bearded and cocky, because Kerry liked people who defied conventional wisdom.
The last two advisers were Nat Schlesinger, the wealthy public relations executive, whose personal signature was the bow tie and whose rich experience in presidential politics had begun with James Kilcannon; and Mick Lasker, the sharp-featured California campaign manager, a Los Angeles lawyer in his fifties who had run California for Kerry’s brother until the night James was killed. Kerry had understood that using his brother’s people provided his insurgent campaign with a built-in network; his chief reluctance had been whether they confused him with James Kilcannon or simply saw him as a second chance for reflected power. The two men were different in manner and appearance: Nat Schlesinger was round and gray and outwardly placid; Mick Lasker a somewhat frenetic man whose assertiveness seemed to maska certain insecurity. Butneither Nat nor Mick was a fool; Clayton had noticed how seldom they mentioned Kerry’s brother.
“Let’s start with Kerry’s schedule,” Clayton said to Mick.
“Okay,” Mick said in his clipped lawyer’s voice. “First, we all know that California’s a media state. This isn’t New Hampshire—no way Kerry shakes hands with twenty-five million people. The biggest question every day from now till Tuesday is who’s won the airwaves for that day: who’s running the best ads, whether Kerry’s campaign events get the first thirty seconds on the local news and, to a lesser extent, the most column inches above the fold in the next day’s paper.
“Our schedule’s designed for that. Every day, Kerry will have events in at least three of the five big TV markets: Los Angeles; San Diego; Orange County; the San Francisco Bay Area; and Sacramento and the Central Valley. Roughly ninety percent of the votes.”
Mick looked around the table and then focused on Kerry. “Normally, you’d expect to get major coverage only in the markets you’ve visited that day. But we’ve worked out ‘theme days’—instead of Kerry giving the same speech day after day, he’ll have a new emphasis each day, driving home his positions on a major issue our polls and focus groups say works for him. It all makes the case we need people to get: that Kerry’s the candidate of change, not a shill for special interests—the one candidate honest enough and brave enough to actually work for
us.
”
Pausing, Mick permitted himself a fleeting smile. “By a fortuity of timing, today is women’s day—the day Kerry reminds Dick Mason that California women are more than wombs who vote. We start with school loans in San Diego; emphasize day care in Sacramento; talk about expanding family leave in Oakland; and, in Los Angeles, visit a battered women’s shelter.” He turned to the pollster, Jack Sleeper. “Every poll Jack takes says that combating domestic violence resonates with women across economic lines. And, psychologically, it feeds on the shooting in Boston.”
Jack Sleeper nodded. “In our tracking poll last night, Kerry, abortion rights was the number one concern of nine percent of white females most likely to vote. That’s a five percent jump, and we think it’s mostly a reaction to the killings.”
“Be sure to mention the shooting at your event in San Diego,” Mick Lasker said to Kerry. “Chances are that’s what the local stations will go with. Don’t let Mason stay out in front.”
As was his custom, Clayton noted, Kerry had let others speak before he did. “And Thursday?” he asked Mick. “Once I’ve gotten over the shock of Boston?”
“You don’t get over it. Tomorrow you highlight your anticrime positions: using the coast guard to interdict drugs; the equitable application of the death penalty. The major event is a speech to victims’ families about gun control.” He paused and then finished, “There’s no way Dick Mason trumps that one, Kerry.”
Kerry stared at him. For a moment, the room was silent;
The last two advisers were Nat Schlesinger, the wealthy public relations executive, whose personal signature was the bow tie and whose rich experience in presidential politics had begun with James Kilcannon; and Mick Lasker, the sharp-featured California campaign manager, a Los Angeles lawyer in his fifties who had run California for Kerry’s brother until the night James was killed. Kerry had understood that using his brother’s people provided his insurgent campaign with a built-in network; his chief reluctance had been whether they confused him with James Kilcannon or simply saw him as a second chance for reflected power. The two men were different in manner and appearance: Nat Schlesinger was round and gray and outwardly placid; Mick Lasker a somewhat frenetic man whose assertiveness seemed to maska certain insecurity. Butneither Nat nor Mick was a fool; Clayton had noticed how seldom they mentioned Kerry’s brother.
“Let’s start with Kerry’s schedule,” Clayton said to Mick.
“Okay,” Mick said in his clipped lawyer’s voice. “First, we all know that California’s a media state. This isn’t New Hampshire—no way Kerry shakes hands with twenty-five million people. The biggest question every day from now till Tuesday is who’s won the airwaves for that day: who’s running the best ads, whether Kerry’s campaign events get the first thirty seconds on the local news and, to a lesser extent, the most column inches above the fold in the next day’s paper.
“Our schedule’s designed for that. Every day, Kerry will have events in at least three of the five big TV markets: Los Angeles; San Diego; Orange County; the San Francisco Bay Area; and Sacramento and the Central Valley. Roughly ninety percent of the votes.”
Mick looked around the table and then focused on Kerry. “Normally, you’d expect to get major coverage only in the markets you’ve visited that day. But we’ve worked out ‘theme days’—instead of Kerry giving the same speech day after day, he’ll have a new emphasis each day, driving home his positions on a major issue our polls and focus groups say works for him. It all makes the case we need people to get: that Kerry’s the candidate of change, not a shill for special interests—the one candidate honest enough and brave enough to actually work for
us.
”
Pausing, Mick permitted himself a fleeting smile. “By a fortuity of timing, today is women’s day—the day Kerry reminds Dick Mason that California women are more than wombs who vote. We start with school loans in San Diego; emphasize day care in Sacramento; talk about expanding family leave in Oakland; and, in Los Angeles, visit a battered women’s shelter.” He turned to the pollster, Jack Sleeper. “Every poll Jack takes says that combating domestic violence resonates with women across economic lines. And, psychologically, it feeds on the shooting in Boston.”
Jack Sleeper nodded. “In our tracking poll last night, Kerry, abortion rights was the number one concern of nine percent of white females most likely to vote. That’s a five percent jump, and we think it’s mostly a reaction to the killings.”
“Be sure to mention the shooting at your event in San Diego,” Mick Lasker said to Kerry. “Chances are that’s what the local stations will go with. Don’t let Mason stay out in front.”
As was his custom, Clayton noted, Kerry had let others speak before he did. “And Thursday?” he asked Mick. “Once I’ve gotten over the shock of Boston?”
“You don’t get over it. Tomorrow you highlight your anticrime positions: using the coast guard to interdict drugs; the equitable application of the death penalty. The major event is a speech to victims’ families about gun control.” He paused and then finished, “There’s no way Dick Mason trumps that one, Kerry.”
Kerry stared at him. For a moment, the room was silent;
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