Platitudes are boring. Punchlines are better. This approach works well in politics.

Being born in 1975, I was a child of the 80’s - a time when the term “24-hour news cycle” started to be cemented into our minds, sources of information were exploding beyond the three major television networks, and we briefly thought “New Coke” was a marketable idea.

It was also the time when Ronald Reagan was President of the United States. This is important, as his ascension to the highest office in the land came when image was being redefined. So, it naturally took a B-list Hollywood actor to understand how to get through the glass and reach the American people.

Reagan was someone who could deliver a message to a joint session of Congress with the same tempo as being the mystery guest on “What’s My Line?” or offering a jab-laden monologue for a Dean Martin roast. Honestly, if you ever have time, call those last two things up on YouTube. Ronnie had great comic timing - something you surprisingly don’t associate with an elected official.

So, I guess this is where I first became fascinated with the political arena. Now, I will admit this didn’t make me a disciple of the “Reagan Revolution”. As I said in my previous TBD post, I like to see how the sausage is made. What Reagan was doing during his two terms in the White House was just a new way of processing and seasoning a wienerschnitzel.

Growing up in Wisconsin means you’re not just on the periphery of politics, but you’re seeing the prime players sometimes come to your doorstep. My first-ever visit to a political rally was late in 1988. My father took me to the airport and we saw Democratic nominee Michael Dukakis. He was stating his case for why he should be made the nation’s 41st President, instead of George H.W. Bush. We were way in the back and I don’t remember anything he said. I could hardly see Dukakis on the stage - and, that’s not a knock on the candidate’s height. However, I will always remember the sea of people between me and the former governor of Massachusetts - all, just so we can hear one person give reasons why they’re better than the other candidate.

Four years later, I found myself at a farm in west-central Wisconsin to hear another Democratic nominee. This time, however, I would get closer to the candidate - a lot closer. I got there early and brought a boombox with me, so I could record the speech. Remember, this was 1992 and we didn’t have a smartphone, which has the capability to land a spacecraft on the moon in our hands. One person tied to the visit saw me and helped out. I hit the record button, handed it off to this aide, and they placed it on a loudspeaker.

The coach buses pulled up and out spilled Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton, his wife Hillary, his running mate, Tennessee Sen. Al Gore, and Gore’s wife, Tipper. Since we were at a farm, the tailored suits were out, and the candidates - as if, on cue - wore flannel shirts and blue jeans. Again, I don’t remember what Clinton said. That wasn’t the point. It was the appearance which mattered - hopefully enough to snag a few votes from those in attendance. I wouldn’t turn 18 until after the election, so my vote wasn’t up for grabs.

When the speech was done, I wanted to get that boombox back. It was just four feet from me. So, I ducked under the rope line and grabbed it - not realizing what I had just done. I suddenly found myself in a prime position to get a close-up look at the Clintons and Gores. When Bill Clinton came to me, I got him to sign a copy of “Time” magazine that had him on the cover. He smiled and seemed to enjoy doing that for me.

All the while, my boombox was still recording - and that’s when this 17-year-old journalist spoke up.

“Governor, President Bush is conducting military actions in the Gulf right now. Do you think it was smart for us to get out as early as we did?”

The 1991 Persian Gulf War was a watershed moment for then-President Bush. Swift, neat, and minimal collateral damage. His poll numbers shot up to 91 percent. Then, the economy got shaky and the numbers plummeted. Just before Clinton’s visit to my home area, Bush had ramped up movements in the Gulf and I thought it would be a good question for the Democratic nominee for President to answer.

As soon as I asked the question, Clinton’s look changed. It was like he went from grilling burgers at the family picnic to sweating bullets on “Meet The Press”.

“Yeah, we should’ve stayed another day and a half since we were over there,” Clinton answered, saying it was not right for coalition troops to stop, merely because Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein’s were forced out of Kuwait. “General Schwartzkoff wanted us to spend another day and a half.”

I got in a follow-up, which Clinton responded. Then, I thanked him. He responded with a “Thanks”, but in a tone that was more of “Who the hell was that damn kid?” It’s good to know that the first politician I remember being bristled with discomfort over my questions would go on to be our 42nd President of the United States.

The moment was picked up by a local paper, a friend from high school saw me talk with Clinton, and an audio cassette of the encounter is lying around somewhere. Nowadays, I would’ve been hauled off for slipping under the rope line like I did. Instead, I have another anecdote which explains why I got into this crazy profession called journalism.

Moving into adulthood saw me actually shift initially into sports, rather than news. More on that in a future post. The 1990s and 2000s were filled with Friday night football games, swimming meets, basketball matchups, and covering many more athletic activities. Yet, even as a mere sports reporter, I got a few tastes of big-time politics. 

In late-October of 2008, I was on the sports team at KUSA-TV in Denver. Yet, our then-assignment editor - the best one I’ve ever seen in the position - procured a credential for me to a political rally. It was for, yet again, another Democrat - then-Sen. Barack Obama. Honest, I do have fun moments at Republican rallies. Stick with me.

This was nine days before the general election. My work week was done and I made my way to Denver’s Civic Center Park. There were first, hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. Eventually, around 150,000 people were packed into downtown, clamoring to get a glimpse of the person set to become the 44th President of the United States - and, I couldn’t have been more than 50 yards away from him.

Yes, there were other speakers who took to the dais - Ken Salazar, Federico Peña, Bill Ritter, John Hickenlooper. It was, of course, Sen. Barack Obama who was the feature presentation. Once again, however, my amazement was on all of the periphery items, rather than the candidate’s overly-carefully-prepared remarks.

When the national media showed up, it was wonderful to see them in action. The camera guys would dash onto the platform, find their marked-off spot, and set up their camera tripod. Then, the reporters came in to nail their live shots. The one I remember being focused on was Major Garrett, then with Fox News. Like a Tony-winning actor, he came on stage and nailed his delivery. He’s now at CBS and is still one of the best Washington, D.C. reporters in our profession.

To see all of the theater which goes into becoming an elected official just amazes me. I get that this has been at the root of American politics for most of this republic’s existence. Yet, each time the lights and cameras are put into action, I’ll always see a new nuance which overshadows any excessively-crafted sentence a speechwriter spends days slaving over. Sorry, speechwriters.

When I signed on with my hometown TV station, WEAU in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, I knew it was going to be a wild ride. It was the fall of 2015 and I was already salivating about the coming election year. There would be a new president elected and the road to the White House would be running through the Badger State.

Politics is the ultimate sport for a journalist to cover, and that season, I’d have a seat in the playoffs. Sure enough, the moment came on April 2, 2016. Three days later, Wisconsin’s presidential primary would be held, and there wasn’t any other state on the docket that day.

“The next President of the United States is coming to town today,” I uttered that Saturday morning in our newsroom.

We would have Bernie Sanders holding a noon-time rally at UW-Eau Claire’s Zorn Arena, Hillary Clinton speaking in a ballroom at the Lismore Hotel downtown, and Donald Trump holding court that night in the auditorium at Eau Claire Memorial High School. Three candidates, seven hours apart - and this wasn’t happening in either Iowa or New Hampshire.

It was amazing seeing the networks storm into my hometown like the American troops did on Omaha Beach on D-Day. Every time I’d look up at the TV, there was “Eau Claire, WI” over another top-flight reporter’s boxed-in head.

For this day, our then-news director set up two-reporter teams for each event - one to handle the candidate and their address, the other to handle the crowd and reaction.

My assignment: Trump reaction - probably, the meatiest draw of the lot.

Most of my day was outside the school, assessing the crowd, talking with people going in or protesting the candidate, and just trying to capture the essence of this unique day for Eau Claire. The line to get inside Memorial’s auditorium stretched for blocks and I know not everyone in line was able to get in. There were sawhorses placed to separate the attendees and protestors and I was walking up and down within this demilitarized zone of democracy.

“Hey, Jesse!” I heard from one side.

It was a high school classmate of mine, waiting in line to hear Trump’s remarks. He was very cordial towards me and, as a long-time conservative, he was anxious to hear what Trump was going to say.

“Hey, Jesse!” I heard a few minutes later, from the other side of the sawhorses.

It was a former teacher of mine, who was amongst the protestors. She was holding her sign and working to get her message out against the eventual 45th President of the United States.

Amiable disagreement seemed to epitomize my assignment that day. There was even time for the protestors and Trump supporters to politely toss a football back and forth. Hard to believe this was just five years ago.

The campaign rallies and stump speeches kept coming through 2016 and then ramped back up two years later for the midterm election. By 2018, I was our station’s political point person and was regularly asked to talk with a candidate for the U.S. Senate, or governor, or state assembly, or who-knows-what.

In the span of a decade, I had gone from being impressed by Major Garrett’s reporting from a campaign rally to doing my own live coverage. The days were long, the words - at times - were secondary, but I relished being in the thick of the theatrical dance of politics. The race for governor was Wisconsin’s top ticket in 2018 and I got to talk frequently to many of the Democratic candidates, along with incumbent Republican Scott Walker. You got to know their nuances and verbal quirks real fast with each campaign visit.

The Democratic primary was more like a reprise of “The Hunger Games”, as 10 candidates were on the August 14th ballot. Our station dispatched a crew - myself and a photographer - to Madison to cover Tony Evers’ expected win that night. It was a long night, and I didn’t get home until close to 4 in the morning, but it was worth it.

As the poll numbers tightened, the Republicans worked to ramp up the stump-speech ammunition. That brought Vice President Mike Pence to the area for a party fundraiser in October. 

What was I focusing on this time? Flags.

Behind that dais were many, many American and Wisconsin flags - which, I am convinced is mandated to be behind anyone running for elected office. They looked nice, but then one … and then, two people came out to straighten the flags. 

Now, when I say “straighten”, I don’t mean give it a shake and a tug and call it good. This was as if there was one person tugging on the flag so gently, and the other one critiquing every tug and calling out any semi-visible crease in either a star or a stripe.

This is how my mind has evolved over the years. I’ll start out seeing and admiring the grandeur of an event - the Masters, a Super Bowl, or a hotly-contested campaign for elected office.

However, there’s always a moment when I start to watch the minutiae dominate. Besides, it’s more fun to see how the small moments evolve - be it a change in emotion, graceful choreography of a live shot, throwing a football, or fiddling with a flag.

These moments are what makes a normally-sterile campaign rally become amusing. It’s also a lesson for us to look beyond the broad brush strokes and hone in on the pencil-thin detail. Any monumental experience in my life is remembered for the silly quirks that happen. You saw a lot of that in my recent salute to New York. What makes me love the city isn’t just the grandeur of it, but the small and raw details visibly hidden within it.

Politics offers those moments as well. It just takes a good set of eyes, an open mind, and a passionate heart to experience them.

Just make sure those flags look perfect!