We spent about 15 minutes wandering through the back alleys of Manchester near Elm Street looking up for any sign of the Ron Paul for President headquarters to no avail. Paul had the most lawn signs posted across the state in our unscientific counting, but his Manchester office was apparently a well kept secret. He is the true rock star persona in this campaign, so this was a big disappointment for us. Someday a Ron Paul for President button might fetch a fair price on eBay, but it was not to be. We're off to Hillaryville! We're pretty sure that will be easier to find.
The Clinton headquarters was very close to Edwards, maybe 10 blocks. Her office was tucked behind some trees off Elm Street towards the river in a miniature business park. There was no missing this one - a huge "New Hampshire for Hillary" sign graced the building front. I waited in the car to jot down some notes about our day thus far, and Marra insisted on jumping out to take a picture. I had been pretty stingy with the camera, not allowing her to take anywhere near as many pictures as she had wanted. It's hard to break the habit of worrying about running out of film, even when we've had a digital camera for years. So I let her go ahead.
She was back in moments. "There were some women watching me when I was taking the picture." "Of course there were," I thought to myself. "They think you're a spy from the Obama camp." I guess when you believe you are the inevitable nominee and odds on favorite to be the next President of the United States, it never hurts to breed a little paranoia amongst the worker bees. More members of the vast right and left conspiracies coming to photograph the operation.
As we walked in the front door, there were two women spray painting pro-Hillary bedsheets for some future rally backdrop. The entire enclosed entryway smelled of the toxic fumes. Surely the Senator from New York wouldn't allow even the undocumented among us exposure to such poisons in an enclosed space. Maybe we should film this blatant OSHA violation and sell it to the highest GOP bidder (unless Edwards was interested first). The poor paint crew seemed happy enough, though, and they directed us up a staircase to the main office. Maybe they were too happy. We hoped they'd still be breathing when we returned.
At the top of the stair, we were in Hillaryville. Pink walls and signs, signs, signs everywhere. Two women were pouring over a computer screen discussing either Hillary's plan for world peace or the correct font for their on-screen flier. Based on the intensity of their focus, could have been either one. A tall woman with straight black hair emerged from behind a wall of signs to intercept us. She introduced herself as Katie Sullivan, the head of this field office for the campaign. I say the "head" because her exact title and authority was unclear, but she did take charge of Marra and me. Once again, I told our amazing story of traveling 600 miles from Virginia just to see the candidates and process up close, and accepted their sincere "oohs" and "ahhs" and "that's so cool"s.
Believe it or not, that was about it. No one was interested in engaging us in policy discussion. No one seemed interested in giving us a quick tour. There were uncomfortable silences, like we were on some kind of blind date that wasn't working out so well. We had had such luck with all the other office visits, good conversations. We both felt like we learned some at each stop. Not so here. I asked if I could take Marra's picture at one of the desks, and Katie readily agreed. I asked for a campaign sign, and they had none to spare. That's a good thing, I thought. It means they are being used to drum up buzz and support. I'll bet the Dodd camp wishes they had the same problem. They had enough extra signs to line the road all the way to Des Moines and back.
We told the staffers that we would be following Hillary's itinerary the next day, beginning with her policy speech at the Manchester YWCA, and they smiled, "Great!" OK, I guess you're busy, so we left down the stairs. As we descended, I pointed out to Marra the large black and white head shot of Hillary facing us. Marra said, "It looks like Princess Diana." And it did. It was, frankly, kind of eerie to have this large glamour shot portrait staring us down as we left the office. I could have sworn the eyes were following us. Stereotypically Orwellian.
The ladies at the bottom of the stairs had stepped away from the painted sheets, hopefully inhaling some of that delicious, crisp New Hampshire fall air. After that visit, I think we all needed to breath some fresh air.
Once in the car, Marra commented, "There were all women working for Hillary."
"There were women in the Romney office, too," I replied.
"Yes, but they didn't speak."
Another feminist victory.
JS
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