An Evening with a Candidate
Let’s face
it—when one lives out in the boonies, unless it is in Iowa or New Hampshire—one
does not expect to encounter many presidential candidates. And so, when we
learned that Senator Marco Rubio was holding a rally in Grand Rapids, Michigan,
only seventy miles away, we immediately put in our bid for two tickets.
In short
order the tickets appeared in my Inbox, suitable for printing.
There was a
little confusion about the starting time. Email estimates ranged from 6:15 PM
to 7:30 PM. But, as the day grew closer the time settled down to “6:30 PM the Doors
Open, 7:30 to 8:15 Program.”
Thus
informed, David and I dined at 4:30 PM and left home in our automobile a
quarter-hour later. Our target address was Lacks Enterprises in the 4900 block
of Broadmoor SE. “Can’t imagine why they would
pick Lacks Enterprises,” Dave remarked.
“Never heard
of it, have you?” I answered.
“Nope. Wonder
what they do.”
“Strange
name,” I observed. “Probably because it’s handy to the airport.” I counted off the
numbers on the buildings as we drew near. “Ah, there is it…Lacks Enterprises.”
Dave pulled
into the right hand lane behind a short line of cars. It was nearly six o’clock
and already people were lined up at the side door waiting to get in. “Oops, the
driveway is barricaded,” Dave noticed. As we approached I rolled down the
window. A uniformed attendant spoke to us, “Take a right at the next light, and
then a right on East Paris.”
“Okay,
thanks.” I rolled up the window. Following his directions we passed building
after building, with more gates and “Lacks” signs. The place went on and on. It
was huge! Gigantic! Lacks Enterprises took up the whole quarter section, right
in the middle of the industrial area of the suburban city of Kentwood. We were being
routed around to the back entrance. At last we came to an open gate, outlined
with orange barricades and uniformed men with flashlights wearing bright orange
vests and waving us in and onward to a parking spot on the grass berm.
We
grabbed our stuff and hurried to join the crowd standing at the back of a long
line. It was disappointing to see that we were probably not going to get a
front row seat.
We had worn
our light-weight spring jackets, thinking it would be stifling hot inside the
auditorium. Too bad for us, by six o’clock, the mild temperature of the day had
dropped precipitously. An eight mile per hour breeze in our faces, added to the
wind-chill factor. At the last minute, I had grabbed a blanket out of the back
seat, but Dave had left his warm gloves in the car.
In no time
the line of folks stretched out of sight behind us. We stomped our feet and
huddled together, wrapped in our blanket, hoping the doors would open early. Didn’t
happen.
At last the
line started moving. We filed past a graveyard of Links Enterprises
semi-trucks, parking lots and more buildings. As we neared the yawning entrance
we noted the clutch of television vans bordering the area. Finally we came
within the shadow of the building, into its protection on the lee side, out of
the wind. A half-dozen Rubio workers were lined up with hand-scanners, checking
tickets. In seconds the main computers would record my name, address, email
address, phone number, party affiliation and exactly how much money I had
donated to Republican causes.
Anxious to
find seats we hurried by more tables displaying items for sale, campaign
buttons, placards and posters. Inside the vast warehouse, I realized to my
dismay, there were no seats left. Already the crowd was standing six deep
surrounding a makeshift stage, back-dropped in huge Rubio-for-President banners.
I stretched to my full height, unable to see beyond the heads in front of me. Darn!
A helpful
usher suggested we circle around to the other side of the crowd where we might
find some chairs or at least a better view. We hurried onward, skirting behind
the media platform and past the waiting patrons, to the far side. Alas, not
only was the crowd six deep, but the tall men seemed to be in front. Well,
there was nothing else to do but pick a spot and stake our claim.
No sooner had
we settled-in than Dave announced he was leaving to use a bathroom…well…portable
bathroom better known as a Porta-potty. “Now, you will stay right here. Don’t
move, okay? I’ll find you,” he instructed.
“Okay,” I
nodded, putting on a brave front.
Little by
little the crowd pressed closer. I worked to keep a space for Dave, using my
elbows and leaning here and there. A nice gentleman behind me asked, “Excuse
me, do you mind if I stand there?” as he pointed to the miniscule space beside
me.
“Oh dear,
please don’t. I’m saving this space for my husband. He went to the
Porta-potty.”
Several folks
nearby nodded in understanding and proceeded to help me keep a small space
open.
For an
interminable length of time, I watched in vain for Dave’s arrival, as the depth
of the crowd grew exponentially from six to twelve to eighteen, until I could
no longer see the end of it. How would Dave find me, now, when everything had
changed? While everyone else was facing forward in anticipation of the arrival
of celebrities, I faced the back, standing on tiptoe, straining to spot Dave. I
had almost given up when I spied his dear head moving along the edges. I waved
and shouted, until he saw me and moved through the crowd to my place. “What a
crowd!” he grumbled, “I had to wait in line!”
I nodded. “Now
you know what it’s like for women,” I quipped.
With naught else
to do, we waited, and waited and….
Nothing
happened except for more tall men moving into the front of the crowd lining up
like a living fence, presumably to keep the fans from getting too close to the
senator.
We expected
there to be a rock band to entertain us as we waited. Not!
Well, at
least, there should be a local politician or two to warm up the crowd-Not!
No band, no
politicians--only a technician testing out the sound system, counting down from
ten to five. From time to time amateur cheerleaders led the crowd in chanting,
Mar-co, Ru-bio, Mar-co, Ru-bio, never lasting more than a couple of minutes
before the echo petered out. I checked my watch. 7:15 PM. Only fifteen more
minutes to go, that is, if the program started on time. Ruefully, I thought of
our current president, Barack Obama’s, practice of always being late, sometimes a half hour or more.
Would Rubio be like Obama? Meanwhile I had taken up an exercise in place,
weaving from one foot to the other, with an added twist. I checked my watch,
again. Only two minutes had passed.
“Want to
leave?” Dave suggested in my ear. I shook my head. “No, not yet.”
“It’s an
experience,” he rationalized. “Together.”
“Yes, an
experience,” I nodded. “Together.” I slid my arm around his waist and rocked
some more.
We noticed a
few supporters holding Rubio signs, taking the seats of honor on stage,
carefully arranged underneath the banners, for the TV cameras. I had dressed
with a large red neck scarf and a Republican lapel pin, foolishly hoping I
would be chosen to sit behind the candidate. No such luck.
At 7:25 PM,
someone took the microphone and began warming up the crowd. This was a
cavernous room, little more than a vast empty warehouse. Acoustics were
terrible. I could not understand a word coming out of the rows of giant
speakers lined up the full length of one wall. The crowd seemed to “get it,”
however, responding with laughter, cheers and shouts. Oh well, I wasn’t alone
as no one around me seemed to be responding either.
Peering through tiny gaps
in the crowd I could perceive movement. Soon a drum roll and cymbals announced
something was happening. Then, the strains of the national anthem arose from
what was apparently a local high school band. The crowd seemed to be facing one
way and many had hands over their hearts. Good heavens, were they pledging
allegiance to a Rubio-for-President banner? Dave pointed and I strained to see.
Ah…yes, there was a tiny corner of an American flag peeking out around a man’s
hat. I joined in. The song ended and the band members filed out. Why didn’t
they stay and play some more?
Nothing
happened as more minutes passed.
“I’ll give
him until 7:45 and we’re leaving,” I warned Dave. He smiled in agreement.
Precisely at
that time, an electricity raced through the crowd and loud chants went up.
Rubio, Rubio, Rubio, amid whistles and cheers. “Where is he?” I asked, feeling
envious of the small children sitting on their father’s shoulders in front of
me. Dave pointed. Stretching and weaving I managed to find a small peep hole
through the mass of bodies. And there he was! The candidate, in the flesh, dressed
in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie, waving outstretched arms and grinning
broadly. He wasn’t on stage, as I expected, but was standing in the center on
some kind of platform. He began his speech, turning around, this way and that,
to take everyone in. By now I had removed my hearing aids and put them in my
pockets, thus getting rid of the roaring cacophony they create. (Don’t believe
the commercials. Even the most expensive aids, which I have, will not filter out
the reverb of crowd noise.) I could make out a few words, now and then, such as
constitution, conservative and Hillary. I could guess the rest. The crowd
seemed to react at appropriate times.
“Can you
understand it?” I asked Dave.
“Not much,”
he said.
After about
fifteen minutes we agreed to leave. We had seen enough. “But, how do we get out
of here?” I asked, gesturing toward the throng behind us.
“Right
through there,” he pointed to my left. It was the closest way to open space.
And so I started. “Excuse me, excuse us,” I repeated and the people parted,
allowing us through. Our vacated spaces filled up instantly. A pipe-like
barrier separated the edge of the crowd from a side aisle. I ducked under it,
on hands and knees. Dave casually raised the pipe and walked through. I
struggled upright, and we were free. We circled way out around the crowd, back
behind the media stand toward the tables and the outer barn doors.
Surprisingly, once we got away from the mass of people we could see the senator
better. Also, when I passed in front of a loud-speaker, I could hear as well.
And so, we stayed there leaning up against the wall and experienced the rest of the
speech.
Happily, I
could now see and hear it all. Marco was great! He had the crowd in the palm of
his hand, speaking totally without notes. Oh sure, he gives that speech three
times a day, and yet he manages to make each time sound like the first time. Indeed,
it was both moving and inspiring. He told the heart-breaking story of his parents’
struggle in communist Cuba, and then coming, at last, to the States. The two of them worked
hard in a hotel, as a bar-man and a maid. Within only ten years they could buy
their own home and raise their family, able to provide a better life so their
kids could experience the American dream. And now, their senator son was running for president!
Marco
finished law school with $100,000 in student loans on his back. He understands
what that is like and has already proposed detailed, sensible plans to help
students.
He spoke eloquently
about how each of us, as parents, want the American dream for our children, and
what it is going to take for that to happen. He has strategies and expectations
and made promises to us, concluding with an eloquent appeal for our vote.
He had the
crowd cheering wildly at the end. No need to rise. They were already on their
feet.
Dave and I
hurried for the door, among the first lucky ones to escape. We found our car
with no trouble and made our way off the grounds rather quickly. Dave turned up
the heaters, pointed the car north and soon we were out of the city, heading homeward
on US 131.
We arrived home
in time to reach our rocking chairs and catch John Roberts, the Fox News
journalist, making his report "From Grand Rapids, Michigan, with the Rubio
campaign.”
We held hands,
nodded and agreed, “We were there, weren’t we?”
