As a senator, Joe Biden had a reputation for garrulousness, his often mind-numbing verbosity that was his charm as well as his biggest flaw. This was on display when he visited The Boston Globe building to make his case for the newspaper's endorsement. After the meeting ended, Biden regaled the remaining stragglers with humorous stories about his youth and long-winded jokes that seemed to go on as long as a Senate filibuster. As I led him and his advisers downstairs (one of my duties was to escort the candidates and their handlers from the front of the building up to the meeting rooms and back down again), he unexpectedly tousled my hair like a friendly uncle and asked where I was going to school. I told him where I went, which was a small college in Boston, and to my surprise, he knew key details about the school--its focus and history. It was equally as amazing as his ability to rattle off obscure details about Pakistan's government, but as he begins his new role as vice president, it will likely prove a lot less useful.
The personalities of the other candidates matched their public personas as well. Mike Huckabee's biggest asset is his folksy charm, his ability to instantly give off a warm vibe to those he meets. He met with the editorial board just a few days after he won the Iowa caucus in a stunning upset and still seemed to be processing the victory. When I congratulated him, he thanked me and told me what a surprise it was, an admission that is rare in a political world of large egos and overconfidence. Meanwhile, Mike Gravel, a former senator from Alaska, demonstrated why he was never considered a credible candidate. He arrived on an empty stomach and asked where he could find a restaurant with decent scrod in Boston. When an editorial writer remarked that there was a terrific French restaurant on Commonwealth Avenue, Gravel cut him off, saying he didn't want anything French. To top it off, Gravel brought an adviser who fell asleep and snored loudly during the editorial interview.
The moment I'll remember most, however, came when I was sitting at my desk in the Globe offices. A phone call came in for the editorial-page editor, who was on vacation. I said that she was out and asked the person on the other end if he would like to leave a message. He asked if he could be transferred to her voicemail and I remarked again that I was taking messages for her and that was the preferred method. The voice hesitated, so I said, tersely, "Would you like to leave a message, sir?"
"Well, this is Barack Obama," said the voice. "I was just calling to thank you for the editorial endorsement." After fumbling with the phone, I told him I would transfer him to the deputy editor. Saving some face, I managed to eke out a "Good luck with the campaign" before transferring him, for which he thanked me.
My stories are insignificant in the grand scheme of the campaign, sure, but combined with the millions of other memories held by all Americans about this historic election, they represent a testament to our American democracy, in which a regular person without any influence or power can share human moments with the potential leaders of the free world.
Of course, I've since been a lot more cautious when answering the phone.
