Saving Graces - Elizabeth Edwards [126]
I have known Hargrave McElroy since the summer of 1981, when we both moved into the same apartment building in Raleigh. In her self-effacing way, I suspect she would describe herself as medium. Medium height, medium brown hair, a medium to slight build. That would only describe her when she is still, and she is never still. She has life and joy about her; she’s the kind of friend who, when you are in your fifties, will still get tickled at the prospect of the two of you buying matching pajamas in Target, which we did late one night when I had left my pajamas in the previous night’s hotel. Only she looked prettier in them than I ever could.
Twenty-five years ago, when John and I came from Nashville to John’s new job at Tharrington, Smith & Hargrove, we lived across the hall from one another in the same apartment building. Hargrave and her husband, Rick, had come from Buies Creek, North Carolina. She was a lawyer for the Army Corps of Engineers. The complex in which we lived was in the process of turning leased units into residential hotel apartments, and not only were our apartments not yet renovated, they were in terrible condition. The air-conditioning was unreliable, the pipes would back up, bugs were a constant problem. I had been there alone with Wade, who turned two that summer, while John worked. When the McElroys pulled up and started unloading little boys’ toys into the apartment across the hall from ours, I was—it is not overstating it—euphoric. And a little pathetic. As they unpacked, I quizzed them.
Where are you from? Originally South Carolina. Oh, my husband was born there.
What do you do? We are both lawyers. So are we!
You must have children with all these toys. Twin boys.
How old? Almost a year and a half. We have a two-year-old!
I don’t think I actually said Please be our friends, but I honestly might have. We had a lot of friends in Raleigh, but they had jobs that kept them busy the same hours that John was busy.
Whether I asked or not, we did become friends. Our boys carved pumpkins together, shopped for Christmas trees together, bathed together while we made popcorn and watched a movie in the next room. Hargrave’s husband and I, now pregnant with Cate, were looking for jobs, and both families were trying to save money for a house. It was like living in a dorm, no money and hand-me-down furniture, except in our version, there were children. We became so close that when, after my water broke at the Ringling Brothers circus and I went to the hospital to deliver Cate, Wade spent the night with the McElroys. Naturally we asked Hargrave to be Cate’s godmother. And naturally I wanted Hargrave’s sensible, wise, and patient presence with me for the campaign.
We picked up the second member of our troop when I was in New York looking for something to wear to the convention. In between shopping, Laura Efurd scheduled an interview for me with an extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily tall young woman. She had spectacular credentials, but that’s not what I was looking at. It was someone else’s job to make sure she had the skills to be my press secretary. I needed to find out if I could spend four months in close quarters with her. The interview lasted as long as a cup of coffee, but if she would take the job, I knew immediately I wanted Karen Finney with me. Even if she seemed a full foot taller than I.
The final slot was not filled until the campaign train trip in August. I was introduced to Ryan Montoya, who had coordinated the train stop in Las Vegas, New Mexico—he even had a building repainted that would be the backdrop for the stop. Nick Baldick called me from Washington. Ryan’s the best, he said; the only question was whether I would like him. It was a five-minute interview. I said, Tell me a little bit about yourself. He did. Thinking of the campaign songbooks, I asked, Can you sing? He was hesitant, but he said Yes. So I said, Great! See you next week.
Ryan had a lot of experience.