn’t happen in Iowa.

The annual McIntyre Shaheen Dinner of the New Hampshire Democratic Party is, according to the Boston Globe, generally a relatively calm affair. I’d say it usually draws a couple hundred party bigwigs and donors for a sit-down dinner where accomplishments are shared, mutual gratitude is expressed and, when necessary, plans are made to expunge Republicans from the state’s body politic.

Every four years, however, the event is bigger and noisier as primary fever takes hold. And in those years when the Dems’ presidential nomination is truly up for grabs, the Shaheen Dinner is bedlam. It is held, fittingly, in the (hockey) arena of Southern New Hampshire U, in downtown Manchester, 25 minutes’ walk from my lodgings. It is the only event here I’d needed to purchase a ticket for. I had bought a ticket in advance — $20 general admission — as it was expected to sell out.

I’d returned from the Sanders town hall in time to wash up and change, but still had not eaten anything today. I eyed the field of round tables on the main floor with white tablecloths, floral centerpieces, and waiters scurrying to and fro with laden trays. Also on the main floor, I noted enviously, was a long bar with a squadron of industrious bartenders. Best not to think of it. But the outer hall walkway surrounding the tier of the arena held concession stands, so all was not lost.

The outer hall was jammed too with all manner of tables, booths and exhibits put up by the campaigns of the various candidates. A photo booth for Buttigieg, literature from the teachers’ union, a guy advocating legalization of heroin (sure, why not?), a table of Warren paraphernalia, a life-size upright cardboard photo of Ruth Bader Ginsburg to stand next to for selfies (yes, she is really short), Sanders supporters handing out light-up red Bernie signs, tables of 20-somethings fighting climate change, fighting sexism, getting out the vote, enlisting counters for the census; all of them yammering, greeting friends, plotting next steps, barking at passers by; it was a souk of social causes. It was glorious.

It was also confusing to one who didn’t know the drill. The long oval hall surrounding the inner seating area had gateways every twenty feet or so, marked with the numbers of the sections they led to. Some of these entry ways seemed to be guarded by professionals, like a man with a CBS logo on his shirt; that entry was next to the door of a suite labeled ‘CBS party.’ Others were more loosely watched over by campaign volunteers. I went down a couple of these gates into the arena and surveyed the seats: all full. Finally I asked an arena guard where the plain old general admission seats were. He said I could (in theory) sit anywhere in this main level, above the arena floor, but in practice the candidates’ staffs always grab territories for their volunteers and supporters. Did I have a candidate? I told him I liked Buttigieg and he looked at a little list he had. I could see the candidates’ names written with numbers next to them. “Looks like he’s got sections 112 to 119.” He told me to watch the numbers over the entryways, and pointed me in the right direction.

Even at that, the first couple of sections I entered were full. I finally found a Pete section with some seats remaining in a couple of rows, and moved in. Everybody was friendly. Almost all of them had on yellow Pete 2020 t-shirts. Where do you get those? At the Pete table outside, couple of sections down. I parked my coat and gloves and notebook, then excused my way back to the aisle to get a t-shirt and some food.

Pete must have been doing well (or the staff had planned poorly), because they were all out of t-shirts. The girl behind the table said they were getting more in and would bring them through the rows for those who hadn’t got one. (This ultimately didn’t happen.) I had more luck at the concession stand: two hot dogs, some french fries, and a large Coke, for $19.75. Better prices than Yankee Stadium, although the hot dogs weren’t as good, and the ketchup tasted funny to me, clearly some brand I didn’t know.

I got back to my seat and ate – with brief interruptions to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and for the national anthem, sung by the New Hampshire Gay Men’s Chorus.

The place was full, and deafening. Different candidates’ sections would chant in competition with each other, or blow horns, or – we in the Pete section – rattle our plastic hand-rattlers.

The stage was a raised square in the center of the main floor, with a walkway leading to it. We in Buttigieg country were pretty lucky as we more or less faced the stage, at an angle; the Bernie camp was behind the stage on one side of the walkway entrance, and the Warren camp behind the stage on the other side.

Every now and then a big roar would go up when one or another candidate would emerge at the top of his or her sections to inspire the faithful. Pete did this, and we yelled. Elizabeth Warren did it too, across the way, and her sections erupted.

The program began with a welcome from Manchester’s mayor – she’s evidently a Democrat – and the party’s chair. Soon after, one of New Hampshire’s senators, Maggie Hassan, came out to big cheers. She said some hellos to celebs in the crowd, including Michael J. Fox. Then the star of the show, the Granite State’s senior senator Jeanne Shaheen came out to Tina Turner’s “Simply The Best” and the whole place went wild. And it was time for the candidates.

Pete Buttigieg actually went first, and gave a good but not great speech. (Each would have ten minutes.) In one of his lines, to the effect that we must not further divide ourselves in our fight with the ‘divider-in-chief,’ he said we cannot go around saying that if you’re not a revolutionary then you are just for the status quo. This drew yells from Bernie land, although I couldn’t tell whether they were yelling in favor of revolution or in opposition to being accused of demanding that dichotomy.

Between speeches I asked the woman next to me, a labor lawyer from Alaska who represents the firefighters union, whether she thought it was good to go first, or last. She thought that was an interesting question, but that was as far as we got. It wasn’t a setting for a lot of conversation.

Amy Klobuchar followed, and got emotional mileage out of her FDR story, which I’d heard before, about the reporter asking a man crying as FDR’s funeral train went by, whether he had known the president. “No,” said the man, “but he knew me.” Klobuchar said Trump has no empathy, and roused the crowd with her peroration, “If you have to choose between nursing care for your aging parents and child care for your kids, I know you … if you have to choose between filling a prescription and buying groceries, I know you” and so on, “and I will fight for you.”

Joe Biden was next. His speech was more rambling, and he brought notes up to the podium, which neither Pete nor Amy had done, although he did not often look at them. He did get the applause of the entire crowd with his finish that “We must defeat Donald Trump.”

Andrew Yang then strode out, tieless as usual, and did some arithmetic, saying (presumably because of the Electoral College) that “each New Hampshirite is worth one thousand Californians.” I trust he was joking; it’s a wild exaggeration. He said we need to change how we view people; our economic view won’t work as “the net [economic] value of a mom raising kids at home is zero; the value of a community volunteer is zero; the value of artists – sorry, artists – is zero.” He even finished with a joke of sorts: “I am the ideal choice because the opposite of Donald Trump is an Asian man who likes math.” It’s clear he’s having a great time campaigning.

Tom Steyer followed and blistered the hall with an aggressive address. There is no point just trying to be nicer guys than the Republicans; to defeat Trump “we have to kick his ass on the economy.”

Elizabeth Warren walked on to huge cheers from her camp, which is large. Her entrance song is “9 to 5” of course. She said she’s been “winning unwinnable fights pretty much all my life.” And “This is our moment.” She waved vigorously to all corners of the arena, and busted a couple of (brief) dance moves as she exited – to the song “RESPECT.” She’s very animated — looks like her advisers have told her to show she’s got more stamina than Joe or Bernie.

It’s hard to capture the scene in a photo, since all of it was loud, and so much of it involved movement of signs and lights, but here’s a picture I took while Warren was speaking:

Bernie went next, to rapturous cries from his sections. He brought notes with him, which he checked a couple of times. He showed some dry humor in observing up front that “I detect differences of opinion” in the hall. He asserted that “four years ago it was ‘radical’ to urge a $15 an hour minimum wage” and “radical” to propose free public college tuition, or to say that “healthcare is a human right,” but these are not radical positions any more. He left to “Takin’ It to The Streets.”

Deval Patrick followed. He said that usually in our country, hatred shouts but kindness is only whispered. His imperative was that now is the time to “Shout kindness.”

By the time the next candidate, Senator Michael Bennet of Colorado, took the stage, many in the crowd were starting to leave. To my ears, Bennet does not have a commanding speaking voice. He had little following in the arena.

The final speaker was Representative Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii. I felt a bit sorry for her, and for Bennet, as they need a boost here to continue their candidacies but were speaking to a half-empty hall. She joked that the organizers had ‘saved the best for last.’ She did not seem a vibrant speaker, and I exited during her speech.

The hot dogs seemed rather a distant memory by now, and breaking up the cold walk home was a good idea, so I stopped at the Red Arrow for dessert: apple pie (warmed, but no ice cream) and coffee. I had my big Pete 2020 sign with me and leaned it against the back wall in hopes no one would step on it. I sat next to three guys visiting from Italy (Manchester is very cosmopolitan this week) and talked with the one next to me. His name is Gaetano diTomasso, and he is a history and politics student. He’s going to a Biden town hall tomorrow that’s on my schedule too, so I might see him there. I described the wild gala I’d seen tonight.

And I remembered what Jeanne Shaheen had said this evening about New Hampshire’s event: “This is how we do democracy.”

I drove from the Law Forum in Concord about 40 miles east to Rochester, New Hampshire, for a Bernie Sanders town hall I had signed up for.  The event was scheduled for 1:30 but the online notice said the doors would open at 12:30.  This was the usual sort of timing, but I knew from a 2016 experience that if I wasn’t in line by noon latest I probably would not get in.  Bernie’s events are always jammed, and if primaries were decided by enthusiasm he would win.  As in fact I expect he will.

His event was to be in the Rochester Opera House. I found it and got in line outside to wait. The Opera House, which now is used as city hall but still doubles as an events and concerts space, is a pretty building. The crowd in line, despite frigid temps, was festive and was continually harangued in friendly fashion by hawkers of Bernie gear: hats, t-shirts, buttons, scarves, walking sticks (yes, really), and large photos of Bernie’s face. It remains unclear to me whether all this is connected with and benefits the campaign, or if some is the fruit of entrepreneurs sensing a market. If the latter, they seem to coexist peaceably with the actual campaign.

We enjoyed the sun, which felt warm whenever the wind stopped. I watched the gamboling of the young black lab – far left in the photo – that belonged to a Bernie worker from Chicago. He told me he writes a blog too, just started last week; his wife told him to write so he would stop screaming at the tv. He said it works.

Oddly enough, I did not get interviewed while waiting in line. I was asked once, but they were only looking for New Hampshirites and contented themselves with the mother and small son immediately behind me. I was however approached by a pretty, dark-haired girl who asked if she could photograph me; obviously not a media pro because they don’t ask. I graciously assented. She was Meredith something (Mullaney? started with an M) and is a student in journalism at Northeastern.

The doors really did open at 12:30 and we inched our way in. Security volunteers would not let me take in my notebook — “because you could make a sign” (presumably some vile anti-Bernie sign). Being the resourceful type I am, I backed off the line for a bit, tore out one sheet from my spiral book, and stuffed it in my pocket for possible use. Back in line, I handed over the notebook after getting their assurance I could pick it up at this table after the event. (I fretted about that, but afterwards they did have a table full of people’s stuff, mostly water bottles, and my book was there.)

I found a seat on the aisle. The rest of the row filled up with groups of people but the single seat next to me remained open, until a lady came along and asked if it was available. She sat and we talked; she’d just retired a few months ago and was having second thoughts; she’d done all the projects around the house that she had planned and now felt a bit purposeless. I think her business had been high-end furniture or furnishings. Her kids were out on their own lives – I mentioned mine and we found a Maine connection – and she said once the kids go, you get dogs and cats. Well she had me there; one dog and two cats to confess. But happily retired.

A woman came over to interview us but spoke mostly to my neighbor once she learned I was not from New Hampshire. The interviewer asked our names and our ages. I gave mine but told my row-mate that she did not have to disclose her age (suave, right?) and she laughed and said she didn’t mind. So I got to briefly know Terri Mullins, who is 65, and who looks a lot like Glenn Close, though I didn’t say that to her.

Bernie was again preceded by Michael Moore, which was fun; Moore gave a great impression of the young Bernie at an actual 1963 civil rights protest in which Sanders was arrested — “You’re not taking me!” or some such — exactly mimicking Bernie’s present voice; Moore adding “He probably didn’t sound like that in college though.”

Sanders gave a strong, even impassioned, speech. It’s doubtless his standard stump speech, tweaked here and there for the occasion, but his sincerity is palpable. He had the crowd roaring its approval and was interrupted with applause more often than in speechwriters’ fondest dreams.

Before Sanders came on, I noticed a woman on the aisle about four rows in front of me. Mostly I saw the back of her head. She would put her hair up, with a clip, then take it down, then pin it again. Familiar. Could it be? She turned to chat with the woman next to her. They both looked suspiciously Danish. The return of Sigrid! I had told her at the Klobuchar event that we would likely cross paths again, and we had, at Buttigieg’s, but this was too much; the mind reeled at the odds. Perhaps showing up at the same events was not wildly improbable, but being close enough again to recognize her?

Dear readers, I know, I know. At this point, you’re thinking this is just dramatic license, and none too original at that. There is no Sigrid; it’s a cute story, a nightingale dropped in to relieve an otherwise boring epic (or more appropriately, saga). I am reminded of Ulla – if I have the name right – a young Scandinavian woman, a character in Anthony Shaffer’s play Sleuth, with eyes like the frozen lakes of Sweden… but we never get to see Ulla in the play. Is she real, or one more fabrication?

Fortunately I had the means at my disposal to dispel doubt. I explained the predicament to Sigrid; who’d believe I’d run into her again? I had told her about the blog and given her my card with its address. How about a picture? Her lady friend gladly agreed to take it.

So there.

No fake news here.

I find it’s not a good idea to see the dawn. Whether it approaches stealthily at the end of a late night, or it meets me head-on as I rise early from slumber, dawn is a confrontation I rarely win. Far better that I let it slip by unnoticed, and greet the new day at, say, 10:30 or so.

But circumstances rule us all, and late Friday night I was writing. If you pay attention to such details, you may have observed that the piece about Amy Klobuchar et al. was posted at almost 5 a.m. Saturday and the subsequent one, on Pete Buttigieg, at 8:15 a.m. In other words, my plan to finish them and then get some sleep didn’t work, and immediately after finishing the Pete item I had to head out the door for the first event of Saturday. (I’d showered, shaved and dressed before starting the writing, knowing all too well that otherwise I’d probably be forced to skip the ablutions.)

The day’s first event in fact was scheduled to start at 8 o’clock Saturday morning, an ungodly time for any political presentation. Some gruesome sponsors, including the Center for Reproductive Rights, NARAL, and Demand Justice, had put together a forum titled “Our Rights, Our Courts,” at the New Hampshire Technical Institute in Concord, about 25 minutes away. Leaving my abode just after 8:15, I resigned myself to missing the opening speaker, whoever that might be, but it seemed that several candidates were on the agenda.

Thankfully NHTI has about as much parking as JFK airport, and I found a spot and headed into the campus, following people to the correct building. I had pre-registered and got past the welcome desk quickly, but the auditorium itself was at the end of a security gantlet like I’d never seen here: full airport-style metal detectors, a pat-down and the presence of more than a dozen very alert police and state troopers, plus private event security personnel. The candidates themselves didn’t merit such precautions; the topic did. Or at least the organizers were apprehensive enough to take them.

The auditorium was large and it was packed. I was standing on the fringe of the crowd and gradually eased my way to a spot where I could see. The speaker list reflected the importance to the Democratic Party of the abortion lobby (or if you prefer, the pro-choice or women’s reproductive rights movement). In order of appearance, eight candidates would speak: Pete Buttigieg, Andrew Yang, Tom Steyer, Bernie Sanders, Michael Bennet, Amy Klobuchar, Elizabeth Warren, and Deval Patrick. All would swear total fealty to a woman’s right to choose to undergo an abortion, and promise to protect, defend, and in some cases extend, Roe v. Wade.

The photo captures only the inner reaches of the crowd, but gives an idea of the place:

I had missed only some introductory remarks, so I got to see Messrs. Buttigieg, Yang, Steyer, and Sanders speak, before leaving at 11 to reach my next event.

Each candidate in his or her separate turn would make a short opening address, have a ‘conversation’ with the host, Stephanie Ruhle of MSNBC, field one question from HuffPost’s Jennifer Bendery, and then give a short finishing speech.

Given the focus on a single issue I feared the program would be repetitive, but the scope broadened out to the courts in general, and the different styles of the candidates kept it lively.

Pete Buttigieg (in a suit and tie as ever) proposed to increase the size of the Supreme Court. Evidently progressives are fearful that they are (always) just one more Republican appointment away from oblivion. Pete said a structural change to the Court would help. He proposed that some (new) justices could be appointed by unanimous vote of the existing justices. Pete noted we have had different numbers at stages of US history. (And I’d really been thinking rather highly of Pete up to this point; maybe I should just put this somewhat bizarre idea, lifted from FDR’s playbook, down to pandering to a particular audience. But there were about five million reporters and cameras present, so it’s disappointing.)

Andrew Yang (jacket, no tie), whom I’d not seen before, has a wonderfully casual style and a self-deprecating wit. But he too pushed this idea of more justices, noting correctly but irrelevantly that the Constitution does not specify there be nine. Yang said we could have 15, 17 or more! But wait, it gets better: he also proposed that justices serve an 18-year term. (Now we’re talking Constitutional amendment.) On the other hand, he said he’d received a letter from a voter who said she is pro-life and disagrees with his reproductive rights policy, but will vote for him because Yang’s signature proposal – to give $1,000 per month to every American – is the most pro-life program she’d ever heard of, as it would lead to many more women having kids. (Who said this morning would be boring?)

Tom Steyer (no jacket, sleeves rolled up) came next. He’s the toughest candidate I’ve heard, he’s loud, and he’s laser-focused on the political bottom line. “The only question,” he said, “is how to beat Trump and who can beat Trump.” And he’s not aiming at independents or persuadable Republicans. “We need turnout.” The Democrats must “convince people [to vote] who believe the system doesn’t work.”

Bernie Sanders (suit and tie) spoke forcefully as always but used a knife more than a sledgehammer. He pointed out the “hypocrisy” of conservative Republicans who say they want to get government off of people’s backs, but will not keep government out of women’s reproductive rights. In answer to Ms. Ruhle’s question, he acknowledged that the justices’ appointments are for life, although observing that ‘some scholars’ say that only means appointment as a judge; arguably they could be moved off the Supreme Court onto the lower courts. (At least foisting this theory off on ‘some scholars’ seems like a legitimate political dodge.) And he batted away the idea of enlarging the Court: ‘then the next administration would do it too, and the next, and you’d end up with 87 Supreme Court justices.’ This seems an obvious and correct rebuttal.

I had to, shall we say, move on, and left during the interval after Bernie finished, but of course could not get through the exit lobby without being buttonholed by the fourth estate. This one was straight from 1940’s central casting as world-wise but good-natured newsman, lacking only a hat with a press card in the brim. He was Kevin Landrigan, of the Union-Leader, and he told me this was his tenth New Hampshire primary as a reporter. He was actually a nice guy with a sense of humor. I was happy to be able to give him some answers with “goofy” in them.

I was up on Friday by about 8 o’clock as I wanted to see my hosts off. They are traveling for a week or so – first New York for a visit, then London, Mike’s home town.  Their car, Uber or whatever, would come soon.

I washed and dressed and went out to clear my own car of ice, while Mike kindly made me a cup of cappuccino. He clearly is a relaxed traveler, no frenzied packing or searching for a lost phone charger or going through a checklist of passport, tickets etc. as I tend to do. And he and Kim are obviously relaxed in another way: they are leaving me in their house for another four days while they are gone. I know that I’m not going to walk off with anything, but how can they know me well enough after three or four days to agree? Not everything in the house can be bolted down. I haven’t been upstairs, where they live, and have no intention of going there, but downstairs there are various things one could take – kitchen machines, books (who steals books? actually that would be my one temptation) and a very large tv screen that I suppose actually is bolted to the wall.

Mike shows me how to work some things, where to throw out the garbage – if I remember I can put it out Sunday night – how to work the tv and so forth. They are a nice young couple and I am impressed by how light their footprint is, not just in the sense of ‘carbon’ — they do not own a car — but another cultural connection: they do not really have a tv. There is that big screen in the living room, but it does not receive broadcast channels and they don’t have cable. They use only Netflix.  (I don’t exactly understand the workings of Netflix which are doubtless very simple, but I’m ashamed to tell Mike that as he works in the tech industry. So does Kim; she said they are both marketers of some sort, for… processes?)

The house itself is old and lovely. Kim told me it had been renovated before they bought it a couple of years ago. Some of the floors are a bit sloped here and there, but the wood sparkles, and it has old-fashioned high radiators (I’ve found I can put a clean pair of socks on the one in my room and get them nice and toasty before putting them on for the day’s work). The bones are good, as they say, and Kim and Mike have furnished it beautifully and simply. I tell Mike I’m especially enamored of two photos in my bathroom here. They are close-ups of hummingbirds. The bird in each photo is perfectly framed in mid-flight, against an emerald green background; one picture has a pink-purple flower, out of focus, in the background. Always willing to compliment nice people when I can, I ask him if he took the photos himself, but no, he does not recall from whom they got them; “Kim would know.” (How many times have I said exactly that – ‘Pam would know’ – when people ask about objects in our own house? I don’t mean to stereotype gender roles, right here in the middle of a stupefyingly ‘woke’ Democratic primary, but there it is.)

I see them off at the door. As they leave I can’t resist saying “have a good trip, kids” and Kim laughs. I’m still trying to get used to there being fully functional, working adults young enough to be my children.

Afterwards I walk down to the Red Arrow and order an omelet. Naturally, as I’m sitting at the counter waiting for that, I’m asked by someone standing behind me if perhaps would I mind talking with them for a minute? Two someones: a young man with a microphone and a young woman with a smile. I do much better this time. I hear myself saying insightful things, wisely evaluating different candidates, accurately recounting points made by certain ones (Buttigieg, Klobuchar from yesterday) that exemplify or differ from my own views. See? Just give me a day or two to get acclimated and I can spout the same BS as Chris or Rachel or, God forbid, Sean.

It helps that my interviewer’s interest is in foreign relations, not something hard like health insurance, or some topic on which I’m hopelessly reactionary (many). On foreign policy I can criticize Trump from the right – for abandoning the Kurds for example – and not have to pretend I am a reasonable moderate. Of course I don’t know my inquisitor’s agenda, if she has one. When we finish I ask her name and she’s happy to give me her card: Caroline Gray. My daughter is Caroline, I say, and Ms. Gray says something about all the best people. She is a research associate at the Eurasia Group Foundation (never heard of them but they’re in New York City) and she also does a podcast for the EGF called ‘None of The Above.’ That’s a most appealing title, far as I’m concerned, but sheds no light on their position – nor does the podcast’s stated aim of “seeking new answers to America’s foreign policy questions.” If you’re interested, look them up and let me know.

I should mention that there’s a space for online comments to this blog, somewhere below the post. And if you want to email directly, I am Arthur Washington (you’re supposed to know that already) and my email is ajwash@optonline.net.

My food comes and after a while I’m chatting with the guy at the next stool; Andreas is from Germany, here along with his cousin, and their friend Magnus who is, if memory serves, from Norway. They were in Iowa last week, and drove here (!) – real travelers. As we’re finishing we all meet two young women hovering behind us (as is the custom at the Red Arrow for those waiting for seats). These two pals, up together from DC, are Giovanna who is from Italy, and Celia, who is French. We’ve got a regular EU going here. Celia gives me her card (I gallantly give her my blog card, as if I were a real person). Celia Belin is a Visiting Fellow at Brookings, at their Center on the United States and Europe.

I would have lingered with Giovanna and Celia for some time – the hiring Fellows at Brookings are clearly on top of their game – but duty called. The walk back up Lowell was in steady rain and I was a cold drowned rat on my return to the house, and on top of that felt generally afflicted: shivers, headache, lethargy. I had hoped to write some posts, but Pam would tell me to take a nap, so I did.

I was up in time to dress for the Bernie Sanders Debate Watching Party. It was at an indoor sports complex just across the river – ten minutes’ drive – that brought back fond memories of taking James to winter baseball practices. The AstroTurf floor was cleared and filled with rows of folding chairs, a big screen in front, and some refreshments available in back: pizza, Cokes, hot dogs, all the food being a fundraiser for a Little League team. I bought a Coke (my go-to remedy for a headache, which persisted a bit) for a dollar and gave them an extra dollar for their trip. At the word ‘party’ I’d been hoping for a bar – even of course a cash bar – but no such luck. A Coke would do.

Before the debate came on, we all were treated (no sarcasm – he was terrific) to a warm-up harangue from none other than Michael Moore, who is a big Bernie supporter.

Moore is a hunched, slouching, bear. He appeared to have slept in his clothes and Detroit Tigers cap, and is about as far from my politics as, well, Bernie himself, but he is witty, well-read and laugh-out-loud funny. Having seen him, I might even sometime watch one of his film polemics now.

Also before the debate came on, I was interviewed. (Yes this really happens that often in New Hampshire during Primary Week; you almost literally trip over reporters at these events.) This person was Sarah Larsen (Larson?), who writes for The New Yorker, including its online edition. I was awed. She laughed. I told her I would try to speak in complete sentences.

I hope they were good ones. I don’t remember what I said, or even what topics we discussed; surely something about Sanders and the other candidates. The New Yorker! I had arrived!! My headache was gone. I was pleased as punch (homage to Hubert Humphrey whom some of you will remember). And, to my shame, I’m not even a subscriber. Perhaps my words, whatever they were, will live on in some dusty (digital) archive at The New Yorker’s offices. Or maybe they’ll fire Sarah next week for not getting better material. I hope not.

I will not recap the debate. You either saw it, missed it, or avoided it. I will tell you that, feeling revived and cognizant as always of my obligations to history and my vast readership (have I cracked a dozen yet? don’t know) I went home and stayed up doing the posts of Thursday’s events. You can’t let the past days get ahead of you. We actual journalists know that.

Less than half an hour south of Hookset, on the other side of Manchester, is Merrimack, home of American Legion Post 98, on Baboosic Lake Road. Pete Buttigieg was to speak there, doors opening at 2:30. I wanted to get there early as I expected he would draw a big crowd in the wake of his Iowa showing, and how much parking area would a Legion post have? (The candidates’ public events are almost always posted online, with a link to register for them. Although you can show up without having registered, the campaigns like you to sign up so they know how many to expect; however, I don’t believe they ever close registration, so it’s possible you may be among a thousand who come to a venue that holds five hundred.)

The campaign staff had wisely picked a spot across the street from a high school that had parking. I still had not learned to resist the first lot I came to, so I drove around in it and confirmed it was indeed full. Possibly the cars exiting that lot as I drove in might have tipped me off; instead, they had filled me with certainty that I’d park in one of the spots they surely must have just vacated. How dumb is that? (Rhetorical.) But I did take satisfaction, as I drove out, in seeing other cars pulling into the same lot. I did not attempt to warn them.

Finally getting a spot in an auxiliary lot about 37 miles away, I walked back and into the (small) parking lot of the Legion post itself where I was amused to see a driver, straight in off the road, arguing with a campaign volunteer over why he couldn’t just park right there in front. I joined a line of people inching their way toward the entrance door. Volunteers for Pete were talking with groups of four or five people at a time, asking them questions and tapping data, presumably, onto tablets. When they finished with a group it was admitted to the entrance.

Eventually I was close enough to the front that a volunteer came over, tablet in hand. I gave him my name and as he started to type, I said I had signed up online the night before, in case that helped. His joy was unbridled. “That makes it really easy” he said, and my name came up with all the information they wanted. (Address, phone, email, pets’ names, blood type, credit card numbers — so they can ask you for donations two or three times a day for the next five months. And ask you to volunteer so you can in turn beg all your friends to donate. I should start using a fake name.)

Once inside the outer door, it still took ten minutes to get inside the event room, which was up a short flight of stairs and through another door — the crowd oozed along, squeezing into a space that already was full. Again, media across the whole back end of the room, through which we entered, and almost no place to go from there. Up front, there was a ten-foot-square clearing, holding a stool with a mike on it, surrounded on four sides with folding chairs full of people and folks standing behind them. I wiggled toward an edge of the seating and stood tightly with others. A camera crew advanced on us from behind and told us we were blocking their view. Tough. I got First Amendment rights too buddy, so buzz off. They grumbled and retreated.

The theme for Pete’s speech was veterans, and many of them were in the front couple of rows surrounding the ‘stage.’ Both of the warmup speakers were vets, the first a lovely (female) Marine officer, the second a grizzled but dynamic Army guy.

And then Pete Buttigieg comes bounding in and is met with a roar. He launches into his speech, how he rolled out his veterans’ program right here in New Hampshire; how this state famously makes up its own mind, so he knows his win in Iowa (Look at me! I won!) doesn’t buy him anything here; how we need a president who has served, and respects the weight of the decision to commit troops or not.

He gets big applause from the vets for a promise to straighten out communications between the Department of Defense and the Veterans’ Administration; evidently medical and other records get garbled or lost a lot, to see the response to this item.

He speaks at a perfect pace, not too slow or too fast; the emphasis is right, the energy is right, he looks at you, doesn’t hesitate for words — and it seems spontaneous. Watching and hearing him up close, I never think this is the product of careful prep and practice, even though rationally I know it must be. He is, by diligent application or innate talent (probably some of each) a gifted speaker.

There are moments of eloquence: he asserts that veterans’ benefits are not a favor, they are the return of the promise the vets made to us – “they wrote a blank check to the people of the United States” when they served. And “Politics is not just local, it is personal.” How when he got into a vehicle in Afghanistan to ‘run an errand,’ none of his fellow soldiers cared who was liberal or conservative, Democrat or Republican, white or black; they just wanted to know that each could and would protect the others.

All of this is standard stuff, especially on paper, but powerful and meaningful in person.

He takes a few questions. The first is not a question but praise for Pete’s recent comment that if someone (i.e. Mr. Trump) has a problem with Pete’s sexual orientation he should not take it up with “me, but with my Creator.” The audience member hopes Pete will get to share a debate stage with Trump and hit him with that. Buttigieg takes the moment to add the line that “God is not a member of any political party.”

A questioner asks about his healthcare plan. Pete says it is “Medicare for all who want it.” You can keep your private plan if you wish to. He estimates the cost at $1.5 trillion over ten years and says he will pay for it from two sources: “rolling back the Trump tax cut for big corporations” and “allowing negotiation of the prices of prescription drugs.” (Better heads than I can opine on whether the cost estimate is accurate, and whether those two steps are likely to cover it.)

Someone asks about trade relations with the UK after Brexit. Pete says that “not everything is either a revolution or you’re for the status quo,” explaining that he is neither for pure free trade, which he notes hurt South Bend, nor for trade wars, which hurt American consumers. Some issues demand nuance and balance, and that’s one of them, he says. It’s an eminently reasonable position, although not very enlightening.

One vet asks for any specific items Pete learned in Kabul that would help a commander in chief. Pete starts out saying that when he arrived there, he still had his mayor’s hat on – he was serving as mayor of South Bend when called up as a reservist – so he saw that a city, like Kabul, must provide the basics to its people, like power and safe water, or there is chaos. Then he shifts to say he learned the importance of keeping a sense of humor in stressful circumstances.

I detect he’s not satisfied with his response so far, but then he finds the right tone: the third thing he mentions is a sense of humility. ‘The officers don’t eat until the enlisted men have.’ And, without mentioning the Bible or Jesus, he ties this to the moral that the one who would lead must be the servant of all.

During his talk I sometimes look at the reaction of the audience, including one lady about ten feet to my right, when she’s not blocked from me. It is of course Sigrid, who’s here with some of the Danes. She is nodding her head and clapping. I make eye contact once and wave hi, and get a surprised smile back.

Pete does not stay for selfies with more than a few people; he’s off to the next event. For those interested in tracking such things, his exit music is Creedence: Up Around The Bend.

My first official event Thursday was a visit at noon to the World Affairs Council’s ‘conversation with Amy Klobuchar.’ The Council is based at Southern New Hampshire University, located next door to Manchester in the town of Hookset. Google’s driving instructions took me to the first parking lot on campus, which naturally was full, so I parked in one closer to an athletic field. The event however was a quarter mile away and if I hadn’t asked a guy in a campus security van where the right building was, I could have wandered indefinitely: there was no stream of would-be voters marching from those parking lots to the venue.  When I got there, noon on the dot, I saw that the building possessed its very own parking lot.  Note to campaign advance staff: do not assume folks are familiar with the SNHU campus; put up some signs.

Inside, however, things were cheery – I was greeted, asked to sign my name, offered a cup of coffee, and given a nice green “Amy” button.  (Both Senator Klobuchar and Mayor Buttigieg run on their first names, as people can pronounce Amy and Pete.) 

The room held a couple of hundred and all the seats were taken.  Behind the last row of chairs, the back of the room was filled with media pros and all their equipment.  I skirted around and through them and ended up standing against the side wall, pretty close to the front.  There was a single row of chairs against the side wall, all filled, and I stood next to the last of these.  It was occupied by a blonde woman, in her late 30’s.  After a couple minutes operating her cellphone, she looked up at me — appraisingly, of course; I often dazzle women in this way.  I gave her a modest smile. Then she said, “Would you like to have my seat?”  Ah.  Once again I had been mistaken for some elderly person.  I replied with as much dignity as possible that I was fine standing and mentioned casually that I played tennis three times a week.  I think she even apologized.

Being now redeemed in each other’s eyes, we talked a bit while waiting for the senator.  (At these events you can count on the candidate to show up at least half an hour after the stated time, and usually an hour later.)  Her name was Sigrid Rasmussen; she is from Denmark.  She didn’t mind my writing it down and using it, and she was impressed I spelled it right without her spelling it for me.  (She said she’d stopped telling people here her first name, because they thought she was telling them it was a “secret.”)  She is here with about 25 fellow Danes, looking up close at American politics.  I learned they are not a university group or a business group, but I never quite determined how the group had coalesced, as at this point our speakers were entering.

The World Affairs Council, as one might wildly guess, focuses on world affairs, so this would be a talk on foreign policy and defense.  (Although I should note the Council is nonpartisan and doesn’t endorse candidates.)  I was glad because I like that stuff and you don’t get much of it, especially from Democratic candidates, in the usual stump speech. 

After preliminaries, a former ambassador to Saudi Arabia under Obama, Jim Smith, warmed us up. Then Sen. Klobuchar was introduced by retired Brigadier General Kevin Ryan, a West Pointer who’d specialized in air defense, is an expert on Russia and nuclear non-proliferation, and is now think-tanking at a Harvard school.  I admit this spells credibility in my eyes.  The general had harsh words for the current commander in chief but is pals with Amy.

Amy started off with some history, to say that New Hampshire has had an international role: the Treaty of Portsmouth ended the Russo-Japanese War courtesy of Teddy Roosevelt, and the Bretton Woods conference in 1944 set up the modern international finance system.   I thought this a nice touch, not only stoking some local pride but inserting the implication that the current president likely does not know of either of these events. 

She noted that we need foreign trade, and that isolation breeds security risks. She asked rhetorically how walking away from the Kurds made America greater, and more broadly said the president has been taking the US out of promises we had made; we need a strong NATO and to be supportive of it, but also we need to bring our troops back from Afghanistan. She recounted trips she had made with late Sen. John McCain to Middle East spots, to the Baltic states, to Ukraine. She supports the Mexico-US-Canada trade agreement, and wants us to join the international accord on climate change.

Amy took five questions from the audience. The first concerned working with a potentially Republican-controlled Senate. Her answer was too long, but included her own record of success in the ‘reddest districts’ including Michelle Bachman’s, her own appeal to independents, and her good relationship (despite policy differences) with McCain and Sen. Lindsay Graham. (Two favorites of your faithful Neocon reporter.)

The second question was, I felt, the highlight of her talk. She was asked – by a person who belonged to some organization seeking nuclear rollback – to affirm that she favored a policy of “no first use” of nuclear weapons, which according to the questioner some of her competitors have espoused. Amy declined. She said that the top priority of a president is to keep America safe, and she does not want to limit our ability to respond to a wide array of potential situations, including cyber attacks and attacks on the power grid; accordingly she does not support a currently proposed bill that would bar our ability to first use such weapons.

This answer went against the expected grain; it was unequivocal, was obviously the result of serious thought on the issue, and was delivered without hesitation. And showed the recognition that in certain vital areas, the president’s words matter beyond politics and cannot be subject to denial, reversal on a whim, or self-contradiction. (Many of Trump’s remarks and behaviors are exasperating, upsetting or even outrageous, depending on your politics, but his mercurial foreign policy is dangerous.)

The other questions concerned Venezuela, Native Americans, and African refugees, respectively, and the element of ‘humanitarian aid’ was part of each answer.

For this hour the senator was sensible, sincere and prepared. She hesitated in her speech sometimes as she searched for the right word. (Not to try to remember a word – see Joe Biden – but to choose the right one.) She was not, in this setting, transcendent or inspiring, fiery or especially humorous. She is Midwestern. She probably will have to up her game to compete with the field, but I’d bet she is smart enough to do that, although she’ll never be a stemwinder. She did pick up on the Danish visitors in the crowd – lots of Scandinavians in Minnesota, after all – and made a joke to them about a visit she’d made to a farm there (lots of pigs, only one horse; don’t ask). But she seemed the kind of person you would grow to like and admire more and more, the longer you knew her. In that respect, the opposite of the man she seeks to replace.

The campaign trail here is not too big a world: I told Sigrid I expected to see her around. She was naturally delighted.