DATELINE: Portsmouth, New Hampshire

By the time we make it out onto Congress Street, Portsmouth’s delightful restaurant and cafe-heavy main commercial street, there are already ten banner waving supporters for Dennis Kucinich and John Edwards lined up on either side of the main intersection. Michael Niederman, a struggling playwright from Manhattan, is propping up a seven foot pole with four Edwards signs attached to it. So why is he for Edwards? There are lots of reasons, but what stands out to him is Edwards commitment to ameliorate the extraordinary toil needed to achieve a basic level of middle class comfort (for our British readers, ‘middle class’ has different connotations over here, remember).

“I’m for Edwards because everything is becoming harder. If your dad was a steel worker and you’re a steel worker, it’s so much harder to own the same kind of house your dad did. My parents are teachers.. I couldn’t be a teacher and own the same house that they did. It’s so much harder to do the same job and be able to afford the same things as a generation ago.”

Cars pass; some honk for Kucinich, some for Edwards. Cheers go up. A man in a pig suit joins the Kucinich team. “Oh yeah.. that’s serious politics right there”, Michael says, dryly. A woman from Maine explains to Rachael, our superstar driver, accomplice, and native guide, a torrid tale of having to fight for basic healthcare from her asshole employers (33 years service and no insurance at the end of it) – a fight that Edwards himself eventually helped her win. Other Edwards volunteers have come from Illinois, Maryland, even the west coast. Don’t you guys have work?

“Oh yeah… I’m going to go back to my job one of these days” a kindly man in his 50s says, chuckling.

We finally take a break for some coffee and breakfast 100 yards down the road. As we sit in The Works coffee house catching our breath, Ashland, the Kucinich chant-leader, comes in to refuel with a friend. In the time it takes me to eat a bagel, sign-holders for McCain, Richardson, Obama, and Edwards walk past. A couple in Clinton badges sit down at the adjacent table. As I type this there are no fewer than four different groups of banner-wavers lining the sidewalk, chanting slogans at each other and the passing cars.

“So, you guys don’t do politics like this back home?” Anthony, an Edwards volunteer from NYC asked when I first introduced myself. We sure don’t.