Primary Supreme

By Harvey Silverman

There he was, walking along the main street in Manchester, NH, wearing an inverted galosh on his head. It was a galosh of the old and classic style, similar to what I had worn on my feet as a boy more than sixty years earlier, of heavy black rubber that extends above the ankle and with black metal clips that close it tightly.

He was neither a poor soul afflicted with psychiatric illness nor an unfortunate homeless person. He was a candidate for President of the United States. The gentleman had taken advantage of the simple requirement for listing on the first in the nation New Hampshire Presidential Primary ballot, essentially to merely pay $1000. He was accompanied as he walked down the street by two “aides.” His name was Vermin Supreme.

I could not help but stop and speak with him. He was an engaging fellow who told me that, if elected, he would promise to fully fund time travel research and to do all in his power to institute mandatory tooth brushing. I wanted more and he offered his support for waterboarding in the public schools. Then he proceeded on his way as I wished him good luck.

Half a century earlier I had what might loosely be called a “personal” connection to the primary when a first cousin of my mom was on the ballot. I never met the man either before or after and I suppose he was estranged from a large portion of the family as I first learned of his existence when my mom casually mentioned his candidacy. He received less than one hundred votes, a result which apparently did not discourage him from future attempts to be President.

The family connection aside, the presidential election season always prompts me to recall 1964. I was in college in Boston and saw a notice in the student employment office seeking people to report precinct vote totals. It paid all of five dollars. I signed up.

My “credentials” arrived in the mail sometime later. A plain looking business card of inexpensive paper with red and blue stars and NBC NEWS printed on it. It identified me as a Key Precinct Correspondent. It was even signed by those two giants of network news, Chet Huntley and David Brinkley. Okay, not actually signed by them but with their facsimile signatures printed on the card. The instructions directed me to type my name in the space provided. I did this immediately as I was now working the national election for NBC News.

My assignment was to go to a certain precinct on election night, get the vote results as soon as available, and call them in to New York. Chet and David would use the results I reported from my “key precinct” along with similar data from elsewhere to predict the winner of the election.

On election day after a quick dinner I took what was then called the MTA (the same MTA from which, according to the Kingston Trio, Charlie never returned) to my precinct, a long trip of more than an hour. I arrived just as the voting ended and waited for the results. And waited. What was the matter with these people? Did they not understand that Chet and David expected to hear promptly from me with the results?

Finally. I wrote the vote totals down and located a pay phone -- I had been organized enough to remember to have a dime with me -- and called, collect as instructed, the number I had been given and reported the results. I felt satisfied, somewhat relieved, and almost important. My assignment completed I returned to my dorm. Between the cost of transportation and food and drink much of my five dollars had been spent.

I still have that identification card.

Much has changed in politics since those days. The media are ubiquitous, the trucks with satellite uplinks, the reporters, the cameras and video, instant analysis, the recording of every word, gesture, facial expression. Cell phones, internet, Twitter.

In New Hampshire the candidates are everywhere. One can see, meet, shake hands with, question, and otherwise observe as many potential Presidents as one wishes. I liked Vermin. I admit that after an adult lifetime of never missing an election, of closely following politics, I have become jaded and cynical. It seems all for show, appearance, image, rather than substance. Vermin, in his own bizarre way, was pointing out the silliness and posturing of so many candidates and of the media that cover them.

I did not, however, vote for Vermin Supreme. Cynical or not, I still take my vote seriously. After all, I used to cover elections for NBC News.