Two nights, no sleep, sipping bottled water, John Kerry sits in his flying war room, a 737, cruising from frigid Iowa to frosty New Hampshire, in a state of sublime shock. He had known that for him to rise, Howard Dean would have to fall, and even that might not be enough to win. He had already fired his campaign manager, retooled his stump speech and endured months of derision from party professionals for his dead-on-arrival campaign. He had ignored every piece of conventional strategy, decamped from his home field of New Hampshire, thrown everything at Iowa and held on tight....
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