Inevitably, he arrives late, by SUV or van. The former vice-president is thin and, yes, he’s old. He dresses neatly and always in blue. Staff envelop him. There’s the body man, the advance man, the videographer, the photographer, the digital director, the traveling chief of staff, the traveling press secretary, the local press secretary, the adviser, the other adviser, the adviser’s adviser, the surrogate, the other surrogate, and the bodyguard. ¶ The looming presence of the last guy, Jim, is especially important for optics. Jim is tall and official-looking. He greets the world chest-first, his hands resting in a dignified clasp, his expression even, his mouth unmoving. Most people assume that he’s a Secret Service agent. Which he was.
But ex-VPs don’t get security for life the way ex-presidents do. Most people don’t know that, not even the politically savvy types who attend these sorts of things. And that’s all for the best, because Jim—or whatever local guy they’ve got filling in for him in Iowa or New Hampshire or Nevada or wherever else—is a necessary component of the vibe they’re trying to generate here, the Big Presidential Energy, if you will, that powers this production.
This story is from the October 28–November 10, 2019 edition of New York magazine.
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This story is from the October 28–November 10, 2019 edition of New York magazine.
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