The Shut Out

It has been said that bad things come in threes. The first "bad" thing was that we went to the Little Gym appearance for Hillary and were shut out. Her schedule on the Internet for the day did not indicate that the appearance was a closed event, but no matter. We drove to see her for the second time that day, all for nothing. It was still worth the chance, and there were two Clinton events left for the day. Marra and I both felt we were cheated that afternoon, but piled back into the van for the house party.

Then we got lost - "bad" thing #2.

I was OK with the unfortunate turn of events. We had extra time, we had a full tank of gas, it was a gorgeous day, and we weren't hopelessly lost - just slightly misguided. I had some optimism. Marra was not as optimistic. "Daddy, where are we going? Are you sure you know?" She had a tone of exasperation in her voice. The girl wanted to see the Senator again and wave her new sign. I was an obstacle for her. I tried to set a positive male role model example for her by stopping for directions at a roadside convenience store. We were back on track quickly thereafter, but we (I) had wasted at least 20 minutes with the unexpected detour.

It was a 45 minute drive to the house party. The scenery is best described as rolling countryside. The leaves were in brilliant shades of amber and deep red - peak colors dulled only slightly by the lack of rainfall recently. It was just beginning to approach dusk, when the lights cast mild shadows and the leaves reflect the sun right into your eyes. I was getting tired of driving, and most of the CDs we had brought were into a second rotation. We were having one of those moments thinking, "What are we doing here?"

We drove about a mile into a sparse woods, our view punctuated by spectacular homes with wrap around porches, stables, and long driveways with tall pine canopies. The members of the middle class probably clean these houses for a living. The smell of old money hung heavy in the air.

We had to park on the side of the road in a ditch to be sure that oncoming traffic wouldn't crash into our rear bumper. We had no idea how far a walk we had in store. We only knew that we couldn't park any closer. We were even that sure where the event was. We crawled out of the car and started walking towards the other parked cars. This looked like it was going to be pretty crowded, and I was worried that we wouldn't be able to get very close to Hillary.

As we turned up the gravel driveway, we could see the house straight ahead. Yellow with green trim, and it did not look that big from the front. It had to be sitting on several private acres, however. I was certain that an Irish Setter would come bounding down the drive at any moment to complete the picture.

No Irish Setter, but a buttoned up young lady in a tailored blue suit holding a clipboard bounded toward us. She had a friendly smile but a tight bun in her hair that was all business. "May I help you?" We were about 10 yards from the house.

"Sure, we're here for the house party." Apparently, it was time for bad thing #3.

"I'm sorry, this party is invitation only." I was exasperated, and I started whining. I launched into our story of 800 miles of driving, seeing all the candidates, going to events all week without incident or invitation. "The posted schedule on the Internet did not indicate that an invitation was required, and your campaign posted that schedule." I fibbed a little there. "We've told several staffers that we were planning to come this afternoon and not one mentioned that an invitation was required." That was not a fib. Someone could have stopped us before we had come this far.

I could not see Marra's face, but the woman bouncer must have seen something in her eyes. "Look, my name is Sarah Nolan, and I am the Political Director for the campaign. Take one of my business cards to the Town hall meeting in Salem tonight, and they'll be sure to seat in in the front row. Sorry about the confusion."

I was satisfied. For me, the trip to this invite only party paid off. We'd be front row for the second event of the day!

Marra and I thanked her, and as we started to leave, the Secret Service stopped us cold. "You'll need to wait a few minutes, sir." Hillary was arriving up the driveway in a thunder of 5 black Suburbans. We could not see which truck was carrying her, but I am sure that was intentional. The whole arrival was very tightly controlled, very presidential. It's impressive when you need 5 secured vehicles to go anywhere safely.

Hillary must have been in the first Suburban, because we heard her voice greeting the hosts of the party around the corner from where we were standing perfectly still. We did not want to arouse the suspicions of the agents. This was the 3rd time we had seen some of these agents today, and it is their job to remember shady characters like us. In a moment, her voice was gone and she was in the house surrounded by cheering supporters. We were out in the cold, free to leave.

Walking back down the driveway with the sounds of applause echoing in our ears, Marra lost it. I don't know how else to put it. The waves of audible sobbing came pouring out, part disappointment, part anger. "The house parties are the best part. Why can't we stay?" she cried. She could hardly walk straight. Four full days of chasing history in New Hampshire had finally caught up to her. She was fading fast. My mature traveling companion had reverted back to her chronological age of 11.

I attempted to fix the situation with reason. "Marra, because we came here, we will have front row seats for the Town Hall tonight. It's all working out for the best. We've seen Hillary already, and we have her picture. It's OK."

No, it wasn't OK. She was inconsolable, and that brought my disappointment and fatigue to the surface. I was ready to lose it, too. "Marra," I threatened, "I have seen everything I had planned to see. We can head back to Virginia tonight. Pull it together, or we can just go home." Idle threats against an overly emotional preteen. Not exactly textbook parenting, but it had been a long 4 days. Perhaps there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. I felt the entire experience of father-daughter bonding was melting away in one explosive episode of tears and shouts.

We walked to the car in a few minutes of silence. "Marra," I broke the mood, "Maybe we've had too much togetherness for one week, what so you think?" She quietly agreed. I apologized, and we drove to Salem listening to Hanna Montana. She'll cheer us up.

One more event and our journey is complete. How could anything go wrong? We were going to be sitting in the front row, and we had a sign. Hopefully, these directions are good...

JS