a.m. for the scheduled 10 a.m. departure, lured by the promise of hot coffee and sweet pastries as the culinary prelude to the trip. He introduced himself to Harry Blount as they waited next to the 60-foot yacht, the Neptune , that the Harper campaign had chartered for the event.
“Could be warmer, huh?” said Lee, as he zipped up the jacket he wore over a thick wool sweater.
“Look out past the break to the open water,” said Blount, waving his arm toward the sea. “What do you see?”
“Hmmm. Nothing in particular,” said Lee.
“Exactly,” said Blount. “No whitecaps. As long as I see that, I’m happy. No journalists losing their donuts over the side. We want happy media, not puking media.”
One by one, the television stations arrived. The crews gratefully accepted their cups of Starbucks coffee and hauled their camera equipment aboard.
The traditional way to unveil Andrew Harper’s environmental platform would have been to stage an event somewhere perfectly safe – say a beach in Southern California or some pasture with an oil drilling rig in the background. But Blount had convinced Harper to take a small gamble for a big payoff – a photo op almost sure to get a decent slot on the evening news.
He thought the whole scene – chartered yacht, beautiful Central California coastline and a 20-mile round trip churning through the blue Pacific – would be a fun change for the press corps which now included some regulars assigned full-time to the campaign. Plus, it would show Harper as dynamic, outdoorsy and wanting to experience nature firsthand and not from a corporate boardroom.
But the big bonus was the otters. One of Harper’s local supporters had taken his Zodiac out two hours earlier and found 20 of the cute critters rafting together in the kelp beds 10 miles north. Just a 10-second close-up of an otter floating on his back cracking mussels followed by 10 more seconds of Harper promising to keep the coastal waters safe for otterkind would do it. Blount could envision a follow-up commercial that would conclude with the tag line: “Andrew Harper: The Otter Candidate.”
The Neptune held 30 and was packed. The overflow – the dozen or so journalists who had responded late to the invitation – had rented a couple of smaller 15-foot Boston Whalers to accompany the larger vessel. They would get the trip footage and interview Harper afterward on land. Blount saw Harper working the reporters in groups of threes and fours, mainly clustered out of the wind toward the back. He was playing the genial host. Everyone was smiling. It was going great.
“So what’s next, Harry,” asked Lee, sidling up to Blount along the railing on the starboard side of the Neptune . “Got kittens and puppies in the lineup? Any other cuddly mammals?”
“So you uncovered the details of our mission, huh?” said Blount.
“Yep,” said Lee. “Was talking to one of the crew and he revealed all.”
“Well, I was actually thinking of staying with sea mammals and moving up the chain,” said Blount. “You know. Seals, porpoises, walruses. And, uh, save the whales for last…ha ha. Get it?”
“Yeah,” said Lee, suppressing a chuckle. “‘Save the whales’. Great one, Harry.”
Thirty minutes out, the captain slowed the Neptune and nosed it toward shore. The boat inched forward, nudging its way through the kelp beds. Then, 150 yards away, they saw the first otters. There were half a dozen. A couple were pounding shellfish on their chests. The others seemed to just be relaxing, floating on their backs and occasionally poking their heads up to see what was going on around them.
Within a minute, the cameras were out and focusing on the ocean. The oohs and ahhs and laughs at the playful animals were music to Blount’s ears. The Neptune
“Could be warmer, huh?” said Lee, as he zipped up the jacket he wore over a thick wool sweater.
“Look out past the break to the open water,” said Blount, waving his arm toward the sea. “What do you see?”
“Hmmm. Nothing in particular,” said Lee.
“Exactly,” said Blount. “No whitecaps. As long as I see that, I’m happy. No journalists losing their donuts over the side. We want happy media, not puking media.”
One by one, the television stations arrived. The crews gratefully accepted their cups of Starbucks coffee and hauled their camera equipment aboard.
The traditional way to unveil Andrew Harper’s environmental platform would have been to stage an event somewhere perfectly safe – say a beach in Southern California or some pasture with an oil drilling rig in the background. But Blount had convinced Harper to take a small gamble for a big payoff – a photo op almost sure to get a decent slot on the evening news.
He thought the whole scene – chartered yacht, beautiful Central California coastline and a 20-mile round trip churning through the blue Pacific – would be a fun change for the press corps which now included some regulars assigned full-time to the campaign. Plus, it would show Harper as dynamic, outdoorsy and wanting to experience nature firsthand and not from a corporate boardroom.
But the big bonus was the otters. One of Harper’s local supporters had taken his Zodiac out two hours earlier and found 20 of the cute critters rafting together in the kelp beds 10 miles north. Just a 10-second close-up of an otter floating on his back cracking mussels followed by 10 more seconds of Harper promising to keep the coastal waters safe for otterkind would do it. Blount could envision a follow-up commercial that would conclude with the tag line: “Andrew Harper: The Otter Candidate.”
The Neptune held 30 and was packed. The overflow – the dozen or so journalists who had responded late to the invitation – had rented a couple of smaller 15-foot Boston Whalers to accompany the larger vessel. They would get the trip footage and interview Harper afterward on land. Blount saw Harper working the reporters in groups of threes and fours, mainly clustered out of the wind toward the back. He was playing the genial host. Everyone was smiling. It was going great.
“So what’s next, Harry,” asked Lee, sidling up to Blount along the railing on the starboard side of the Neptune . “Got kittens and puppies in the lineup? Any other cuddly mammals?”
“So you uncovered the details of our mission, huh?” said Blount.
“Yep,” said Lee. “Was talking to one of the crew and he revealed all.”
“Well, I was actually thinking of staying with sea mammals and moving up the chain,” said Blount. “You know. Seals, porpoises, walruses. And, uh, save the whales for last…ha ha. Get it?”
“Yeah,” said Lee, suppressing a chuckle. “‘Save the whales’. Great one, Harry.”
Thirty minutes out, the captain slowed the Neptune and nosed it toward shore. The boat inched forward, nudging its way through the kelp beds. Then, 150 yards away, they saw the first otters. There were half a dozen. A couple were pounding shellfish on their chests. The others seemed to just be relaxing, floating on their backs and occasionally poking their heads up to see what was going on around them.
Within a minute, the cameras were out and focusing on the ocean. The oohs and ahhs and laughs at the playful animals were music to Blount’s ears. The Neptune
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