I’ve fixed the pictures in the Kerry-Edwards Rally Gallery so that they are all right-side up.

Incidentally, I’m once again looking for better gallery software. If you’ve got one you like, let me know.

The motorcade snaked its way out the back exit of the airport. I was surprised at the stop-and-go nature of it at the start: I thought these things floor it and never stop. Once we got on the open road things picked up, however.

We weaved through traffic on I-540, sometimes getting cut off by a truck or van who assumed the motorcade had passed. Part of that was the fault of Wade our driver, who was more interested in chatting (or posing for pictures) than he was driving, it seemed. (Part of the blame is mine for chatting with him and taking pictures. Heh.) By the time we got to the Harrison Avenue exit, the highway patrol motorcycle cops were stopping traffic on the ramps to let us go by. Traveling in a motorcade makes you feel like royalty!

We pulled onto Hillsborough Street and approached the university, the site of the rally. A handful of protesters stood on the corner to greet us. Now, I wasn’t around to see the protests against Bush last week, but I’m betting they were a bit more clever than the handful of men shouting “loser!” I got them on videotape, though, and the footage became an instant highlight.

The van stopped in the staff parking lot. I marveled at how we could park there, since the threat of getting my car towed in my student days remained in my mind. I also noticed how lucky we were to be in the motorcade: twenty-five thousand people sat jammed together in the sweltering heat for three hours before we got there. We just hopped out of our air-conditioned van and walked right up.

We walked past dozens of security people looking board and continued up to the rear of the stage. There were people in the courtyard as far as the eye could see. Like one half of Carter-Finley Stadium on the ground. It was an amazing sight.

A staffer lined us up to go on stage. We were each given water bottles to help combat the heat. We waited for a break in the speeches to go on stage.

The staffer saw us taking pictures. “Hey, you have to keep your cameras down!” he said. “No taking pictures onstage.” As you can see from the gallery, that rule quickly went out the window. I mean, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be invited back anyway, so why not capture the moment? I wound up taking my shots in-between the speeches, too, when most people’s attention was elsewhere.

Soon we were hustled up to the stage. Ours would be second row! It took some shuffling of people before we were made room, but eventually we all got up there. The stops and starts were like musical chairs, and I couldn’t believe my luck once the “music” stopped.

I was standing directly behind Dean Smith!

Dean Frickin’ Smith. One of the most respected people in the state. Certainly one of the most recognizable. Dean could wander into practically any home in North Carolina and be welcomed in for dinner. A basketball legend. And I was right behind him. Damn! I reached down to shake his hand.

On my way to Dean, I had passed some other politicos: Eric Miller Reeves, former Raleigh City Council member and current state senator. Behind him was Charles Meeker and his wife. And also right in front of me was U.S. Senate candidate Erskine Bowles. Man, my head was turning!

Dean and Erskine would speak to each other every now and then. Mostly, Dean spent the time fidgiting and sweating. His shirt was thoroughly soaked in sweat. I felt sorry for the old guy.

During a lull in the program, I leaned forward to him and remarked “Hey, coach, I guess you’ve done a lot of sweating on this campus during your career, huh?”

Dean answered sheepishly “It’s because I’m out of shape.” I was making a reference to the great UNC-NCSU basketball games played here, but it went right over his head. I decided against a followup question.

After a little while, Dean began looking around behind him. At first I thought he had dropped something or was looking for his water. He turned and asked me if he could sit down.

Hell, you’re Dean Smith, I thought. You can sit anywhere you please. “Sure,” I answered, and made room for him.

“I’ve got bad knees,” he told me as he rested a bit.

His wife began to fan him with a campaign sign, so I decided to join in, too. After a moment, Dean motioned for his wife to stop fanning, after which I followed suit.

Then it occured to me that with Dean sitting down, I was effectively in the front row! I began to sweat even more. There are hundreds of cameras pointed in my direction, I thought. I sure hope my fly isn’t open!

The candidates soon made their way to the stage, amidst lots of cheering. Quite a few times, one or both of them would look at Erskine and mouth words to the effect of “let’s meet after the rally.” It almost seemed like they were talking to me, as close as I was to Erskine. A bit surreal.

Edwards took the stage and had the crowd pumped up. Around this time, Erskine turned to Dean and said “I don’t know how he does it.” In fact, I heard that refrain many times that day. Edwards really knows how to work a crowd.

Then, finally, the rally ended. Kerry and Edwards went to the fence to shake hands. The crowd cheered as if he was some sort of rock star.

We stood on the risers, waiting to get down. The Secret Service was keeping us there while Kerry and Edwards shook their hands. Eventually, we filtered down to ground level. The vets met up beside the stage, but I decided to look for a roomier place to wait around. Without knowing, I stepped though a gate that prevented me from returning. An agent politely but firmly told me I would have to wait. So I stayed right on the other side of the fence from the vet group, not wanting to miss my ride back to my car.

When the all-clear signal was given, we walked back up to our vans. A campus police officer walked up to us and began to wave us off. An approaching agent threw up his hands, motioning that the perimeter had been released. With that, the police officer relented.

Wade had been waiting around by the van. Once we were inside, he told us he had seen us on the television when he waited in the Hillsborough Street shops during the speeches. He quizzed us for our impressions of the event.

Then it was back to the airport to go. Wade dropped Jack and Beth off at the terminals and drove Grier and me back to our cars at the hanger. The thunderstorm which had rumbled a bit during the rally began to get serious now. It opened up completely just after we were safe inside our respective cars. I drove back to the lakehouse to finish out my weekend.

Looking back on it, I am still amazed that in the span of a week (actually, less than a week), I could find myself face-to-face with so many important people. Totally bewildering, but also fun as hell!

Something that concerned me before the rally was the large time commitment it would take. I was worried I’d be bored. I needn’t have worried, because I wound up enjoying every minute of my bizarre but fortuitious situation. If I ever face 25,000 people again at a political rally, I’ll have a little idea about what it feels like.

Next month I fully expect to win the lottery.

We got the nicest note yesterday from Mirian, the new owner of our Garner home. She is absolutely thrilled to be there and has invited our family to come visit sometime! She’s even agreed to let us rescue the dogwood tree we planted to celebrate Hallie’s birth. She’s something else!

We couldn’t be happier that our buyer is as happy with the house as we were. Heck, I’d venture to say she’s happier! It’s quite a contrast to the folks we bought our new home from. They did the absolute bare minimum (and probably less than that) to get us the home. There are still issues we’re fixing that we rightly should have delayed closing over. Nothing too major, mind you, but annoyances nonetheless.

Last night, I ordered a new driver’s license with our updated address, and did it online in 5 minutes. This dang ol’ Internet is something else, ain’t it?

We waited in the room for a good ten or fifteen minutes, watching the reporters and security staff get set up outside. before the plane arrived. In another moment, Katie Peck, the campaign staffmember, showed up and gave us more instructions. As soon as the plane arrives, we were to file out onto the tarmac. About the time the stairs were next to the plane, we would line up at the bottom of them and wait.

The John Kerry jet rolled up to the tarmac and stopped. After getting the nod, we walked up to the plane. For a bunch of ex-military, we lined up in most unmilitary-like fashion. This embarassing display would have earned eternal pushups from boot camp company commanders and drill sargeants, so I half-joked a dress right, dress order (only I couldn’t remember the name of the order, being fifteen years removed from boot camp. Bah).

We watched as the Edwards kids winced and plugged their ears at the jet noise. Beth, the vet next to me, remarked how she couldn’t believe no one had gotten them hearing protection. I guess it was more important to have cute pictures of them covering their ears.

A few passengers made their way from the jet. Then we see all the photographers pick up their cameras. Turning around, I saw John Kerry and Elizabeth Edwards both waving animatedly at the Edwards kids. Elizabeth and John stepped off the plane first and made a beeline for the kids. I have to admit getting a little choked up when that reminded me how I feel when I return to Hallie after a trip.

The two families met at the bottom of the stairs and I began snapping pictures from my unique vantage point. After a minute or two, Kerry stepped over to Dick Basile, head of N.C. Veterans for Kerry, and shook his hand. Following him was his wife, Theresa, John Edwards, and Elizabeth.

Kerry stepped in front of me. He glanced up at my ship’s ballcap I was wearing (though he didn’t have to look up far: He’s a bit on the tall side.) and introduced himself. Here was my big chance to say something memorable to the next President of the U.S. and all I can think to tell him was what his pilot told him when they touched down: “Welcome to North Carolina.” I did follow that up with a creative “you’re going to own this state,” which got him to laugh and slap my shoulder. Then before I knew it, he had moved on.

His wife, Theresa, was next. She was cordial, introduced herself and shook my hand, but seemed a bit guarded. She was mysterious, a bit like a gypsy.

Next up was John Edwards. First thing I noticed was that I was taller than him. He smiled as he met me, and I said “welcome back, I’m glad you got the nod.” I think he thanked me before moving on. He seemed a bit tired. I can imagine its been a whirlwind since he joined the team just four days earlier.

Last, but certainly not least was Elizabeth Edwards. This woman radiated warmth like you wouldn’t believe! She seemed genuinely pleased to meet me and bragged about her father’s 30 years of Navy service. Her sincere, upbeat personality just blew me away. I thought Edwards was electric, but he doesn’t hold a candle to his wife.

After they had made their way down the line of veterans, the campaign photographer had us all bunch up and get a picture. John and Elizabeth Edwards ran up to the group for the picture. Elizabeth stood just in front of me, so I thoughtfully put my hand on her shoulder. Hopefully, that shot will serve as proof I was actually there.

Kerry spent some time speaking with a Vietnam vet, a Marine gunny sargeant. Kerry was making plane-like hand gestures as he talked. I snapped a few pictures and later asked the vet what they talked about. He told me that he and Kerry were “in country” in Vietnam around the same time and in the same places. It was obvious Kerry enjoyed comparing notes.

Kerry thanked us and stepped into his waiting van for the trip to the rally. Peck then shooed us quicky back to our vans so we wouldn’t miss our spot in the motorcade. We ran through the huge hanger to get to our vans. About the time we finished buckling up the motorcade had begun filtering out of the airport. Van 16 went by and the bus behind it paused to let us in.

I was now part of an official candidate motorcade. Damn was that cool!

(to be continued)

I’ve got some pictures from yesterday in my gallery. I didn’t get any pictures of myself with any of the VIPs, though. D’oh.

Wow. It was a mind-bending day yesterday. I felt like I was Forrest Gump, suddenly plopped down in the middle of some unlikely scenario, bewildered.

I spent a leisurely Saturday morning at the lakehouse with the Naylors. We ate breakfast and got Hallie ready to go into the water. About the time Hallie was splashing with Kelly, I had to leave. I rushed out the door and headed back to Raleigh, needing to be at the airport at 2.

I made it back in reasonable time, showered, and ironed my “business casual” attire. I grabbed my cameras and frantically looked up the nearest cash machine. It was 1:15 and I hadn’t even eaten lunch. A call to Char Grill on the way from the credit union got my lunch going. I drove up to the airport gate just in time to finish my hamburger.

A tall, smiling man, just about my age, walked up and said hello. He was Greer Martin, son of D.G. Martin. I knew that smile looked familiar. Greer is an Army vet and was the only other vet there from my generation. He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps, so he’s running for office: N.C. House. We got along well.

I joined the other vets under some trees outside the gate. Handshakes went around. The Navy was well represented, which impressed the Army vets there. I shook hands with Jack Flynn, a retired Navy senior chief who is running against Sue Myrick in Charlotte for N.C. Senate. He came prepared with campaign frisbees and clever “I back Jack” stickers. He worked on tenders during the first Gulf War and seemed to recall working on the Elliot. He went through the precursor of the ECS program (where enlisted sailors can become officers), but blew the whistle on his crooked commanding officer and wound up being cheated out of his comission. He was one of the few enlisted sailors who’d graduated from Officer Candidate School. Reminded me how the Navy Takes Care Of Its Own.

Keith Cook, a friendly retired sargent major, was also running for office. He’s been on the school board for over ten years and wanted to add another term.

Katie Peck, the campaign contact, greeted us and gave us our marching orders. Two rented minivans pulled up to take us into the secure airport area. We welcomed the seats and the air conditioning (it was a sweltering, 90+ degree day).

Wade was my driver. He lives in Colorado but is orginially from North Carolina. He was a volunteer for the Edwards campaign, but was on vacation when he got a call asking him to help with the day’s appearance. Wade agreed and thus became a great host to us.

A pair of reporters from WRAL approached the van and asked us if we were the veterans. Before Wade agreed, he wisely asked his boss, the event organizer, for permission. The reporters would have to wait. We drove the vans inside the gate and pulled them to the side. A Secret

Service agent soaked in sweat politely asked us to step out and get “wanded.” Thanks to the security paranoia now gripping the country, this seemed absurdly routine to me. Then it was back in the van to wait a little more.

The head of the security detail and the event organizer gave us printed sheets with “17” and “Veterans 1” to put in the windshield. The security head briefed the driver on what to do. The motorcade would pull out. We were to wait until there was a gap in the traffic and then pull in. For now, though, we were to pull up beside the hanger and
wait.

We shared service stories and got to know one another while we cooled our heels in the van. The event head soon knocked on the window. “We’d like to get some veterans to meet with reporters, if you’re willing.” The three political candidates in the van were out like a shot! When I realized the exodus that had just taken place, I stepped out of the van to be told they’ve “already got enough, thanks.” Which was fine with me, since I didn’t wish to be interviewed.

The rest of us wandered into the hanger. There were dozens of police motorcycles lined up at the other end and a few corporate jets on our end. We watched John Edwards’kids check out WRAL’s Sky 5 helicopter, standing on the platform and scrambling all around.

The Edwards kids were absolutely adorable. Jack is 4 and Mary Cate (?) is 6. Both had backpacks on and were being minded by a young woman assume was their older sister. She seemed to be running out of things to keep them occupied.

The security staff asked us to wait in the van, so it was back outside for us. The campaign press plane landed soon afterward, which was the cue for us to go wait inside. We gathered in the stifling offices of Piedmont-Hawthorne’s hanger and sweated and chatted while we waited for the campaign plane to arrive.

(to be continued)

The Kerry campaign finally called me last night with the details of my day. They want me at the airport at 2 PM. I’ll be going from the airport to the rally at N.C. State.
Then around 7 PM, I get taken back to the airport and my car.

That’s a lot of time away from the family and the lakehouse. The thought of all that time made me wonder how in the world campaigning politicians do this every day for over a year. I thought the Tour De France was a grueling contest, but a national presidential campaign must have it beat.

The thing that really interests me is getting a close-up view of a campaign. I’ve considered running for office before and often thought about what it must be like. I’m wondering if today’s experience will change my mind about politics.

I’m hoping I can manage to blog today in-between events. Probably the best I’ll manage is to take my voice recorder with me and audioblog, posting the results when I can get online again. I’ve already ruled out a video camera, but I hope to take the digital still camera with me to take some snapshots.

Should be interesting.