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lmost from the minute we agreed it would be okay for him to run, Barack
became a kind of human blur, a pixelated version of the guy I knew—a man who
quite suddenly had to be everywhere all at once, driven by and beholden to the
force of the larger effort. There was not quite a year until the primary contests
got started, beginning in Iowa. Barack had to quickly hire staff, woo the types of
donors who could write big checks, and figure out how to introduce his
candidacy in the most resonant way possible. The goal was to get on people’s
radar and stay there right through Election Day. Campaigns could be won and
lost on their earliest moves.

The whole operation would be overseen by the two deeply invested Davids
—Axelrod and Plouffe. Axe, as everyone called him, had a soft voice, a courtly
manner, and a brushy mustache that ran the length of his top lip. He’d worked as
a reporter for the Chicago Tribune before turning to political consulting and would
lead the messaging and media for Barack. Plouffe, who at thirty-nine had a boyish
smile and a deep love of numbers and strategy, would manage the overall
campaign. The team was growing rapidly, with experienced people recruited to
look after the finances and handle advance planning on events.

Someone had the wisdom to suggest that Barack might want to formally
announce his candidacy in Springfield. Everyone agreed that it would be a fitting,
middle-of-America backdrop for what we hoped would be a different kind of
campaign—one led from the ground up, largely by people new to the political
process. This was the cornerstone of Barack’s hope. His years as a community
organizer had shown him how many people felt unheard and disenfranchised
within our democracy. Project VOTE! had helped him see what was possible if