I Lived the New Hampshire Primary
Today, thousands of people across New Hampshire will go to the polls and vote in the first-in-the-nation presidential primary. I will not be one of them, but I may very well have lived the New Hampshire primary in a way most people are never able to in their entire lives. This year marks the one hundredth anniversary of democracy’s finest tradition. Unlike the Iowa Caucuses, one person means one vote. The popular vote is recorded. The popular vote decides the winner. There will be 58 candidates on the New Hampshire ballots, but most voters will decide between the top contenders: Republicans Jeb Bush, Ben Carson, Chris Christie, Ted Cruz, Carly Fiorina, John Kasich, Marco Rubio, and Donald Trump as well as Democrats Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.
As a student at Saint Anselm College in Manchester, New Hampshire, home to the New Hampshire Institute of Politics, I have quite literally had a front row seat to the 2016 New Hampshire presidential primary. I was in the front row when former Florida Governor Jeb Bush delivered his policy speech on health care. I was in the third row when Hillary Clinton, Martin O’Malley, and Bernie Sanders debated in the gym my friends and I played soccer in the first and second weeks of school. For me, the New Hampshire primary was an experience of a lifetime, and as someone who has loved politics since the first grade, this election has been unforgettable.
I took advantage of my new residency in the Granite State to volunteer for a candidate that I have long believed in: Hillary Rodham Clinton. As a Connecticut native, I’ve long harbored resentment for the people of New Hampshire, believing their access to the candidates was unjustified. Why did New Hampshire get to go first? It was more than just jealousy — I didn’t get why a bunch of voters in one state got to decide the fate of the presidential election. It seemed so entirely undemocratic to me. From the first day I knocked on doors for Hillary Clinton, I quickly learned what only someone who has lived the New Hampshire primary can tell you: New Hampshire voters understand their privilege of voting first, and they take it seriously. I was a reformist, but I no longer see justification for altering the primary calendar to take New Hampshire’s spot at the top away from them. The voters of New Hampshire invited me in to have thorough conversations about the issues, to explain why I was voting for Hillary Clinton, and they followed up with questions about her stances on the issues. In town hall events for Hillary and others, I found the room crowded with supporters of the candidate and with undecided voters who wanted their question answered. The people of New Hampshire know their job is important, and they take it very seriously.
New Hampshire voters understand their privilege of voting first, and they take it seriously.
So, I decided to take it seriously, too. I was not content to merely stand by and work for Hillary while beating a partisan drum. My mind was made up, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t meet as many of the presidential candidates as possible. So I was at the New Hampshire Democratic Party Convention and cheered on Secretary Clinton and Governor O’Malley and Senator Sanders. I even waved a sign for Larry Lessig — the ill-fated candidate who was running a single-issue candidacy against the Citizens United (2010) ruling. His fight for campaign finance reform was one I identified with strongly, and I was happy to put his sticker on my laptop (even if it was beneath my numerous Hillary ones).
I went to a coffee shop on the main street of some town — it may have been Laconia, but they all run together now, and that’s where I became totally enamored with Martin O’Malley. I was at the event with Amelia Schramm — one of my best friends and someone who was, at the time, an employee of the Planned Parenthood. Both of us went to a host of events for fun in no official capacity with either the Clinton Campaign, of which I was a volunteer, or Planned Parenthood, Amelia’s employer. As we waited for the event to start, we were joking with each other about the venue. It was a coffee shop — a beautiful and rustic coffee shop, but a coffee shop nonetheless. This was where Martin O’Malley was going to give a speech? Remember when he was supposed to be Hillary’s biggest threat? Then, O’Malley came through the door. With charm and presence, he greeted every person who had come out to hear him speak.
He reached for Amelia’s hand and asked her what she did for a living. She told him she was with Planned Parenthood, he thanked her, and asked for a photo. He asked her for a photo! I took it, and then it was my turn. “Governor, I’m Nick!” I said. He asked if I was in school, and I said I was going to college in Manchester. “I’m heading there after this,” he told me, for a roundtable on New Hampshire’s substance abuse epidemic. We, too, got a photo.
It was the day after the first Democratic debate, and O’Malley was feeling good about his chances. He got up on an ottoman to give his speech, and when the cushion sunk he began to wobble. A less crafty politician may have fallen right off or at least been embarrassed. Not O’Malley. The former governor pretended he was surfing to the delight of those in the room — including a college student and his Planned Parenthood-employed friend. The former governor gave a great little speech about issues of great importance. The locale of a quaint coffee shop was no deterrence. And when he got to the part of his remarks about defending Planned Parenthood, his eyes searched the room, until he found Amelia. He remembered her name and told everyone of her important work. O’Malley has a certain charisma about him that I can only imagine is what my grandparents felt about John Kennedy. He’ll be back, even if his name is no longer in contention for the New Hampshire primary in 2016.
Later on that day, we went to the 603 (the local area code) Caucus — a conservative gathering of far-right Republicans who were having a straw poll of sorts. Our goal was to meet George Pataki, but Pataki skipped the event, and we were instead left with the most interesting of sights. We parked at a fairground, and began making our way up to a barn on the top of a hill. As Amelia and I walked, we noticed the cars that lined our path: nearly all of them bore conservative bumper stickers. One was completely decked out in Ben Carson stickers. Another had one that read, “I’d rather hunt with Cheney than drive with Kennedy.” Nice. There were also several that blasted the “lamestream” media and an equal number of vehicles assured us the driver only got his or her ‘facts’ from FOX News. Promising. With the barn in sight, we noticed several tables. One was from a Ben Carson Super PAC and with free goodie bags for the taking. The contents? A book on Ben Carson, a bumper sticker, campaign literature, a granola bar, and a mint. Refreshing.
The barn inside was a madhouse. People were listening to surrogate speakers talk for their favorite candidate, people on the floor tried to get Amelia and I to sign up for various campaigns. I remember Bobby Jindal’s section looking particularly bleak. Then, we bumped into some man in jeans and a black jacket — Texas Senator Ted Cruz. My first instinct was to get a photo to preserve the moment, and then I remembered: We’d already met Cruz at one of his rallies with former Granite State Senator Bob Smith. One picture with Cruz was enough. Immediately after his victory at the 603 event, I had no way of knowing that months later, he’d win a far more important caucus — the one in Iowa.
As a student at Saint Anselm College, I’ve been privy to a lot of primary fun. I was there in Portsmouth to meet Carly Fiorina when her microphone didn’t work — a day after her stage collapsed on her in Iowa. I got to meet the awkward Jeb Bush after he delivered a policy speech on health care reform. After his remarks, he came up to Amelia and me and told us to stand up. Months later, his poll numbers would fall further and he’d have to go as far as to beg his audience to “please clap.” He’s a very nice guy, and he spent the time to ask me about why I was involved in politics. He also made sure to comment on the pin I was wearing: a vintage Reagan-Bush ’84 button.
Through my work for Hillary Clinton’s campaign, I’ve had the privilege of meeting, literally, hundreds of New Hampshire voters. I’ve talked to them as they waited in line at events and I’ve stood on their doorsteps, snow falling gently onto my red, white, and blue winter hat. Yesterday, in the midst of snow, I braved one of the last doors in my packet. I knocked as the skin on my knuckles finally tore. The lady told me she was voting for Hillary, but to go away and get warm “for Heaven’s sake.” I knocked the remaining five houses and went home.
I’ve been in the audience for some of the most memorable moments of the New Hampshire campaign. I was working the event at Southern New Hampshire University when a young woman asked Hillary Clinton whether three women who accused President Bill Clinton of rape should be believed. I was three rows back and off to the left for the Democratic Debate at Saint Anselm College — a truly unforgettable experience. During the debate, I confusedly searched for Hillary Clinton when she wasn’t able to make it back on stage in time after a bathroom break, and I applauded vigorously when she argued for her vision of America’s future. After the debate, I hopped up on stage and took a memorable selfie with my idol’s cup of water. I was in JD’s Tavern in Manchester where MSNBC’s Chris Matthews interviewed Madeleine Albright just hours after she’d repeated an oft-used expression, “There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women,” at a Hillary rally in Concord. I met Secretary Albright the next day at a canvass launch event.
Today, New Hampshire votes. I’ll be in class from 8:30 until 2:15, and immediately after my professor dismisses me from my last class of the day, I’ll be joining friends and heading to my GOTV staging location, grabbing a thick packet of doors, and going out to knock until polls close — when I’ll head to Southern New Hampshire University and join hundreds of other Clinton supporters as we watch the results come in. Tomorrow, I’ll sleep. Thursday — well, I just have no idea what on Earth I’m going to do.
