2004-01-27 - 2:43 p.m.

saturday morning - meet the winterns

we arrive at headquarters looking forward to a breakfast of some kind. i was told on the phone the only meals i would have to pay for would be those on the road. i didn't expect bacon-and-cream-cheese omelettes but i thought maybe i'd get a donut and some coffee. i manage to find stale bagels and vat peanut butter. i get the last bagel. when i request coffee, i am politely told to make it myself and directed to the coffee machines. a bitchy wintern instructs me to make one pot of coffee and one of hot chocolate, but i successfully ignore her, as i have not yet had any coffee. as soon as i scoop chock full o' nuts into the paper filter, i am told we are changing locations, and that i should bring the coffee machine with me. joanna is dismayed, her low-carb diet does not accomodate anything on the table (though frankly i cannot fathom why she would be on such a diet, since she seems to have a lovely figure).

a wintern confesses to me that until friday afternoon, they didn't even know how many people were coming for the weekend, and that they organised the additional space at the very last minute. that explains somewhat why there is not a stick of furniture anywhere, nor any coffee cups or amenities of any kind. i catch mathew drinking bad coffee (my fault, really) out of a paper bowl in the break room.

we are collectively hustled into the main training room which seems to be unheated, and only partially lit. one or two folding tables are set up with postcards and labels and stamps. we are told to label and stamp the postcards for the next hour. the task is completed in about 15 minutes.

i want to point out that all the other campaigns in town, as far as i can tell, are run by paid professionals. they get a few regular folks here and there to volunteer, make it look like a grassroots effort. but all in all the campaigns are bought and paid for. the folks knocking on doors for kerry or making phone calls for lieberman are hired. they've done it before. they know what they're doing. they likely don't even give a damn who they're supporting with their efforts. the dean campaign is almost all-volunteer. its one of the most bottom-up organisations i've ever witnessed firsthand. the interns are all true believers who really think they are going to change the world right along with their candidate.

so after we finish stamping cards, they gather us around for a pep talk. we are encouraged to tell our 'story', the reason we are giving up our weekend to support dean. the winterns mostly just tell their own stories, though, which they obviously think are the most moving and life-altering stories ever. these stories are all the same: being disillusioned around the end of a college career, getting fired up by a dean speech about either the immorality of the war or the paucity of adequate health care, connecting with similarly enthusiastic youngsters in the dean campaign, devoting a large portion of time and/or treasury to the effort to get dean elected. i begin to think about my own story and realise i will need to spin it in order to tell it to others in this context. i am not a true believer. i basically came to new hampshire for the adventure, because i had nothing better to do, and to see if i could get some action. i like dean but he surely did not change my life.

the interns for dean call themselves 'winterns' for reasons i never discern. the closest i can tell is that its the dead of winter, and intern is really only two letters away. the winterns are alternately good-natured, bossy, grateful, mildly abusive, sunny, overtired, underfed, enthusiastic, and authoritarian. to a person they are all under 25. most seem to be from new england originally, with a heavy emphasis on boston and western massachussets. my new hampshire-born friend stacie tells me that these people can be referred to as massholes. another volunteer mentions to me under his breath how he's worked in an organisation that had a lot of volunteer help, and that they always ended up treating the volunteers like sh-t. i agree with him and think to myself, we are so disposable. we're so f*cked.

wintern rob, who will later become the focus of much volunteer consternation, walks us through a canvassing demonstration. one of the most important volunteer tasks is to knock on the doors of voters who might possibly be persuaded to cast a vote for dean. armed with youth, enthusiasm, and a packet of literature; we will be knocking on the doors of people the campaign has already identified. if at all possible, we are meant to speak to the (hopefully adult) person answering the door for a minute or two to try and discern where their sympathies lie. we will then code our interaction with that voter on a special form. folks who are absolutely planning to vote for dean are a 1, people who will probably vote for dean are 2s, undecideds are 3s, those leaning towards another candidate are 4s, those who will definitely vote for another candidate are 5s, and those who won't vote or are registered republican are 6s. rob puts a big emphasis on turning 3s into 2s, and 2s into 1s, and so forth.

so after a couple of demonstrations about what to say on the doorstep, we break into smaller groups. each of us will try a demonstration so that the winterns can make sure we have got it right. our wintern is a british citizen named gilles. he asks for a volunteer to go first, and i am so confident in my persuasive abilities that i go first. he gives me a small opening to talk about health care and i use my sultriest voice on him and describe in brief the governor's extensive plan to extend universal care to most americans. he gives me an A+. but i will easily avoid the task of cavassing for another, more visible job.

photos of my weekend for dean on my fotolog

stay tuned for further installments!