Haines Closes Gap with President Bush

By Alston B. Ramsay | Saturday, February 7, 2004

The best politicians never forget a face, so it came as no surprise that Robert Haines, the perennial Republican presidential candidate, recognized me immediately. "Ramsay, here's the story so far," he said as he bounded forward to shake my hand, "We're here on the street corner, and we've been here all day."

I paused momentarily to take in the scene. It was primary night in Manchester—the place to be for political junkies and darkhorse candidates alike. Within a few blocks we had the Kucinich, Kerry, and Lieberman primary parties, with Dean a couple miles away, and the others further afield. Mobs adorned with various political glad rags swarmed the streets as the polls neared their close. Haines was just another highwire act in the never-ending campaign circus.

For Johnny-come-latelies, Robert Haines was a bit of an icon last term when he campaigned for a week in Hanover. He is a seasoned candidate: He ran for president in 1992, 1996, but not in 2000 because he was incarcerated for assault and wearing a protective vest. When we found him Tuesday night, he had been in the sub-arctic weather all day pushing hard for those final undecideds. Sporting a heavy beard, and clad in an American-flag sweater, his spirits were high.

"What are your chances tonight against Bush?" I asked.

"In the long-run I am gonna win this thing. I've had wall-to-wall interviews today. This was ground zero!" he responded.

Indeed, a garish CNN bus was parked not ten feet from his corner. Yet there was a problem: The bus couldn't move since it was wedged between a cement wall in front, and an old, beaten-up Chevrolet behind. The Chevy belonged to none other than Robert Haines.

"I am legally parked," he explained to me as a police cruiser pulled up to the curb. The cops confirmed this to be the case and started asking if there were any way possible to move the truck. "The only set of keys is with my wife," Haines retorted.

"Well, where is she?"

"I think she's having a tea party with Betty Breuder," came the exuberant response. Ms. Breuder, it turns out, is the president of the Hillsborough County Right to Life and a Trustee of New Hampshire Right to Life. As a favor, Haines had been holding a number of her pro-life signs throughout the day. He had also been feeding the parking meter religiously for the last few hours.

"Do you have a set of keys at home?" the other officer inquired.

"No, they've already sent two sets of cruisers to find my wife."

The policeman looked pensive, maybe slightly bemused. The CNN crew, however, was not entertained. They stood off to the side with their cellphones glued to their ears.

"Could we slim jim it and put it in neutral, Robert?" one of the cops asked. Nope, without the keys, the truck wouldn't go into gear.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Haines swiveled his gaze and suddenly exclaimed, "The future first lady arrives!" His wife had finally returned with their children Robert and Liberty Ann Justice—yes, that is her real name. With that, Mrs. Haines backed the truck out, the CNN bus departed, and the cops quit the scene. Even with all this excitement, it seems we had missed the best part of the evening.

"We were dancing in the street," he said of the earlier festivities, "It was a zoo! The Kucinich people had the music; we were rockin' and rollin'! You guys [at Dartmouth] are living in the sticks!"

The conversation inevitably turned to the controversy that has plagued his
candidacy. According to Haines, Bob Franken physically assaulted him earlier in the day. Haines, of course, filed a police report, but the cops weren't very interested—unless it was in Haines himself. "[The police] arrested me for going in my own city hall," he complained, "They have repeatedly told me to stay out of et cetera, et cetera. They might as well ban me from the town!" At Dartmouth, Haines received similar treatment; he was kicked off College property, banned from Murphy's, and even had his American flag stolen (See TDR 11/17/03). The list of attacks grew, but I had to join my cohort inside to warm up for a few minutes. Haines was immune to the cold.

As I exited the building later, he was furiously packing up his signs and his daughter's scooter. Apparently, someone had just pushed him in the street, but had then threatened to call the police on Haines—the victim. "The police have already been here twice today. I'm getting out of here before they come back," he brusquely told me.

Before he left, he had one favor to ask: Would I sign his Declaration of Independence? "I am invoking the part of the New Hampshire Constitution that gives me the right to revolution," he said, and proceeded to explain. The text of his declaration was the same as that of the United States', but, instead of listing the King's failings, Haines had typed his grievances, including a graphic description of the brutality lavished on him while recently incarcerated for a parole violation. I could only discern three signatures, and one looked to be his wife's.

As he exhorted me to sign the Declaration, the car, with the future first lady at the helm, turned over but wouldn't crank. "She's flooded the engine," he said. After a few more aborted attempts, Haines called to his wife, "Put the pedal all the way down and try it again!" Sure enough, the truck leapt to life. With a sparkle in his eyes, Haines smoothly said, "I know Chevies," hopped in the passenger's seat, and sped off to vote before the polls closed.

Despite his Herculean efforts, he received only 579 votes, compared to 836 for John Buchanon, 841 for Dick Bosa, and 53,962 for George W. Bush. Political pundits may like to think Bush has it wrapped up, but with forty-eight states left, and Robert Haines on the warpath, this race is far from over.

Haines Closes Gap with President Bush

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