The Search

Up I-93, on the road to New Hampshire, a road well-traveled. I-93, the artery that runs through the Granite State, the presidential hopeful's lifeblood, the road that gave McGovern and McCarthy a chance. Live Free and travel I-93, or ....

The leaves are frazzled and fraying now, the hues of mid-fall gone. But a trace of the brilliance remains, enough to stir the stomach. New Hampshire retains its quaint mystique, the facade that the media and the politicos penetrate in February of every leap year. Something intangible, but pervasive, emanates from this state of towns carved from foothills. It draws the curious observer, and so eight months after the primary, the search begins anew.

The Politics of Everydayness

The frenetic fervor that engulfed New Hampshire in February has dissipated. By all accounts, the state is solid Ronald Reagan country. His organizers walk around with smug smiles: "We've got this state easily," they say, invariably lowering their voices as if bellowing out the foregone conclusion would be in bad taste, or worse, bring bad luck. The Reagan people work from nine-to-five, the kind of hours their favorite kept up when he was governor of California. The Republican's campaign headquarters are spacious, and, for the most part, empty. No more envelopes left to stuff, no more door-to-door canvassing and lit dropping--and so the volunteers stay home. One pot of coffee adequately hypes those who appear each morning and leave in time for dinner. It is the campaign as business: not the corporation's most lucrative or difficult deal, but every deal counts. Now going through the motions, Reagan's New Hampshire effort has slipped into the politics of everydayness. It is just a matter of waiting, they are confident, before Walter Cronkite declares, "As expected, the state of New Hampshire has given its three electoral votes to Ronald Reagan."

In the deepest sense, President Carter's campaign workers do not offer a contrast. In similarly hollow offices, only a courageous few continue the struggle, betraying the same self righteous air as their Republican counterparts. In similarly hollow offices, only a courageous few continue the struggle, betraying the same selfrighteous air as their Republican counterparts. In their hearts, they too know they are right. Ronald Reagan seems no fiercer an enemy than Ted Kennedy, whom Carter comfortably defeated here. A little jaded, Carter's workers take comfort in his recent upsurge in the national polls, and go through the motions, driven by the impossible dream of a New Hampshire upset. But their efforts are tinged with despair. They hope to see Walter Cronkite lift his eyebrows and declare, "In a tighter race than expected, Ronald Reagan barely held on to New Hampshire's three electoral votes."

The Political Bureau

Reagan's southern New Hampshire headquarters are housed in a downtown Manchester church. An American flag drapes the entrance. A reporter walks in and asks how things are going, what the atmosphere is like.

Jim Berry, director of organization, gray suit and gray hair, declines comment. "If you're from the press, you'll have to go see Joe Zellner. He's our press man. The rules say you have to get any public statement from him." He directs his associate director, Doris Genest, to give directions. She delegates the responsibility to Gordon Hensley, a young staffer transferred from Washington, where he used to "do work with the Republican National Committee."

The reporter persists. Won't anyone just chat about the mood of the campaign? The room falls silent.

Hensley escorts the reporter outside and says, "Don't worry about Berry. He's just a bureaucrat." Hensley talks for a few minutes, and adds, "Look, if you have any problems, come back and see me. I'll be interviewed. I'll be here until six or seven." Hensley evokes the image of a 25-year-old 45-year-old.

Upon returning at 4:45, the reporter is told that Hensley has left for the day. And that Ronald Reagan wants to trim the bureaucracy.

The Georgian

A photograph of former President Richard M. Nixon adorns the wall in front of which Zellner, Reagan's state media director, sits. "I'm from Georgia and my whole family was Depression Democrat. In those days, no one in the South voted Republican. Now, no one in my family is a Democrat. And just wait for the 1980 census to redistribute the electoral votes. Carter forestalled the trend in the South, but the balance of power in this country is shifting. The political spectrum has moved. And Reagan has straddled the center."

As Zellner--who has lived in New Hampshire for 12 years--discusses the election, W. Stephen Thayer, the campaign's executive director, blankly watches the Muppets on TV and waits for the Boston evening news.