It's November first
on the year before
those who have the thirst
for political war
must gird up their loins
and improve their bedside manner
while hoping a bigger crowd joins
beneath their political banner.
But not good old Bernie Sanders,
for whom the goal never wanders:
whether or not he'll ever get there,
he wants our country to become more fair.
Unfortunately, in the heat of a grueling campaign grind,
he may have to kiss more than one baby's behind,
just as it is difficult for yours truly to wax lyrical,
while at the same time tell of truths satirical.
HZ L
11/1/15
Spotted: Bernie Sanders, walking down Sixth Avenue in Manhattan. Swinging hands with his wife, Jane. Pointing to buildings. Looking at the sidewalk.
And talking as little as possible to people. Not asking for a single vote.
He did consent to the occasional selfie — “Sure,” “O.K.” — but his chattiest interaction came with a man who stopped short at the sight of the Democratic presidential contender and blurted out his name.
“How are you?” Mr. Sanders asked.
“I’m good, but I’m voting for Trump,” the man said.
Mr. Sanders walked on a few steps, turned back and opened his mouth as if to reply — but not a word came out.
For a candidate who has inspired the most impassioned followers since Barack Obama in 2008, Mr. Sanders is surprisingly impersonal, even uninterested, in one-on-one exchanges — the sort of momentary encounters in which a candidate can show warmth and humility by gripping every open palm.
He rarely drops by diners or coffee shops with news cameras in tow, unlike most politicians. He hardly ever kisses babies, aides say, and does not mingle much at fund-raisers. To Mr. Sanders, the independent senator from Vermont, political schmoozing is a phony business, and anathema to his total focus on weighty issues.
His high-minded style carries risk. As effective as his policy-laden speeches may be in impressing potential supporters, Mr. Sanders is missing opportunities to lock down uncommitted voters face to face in Iowa and New Hampshire, where campaigns are highly personal. And both states are crucial in any serious strategy to defeat Hillary Rodham Clinton, whose lead in several polls has been growing lately.
On a recent Iowa swing, Mr. Sanders left the political equivalent of money on the table at every stop.
He signed the cast on 9-year-old Kaylie Milton’s arm at a barbecue in Iowa City, but did not spend any time courting her father, who said he was torn between Mr. Sanders and Mrs. Clinton. Mr. Sanders quickly left a college in Oskaloosa, disappointing a dozen curious students who said they had hoped he would chat with them. He made another speedy exit from a gym in Fort Madison, letting down scores of people waiting to say hello — including a number of women who had already signed pledge cards to support Mrs. Clinton but were now waffling, captivated by Mr. Sanders’s message.
“I would’ve loved to have gotten a few seconds with him,” said one, Louise Orozco, 65, of Keokuk.
Mr. Sanders often makes a quick exit to keep to a packed schedule, as he hates running late, aides say. Other times, he wants to rest or even nap in the car, or just get a good night’s sleep, given that he expends considerable energy and focus on his lengthy speeches. Jeff Weaver, his campaign manager, described Mr. Sanders’s pace as “rigorous and intense,” but said Mr. Sanders would lavish more time on people as voting neared.
For now, Mr. Sanders mostly engages voters from the microphone, by soliciting their questions and concerns and having a serious-minded back and forth, as he did on Friday at a senior center in New Hampshire. When he was done, he waved at about 15 women sitting nearby at card tables and then left for a newspaper editorial board meeting.
“I wish he’d come over to say hi, ask for our votes,” said one of the women, Maureen Morency, 66, an independent. “It’s nice to be asked.”
His approach is the opposite of past Democratic nominees like Mr. Obama and Bill Clinton, who pulled off underdog victories in part by humbling themselves before voters with extensive face time — a charm offensive that Mrs. Clinton has also been pursuing.
“Iowa is traditionally won in living rooms, diners and small meeting halls,” said Stephanie Cutter, a Democratic strategist who has logged many hours on campaigns there. “It’s where retail politics is the golden rule.”
Mr. Sanders has responded to Mrs. Clinton’s gains in the polls, in part, byholding smaller-scale events to make his case more directly to voters — and to show a little more personality than he did at his huge arena rallies over the summer. His humorous side — self-deprecating, sarcastic, a little hokey — can play well in these intimate settings.
“I’m told that I don’t have a sense of humor, so I’m going to start off with a joke,” Mr. Sanders told an audience in Iowa who laughed gamely. “I’m Larry David. Bernie sent me.”
But when it is time for small talk, his lack of a personal touch is even more apparent.
After speaking last month at a house party on friendly liberal territory in Iowa City, Mr. Sanders ignored a dozen outstretched hands as he barreled down the driveway to a waiting car, pausing only when he came face to face with a woman who was in tears. She wanted to talk about mental health services for children like her daughter, whose needs, she said, required the family to pay for private school. Mr. Sanders listened for 30 seconds, embraced her with his right arm and walked away.
“He told me to ‘hang in there,’ nothing else,” the woman, Julie Casella, said afterward. “He seemed in a rush.”
In a feel-your-pain political era, many candidates would have bathed Ms. Casella in empathy (and made sure reporters were listening). But Mr. Sanders, who declined to be interviewed for this article, avoids making showy spectacles of other people’s pathos.
“He’s unslick in a really slick way,” said Rachel Joselson, a professor of music at the University of Iowa, who attended the house party. “That feels real and authentic to me.”
If Mr. Sanders has not grown more gregarious, he has mellowed a bit since starting out in government as mayor of Burlington, Vt., in the 1980s, when he memorably once asked a mother to hush her crying baby during his speech. (She and the baby left instead.)
He marched in Vermont parades, but at first simply waved to onlookers, former aides said. He would attend county fairs, too, sometimes milking cows or taking part in cow-chip tossing contests.
To Mr. Sanders, these were frivolities that gave him a chance to talk to voters about local issues.
“He always felt that if you weren’t talking about serious stuff, you were wasting his time,” said Steven Rosenfeld, the press secretary for Mr. Sanders’s 1990 campaign for the House.
Mr. Rosenfeld said he believed Mr. Sanders’s brief overtures with voters were by design.
“He would go to shake a person’s hand, and as they started talking to him, he would pull away and move on,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. “He knows how to connect and then disconnect with people in a way that makes them feel a little obligated to him: ‘This great man shook my hand, but he had to go and save the world, and I feel obligated to understand and support him in that.’ ”
In the presidential race, Mr. Sanders is testing several propositions, including whether he can win the nomination without a big-money “super PAC.” But the most provocative may be whether he can win over voters without wooing them in traditional, hobnobbing ways — whether his message can be enough.
Asked how much time Mr. Sanders sets aside to press the flesh, Pete D’Alessandro, who runs the Sanders campaign in Iowa, said, “He does a lot of question-and-answer exchanges with the audience as part of his speech, so that’s kind of like close-up time for voters with Bernie.”
During a visit to William Penn University in Oskaloosa, Mr. Sanders took a question from Shelby Darland, 18, who described taking out a $20,000 loan at 8 percent interest to pay for community college. Mr. Sanders replied that student loan rates were exorbitant, and laid out his proposal to eliminate tuition at public colleges.
After leaving the stage, Mr. Sanders made a beeline for Ms. Darland.
“He told me that when I say stuff like that, I’m speaking to millions of Americans who aren’t ready to stand up yet and speak out,” Ms. Darland said.
But Mr. Sanders did not linger.
“I wanted to tell him how much I loved him,” she added, “but he had to go before I could say it.”
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