Should he follow the sound of the drums?
He could hear it all beginning again: the nervous rattle of
practicing drums， the shuffle that precedes the parade. The sound
was almost irresistible， because in American politics it is when the
parade is falling in that it is most exciting. He had followed those
sounds for twenty years， across the country and back， again and
again， and up with the crescendo to the conventions， on through the
rallies with pretty girls in shakos and pompoms kicking in town
squares and crowds yelling in big-city arenas until， suddenly on a
November night， there would be a new President.
There is no excitement anywhere in the world， short of war， to
match the excitement of an American Presidential campaign. He
had loved that excitement and had made it his profession to be a
storyteller of elections. Yet as summer faded in i975 and the
campaign for the Presidency reached speed， the more stories he
gathered， the more confused he became.
Was there more to learn in one more story of the making of a
President? There was something new in what Americans sought as
they passed on their power--but how to define it? The excitement of
the campaign was still there， but not the clarity that once gave the
pattern of history to his stories.
Nor was there ever more than momentary escape from this
confusion， behind any barricade. He would come back from his
forays into the insane parade of the 1976 primaries with a sense of
relief. For a few days， his office would be again， as it used to be， his
cave. There were always chores at the office， and the mail to be
answered---distractions he welcomed.
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