Disclaimer: This entry is epic. I'm just putting it out there to share my experiences in the Dean campaign with other Dems & grassroots activists. Read at your own risk.
It was only a couple of days after Iowa, but already the Dean campaign was faltering, at least in the public perception. My two faithful sponsors had already written checks out to Dean For America so that I could go on an almost-all-expense-paid weekend to Phoenix to canvass for Dean. It seemed like such a crappy time to drop everything and go work for a supposedly lost cause - everything felt like it was coming down on top of me. My five-month relationship with a significant other was almost broken, and the shards of it were glinting and gleaming through the phone line as he asked me yet again, "You're going to Arizona? This weekend? Oh... Did you tell me?" I didn't have the strength to repeat that I'd been planning it for the last three weeks, nor to remind him that I'd been telling him all about it in long phone conversations and car rides since then. There was clearly no point. I was in hot water at work as well, for taking too much time off to pursue my burgeoning acting career and to volunteer for Dean. I'd just been cast in a small production at a hole-in-the-wall theater in Hollywood, and I'd promised to be off-book by the time I came back from AZ. Worst of all, the crazy red-faced rant was airing over and over again in every major newscast.
So there I was, waiting on a bus in Burbank at 5pm sharp on Friday, ready to take off for the desert and do my part for democracy. Things got off to a slow start: Phil, our fearless leader, coordinator of the Southwest Victory Express (optimistically renamed, from the original "Southwest Voter Express"), was two hours late, caught in LA traffic. I did my best to wallow in worry and depression, given everything that was going on in my personal life, but I found it nearly impossible. The suppressed enthusiasm and anticipation was contagious. It wasn't a party or anything, but it was definitely getting started. There was a rowdy contingent from the Valley, a foursome of twentysomethings who made up campaign-appropriate lyrics to familiar show tunes (ex: "Oh, the Deanies and the Clarkies should be friends..."). There was Steve, a veteran from the Perfect Storm in Iowa, sporting the signature bright orange hat and a weathered but determined look. There was Spencer, a 17-year-old high school student who would be of legal voting age by the time the California primary rolled around; he'd brought his homework and his violin. And there was Stan, the Hollywood geek chic struggling screenwriter, originally from the SF bay area, who had only just joined up with the campaign this week. The more I spoke to him, the more I found we had in common, and the more I became extremely frightened of being single again. Yes, sparks flew, but they were the kind that fly when you've found someone you know you'll be friends with for a long time, regardless of any romantic attachments. That, and he was good at crossword puzzles.
We finally got going around 7:30pm, which meant that we wouldn't reach Phoenix until 2 or 3 in the morning. We passed the time figuring out crossword clues and watching movies - the most-requested Star Wars movie was "The Empire Strikes Back". Phil was trying to ascertain what the significance of this was, and I tried to convince him that the inspiration wasn't in the title - the Deaniacs certainly weren't the Empire! Rather it was in the story: the film is a low point in the Rebel's fight against the Dark Side (I mean, Harrison Ford gets frozen in a carbon slab! How much lower can you get?), but it ends with a hopeful look towards a renewed Jedi stand against the Empire. Take that, DLC.
We got in at 2:30 am Phoenix time, and I vaguely remember crashing on a somewhat surprised Dean supporter's floor. We were up bright and early the next morning, reporting to HQ promptly at 9:30am, whereupon Phil asked for a small group of people to take a van up to Sedona. Stan and I jumped at the opportunity, and after running around town picking up stuff from home stays and hotels (the organization of the Sedona trip wasn't the best we could have hoped for), we were off in a van to red rock country, with Steve the Iowa man in the driver's seat, Allan and Ashley, a young local couple with Air Force experience, in the middle seat, two others whose names I have foolishly forgotten, and Stan and I flirting over another Sunday Times crossword in the back.
We arrived in Cottonwood, a blue-collar suburb of the well-to-do Sedona, and were promptly divvied up between local supporters and sent out to canvass. I was assigned to Francis, an absolutely charming man, who must have been about 70 or so years young. He was an ex-PR guy, and a real hit with the ladies ("Well, hello young lady!" he would say when a grandma opened the door). He was genuine in his admiration for Dr. Dean and devotion to the Democratic Party. We were only visiting registered Democrats, and Francis always made sure to thank people for voting Democrat, even if they were voting for someone else. It was just so important to beat Bush, he would say, for our children and for our children's children. As dusk started to fall, Francis' shallow breathing started to get even shallower, and he seemed to have even more trouble with the non-power steering on his old Toyota hatchback. In hindsight I feel really dumb for not offering to drive, since his arms were clearly worn out from maneuvering in and out of ditches and low spots on the gravel roads. But Francis smiled through it all, quoting Dustin Hoffman's' character from his favorite movie, "Wag the Dog" ("They don't know who they're dealing with!"), and joking with me and the voters ("How do you get to the White House? Go to Texas and turn to your extreme right!").
The day ended with a delicious potluck at the beautiful adobe abode (I just had to write that) of Ann, another fervent Sedona-area Dean supporter. She and I bonded, since she had been an actress and lived in Los Angeles for years; she had a lot of good advice for me, most of which I've forgotten through the haze of the wine and my fatigue that night. Francis, wheezing but still smiling, gathered himself one more time into his Toyota and took me and Stan home with him. We met Francis' wife, Jeanette, a retired schoolteacher; there couldn't have been a cuter couple. They lived in a huge but cozy house, which Francis had designed himself. Francis insisted on showing us the MoveOn.org movie, "Uncovered: The Truth About the Iraq War", and then "Wag the Dog", and there was a great fiasco in finding the tapes, getting the TV set up, etc. while Jeanette quietly insisted that Francis go upstairs, get a bath, and get to bed, as he was clearly exhausted. Stan and I just stole amazed looks at each other the whole time, with Stan silently mouthing the words, "They're so adorable!" We did end up watching the movies after Francis and Jeanette had gone to bed, partly for inspirational reasons and partly for an excuse to cuddle on the couch, in a slightly awkward middle-school way. We went off to separate rooms to sleep, but not before I'd impulsively crept downstairs, stood outside Stan's door for half a minute, and then resolutely knocked on the door. It opened, I held up my finger to my mouth and said "Sh," and we kissed, again in a really awkward middle school way that made me feel like I was twelve. But there's something to be said for that giddy feeling. I said, "Okay, good night," and then ran upstairs, continuing the silly schoolgirl theme.
The giddiness only got worse the next morning, when I woke up to absolutely breathtaking views of red rock mountains outside my window, and everything seemed right with the world. I didn't even take time to question myself and my recent juvenile behavior; we went right on to the cafe that morning for breakfast and a briefing on the day's work. Stan and I were again acting like junior high school students, cozying up next to each other on a large chair in the lounge area of the cafe, prompting one Deaniac senior citizen to ask him if she could take a picture of him and his lovely young wife. Elaine was her name, and I ended up canvassing with her all morning; she later told me, "Oh, you two just looked so comfortable, I thought you must be young marrieds. I guess I'm just old-fashioned!" Elaine and her husband Ken had been active in the Peace Corps in Tanzania, among other things, and she knew almost everyone that we visited that morning, Sedona being a small town. She took great delight in explaining to her friends that I was in from California, and that they'd sent us young ones out to help the old folks here in Arizona.
Elaine was particularly worried about visiting an elderly woman named Sally; Sally had arthritis and was a very private person, so Elaine didn't know if she'd even talk to us. Sally opened the door, her face lit up, and she invited us right in. It was supposedly against campaign canvassing rules to go into a voter's house, but Elaine said it was okay, since she knew Sally from the neighborhood. Sally ushered us into the living room, hardly containing her excitement, and before we could even say anything, she handed me a Dean button, telling me I didn't have enough on already. She told us she'd been an avid follower of politics for years, having worked in Washington, D. C. and the Democratic headquarters in Seattle. She'd already sent in her vote-by-mail ballot for Dean last week, and she'd also given money to the campaign, and wasn't it just lovely of us to come visit! Elaine was flabbergasted and overjoyed; she later told me that just the one visit to Sally made up for any other rejections we faced that day.
Back at the cafe that afternoon, the madness continued: Stan and I played chess. I couldn't imagine a nerdier way to flirt, but there I was, playing badly and opening myself up to check with deliberately reckless moves. We had in Phoenix for the bus back to LA by 3pm, so we said farewell to our new friends in Sedona and got on the road back down the mountain. I finally remembered some of my responsibilities back home, so I memorized my lines for the play in the car, while Stan dozed, his head in my lap, my hand running idly through his hair. He drilled me on my lines while I gazed out at the scenery, feeling sheepish and confident and dumb and smart all at the same time.
Then things started to get really weird. We were almost back to HQ when Steve got a call from Phil: the bus, our ride back to LA, had been hit. Thankfully there was no one in it yet, but the back tire was busted, and they didn't know how long it would take to fix it. We were possibly stranded in Phoenix for another night. We got back to HQ and ran around, frantically trying to decide whether we should take our chances on splitting rental cars or wait for the bus to be repaired (some of us had to go to work in the morning). By this point I was quite attached to Stan, and I was seriously considering ponying up the cash for a quiet ride back to LA in a rented sedan. But that scheme quickly dissipated as the coach company resolved everything by sending a replacement bus. While we waited, I called up a childhood friend of mine who lived in Phoenix, and he came by to rescue Stan and I from busy work at the HQ (they had us punching holes in brochures for door hangers). We drove out to a local sports bar, had a drink, and discussed politics and sports. He and Stan really hit it off, especially when it came to sports, which made me silently panic even more. I was absolutely terrified of being single if there were guys out there this fabulous; my chances at a long-lasting relationship of any kind with one of them were hopeless, given that I was such an impulsive and untrustworthy maniac (witness by cheating on my boyfriend that weekend).
The ride back was the real party; I was already tipsy from drinks that afternoon, but then I noticed a cooler sitting on the ground in the parking lot on my way to the bus. I called out to Phil and he told me that was our reward, so I promptly grabbed a Smirnoff Ice out of it, and hoisted up with me onto the bus, handing out Pacificos as I went. The Star Wars movie of choice this time was, appropriately, "Return of the Jedi", and the rowdy Valley group managed to engage quite a few of us in a raunchy game of Truth or Dare, which ended up mostly being about sordid Truths (e. g. Where's the weirdest place you've ever had sex? - my favorite answer was, of course, Stan's: in a service elevator). Spencer finally whipped out his violin and played us a few tunes; he was quite the virtuoso, especially with bluegrass and folk tunes. I got up the courage to move up to his seat and sing him a few folk songs I remembered - holdovers from all those years singing in choirs - and he managed to pick up the tunes and harmonize with me. It was this weird kind of folksy moment, topped by an almost ethereal moment with a great rendition of Amazing Grace. Or at least, it seemed that way to me. But I was on my second or third drink. Stan again used me as a pillow, and I obliged; I only started to feel the weight of his head on me as we pulled closer to Los Angeles. The hangover was starting to set in: I still had to break up with my boyfriend, and deal with the ensuing loneliness. I still had to go to work the next day. I still had to deal with a struggling acting career. I still had to be single, even if I had this thing for Stan. And Dean still had to prove himself to New Hampshire voters, with little time left.
So I'd like to tell you that after a groggy hug goodbye in the Burbank Airport parking lot at midnight on Sunday night, that Stan and I lived happily ever after, that the Dean campaign was resurrected, and that my life was completely changed by the grassroots movement. But reality rears its ugly head, and the Dean campaign now looks to be toast. I did break up with my boyfriend, but being alone again is turning out to be harder than I thought. Stan and I are still speaking on the phone, but only occasionally, since I'm trying not to make too big a fool of myself. My life was already changing, or at least turning a new chapter; going away to work for a grassroots campaign only helped me realize what I need to do. So I guess yeah, in a sense, taking action to make changes on a state or national scale actually spurred me to make changes in my personal life. I am still volunteering for the Dean campaign, partly for the cause and partly for selfish reasons (to keep busy, avoid depression, and maybe see Stan again). The man may have been taken down, but not the movement; it continues to enrich the lives of those who work for it and those it touches. I, despite everything (reality, boyfriends, Iowa, Kerry, Stan), am still a believer.