his 30s. Jean started to smile. \you can't win. The numbers are against you.\Registered Republicans outnumbered Democrats almost two-to-one in our district.
[6] Still, they told her to go ahead and hire a campaign consultant—for credibility.
[7] When our guru, Ken Christensen, arrived on the train from Washington, he looked disconcertingly like an undertaker: lean, tense and sweating heavily in a black suit.
[8] He was all business. \office,\keys to your car.\rented space on Red Hook's main street, and was unpacking telephones, fax machines and files from a pile of suitcases. [9] \Christensen asked. Jean had raised about $20,000. She told him how much we had
in the bank. \ [10] Jean gulped.
[11] \got to raise at least $500,000,\explained, \$100,000 of that in the next two weeks. If not, you're finished.\
[12] And so, day after day, Jean sat in a windowless cubicle nicknamed the Boiler Room, telephoning family, college roommates, friends of mine from high school. The calls were often painfully embarrassing. After chatting amiably with one relative, Jean swallowed and asked for a contribution.
[13] \Republican?\
[14] \in a small voice.
[15] Nope. Jean shrank inwardly—but kept dialing.
[16] Two weeks after Christensen arrived, my wife emerged from the Boiler
Room. \done it!\Jean shouted. She'd managed to raise about $106,000. [17] DCCC party officials were impressed, but even a poll that showed Jean neck and neck with her opponent didn't convince them that she stood a chance. The committee would do little to help her.
[18] I was appalled by their response. Jean's reaction? \own now.\there was a hard glint in her eyes.
[19] My wife now got three hours' sleep on a good night, but bounded out of bed with the energy of someone half her 46 years. She munched barbecued ribs with the American Legion. She marched in the Fourth of July parade in the city of Hudson. Jean even attended a county fair where she was coaxed into a cow-washing contest. The crowd roared as she sponged down a cow covered with mud and manure.
\lets you politicians know what you're in for,\ [20] On another sunny afternoon, Jean, our daughter, Chloe, and I strode back and forth across our front lawn wearing glassy smiles—the happy American family—while a commercial camera crew filmed the scene for Jean's TV ads.
[21] \like a wife and mother who just happens to be running for office,\the director ordered.
[22] \in the Hudson River,\
[23] \harder!\the director yelled.
[24] My main job through all this was to see that Chloe's life was disrupted as little as possible. I made sure she got to school, had play dates and was fed as well as my limited repertoire allowed (we ate pasta for weeks). After her classes, Chloe and I would go through town putting up
\the thousands that eventually dotted the district.
[25] As the campaign wore on, we saw Jean even less. Often she'd climb into bed at 3 or 4 a.m. and start talking animatedly about the health care system or milk price supports. \as I snapped awake.
[26] \course, dear,\I mumbled. \
[27] By mid-autumn, the campaign was in financial trouble. Jean's opponent, with the generous support he received from the national Republican leadership, would eventually raise almost $900,000 and blanket the district with TV and radio commercials.
[28] But we got a welcome shot in the arm when the area's newspapers almost unanimously endorsed Jean. And with this support came a last-minute surge in