Just finished watching the residents of Dixville Notch, New Hampshire vote in their traditional first-in-the-nation primary. Wesley Clark was the proud victor with eight votes. Watching the hooplah from home, I wish I were still there. My twenty-four hour stint in the Granite State was tremendous. Two Monday Crimson articles came of my efforts, one dispatch surveying the whole primary scene and the other focusing on student canvassers for John Edwards. (I suppose I should subject myself to same critical commentary to which I have subjected the major political journalists, but I guess that's really a job for someone else. Comments? I've already heard objections to my use of polling.) In any event, what follows is a diary from the campaign trail, written from my notes at the end of my 700-mile journey.

6:58 a.m.—Route 3, Entering New Hampshire
One would venture to describe the entire state of New Hampshire as bucolic if the description wouldn't so assuredly offend the residents here. Vermont is bucolic. New Hampshire is . . . independent. Indeed, while this state is home to more Republicans than Democrats, independents outnumber them both.

And while the political world focuses so much attention here in the week leading up to the primary, this is not a particularly political state. The staffers and volunteers who have occupied abandoned storefronts in New Hampshire's major cities appear to have landed here rather than arrived. Even the ubiquitous signage—the lawn signs, the banners, the buttons—bears a real temporary quality to it. And, you know, the signage isn't even that ubiquitous. On the tertiary roads here, a spattering of houses will declare their allegiance to Joe Lieberman or John Kerry or whomever, but most do not participate. The television cameras shoot images of Elm Street in Manchester, where campaign headquarters butt up against one another. (CNN has a particularly good vantage point from its offices across the river.) But Elm Street—and Main Street in Nashua—are anomalies.

To the vast majority of residents here, the biggest news story of the past twelve months was the collapse of the Old Man in the Mountain, not this primary. And while Clark advocates a "new American patriotism," most people are more focused on the New England Patriots. (One Edwards volunteer in Nashua, though, told me the New Hampshire primary season is "the Super Bowl of politics.") But on Route 3, the main thoroughfare between Nashua, Manchester, and Concord, I'm listening to Underworld's "Born Slippy" off the Trainspotting soundtrack and shuttling towards my assignment—to cover this whole phenomenon. The sun is up now (it wasn't when I left my aunt's house in Sterling, Massachusetts), and the temperature is rising to the low single digits.

7:19 a.m.—Fire and Police Station, Auburn, New Hampshire
As I pull up to the newly-renovated fire and police station here, I'm wondering what it takes to get a New Hampshire resident up and out of the house at seven in the morning on a Saturday. (The Kerry rally I planned to attend after Clark was pushed from 8:30 to 9:00, and I figured they were hoping to attract a larger crowd with a later start time. Turns out Kerry is the Clinton of this primary race, always arriving late to his engagements, so his staffers were probably just giving the senator some cushion time in moving the event back thirty minutes.) At this early hour, you have primarily the hardcore supporters. An Oldsmobile which parked right in front of me bore the New Hampshire vanity license plates, "WES WING." The driver, a veteran, told me Clark is "a good man, an honest man, a military man." And, as I found, that's about all anyone can say about the candidate.

Other people were surely there for the food, although the pancaked left something to be desired in the middle. This was no fine-dining experience. Half-gallon jugs of Aunt Jemima's, styrofoam cups, orange juice, coffee, non-dairy creamer. The focus of this sort of event is not the on-site entertainment, but the image for those viewers at home who stayed out of the cold on their Saturday morning. For them, Clark campaign volunteers brought "homemade" signs to be distributed among the attendees. "See these cameras?" one volunteer said to another. "We got to get these signs in front of them." When Clark's wife, Gert, began introducing her husband, a camerman yelled out and interrupted her so that she could be positioned more visibly for the folks at home.

As for the print journalists, I noticed Adam Nagourney standing in the back and wondered why he had made the trip to Auburn for a run-of-the-mill Clark event. Turns out he was writing a lead story on independent voters for Sunday's New York Times, but his Clark quote came straight from the former general's stump speech, so it's still not entirely clear to me why he was there. Other print journalists—and even more so this guy from NPR who I didn't recognize—have a nasty habit of interviewing "regular people" at these kind of campaign events. The ley quotes add color to their stories, I suppose, but they are of little service to readers. (One acknowledgement of the futility of this practice by reporters who engage in it is their tendency to shove such quotes at the end of their story, where journalists love to leave interesting or funny—but ultimately useless—nuggets.)

And I got this sense over the course of the day that some people at these rallies hang around a little longer after the candidate is finished, hoping they will be interviewed by a reporter in search of "the pulse of the street" or whatever. One man wearing an Edwards sticker at this breakfast was mobbed by three members of the press before Clark arrived. I must admit to interviewing and quoting a former Howard Dean supporter at the Kerry rally of later that morning. My defense: he was a Harvard graduate who recalled his college days campaigning for McCarthy in 1968, which made for a terrific—if unfair—parallel to Dean. (My dad, however, has already objected to my description in The Crimson of McCarthy's campaign as "doomed." That's a fair point, considering his arguable effect on the national sentiment towards the war, and I would say that certainly applies to Dean's seemingly "doomed" campaign this year. More than a few liberal pundits have given due credit to Dean for inspiring his opponents to fiercely challenge President Bush on the trail.)

When Clark arrived at the large firehouse garage here, the place was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The fire marshal told me he was worried the event was in violation of his own capacity regulations. They had already moved out the town's only fire truck to accomodate all the people. I wondered what they would do if a fire broke out in town. The fire marshal assured me they were prepared. I breathed a sigh of relief for the residents of Auburn, although it appeared as though they were all here.

Clark, for his part, was either well-off his game or he doesn't have much of a game at all. His pancake-flipping skills were nonexistent. Truly poor skills. I know Clark says he's not a politician, but you have to know how to flip a fucking pancake. That's just a prerequisite for the campaign trail. So, in my view, the former general (although his staffers refer to him as "the general") began the event with a disappointing performance. Clark's stump speech was equally disappointing. He has an effective bit about family values, which he uses to turn on Republican failures on healthcare, education, and the like, but the speech is noticably lacking substance. This is true, for the most part, of all the Democrats and the incumbent president, but Clark's words ring particularly hollow.

I should have expected as much from a candidate whose events are adorned with signs which simply say, "Patriot." This is the Clark platform: a "new American patriotism" and a "higher standard of leadership." When I heard the same stump speech again at a fundraising dinner that night, I was viscerally perturbed. The man's campaign is exceptionally thin. No wonder Clark's only response to a questioner at the breakfast who asked him the difference between him and Kerry was that same bullshit about Kerry only having been a lieutenant.

Clark's chief speech writer, Josh Gottheimer, explained to me over the phone that his candidate's stump speech is based on Clark's most recent tour of the South. Hopefully, the other Democrats will not stoop so low in South Carolina. In New Hampshire, at least, the crowd appeared to only be partially buying the whole routine. And this was a group mostly of supporters. They seemed listless at times and certainly weren't into the whole cheering deal, which Clark's young volunteers tried to inspire on a few occasions. A husband and wife wearing matching yellow fleece jackets stood stonefaced throughout the entire speech.

10:16 a.m.—New Hampshire Technical College, Concord, New Hampshire
I don't spot any stone faces at the Kerry rally here, to which I arrive as the senator is just finishing his question-and-answer session. His supporters have less reason for gloom, certainly, and his advance team has done a superb job arranging the event. Compared to the Clark breakfast from which I have just left, the atmosphere is, in many ways, sunnier. Having missed his stump speech, I can't say how Kerry looked as he began, but he appeared comfortable answering questions and moved through the crowd well afterwards. 

The people I overheard and to whom I spoke were confident in Kerry's electability. Why? I understand the Newsweek poll has him defeating Bush in a hypothetical election, but Kerry seems like an otherwise poor choice for the Democratic nomination if one is considering electability. Out of touch? Northeasterner? French-looking? And what worries me most is the lack of any attack materials on Kerry via Matt Drudge, the favorite outlet for Bush-Cheney '04.

As Kerry starts drifting towards a back door through which it appears he will leave, I dart around the outside of the building to catch him as he leaves. While I'm hustling over there, I consider what I might ask the senator if I have the opportunity. On one hand, I'm there to cover the primary, and I should ask a substantial question, but what? What does one ask with one such question? And on the other hand, I'm there to cover the primary for The Crimson, and I should ask a Harvard-related question, not particularly relevant to national politics but interesting to readers. Doing so, however, just reinforces the perception of collegiate journalism as not particularly serious, or less serious than professional journalism.

"Mr. Senator, Zach Seward, Harvard Crimson. What would you say to Harvard students considering a vote for a Yale graduate like yourself?"

"We should focus on what unites us," Kerry said, chuckling. Solid answer. Troubling question.

As he leaves, Kerry hops onto the ABC News bus for an interview. The ABC bus pulls out of the parking lot and onto the highway, while the Kerry campaign bus follows in tow. This is a moderately disturbing scene, the candidate darting away under the wings of the major media.

11:51 a.m.—Dean Campaign Headquarters, Manchester, New Hampshire
Immediately upon entering the central Dean headquarters here, my criticisms of Dean's apparent derth of Black support are put to shame. The place is packed with African-Americans, all of them officials of the Service Employees International Union, which has endorsed the former governor. No one, mind you, is wearing a nose ring—as the stereotype goes—or looking particularly Internet-savvy. Indeed, I was often struck by the disconnect between the public perception of the Dean campaign as exceedingly modern and young and the reality of the Dean campaign as dependent on traditional techniques and older voters for success.

12:17 p.m.—Elm Street, Manchester, New Hampshire
I'm looking for Clark campaign headquarters. They've given me directions over the phone. Some street off Elm. And then another left, I think. Why isn't the Clark campaign on Elm Street like everyone else? Dennis Kucinich, Lieberman, Dean, and the former offices of Dick Gephardt are all within three blocks of each other on Elm. But the Clark campaign, is aloof, as always. Somewhere else. Somewhere I can't find. Fuck this. I'm going to Nashua.

12:42 p.m.—Edwards Campaign Headquarters, Nashua, New Hampshire
Edwards intrigues me. If you want to talk about electability, this is your man. And no one does a better job than Edwards in outlining the reality of Bush's "two Americas." Very engaging speaker. And his supporters can't stop raving about the guy. Here in Nashua, I'm following some Harvard students who have come to help out the Edwards campaign. Really, I want to answer the question of what could inspire someone to endure this brutal cold for any candidate. But the Edwards people seem particularly inspired.

The Clinton references are pervasive. Bill Barry, Edwards' Nashua chairman, reminds everyone how Clinton came through Nashua to great success on his way to securing the nomination. This is another way of saying Edwards isn't going to win New Hampshire, but it doesn't matter. Still, they want a good showing here on their way down South, and a calendar on the wall predicts boldly in the box for January 27, "JRE wins NH primary!" At lunch, Barry tries to inspire the troops of volunteers:

This is a war of ideas. And you are on the front lines right now. And in this battle, there is only victory or death.

This is said with a bit of irony, and some people laugh nervously when they see me transcribing Barry's speech. After lunch, the volunteers are high in spirits but not exactly acting like fierce warriors "on the front lines." (Look to my Crimson color story for more details on the Edwards volunteers.)

Before leaving Nashua, I stop at a pizzeria across the street for a slice and some time to type up some copy on my laptop and make a few calls. The chef is a Republican, and he "can't fucking stand" the Lyndon Larouche van which keeps rolling down Main Street blaring his propaganda. Otherwise, he doesn't much mind all the political hubbub. "I'm voting for Bush anyway," he says.

4:24 p.m.—Kerry Campaign Headquarters, Manchester, New Hampshire
"The students? Oh, they went to the field office. . ."

4:36 p.m.—Kerry Field Office, Manchester, New Hampshire
"No, they're at the volunteer office. . ."

4:47 p.m.—Kerry Volunteer Office, Manchester, New Hampshire
"Students? What students? From where did you say?"

6:10 p.m.—Sheraton Tara, Nashua, New Hampshire
The press is relegated to three viewing rooms via closed-circuit for television for the evening's fundraising dinner, where six of the seven candidates—sans Al Sharpton, sadly—are scheduled to speak. Journalists who have been on the campaign trail for a while now greet each other with a nice fraternity. The reporters near whom I sit are quite cynical about the whole political scene, and understandably so. The candidates stick to their stump speeches tonight, for the most part.

Dean begins, "I am so excited to be here that I could just scream." Poor Howard.

Clark reminds us, "We can't forget about the 35 Americans in poverty." Only 35? No wonder we've forgotten about them.

Edwards receives the only standing ovation of the night, but he ends with a Clitnonesque line which borders on complete-and-utter insincerity: "I believe in you, and you deserve a president who actually believes in you."

Kerry fumbles his signature line with a few too many adjectives: "It's not mission accomplished. It's mission not-even-legitimately-attempted. It's mission abandoned." It's mission thesaurus.

Lieberman extols the virtues of the late Captain Kangaroo—with a straight face.

And Kucinich enters and exits to a Dennis for President rap song: "Department of Peace instead of war / Will open up more international doors." Does anything rhyme with Kucinich?

9:36 p.m.—Merrimack 10-Pin Bowling Alley, Merrimack, New Hampshire
Edward's can't bowl very well, but his point—wanting to spend time with people who couldn't buy a $120 ticket to tonight's fundraising dinner—is well-taken. The management of the bowling alley is pissed, though:

Once again, folks, we apologize for all the delays tonight. We were not aware there would be so many people at this event. We didn't realize this would be an event. We were told there would only be a handful of people with Mr. Edwards to take pictures for a few minutes. We had no idea there would be this many people. We apologize to those who have been waiting for hours and hours. This is no way reflects upon Merrimack 10-Pin.

You win some votes, you lose some votes.

8:10 a.m., Sunday—Crimson Newsroom, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Writing up my stories, I am struck by the value of being there. In most respects, the primary campaign is reduced to abstract discussion in insulated studios with Washington pundits focused on words ending in "ity" and "ism." Being there, one discovers the situation is less reducible. People vote, not "isms." And when people discuss the election in terms of masses (Whom do the masses think is electable? e.g.), they are often merely creating a smoke screen for an issue which can not be simplified beyond its reality based in individuality. Who will win today? The candidate for whom the most people vote.