Snapped Shot

Seeking our support in the primary he would win 11 days later, [CANDIDATE A] came to an interview with The State’s editorial board.

He was all ersatz-cracker bonhomie, beginning by swinging his salt-encrusted left snowboot onto the polished boardroom table, booming, “How do y’all like my boots?” He had not, it seemed, had time to change footwear since leaving New Hampshire.

The interview proceeded according to script, a lot of aw-shucking, smiling, showing of genuine concern, and warm expressions of determination to close the gap between the Two Americas. Then he left, and I didn’t think much more about it, until a week later.

On the 30th, [candidate B] came in to see us for the second time. Again, I was struck by how personable he was, so unlike his [...] image. I rode down on the elevator with him afterward, along with my administrative assistant and another staffer who was a real [B] fan (but, worse luck for [B], not a member of our board). I paused to watch him take his time to greet everyone in our foyer — treating each person who wanted to shake his hand as every bit as important as any editorial board member, if not more so. I remarked upon it.

“Isn’t he a nice man?” said our copy editor (the fan). I agreed. Then came the revelation: “Unlike [CANDIDATE A],” observed the administrative assistant. What’s that? It seems that when she alone had met [CANDIDATE A] at the reception desk, she had been struck by the way he utterly ignored the folks in our customer service department and others who had hoped for a handshake or a word from the Great Man. He had saved all his amiability, all his professionally entertaining energy and talent, for the folks upstairs who would have a say in the paper’s endorsement.