MANCHESTER, N.H. — If you’re really into American politics, this New Hampshire city might be the happiest place on earth outside of Washington, D.C. Think about it – most of us are lucky if we ever have a face-to-face encounter with a president or a presidential candidate; locals here are tripping over them every time they go out for at least one year out of every four.
Somehow, this state — not terribly populous, not terribly diverse, not terribly representative of America as a whole, this wedge of New England gets even more than a decisive role in national elections. Every couple of cycles, locals witness some iconic moment in American history: Edmund Muskie crying, or wiping away snow, effectively ending a Democratic frontrunner’s bid in 1972. Ronald Reagan flashing a bit of steely anger, declaring that he paid for that microphone in 1980. Bill Clinton coming back amid the Gennifer Flowers story, and conning the national press corps into believing that second place was the real win in 1992. Pat Buchanan, terrifying the political establishment by calling on his followers to “mount up and ride to the sounds of the guns” in 1996.
The last few cycles have been a bit on the dull side. If John McCain had gone on to win the GOP nomination in 2000, we would remember that year’s primary as a turning point that exposed the lingering vulnerability of the Bush name in national politics. As it is, New Hampshire stands as an anomaly, the site of the last major electoral defeat for George W. Bush when it counted. Also that year, in the undercard fight, Bill Bradley took on the Al Gore machine with all the ferocity of a kitten taking on a locomotive, with about the same results.
In 2004’s modest drama here was Granite Staters saying, ‘yup, Howard Dean sounded nuts to us too,’ and burying the chances of their neighboring governor. So perhaps we’re overdue for one of those moments that political junkies talk about for years to come.
Perhaps it’s because New Hampshire is so culturally different from the nation’s traditional centers of power – New York, Washington, Los Angeles – that makes it such alien territory for ambitious pols. What other country eliminates nominees for their national leader because they’re insufficiently genial while shaking hands in a diner? Where else does a region known for skiing, foliage, and syrup become the decisive fulcrum of selecting a leader?
A December stroll down Elm Street, one of the main commercial avenues in Manchester, reveals signs of the true local passion, national politics, as ubiquitous as Christmas lights and wreaths that are symbols of that other season of stress and excitement.
Traditionalists’ hearts may be warmed by the sight of an old-fashioned nativity scene in Stanton Park. Of course, right above the manger is a sign that says, “THE DISPLAY OF THIS SCENE BY THE CITY OF MANCHESTER IS NOT INTENDED AS ADVOCACY OF ANY RELIGIOUS DOCTRINE OR BELIEF.” Thank you, secular humanists and ACLU.
A block north from the square is the Merrimack Restaurant, which touts itself as a place where national politics and good food meet. The outside wall is dominated by a mural of Gary Hart, Steve Forbes, Bill Clinton, Joe Lieberman, and Bob Dole. The walls by the entrance are lined with photos of every candidate from Bill Clinton to Alan Keyes with the owners (although I didn’t see George W. Bush). If the sight of an original copy of Paul Tsongas’ campaign booklet from 1992,
A Call to Economic Arms framed on the wall is the sort of thing that excites you, this is your place.
Both there, and at Joe Kelly’s (another diner down the street) a traveling companion and I ordered a “Texas burger.” In both Elm Street dining establishments, we learned that what makes it a “Texas” burger is… cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion and mayonnaise. No barbeque sauce, chili, pepper jack cheese – no glimpse of something or anything distinctly southwestern, but apparently a few vegetables are sufficient to earn the label “Texan” here. No wonder Phil Gramm ran into trouble in this state; too much of a culture clash.
Above the restaurant you can find the local offices of Dennis Kucinich for President, adorned with signs saying “Strength Through Peace.” (I resisted the temptation to ring the doorbell and gently tell them they have it backwards.)
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