Smaller gatherings like the one we’ve just left, he says, are more difficult. “Because then you really do have to spend individual time with people, put some time into listening to their individual stories and their histories, and getting to know new people is hard work. It’s fun . . . You go in, you meet people who are smart, who know the issues, and the only frustrating thing is you get dragged out, ’cause you’ve only got 10 minutes on the schedule. It’s the most enjoyable part of the campaign — there’s no such thing as a boring American — but it really does take energy. You get really tired . . .”
Energy is what Dean and his campaign have these days. In one two-day period in July, they were able to bring in more than $500,000 over the Internet, double the amount raised by Dick Cheney at a North Carolina dinner for Bush that the campaign used as a challenge. Over the past week Dean embarked on his Sleepless Summer tour, which put him in six cities in six days to emphasize that while Bush is taking his ease at his Texas ranch, regular Americans don’t have the luxury of a month’s vacation. Crowds — and cash — continue to outstrip expectations, with some 40,000 attending rallies and more than $1 million raised. (Dean will appear in Los Angeles September 29 and 30.)
“Well, it’s been a great pleasure,” Dean says as he exits the car at Burbank Airport. (“Are we horribly late? . . . What time is wheels-up? In 15 minutes? Really?”) We’ve spent the rest of the ride-along discussing the future. As Edwards and Lieberman and Gephardt appear to fall back, and Bob Graham’s campaign seems to have difficulty getting off the ground, the calculus seems more and more to involve Dean vs. Kerry. But Wesley Clark still is an unresolved question.
When I ask Dean about Clark, his response is characteristically two-fold. He praises him with sincere fervor: “I know Wes Clark, he’s a very good human being, and he’s got an enormous amount of integrity.” At the same time, on the subject of Clark entering the race, he shows more than a glint of steel. “It’s going to be very hard to start late,” he says, “and think you’re going to do well in Iowa and New Hampshire. It’s going to be incredibly hard. I mean, we’ve already got 39,000 people working for us all around the country . . . I really do believe — and I think about this — I want to get this nomination, and if I don’t . . . these kids are not transferrable. I can’t just go out and say, ‘Okay, so I didn’t win the nomination, so go ahead and vote for the Democrats.’ They’re not going to suddenly just go away. That’s not gonna happen.”
Moments before the start of the Dean announcement film, just as the crowd on the Plaza de Los Angeles moves closer in, the sound system begins to grumble: It emits whines and groans, and then, all at once, it gives a long, ear-splitting CRAAACK. It’s so loud that people jump back a step or two. “Ah,” says tall, dark, frizzly-haired James, standing behind me wearing black-framed glasses and an olive-green T-shirt with his name tag on it, his beautiful Asian girlfriend beside him. He cocks his head and gestures in the direction the noise has come from. “Ah,” he says, “the thunderous sound of change.”
