50 Time December 21/December 28, 2020
campaign manager and incoming White House com-
munications director Kate Bedingfield. “And we were
having to think about, How are we going to reinvent
campaigning in the general election?”
Biden canceled a planned rally in Ohio and returned
to Philadelphia to speak to the whole staff in person
for the last time. The campaign headquarters emptied
out; the team retreated to their couches, where they
marshaled volunteers online and tried to build cama-
raderie over Signal and Zoom. Biden himself retreated
down the winding driveway to his 7,000-sq.-ft. home
in Greenville, Del., past poplars, beech and oak trees,
to his book-filled study overlooking a lake, where he
would spend much of the next eight months.
Campaigns are fueled by excitement; Biden didn’t
seem to have it. The situation had its advantages: being
homebound disciplined a gaffe-prone candidate, and
his themes of empathy and compassion resonated
amid the ravages of COVID-19. But running for Presi-
dent online also neutralized Biden’s ability to connect
with ordinary people through hugs and handshakes.
The candidate’s lack of visibility meant picking a run-
ning mate would be one of his few big turns in the
spotlight, and a more momentous decision than usual.
Biden was looking for his own Biden: someone reli-
able, simpatico and loyal, as he was to Obama. But he
wanted more than compatibility. The septuagenarian
nominee needed a youthful governing partner who was
prepared to step in as Commander in Chief if needed,
and a battle-tested running mate who would not create
distractions and could keep the race focused on Trump.
As an old white man leading a party reliant on voters
of color, young people and women, Biden also needed
to balance the ticket. In March, he had promised to
pick a female Vice President; over the summer, the
racial-justice protests that erupted after George Floyd’s
killing increased pressure to choose a Black woman.
Biden’s selection committee, augmented by a team
of vetting lawyers, initially interviewed nearly two
dozen women, before whittling the list down to 11
people for Biden to interview. After Floyd’s death
put racial justice front and center, Harris stood out
in her conversations with the committee, discuss-
ing criminal- justice legislation she was leading in the
Senate and her work on similar issues as attorney
general. “She also brought a lived experience as a
Black woman,” says Representative Lisa Blunt Roch-
ester, who served as co-chair of the vetting commit-
tee. “She could talk from the perspective of her pro-
fessional life as well as her personal life, and what we
could and should do in the wake of his tragic murder.”
At 55, Harris was a generation Biden’s junior. She
had experience in federal and state office, and had
weathered the scrutiny that comes with running for
President, even if her campaign didn’t succeed. She
was a versatile politician, moving deftly from dis-
secting witnesses in hearings to dancing in drum
lines. No major factions in the party opposed her,
and most Democrats thrilled to the idea of putting the
first woman of color on a major presidential ticket.
But Biden, the connection candidate, didn’t just see
a symbol or an appeal to a particular demographic;
he perceived an ability, rooted in her upbringing, to
see a better future for Americans like herself. “Her
superpower is her multiple identities,” says Glynda
Carr, CEO of Higher Heights, a political action com-
mittee that helps Black women run for office.
Some Biden allies remained wary of Harris. His
family was the hardest sell. But Biden insisted he
harbored no hard feelings from the debate skirmish.Harris campaigns in
McAllen, Texas, on
Oct. 30, part of a
late play to win the
Lone Star State that
fell short