Barack Obama Labor Day Parade, Milford, N.H., Sept. 3, 2007
Dahlia is wearing her patriotic Wonder Woman sundress, which is red with white stars. The ensemble makes for an irresistible parade picture, allowing me to crash an informal Obama press conference without any media resentment. The baby is only 7 weeks old at this point, and Obama notices. "Ooooh, a new one!" he exclaims with an enthusiasm that seems genuine. I hand Dahlia across the yellow police tape and remember that Obama has two young daughters. He knows what he's doing.
During the 2004 presidential race, I took a few photos of my then 2-year-old boy, Ari, with Democrats Howard Dean, Joe Lieberman, and Wesley Clark. As a first-time parent, I was overly protective and had most of the candidates pose next to his stroller. I was planning to use the same cautious approach this time. But after Obama didn't drop my second child, I was hooked. No more plastic buffers between candidate and baby.
Angling for maximum media exposure just before Halloween, I've dressed Dahlia in a puffy infant pumpkin costume from Old Navy. My orange-fleece-lined baby is the first thing Rudy and Judith Giuliani see when their SUV pulls into the farm-stand parking lot. As expected, the photographers go nuts.
Rudy declares that "Dahlia is a real doll," and within seconds she starts to squirm and screech in his arms. I ask for one more photo, but Rudy's done. He's panicky. He obviously doesn't want the crying baby to become a metaphor for the world he is about to take over.
Giuliani's cynical instincts prove correct. USA Todayuses Dahlia to symbolize the negative press coverage that Giuliani has attracted as the Republican front-runner. And in a story about the political leanings of police officers and firefighters, Rudy's hometown New York Post lunges after the shaky-leadership imagery. The tabloid brands my screaming daughter as "a reluctant baby in New Hampshire."
John McCain Morse Sporting Goods, Hillsborough, N.H., Nov. 18, 2007
In her bright pink jacket, Dahlia immediately stands out as the only baby inside this crowded Central New Hampshire gun shop. Dahlia is extremely comfortable in Sen. McCain's arms and stares up at him with adoration. For two seconds. Following the same pattern as her meeting with Giuliani, Dahlia starts to cry. McCain is unfazed, however. "There goes another vote!" he jokes.
Grizzled AP photographer Jim Cole, who recently gained celebrity status for being harassed by French President Nicolas Sarkozy on Lake Winnipesaukee, later asks if Dahlia is the same baby he'd photographed in the pumpkin costume. I confirm his hunch and tell him my wife, Stacy, and I have timed her pregnancies to produce props for the New Hampshire primary. For a brief moment, I think he believes me.
Dennis Kucinich Toadstool Bookshop, Milford, N.H., Nov. 26, 2007
Peacenik Dennis Kucinich's new memoir, The Courage To Survive, is ranked No. 29,427 on Amazon.com as of this writing. Still, it takes me two tries to get within handshaking distance of the candidate during his New Hampshire book tour. In a poorly calculated move, I initially drove two hours round-trip to Portsmouth—a liberal seacoast city known for its museums and hip restaurants. Turns out that Kucinich is a rock star there. The baby and I watched him autograph books from outside the shop's front window.
In blue-collar Milford, a small town known for mining granite, there's not much pandemonium. Dahlia helps push attendance at the Toadstool book reading to a baker's dozen. Before melodramatically telling the audience that he used to live in a car, Kucinich seemed flattered to pose for a picture. Even though I'm politically right-of-center, consider me a reluctant fan.
John Edwards House Party, Bedford, N.H., Dec. 8, 2007
Edwards escaped my camera a few days ago at one of his health-care town meetings. He won't slip away again.
I'm standing in an extremely wealthy stranger's kitchen, waiting for Edwards to walk past the Santa Claus refrigerator magnets to get to the living room. He's notoriously late to events like these—so much so that the New York Times just mockingly listed his excuses. I politely block Edwards' path and hand him the baby before he has a chance to say yes. Not a word about how cute Dahlia is or how children are our future. Appearing glassy-eyed and vacant, he must be all cuted out from having his own young kids on the campaign bus.
Hillary Clinton Daniel Webster College, Nashua, N.H., Dec. 15, 2007
In interviews, Sen. Clinton frequently mentions how meaningful it is for her to see fathers bring their daughters to witness the first serious female run for president. Getting a photo with her should be a cakewalk.
Not so fast. Secret Service protection means I have to wait outside for an hour in subfreezing temperatures. Experiencing history is fantastic, but bringing home a hypothermic baby would get me in big trouble with the wife.
Some volunteers see my plight and graciously invite me on their battered but heated school bus. I pin Hillary campaign buttons on myself and the baby and mingle with the bus inhabitants, who range from ages 16 to 90. Clinton likely won't score my vote, but she does have some of the nicest, warmest volunteers. One guy even offered his sport jacket as an extra blanket for the baby. Dahlia was already cozy in her fleece coat, but this is the kind of chivalry missing from the Giuliani camp.
During a pleasant exchange with Hillary across the Secret Service barricades, I notice that the baby's tush is slightly damp. The fact that Hillary doesn't mention it suggests that she's either diplomatic or has no control over her senses. I hope she uses Purell.
Bill Richardson Alvirne High School, Hudson, N.H., Dec. 19, 2007
The New Mexico governor gives away baseball cards of himself at all his events. The cards, which depict Richardson on the pitcher's mound of Iowa's famous "Field of Dreams," cite his "saves" from delicate hostage negotiations in Iraq, North Korea, and Sudan. An odd analogy, but I like it.
It's a shame that Richardson doesn't include this kind of humor and irreverence in his stump speech. One-on-one, he seems like the quintessential guy you want to share a beer with. But at this student town-hall meeting, packed with people who aren't old enough to drink beer, he comes across as a monotonous policy wonk. While Richardson put these kids to sleep, my kid stayed alert during his entire presentation on Iraq. And Dahlia seems totally at ease in his hostage-negotiator arms. Maybe after the election, he'll be available to baby-sit. Ironically, Richardson is the only major candidate who is not a parent.
Foodee's, a small gourmet pizza joint, is packed way beyond fire-code regulations. Even worse, I've been outbabied. A woman 15 feet away from my table shoves her elementary-school-age daughter in Romney's face for an announcement. "My name is Susie (not her real name), and I have juvenile diabetes!" she chirps.
Hell, I can't compete with that. After Mitt discusses the nuances of insulin injections, he and his wife, Anne, migrate in the opposite direction. Has Dahlia, my presidential candidate magnet, lost her charm? Eventually, the former first couple of Massachusetts do swing back our way and eagerly cradle her for a snapshot. Glancing at the photo later, it looks like I'm giving up my baby for adoption to some rich folks. I suspect that's because most of my other photos don't include the candidate's spouse.
In any case, Mitt foolishly declares he can't tell if Dahlia's a boy or a girl. I agree that her bald head might throw you off the gender trail, but would any self-respecting dad put his boy in socks like these? Upon verification of her Double-X chromosomes, Mitt declares she's a "sweetie." I can't tell if Dahlia is charmed or not, but I don't have the heart to tell her that Romney says that to all the 5-month-old girls.
Barack Obama Nashua High School North, Nashua, N.H., Jan. 5, 2008
Perhaps I'm getting a little greedy for presidential souvenirs, but today I'm going for another photo of the baby with Obama. When I first captured him at the Labor Day Parade, the harsh sunlight cast a muddled shadow pattern on his face.
Three days before voting day, Obama has filled two high-school gymnasiums. These are by far the biggest events I've seen besides the Oprah coronation in Manchester.
Dahlia is decked out in a Barack Obama "Black Power" bib that grabs his attention. Strategically positioned against the Secret Service barricade, I hand him my little bundle of political propaganda.
He cradles her, gazes into her eyes, and gently kisses her forehead. My "no saliva" rule has been broken, but I don't care. For a few seconds, it seems like the Illinois senator and Dahlia are the only ones in the room. Maybe when she's older, she'll buy one of those "I've Got a Crush on Obama" T-shirts.
Photo of Barack Obama with Dahlia courtesy Ilya Mirman.
Mike Huckabee and Chuck Norris Parker's Maple Barn, Mason, N.H., Jan. 7, 2008
I have to give former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee and his kung fu buddy, Chuck Norris, credit. Unlike Romney, both of them instantly recognize Dahlia is a girl. Maybe the bright red, pink, and fuchsia hearts on her chest give her away.
Huckabee has packed this rustic log cabin pancake house for two separate seatings (another hungry crowd is waiting outside). With his wife, Janet, by his side, he calls Dahlia a "sweetheart." That makes three affectionate nicknames from the Republicans (doll, sweetie, sweetheart) and none from the Democrats.
Most of the crowd is busy munching on the campaign's complimentary sausage, bacon, and blueberry pancakes. Of course, Huckabee is well known as a diet book author and fitness nut. The last time I saw Huckabee on the trail, he was snacking on bananas after a 5K "Fun Run" at the University of New Hampshire. He seems to have too much discipline to load up on carbs today.
Photos of Mike Huckabee and Chuck Norris with Dahlia courtesy Ilya Mirman.
Aside from providing some priceless father-daughter bonding that has no expiration date ("Omigod, Dad, you made me wear a pumpkin suit for President Giuliani?"), the New Hampshire Primary has been a political Disney World for me. And the baby has been my VIP ticket.
Hearing me giddily describe Barack Obama's reaction to Dahlia's "Black Power" bib, my wife, Stacy, has teasingly compared me to a "pageant mom" desperate to put her child in the spotlight. But for me, this isn't about securing her Warholian 15 minutes of fame. There's just something amusing about making Dahlia a part of history while she's still blissfully unaware of the world's problems. It reminds me of the scenes in Forrest Gump where Tom Hanks' naive character meets JFK, Richard Nixon, and Elvis Presley.
Hopefully, my two children will still agree to be my political props four years from now. But to make sure that the next primary yields just as many photo-ops, I might just need to adopt or rent a baby for 2012.
Click the launch module to the left for a slide-show essay on my quest toget my 5-month-old daughter photographed with every presidential candidate.
As a resident of the "Live Free or Die" state, I'll concede that the New Hampshire presidential primary gives us ridiculously disproportionate influence. But I love the fact that my state's electoral power comes with a great fringe benefit: It's easy to enshrine the next president in your family scrapbook. A sucker for political kitsch, I set out to photograph my 5-month-old daughter, Dahlia, in the arms of every candidate with a prayer of making it to the White House.
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My rules were simple:
1. No actual kissing. No Democrat or Republican is putting saliva on Baby Dahlia.
2. No pictures with former Alaska Sen. Mike Gravel. He's way too creepy.
With meticulously detailed campaign schedules posted on the Web, it wasn't hard to get Dahlia into the same room with all the major candidates. But this project was anything but easy. It takes tremendous patience and parental magic to make a child sit through a two-hour presentation on health-care reform. It also takes a paparazzi photographer's instincts to get that winning shot. Candidates often have access to multiple entrances and exits at events, and staking out the wrong one means going home empty-handed.
As of the day before Tuesday's primary, I've photographed Dahlia with every candidate except Fred Thompson, who's barely shown his face around here. Now, let's explore how fun it is to transform a 5-month-old girl into a ubiquitous campaign prop!
Click here for a slide-show essay on my quest to get my 5-month-old daughter photographed with every presidential candidate.
