Although every senator sees a future president in the mirror every morning, decorum prevents the hopefuls from formally announcing their intentions until a year or so before the caucuses. (It’s just bad manners to let your giant ego show any earlier.) For this reason, precampaign planning takes place behind a curtain of secrecy that adds a little thrill for those involved. I got behind the curtain in early September 2001, when I organized a day-​long strategy session at the Edwardses’ Embassy Row house.

The living room at the mansion was so big that it could accommodate fifteen people, arranged in a big circle of sofas and upholstered chairs, with room to spare. The original list of attendees was actually sixteen, but just days before we got together, Julianna had a bitter falling-​out with Mrs. Edwards. The senator publicly claimed that Julianna had resigned after an argument about record keeping, but he later told me the truth. The problem had been a personal conflict with Mrs. Edwards, as it had been with Josh. Julianna was replaced in the coming campaign by a couple of seasoned fund-​raisers named Steve Jarding and Dave “Mudcat” Saunders. Mudcat was a colorful Southerner who liked to say he was going to make John Edwards the favorite of “grits-​eatin’, gun-​totin’ rednecks all over.” Mrs. Edwards loved him.

I was upset about Julianna’s absence but soon got lost in the excitement of the business at hand-planning K821a presidential campaign-and the impressive circle I had been welcomed to join. When the meeting began at ten A.M., I was seated next to Bob Shrum, a balding, middle-​aged man with sloping shoulders who was one of the most experienced political consultants in the country. Shrum was famous for never having backed a winning presidential candidate, but to be fair, his man Gore had won the popular vote in 2000. Shrum had also guided dozens of people to victorious races for the House and Senate and authored some very important speeches, including Ted Kennedy’s 1980 convention address, which was one of the best political addresses in American history. Our side of the room also included pollster Harrison Hickman and Erskine Bowles, a North Carolina native who had been chief of staff in the Clinton White House. Among the rest of the participants were Edwards aides, his friend Tom Girardi (the lawyer in the famous Erin Brockovich case), and, of course, Senator and Mrs. Edwards.

The senator, who wore blue jeans and a light blue button-​down shirt, opened the daylong session with a three-​page, single-​spaced speech that he stood up to read. After thanking everyone for attending, he said, “You are all here because I think you are smart, I trust you to tell me the truth, and I need your help.”

As the senator explained, we were not there to help him decide on a run for president in 2004. He was already assuming that he would run and that we would be on the team. “Each of you will make big sacrifices for me, sacrifices that Elizabeth and I can never repay,” he predicted. “But you can be certain that I will work as hard as I can on the things I am responsible for.” Edwards added that his immediate goals included “raising a ton of money, learning more about issues, getting to know opinion leaders and political leaders nationally, figuring out better ways to talk about these issues, to explain my views, and maintaining a good public image that will help whether I run for reelection or run for president.”

The discussion that followed consumed the entire day. Everyone was concerned about a possible Gore candidacy and the repercussions of running against the Democrat who was “robbed” in 2000. The only other candidates even being discussed within the party were Joe Lieberman, Dick Gephardt, Massachusetts senator John Kerry, and Senate majority leader Tom Daschle of South Dakota. This was hardly an intimidating lineup to Edwards, and as we considered Edwards’s national connections, his charisma, and his fund-​raising potential, he looked more and more like a winner.

When Shrum got his chance to speak at length, he opened a notebook and ran through a series of points, touching on everything from the key elements of organizing a campaign to media strategy and policy priorities. I was blown away by the breadth of his expertise, and during a coffee break I told Hickman I was very impressed. Hickman, turning competitive, said, “Don’t be impressed, Andrew. That’s the same exact shit he’s been saying since 1980. The same recurgitated stuff.”

As lunch was served, the group worked on a long list of items that would have to be accomplished before Edwards could announce he was running. He had created a political action committee (PAC), which could be staffed to raise money, research issues, and support K, acandidates in key states who could be helpful later. We talked about setting priorities for the senator’s time in Washington, North Carolina, and around the country, and we reviewed a series of conferences where we could bring together experts in areas such as economics, foreign policy, and health care so the senator could become better informed. As a member of Senate committees that dealt with intelligence, health care, science, and commerce, he was already positioned to speak out on most of the important issues, but he needed to make himself more visible. As part of this effort, he would have to go on some fact-​finding missions abroad, where he could beef up his image as a world leader. Of course, the issues didn’t matter if we couldn’t use them to connect with the public. Here the senator stressed “getting exposure with the people who matter.” This meant national media and TV and print in places like Iowa and New Hampshire.

For me, the fellow with such a profound fear of public speaking that he remained silent all day, the meeting was a crash course in presidential politics taught by people who understood the process. For example, amateurs who think the first important races take place in Iowa and New Hampshire don’t understand that the candidates fight one another first in a contest over money. Months before any votes are cast, pundits scan campaign finance reports to see who is raising the most dough. The leader in that race can pay for more staff, ads, and travel and is anointed the front-​runner. At the same time, candidates take positions on issues with fund-​raising in mind. If you want to get donations from oil executives, for example, it helps to be a supporter of drilling in the Alaska wilderness. Money is so important that even if you are the most brilliant candidate, political commentators will relegate you to second-​class status if you are not among the top three in fund-​raising. Below this level, you simply cannot compete in a national campaign.

I also learned that day that geography is not necessarily destiny when it comes to party politics. A lot of people were worried that Iowa governor Tom Vilsack might jump into the mix. If he did, he could expect to win the first voting of the season at the Iowa caucuses. Some might see this turn of events as a negative, but you could also conclude that Vilsack would take Iowa out of play for everyone, which meant that a candidate like Edwards could concentrate all his time and money on the New Hampshire primary. If he did that and won in the Granite State, he’d become the overall leader.

In nine hours, not one person said anything to discourage the senator from running. In fact, everyone who spoke had supported the idea, and they all seemed to assume they would have positions in the future campaign. I would include myself in this group, and as the senator stood up to end the day’s work, I thought about being part of the team, accompanying him on campaign trips, waiting out election night returns, and celebrating victory.

Few things in adult life can match the passion and excitement of being a key player in a political campaign. During the days, weeks, and months of hard work devoted to a shared goal, people start to feel like soldiers in a battle or members of a football team driving toward a championship. You come to believe that your side stands for all that is good and the other side represents ignorance and evil. Fueled with adrenaline, ego, and hope, you work harder than you ever dreamed you could, accomplish things you never thought you could, and Kou form bonds stronger than those of family. In the end, you get a score-the election results-that tells you whether you have won or lost. The verdict can test your nerves, but no matter how it works out, you know you were in the game-in this case, the ultimate game-and that can be deeply satisfying. Visions of the campaign danced in all our heads as the meeting at the senator’s home ended, and then, as everyone stood, Erskine Bowles spoke: