Button It

WEDNESDAY morning brought an unusual sight: the sight of no Kerry Edwards buttons. I’m talking about Manhattan, and I’m talking about the day after the election. For the previous weeks, the city had been a sea of Kerry-Edwards buttons, buttons everywhere, including in concert halls and opera houses (where I spend many evenings, as a critic).

At first, the buttons were sort of a trickle; then they gushed. Night after night, I’d be surrounded by Kerry Edwards buttons, in Carnegie Hall, in the Metropolitan Opera House—wherever. And not once did I spot a Bush-Cheney button. Initially, I was sort of amused by the buttons, but, later, sort of annoyed. Why were these people wearing them, anyway? Didn’t they realize that everyone else was voting for Kerry and Edwards too? (Ahem—almost everyone else.) Surely they didn’t have to persuade anybody; their fellows were already persuaded.

About the Author

Jay Nordlinger

Jay Nordlinger was a senior editor of National Review and a book fellow at National Review Institute.

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Presidential Election

WEDNESDAY morning brought an unusual sight: the sight of no Kerry Edwards buttons. I’m talking about Manhattan, and I’m talking about the day after the election. For the previous weeks, the city had been a sea of Kerry-Edwards buttons, buttons everywhere, including in concert halls and opera houses (where I spend many evenings, as a critic).

At first, the buttons were sort of a trickle; then they gushed. Night after night, I’d be surrounded by Kerry Edwards buttons, in Carnegie Hall, in the Metropolitan Opera House—wherever. And not once did I spot a Bush-Cheney button. Initially, I was sort of amused by the buttons, but, later, sort of annoyed. Why were these people wearing them, anyway? Didn’t they realize that everyone else was voting for Kerry and Edwards too? (Ahem—almost everyone else.) Surely they didn’t have to persuade anybody; their fellows were already persuaded.