Saving Graces - Elizabeth Edwards [105]
As 2003 approached, there was a deadline of sorts: money raised in 2003 could be matched by federal funds, and if he wanted to run, an early 2003 announcement made the most economic sense. Andrew Young in Raleigh arranged for office space, should it be needed, and phone service, should it be needed, and a website, should it be needed, all to be available at the first of the year. Prospective staff, John Robinson for example, did not take other jobs, waiting to see what John would decide. Over Christmas, the staff called our house at least hourly. No, no decision yet. After Christmas, John and I talked. He had what he needed from other people. He needed now to consult himself, away from them, away from me, away from the children. He went to the beach for three days. Still the staff called hourly. Still my answer was the same. I wanted to end their misery, but I honestly didn’t know. This was the presidency; I wanted him to ask himself every question he needed to about whether he was doing this for the right reasons, about whether he knew he could do this, because in the end it would be a solitary job. And I had told him I was with him whatever he decided.
CHAPTER 11
AMERICA, THE PRIMARIES
The Pitch
THERE CAN’T BE that much suspense in this: John decided to run. The announcement was January 2nd, so that January 1st we could first tell our friends, who gathered that day in our backyard. The press assembled on the street surely knew what John had decided when the cheer went up, but the public announcement was the next morning on the Today show. Our dining room became a television studio so that John could announce his decision and I could sit by him in support. After the show, John spoke to the press. I looked around the kitchen, and the staff had done what Wade’s friends had always done: they had eaten everything remotely edible. My car was parked next door, so I slipped out and drove to Panera to get more breakfast food. As I walked out with two large bags, a woman nicely helped me with the door. When I turned around to thank her, she had this look on her face: Didn’t I just see you on…? Yes, I smiled back.
I made rules for the campaign. I didn’t want the staff to ask John to do what he wouldn’t normally do. Yes, he could walk to the creek with the children—he did that all the time. He could make pancakes, his Saturday-morning specialty, but he couldn’t flip them on a stage. He doesn’t wear hats much, so no hats. And—there was never any argument about this one—no costumes. Win as John or lose as John. That was sometimes easier said than done. Preparation for candidate debates was the worst, as some smart someone would come up with a line they particularly liked—and usually John liked it, too. Bruce Reed and Harrison Hickman were particularly clever. But then the whole debate preparation would be about how to get that line in. The experienced voices said that the after-debate analysis would turn on a sound bite, so John tried to use the chosen line. It wasn’t until he stopped trying and was just John that he finally saw his support grow. It was a lesson he would not forget. Politics is not so different from other interaction; we sense the genuine and reject the manufactured, even when the manufactured is cleverly packaged.
The calendar was simple. In 2003, John would raise money and campaign in Iowa, where the first caucuses would be held, New Hampshire, where the first primaries would be held, and a collection of states—South Carolina, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona—that would follow. At first he did most of it on his