But Enough About Me

One of the most amazing moments following the Iowa caucuses went largely unremarked​—​our friend Wlady Pleszczynski at the American Spectator seems to have been the only other scribbler who was properly agog. It came when Rick Perry conceded his fifth-place finish in a speech to supporters. Such smoldering disasters usually call forth from experienced candidates a cheerful and tearful mixture of chagrin, gratitude, praise, personal modesty, and, depending on future prospects, either fatalistic resignation or steely resolve.

Not the governor of Texas. Rick Perry had just lost an electoral contest for the first time in his political career; this was his first concession speech. It’s no surprise that he looked slightly lost as he inched his way through this unfamiliar terrain. But it’s the manner in which he regained his footing that amazed us. He thanked all the fine folks who had traveled from 30 states to help the Perry cause, whatever that may be. Then he pulled out from his trimly tailored suit a letter he had just received from one of those fine folks, which he said he wanted to “share.” (He meant he was going to read it aloud, not chop it up in a hundred pieces and hand them out to everybody.)

Perry read: “Words cannot express how thankful I am for being able to serve you this past week. My name is Colt Smith. .  .  . I’m 24 years old and .  .  . this has been the best experience of my life. Today I saw you for the first time in Perry, Iowa. I realized you were a good man, but I never realized”​—​here the governor’s voice caught for a moment​—​“what a great man you were.” The governor looked up from the letter and smiled his agreement. We didn’t get to see the reaction of poor Colt Smith, who was probably slipping quietly out the fire door in the back of the room. As for The Scrapbook, we had a strong urge to dive under the couch.