Friday morning dawned cold. Someone had poured coffee out the front door of the inn; it froze before it could slide down the gentle grade of the sidewalk. And we were going out in this?
After minor confusion surrounding the location, we were in line for our first event: Obama, just hours after his victory in Iowa. We were nervous. We weren’t from New Hampshire, so how would they react? Would there be Secret Service or – probably worse – volunteer staff at the door verifying our Granite State credentials? We were somewhat consoled by the Maine license plates in the parking lot, but only a little.
This was part of the bigger question, really. Did those involved in the First Primary racket guard the system in person as passionately as they did in the press? Moreover, were the candidates so desperate for votes that they would view us as wasting their time? I didn’t want to end up in jail my first day of my first trip to the Northeast.
Eventually, once our joints had frozen nearly solid, we were shuffled into the Pan Am hangar that was hosting the rally. We ran a gauntlet of volunteers trying to collect names, phone numbers, and email addresses (we had memorized the phone number for a local pizzeria whose menu was included in the inn’s welcome package) into a vast open area that probably was normally used for 747 storage. With thousands of people pushing through the line, even the dozens of volunteers couldn’t check the veracity of everyone’s claims.
A stage with a lone podium and bleachers was set up on the longest wall. Barricades kept the crowd a few feet away. The sun was rising across a small series of windows near the high ceilings behind it. A huge American flag had been hung from the ceiling behind the stage such that it billowed like a sail in the sunlight. The effect mirrored the rising sun in Obama’s campaign signs: change for America dawning on the horizon. A chorus of supporters soon gathered in the bleachers in the shade of the flag, waving signs and leading the crowd in chants.
The air cackled with the hum of the crowd. The electric energy of the moment tickled the air as the people around us talked about what they’d done to get there. The teenagers behind me had skipped school. In front of me, two Hispanic men pointed to the cameras and joked that they “hoped the boss wasn’t watching the news this morning” as they had called in sick. Toward the end of the event, a woman with them nervously and repeatedly asked for the time, saying she had to get to work soon.
But in the same breath, she always promised she wasn’t leaving until it was over.
Overwhelmingly white, the crowd wasn’t going anywhere either. When Obama finally took the stage, we were pushed forward several feet – as if we were seeing Bono, not Obama.
I didn’t have a clear favorite as I waited for Obama to speak. All I expected from him was ear candy: sweet sounding platitudes about hope that implied grand change but offered little course for it.
I was buoyed by his speech. It wasn’t angry, but it had passion. It was hopeful, but with tangible goals. Hope did not mean naivety, he claimed. Instead, it was the mechanism America used to look to the future in order to leave it a better place. He talked about the difficulties he found as a young law school graduate, when he worked as an organizer for a non-profit group that tried to lift people out of poverty. The passion of his desire to make the world a better place was infectious, and it lifted you up with the belief that you could make a difference for other people. He did this by emphasizing all that we can do – each one of us listening. Hope and change may spring from him, he implied, but they were realized only through the efforts of the entire nation.
Even hoarse from the victory the night before and the subsequent cross-country journey, Obama spoke with all the inspiration the conventional wisdom claimed. And while he was light on details, he did offer some policy prescriptions – reform health care, methodically leave Iraq, etc. – that would leave the average Democratic voter as convinced by his plans as they were by his rhetoric.
And many of them were. As he ended his speech, and the crowd surged forward to shake his hand, or say a few words, or even be momentarily in the same personal space as the invigorating Illinois Senator, many shouted that they were convinced. Accepting the premise of the rally, the signs that had flanked the stage, and the message of the speech, they had changed their minds. Barack Obama was their man to facilitate change.
And I have to admit — I was ready to turn my back on the rest of the trip to volunteer for his campaign. But as we drove away, the sun warming the frigid air just a tiny bit, my passion cooled. My emotional core, drawn so quickly and surreptitiously to Obama, still believed in his ability to win in November and to make a difference in the White House. But even after reading his website and seeing him in person, I wasn’t convinced he had the attention to detail the Presidency requires after 8 years of a laissez-faire attention to the little things.
So on we went, still unconvinced, but definitely moved, to see the most recent great President.
