Keyes like me

The day after the Iowa caucuses, it snowed in New Hampshire, as if to discourage the invading political and journalistic hordes from coming east. Of course, we came anyway. That night I sat in a Chinese restaurant in Nashua with a dozen other reporters ordering more food than we could possibly eat. A couple of staff people from the Forbes campaign were at our table as well. Everyone was white except me -- that still happens a lot out on the trail.

A guy approached from my left. "I know who you are. Is this the campaign dinner, are you celebrating?" he asked. In fact, I was considering the crispy duck.

"Oh no," I answered, intending to tell him we were journalists. Then I realized what he was thinking: Alan Keyes and his staff out for a celebratory dinner. He thought I was running for president and all these white people worked for me. Talk about playing against the stereotype. I had a sudden flash of why Keyes may well keep this thing going all the way to Philadelphia. "You did great in Iowa, good luck here," the man said.

Then I told him that he had mistaken my identity. He apologized and slunk back to the corner. My table, meanwhile, was in stitches, and I was embarrassed. Is it possible that people see me and think I am the guy in the full-length leather coat, telling the country that we are having too much fun, so cut it out, right now?

Most depressingly, do we all still look alike?

I got my answer soon enough. The next night was debate hell. First the Republicans, then the Democrats. Bradley essentially called Gore a liar in the second one, after Keyes took on Bauer on the mosh pit issue in the first one.

Going into the pit was an expression of trust, a metaphor for his relationship with the American people, Keyes insisted. When Bauer challenged him again, Keyes put on a fireworks display that grew more spectacular as it proceeded. It was hard to believe what we were hearing.

"The real test of dignity is how you carry it through in hard times. I think I learned that from my people. We went through slavery when we didn't have outward signs of what others would call dignity because we understood that dignity came from within, and that whatever circumstances you are going through you carry that dignity with you and no one can take it away."

I was left mulling whether Keyes had just compared surviving slavery to emerging from a mosh pit with your tie straight. I'm still not sure. But it was an incandescent piece of work.

The next night I was watching the State of the Union marathon in the bar at the Bedford Village Inn. With me were some of my campaign staff from our earlier Chinese dinner. I had just put down my scotch when a woman said she just wanted to shake my hand.

"Ambassador Keyes, you spoke to my daughter's fourth-grade class today; she said you were a terrific speaker."

"Thank you," I said.

"I just think you're doing a really terrific job with your campaign, and I just wanted to say how much I enjoy hearing you talk about the issues."

Again, I thanked her. The people at the bar were stifling back what clearly would be gales of laughter once she retreated. Finally, I decided to let her off the hook. "I am not who you think I am, but it happens all the time." She did not believe me and plowed ahead. "My husband is probably under the table over there because I decided to do this, but best of luck."

"Thank you," I said.

Let them laugh, I decided. This is good for them and good for me, because this entire broadcast was meant strictly for their viewing pleasure and may not be rebroadcast, in part or in its entirety, without my express written permission ...

"And now it's on to South Carolina."

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