On July 31, 2019, I was backstage in the Fox Theatre in Detroit for the second presidential debate of the Democratic primaries. It was a hot summer day outside, but the theater was thoroughly air-conditioned and cool.
“Candidates, take your places,” a producer instructed. We lined up at opposite ends of the stage, five candidates on each side. I was right behind Kamala Harris, who had shot to the top of the field thanks to her confrontation with Joe Biden in the previous debate. I was glad to be second from the front as opposed to being consigned to the edge of the stage, like New York’s mayor, Bill de Blasio, whose six-foot-five frame was like a bookend to the row of candidates. There was a hierarchy to the line that got reinforced in various ways.
As we waited, Kamala turned to me and smiled. “Hey, Andrew. Can you do me a favor and hold this handkerchief for me? I don’t have any pockets.”
“Sure thing,” I responded. It felt good to be useful. It also felt good to have a normal conversation right before going onstage, where our statements and gestures would be picked apart by millions of viewers around the country. I took the handkerchief from Kamala and slipped it in my left jacket pocket.
“Okay, it’s starting. Go out when you hear your name called,” said the producer, an efficient woman with a headset. “Good luck out there.”
A booming voice filled the theater, over a soundtrack of intro music. “An enthusiastic audience at the historic Fox Theatre in downtown Detroit, Michigan. Welcome to our viewers in the United States and around the world . . . this is the CNN Democratic presidential debate.” There was a whoosh of red, white, and blue graphics on the video screen at the back of the stage. “Please welcome, from Delaware, former Vice President Joe Biden.” Joe came walking out onstage from the opposite side to loud applause.
“From California, Senator Kamala Harris.” I watched as Kamala strode out onstage, waving and smiling, before greeting Joe. Next up was Senator Cory Booker, and then my name was called. “Businessman Andrew Yang.” Always businessman. I made my way quickly across the stage, to relatively modest applause, shaking Kamala’s hand, and then Joe’s, and then Cory’s before settling in my spot.
I was the fourth candidate out of ten to come onstage, so there was a bit of a wait. Through the blinding stage lights, I gazed out into the crowd and tried to make out any familiar faces. I had been told where my cheering section would be sitting but didn’t recognize anyone. I waved to no one in particular. Two dozen photographers came out and took pictures, while we ignored them, smiling at the sea of blurred faces.
As soon as the photographers started to disperse, we all turned and assumed our places at our assigned lecterns. I took big steps, taking care not to trip on the elevated stage. I looked at the notepad on my lectern and the glass of water on a hidden shelf behind it. I tore the first page off the notepad so I would have at least two visible sheets of surface area. I wrote the first few words of my prepared sixty-second closing on the first sheet as a reminder, as well as some talking points and notes from my team. “Smile. Pause. Pivot.” The second sheet I would use to take notes on other people’s answers as new subjects came up.
I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the handkerchief and gave it back to Kamala, who was to my immediate right.
She took it gratefully. “Thank you, pal.” She began writing notes on her own notepad.
One of the three moderators, Jake Tapper, started to read instructions. I knew the chances of my getting the first question were zero. I took a breath to calm myself. I was back on the debate stage, thanks to thousands of Americans getting behind me. Would it be for the final time? I wondered. My poll numbers would need to rise for me to qualify for the next one. I was determined to make the most of the opportunity to speak to the country and state my case for humanizing the economy. If it was my last chance, I’d make it count.
