Mitt Romney and his family are gathered inside a budget hotel room. It is January, 2008, and the New Hampshire primary is just days away. Romney, a candidate for the Republican Presidential nomination, sits in a high-backed chair, clad in his usual armor: a navy-blue tie, a gleaming white shirt with cufflinks, and dress pants. His wife, Ann, is seated next to him; two of his sons and a daughter-in-law are arrayed around them. Romney’s campaign is going poorly. He lost badly to Mike Huckabee, the former Arkansas governor, in the Iowa caucuses, and in New Hampshire he appears on track to lose again, this time to Senator John McCain. “Maybe you just wait a few years?” one of Romney’s sons suggests. Romney seems to dismiss the possibility. “When this is over, I’ll have built a brand name,” he says. “People will know me. They’ll know what I stand for.” He pauses. “The f lippin’ Mormon,” he says, his face broadening into a half smile. There are some titters from his family, more deflated than amused. Later, the clan kneels on the floor to pray. Romney bows his head, his elbows resting on the chair. In her prayer, Ann thanks God for His blessings and says that the family desires only to “serve Thee and to bring greater light to this earth.”
Esta historia es de la edición November 06, 2023 de The New Yorker.
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