Like charged atoms, banging into one another, collaborating in some unbeknownst orchestration, they went about their business. With microphones in their mouths and cameras conspicuously spying on their every move, they dialed last-minute numbers asking last-minute questions.
It was like Christmas Eve in Richie Rich's house for some staffers and volunteers, pacing back and forth at the Kerry/Edwards New England campaign headquarters, confident that the next day America would be unwrapping the gift of all gifts. Others had an extra punch to their step and a few extra foot taps per minute as they nervously sat at computers touching the last keys on their campaign keyboards. They too, however, seemed to enjoy the last ticks of the countdown that had been going on since George W. defeated Al Gore in 2000. They had been fighting a war - a war, like any and all, with casualties and small battles that had been won and lost - and the next day was D-day.
Looking around that office at 60 Canal Street on Nov. 1, it was hard to imagine those red, white, and blue signs with the bold letters proclaiming, "Kerry For President" and "Homerun Kerry" ever coming down. But, the truth is that everything must come to an end, and regardless of whether or not Kerry became the president-elect the next day, within a few months their home for the past two years would get torn down and with it all those Kerry/Edwards posters pieced together like a quilt carrying the signatures of everyone who had ever entered the office's doors.
Everyone knew this was it. There was a certain energy in the air, the kind you feel when you step out into the graying night, take a whiff of the breeze patting your face, and know that a storm is about to start. Nov. 2 was judgment day.
The trucks arrived early. CBS, NBC, CNN, ABC and every other acronym with a camera and a microphone were there to document. Up on the third floor of the Weston Hotel in Copley at the Kerry Victory 2004 and Democratic National Committee receptions, there were smiles and clinks of glasses. Some sat on couches only taking their eyes off the large flat-screen televisions to quickly greet a friend and exchange hopeful glances or catch a celebrity coming into the room and feel relieved that he or she was on the same team. There was chatter and there were cheeses. People mingled and they hoped.
Then: Kerry 77, Bush-66. Just like the score of a basketball game, only those are numbers that one might see in the third quarter, or even early in the fourth in a slow game. The people got happy and the glasses clinked louder. The occasional Red Sox hat emerged to complement a black pinstriped suit, surfacing as a tangible reminder of what victory is like. Only, this game was just beginning.
Down in the square, on the other side of the soundproof glass, those with red, white, blue, and silver passes were shuttled through metal detectors into the Election Night 2004 rally. There, they watched Sheryl Crow, James Taylor, Jon Bon Jovi, and the Black Eyed Peas. There, they waited. Bush bumped his score up so that it resembled that of a team in its third overtime while Kerry's team remained in the third quarter. Those lucky enough to brandish the coveted red or white passes around their necks had earlier seen the likes of Lance Armstrong and Jesse Jackson looming about were now faced with Tucker Carlson and his conservative cronies on TV talking about Kerry's lack of personality. The feed to the big screen was promptly cut off, replaced by an image of an American flag, and a congressman was introduced to speak.
Up on the third floor of the Westin, the glasses still clinked but with a little less fervor. Kerry won California and New York, bumping him up in the standings slightly. As exciting as these victories were, we all knew that the game would be determined in the sixth overtime and it would end in Florida or Ohio.
John Edwards finally emerged under dark clouds. His early morning entrance to talk was like the bullpen pitcher making a speech to the stadium in lieu of Pedro. Sure, Pedro had laryngitis and was awaiting further test results, but a few Pedro coughs would have catapulted the fans into far greater ecstasy than could a Nobel Prize-winning discourse by Johnny Bullpen. Kerry's absence out there on the stage under the stars was the only concession he needed to make. His call to George W. Bush, just hours later, was simply a reiteration.
Rev. Al Sharpton once said on the campaign trail for Kerry that Bush's strategy for going to and justifying war in Iraq was the same as if Sharpton had made a certain announcement in an auditorium: "Get out, quick, there's a fire in here." And upon the realization that there was, indeed, no fire, he would tell his audience, "I know, but you all needed some fresh air anyway."
Fire has nothing to do with fresh air, although oxygen does fuel the flames. Thousands upon thousands of people flooded Copley Square in Boston for John Kerry's "victory party." John didn't win, but America needed to see the support for him anyway. America needed to fuel its fire.
Noah Rosenberg is a senior majoring in English.
