The Politician

More help would come from Senator Bob Kerrey of Nebraska, who saw great potential in Edwards and came to Raleigh in the fall of 1999 to attend a fund-​raiser. Because I had to pick him up at the airport, I asked Cheri to take care of things at the Angus Barn steak house, where the event would be held, and she did. Kerrey, who insisted on carrying his own bag when I met him, couldn’t have been nicer. He had just gotten a BlackBerry phone and was beguiled by its capabilities. “Look at this,” he said, showing me the screen. “I just texted my whole staff.”

Although he was a war hero who had run for president himself, Kerrey was unpretentious and undemanding. He drew a good crowd to the donors’ cocktail party, where he made my boss sound as though he were already a key player in the United States Senate. Afterward, when Edwards asked him to share a di

For a local staffer with just a few months on the job, the invitation was like being asked to move up to the grown-​ups’ table at Thanksgiving. And unfortunately, I discovered what a lot of young people learn when they join the adults: It’s not as great as you expect it will be. On this night, the Edwardses tried a little too hard to impress their guest, which was embarrassing, and then the senator put his foot in his mouth when he asked Cheri about her job as a nurse. Somehow he managed to get onto the subject of her salary and then insulted her by blurting out, “Jesus, how the heek do you survive on horrible pay like that?”

The comment bothered me on several levels, including the way it contradicted everything I had heard the senator say about how he respected working people. Cheri left the restaurant more than a little steamed. She actually made a very good living, just not relative to someone who made $10 million a year. Cheri never forgot it. I decided it reflected a flaw in a man who otherwise possessed a great many positive qualities, which balanced it out.

On the way home, as I agreed with Cheri about the senator’s insensitivity, I also thought about how, in the course of the evening, Senator Kerrey had referred many times to Edwards’s bright future as a national leader. It was hard for me to believe that a guy who had served less than a year in the one and only political job he had ever held was being described as a future star of the Democratic Party. It was so fast. But I also recalled what I had seen the first time I saw Edwards speak. Maybe, I thought, my intuition had been right.

Serious talk about John Edwards ru

Senator Edwards and I accompanied Gore for the full day. It was my first experience with a motorcade operated by the Secret Service, and I got a sense of their readiness when the driver of a stopped car pulled onto the highway. Suddenly the rear windows of a black Suburban popped open and two agents, their firearms visible, leaned out. The stray car was surrounded by motorcycle cops, and the motorcade proceeded at full speed. (For fun I called my parents and told them what was going on.)

At each stop that day, the vice president excelled at meeting people one on one but put them to sleep with his public performance. The senator, in contrast, knew how to work a crowd. He knew when he had them, knew when they were getting bored, and knew when to wrap things up. At the last stop, when the crowd applauded the end of Gore’s talk, I happened to be standing near two Secret Service agents. As Edwards and Gore waved to the crowd, one turned to the other and said, “If you ask me, the wrong one’s ru

A few weeks later, the senator told me that he had gotten a few feelers from Gore’s people, who said he was being considered for the job of ru

In mid-​July, on a day when I picked him up at the airport-Diet Coke chilling, AC blasting-and we stopped for some groceries, my cell phone buzzed while I was away from it. When I checked the message, I heard Warren Christopher’s soft voice saying he was trying to reach John Edwards. (Former secretary of state Christopher was helping to guide Gore’s vice presidential pick.) We took the groceries home and called him back. It was at just this moment that Emma Claire, the senator’s two-​year-​old daughter, decided to raise the volume on the television so she could hear every word of the song Cf t220;I love you. You love me!” being sung by Barney, the purple dinosaur. I raced to turn down the volume but couldn’t find the remote control.

Between Barney’s blaring voice and Christopher’s exceedingly soft one, Edwards couldn’t hear much of the call. Mrs. Edwards, who had been hanging on every confused word her husband said, pounced as soon as he hung up the phone.

“Well, what did he say?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“Well, I think he was telling me I was one of two being considered.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Well, the TV was so loud and I could barely hear him, but I think that was what he said.”

“Why didn’t you ask him to repeat himself?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Besides, I was pretty sure I got what he was saying.”

He was right. Christopher had called to say that while other names might be suggested, there were only two people under consideration, and Edwards was one of them. He and Elizabeth were thrilled by the news, and they asked me to arrange a little celebration with their “di

The man we believed was the other finalist, Dick Gephardt, had a political résumé as long as your arm. A member of Congress since 1977, he lost a bid for the presidential nomination in 1988 but became House majority leader the following year. He was from Missouri, which would give the ticket a Midwestern flavor, and he was both a policy wonk and a true insider with national party people. Everyone from New Hampshire to Iowa and beyond knew Gephardt, and half of them probably owed him a favor.

The main thing going against him was his style-he was almost as low-​key as Gore.