Queen of Spain Blog

Standing in the hallway of Roseburg High School, flanked by Secret Service, I made small talk with the local reporters.

‘Medford tv station? Ah, that’s north right?’

‘Oh, you get two questions with Senator Obama, that’s great for local tv.’

Then a press aide of the Senator’s pointed at me and said ‘Erin this is our web guy, you guys can chat. The rest of you-two questions, that’s it. You set up, you ask, you break it down and we go to the next one. -Except for you guys (pointing to me again).’

The ‘web-guy’ then looks at me and starts to mic me ‘yeah, the blogher women get the special campaign treatment.’

And the hallway falls silent as every local reporter in the greater Roseburg, OR area turns to look.

I smirk a bit, shrug my shoulders, and wave.

I’m such a smart ass. At least I stopped short of sticking out my tongue.

The press aide then tells the entire group ‘the Senator will come into the room and get situated, I would appreciate no questions or cameras as he walks in-you’ll have your chance inside.’

‘Web-guy’ then pulls me into the room and asks me if I like the way the backdrop looks. I shrug again and ask if we can move the flags, maybe pull out some chairs, etc.’

…and in walks Senator Barack Obama.

Noticing I was the only face he didn’t recognize in the room he came straight over to me-shook my hand and said ‘what’s your name ?’

‘Erin, I’m with BlogHer.com’

‘Yes, the women bloggers’

And with that web-guy continued to talk to me about lighting and blue drapes and chairs. I nodded a lot and said ‘I better go back in the hallway’ and walked past secret service guarding the door and into the glaring eyes of a dozen or so local reporters.

One-by-one they went in with their crews. As the last one walked in, Treina (the makeup artist) and exchanged glances. We are next.

The crew came out of the classroom and we grabbed out bags to walk in.

But no one was calling us in, like they had the others before us.

So we stood, bags in hand, and shifted nervously.

Why aren’t they calling us in? Are they setting something else up? Are there important campaign strategy things happening in there I want to hear? How close to the classroom door can I get before secret service tackles me? Is my hair still totally flat from this heat? It is…damn.

And out into the hallway walks Senator Obama. To his right is the rest of the high school, to the left is Treina and I and a secret service agent.

Senator Obama once again sees us-people he does not recognize- and walks right on over. ‘Hello again, Erin, right-and this is…’

‘Treina,’ says Treina who just 20 second earlier had been pulled aside by an agent who explained to her the Senator’s skin in the event he needed a touch up.

‘Treina-Treina nice to meet you.’

Then the Senator explained to us, as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, that he needed to use the rest room and would be in for the interview in a minute. We smiled and nodded and he turned and walked down the hallway.

Yes, Barack Obama just told me had had to go to the bathroom was really all I could think. However at this point, seemed entirely normal. And I had to REMIND myself it was, in fact, Barack Obama who just excused himself because it seemed just like any other guy.

I was officially, now, no longer nervous to sit down with the Senator. I was, however, nervous about getting through all these questions.

I sat down in the interview chair and flipped through my notecards again. And again. And again. Senator Obama walked in, and I stood (no idea…felt like I should?) and greeted him again as he sat next to me. He began to get his own mic on and said ‘hope I’m not being too revealing’ as he unbuttoned a button or two to get the mic to lay right.

Hope I’m not being too revealing???!!! I averted my eyes. I’m laughing as I type this but as soon as he even JOKED about it I was like ‘OH. MY. GAWD. I MUST NOT LOOK I MUST NOT LOOK I MUST NOT LOOK.’ And I turned my head.

As my 3-year old would say ‘Mama he needs his PRIVACY!’

Then Obama’s press aide knelt under us.

He had a timer or a phone with a timer. Or maybe a recorder? Whatever it was it kept time and he said, ‘ok 10 minutes’ and web-guy said ‘whenever you’re ready’ and I launched into my 12 questions.

The next 10 minutes I was entirely focused on the Senator. I wanted to move a bit faster, but once we got going he seemed to shorten his answers a bit. I could tell time was getting short as we talked about health care because the aide kneeling below us was shifting. A lot. I wanted to look down to see him give me a time count -hold up a finger for 1 minute or something-but I didn’t want to break eye contact with Senator Obama.

Instinct told me to move onto Economy, and quick. And sure enough once we finished the economy question-

“Last Question!” came from the guy on the floor.

The interview ended, we shook hands again, and we posed for a photo. Arms around eachother and smiling I told him BlogHer and it’s 9 million readers would be very pleased he took the time to answer our questions and I thanked him again for the 5th time.

I then grabbed Treina’s camera and snapped a shot of the makeup artist and the Senator.

While he was walking out the door I said ‘Good Luck on Tuesday’ and he stopped, turned and said ‘thank you very much.’

Treina and I then quietly gathered our belongings. I let BlogHer know the tape was in my hands, and we walked in near silence to the parking lot.

Inside the car we shut the doors, turned to look at each-other, and screamed our ever-loving heads off like teenagers.

I love being a blogger. I love being a blogher. I love that after I interviewed the man who very well could make history I could tell you this story, and scream and cry. Years ago I could never have done that.

After interviewing mayors and governors and celebrities, I would tell you stories-but never personal ones about how I FELT while it was happening. I would probably tell you how with morning sickness I nearly threw up on Governor Gray Davis. How interviewing Tom Hanks left me with the impression he really IS a nice guy. I would tell you how a former mayor of LA still calls me Erica and how another former mayor is notorious for spitting while he talks. I may have even told you the story of how Jeb Bush snarked on me. But you’d never know of the pride or joy or excitement or nerves I felt while conducting those interviews.

Now I can tell you. And it feels good.

Long live citizen journalism.

There is a story behind the BlogHer interview you probably don’t know. Several, actually.

-I wasn’t supposed to be doing the interview.

-I shopped at the Eugene, Oregon Target at 8pm Friday night for camera-ready clothes, notecards, and hairspray.

-I met the Senator from Illinois in the hallway of Roseburg High School while he was on his way to use the rest room. I know this. He told me so.

It all started somewhere around Wednesday when I had a good idea BlogHer was about to land this interview. BlogHer contributing editor Kim Pearson would be asking the questions and I would be producing. Which means I could be in the room but on the sidelines, hopefully meeting Obama but not worried about the pressures of on camera.

Friday afternoon, en route to Eugene, I got a call:

‘Kim’s flight is delayed, she may not make it out. You need to prepare to do this interview.’

My mind switched gears and I started to plan.

How well did I know the questions?

What clothes did I bring?

Crap I haven’t had my hair done in weeks.

Oh my gawd I haven’t had a pedicure in longer.

What if I ask all of them by category and don’t make it to the last category?

Should I split them up? Jump from Iraq to the Economy and back?

I’m very sure my roots are showing.

I wonder if they have a mall near my hotel.

I need to review those questions closer.

I then landed in Eugene and the status of just who was interviewing the Senator was still up in the air. Or on the ground in Newark, as the case may be.

I decided to head to the nearest Target and see if I couldn’t figure out an outfit and a strategy for getting through 12 policy questions in 7-10 minutes on the campaign schedule.

I wondered if those 7-10 minutes included him getting set up with a mic? Us chatting quickly before hand to make sure we were ready? Did it start when he sat down and tape rolled? Did it start when he walked in the room? What if he was late?

I clung to the campaign’s promise of 10 minutes and plotted my question priority as I rifled through solid colored shirts at Target that were NOT white or black (you know, like everything in my suitcase).

Throwing things in the cart I moved on to shoes (I had black shoes and flip flops) while I went over all 12 questions again in my head, reminding myself to google when I got back to the hotel ‘Obama stance on public transportation.’

I didn’t want to prioritize the blogher community questions with everything he’s already said on record. I wanted to at least try to get him to speak about some of the issues we don’t hear every day.

I then grabbed a pack of waters and some trail mix, knowing Treina ( the make up artist) and myself might be trapped in Roseburg all day with who knows what available. I also grabbed a bottle of wine and an extra pack of gum.

This interview was not a surprise investigation by us. We’ve had these questions on the record since the BlogHer conference last July. So I knew this was not going to be a ‘follow up question’ or ‘on the spot attack’ type of interview. That helped. Back in the day I would have been plotting 40 follow ups and 40 different takes on those follow ups depending on his answers. This was a simple Q & A of well known questions. So while I was back in my hotel plotting just how to do anything with my root-showing, not hair-cut in 6 weeks, hair -it occurred to me the best thing to do was to prioritize each question in each category and go with the flow of the interview and hope I didn’t have to cut him off.

I’m sorry Senator but you are being entirely too long winded and I only have 10 minutes here, so let’s move on.

Then at 10pm pacific Kim called from Salt Lake City. She was turning back around to Newark, and I was sprawled on my hotel room bed-furiously writing BlogHer’s questions on notecards.

I went to sleep knowing I would wake up Saturday morning, drive an hour and a half with my semi-polished toes and stringy-hair, and sit down and chat with the man who could very well be our next president.

I called my family. I sent out a few emails.

Then I quietly sobbed in my stale, hotel pillow.

I cried for joy at my opportunity, sadness over the stress I knew my kids and family were dealing with, and I cried to relieve myself of any emotion I had over what was about to happen.

Part Two, tomorrow. I scream, I cry more, and I meet a senator.