A Fighting Chance

Reverend Culpepper offered me wise counsel: Be still and listen. Have faith. Let people know your heart. As the campaign progressed, I found myself thinking about Reverend Culpepper’s words time and again.

I carried my King James Bible to services, the same one I’d carried since fourth grade. Sometimes the pastor called on me to speak. I had taught Sunday school years earlier, but mostly I had told Bible stories to little children. I’d never spoken to a whole congregation. But I stood up, and I talked about my favorite Bible verse, Matthew 25:40. I told people what it meant to me. Its message was very simple: The Lord calls us to action. It’s what we do that matters most.





State Convention

June arrived, and at last it was time for the party’s state convention. Democrats from around the state would come together in Springfield, endorse a candidate, and get ready for the general election in November. It was a bit like a giant pep rally crossed with a student council election.

Tom Keady jumped in and gave our campaign yet another boost. Tom had been active in Boston politics for decades. He’d been a key operative for John Kerry in 2004, and he’d worked on several other presidential races. He arranged an old-fashioned train trip from Boston to Springfield, with red, white, and blue bunting, and rally stops in Framingham and Worcester along the way. As we pulled out of the station in Boston, I got to stand in the back of the train and wave—just like some picture in a fifth-grade history book. The train was full of supporters, and we picked up more people along the way. Amelia and the girls joined us. (Seventeen-month-old Atticus stayed home with his daddy; Amelia had decided that the little guy might not be ready for quite this much democracy.)

When we got to Springfield, we saw that some Teamsters had parked a shiny eighteen-wheeler next to the green where we rallied our supporters; it sported a huge ELIZABETH WARREN sign on the side. That night, everyone hit the bars. They were packed, and I jumped up on benches or tables to deliver impromptu speeches. People hugged me, kissed me, and spilled a lot of beer on me.

On Saturday, June 2, the Springfield arena was packed. The Senate race had started with a gaggle of Democratic contenders, but now we were down to two—Marisa DeFranco, a high-spirited immigration lawyer, and me. Both of us would vie for the nomination until the primary in September, duking it out through the summer. Or at least, that’s what we would do unless the convention delegates voted by more than 85 percent for one candidate, in which case only that candidate would go forward. That seemed unlikely, since no one could recall a contested Democratic primary that had resulted in the necessary 85 percent vote.

I had exactly fifteen minutes to make my pitch to the delegates about why I should be the Democratic nominee for the Senate—with the emphasis on exactly. Tradition required that I pick one or more people to introduce me, and several seasoned professionals had warned me that it was important to keep these introductions short. I put my own spin on that ball: instead of short introductions, I picked short introducers. My little granddaughters.

They stood at the podium, eleven-year-old Octavia on a box and seven-year-old Lavinia on a larger box, facing a crowd of more than three thousand people holding signs, shouting, and clapping. The girls smiled, and then Octavia said:

My brother, Atticus, is too little to be up here with us, so I’m talking for him, too. We are here to introduce our Gammy, Elizabeth Warren. She is running for the United States Senate because of us and because of all kids. We’re really proud of her.



The cheers for the girls were like those at a big family party—loud and enthusiastic. Lavinia had wanted to do cartwheels on the stage, but the space by the podium was narrow and I figured it would be way too dangerous, so she just waved. I came out on stage, gave both girls hugs, then launched into a speech about how families were getting pounded and it was time to take on Wall Street, time to take on Big Oil, time to fight back.

After the speech, I went backstage to wait. And wait, and wait, and wait some more. I think I was on my tenth game of Go Fish with Octavia and Lavinia by the time they called me back and announced the result: I had received more than 85 percent of the vote, meaning the primary process was over!