TALE OF THE TAPE

IT WAS FRIDAY, October 16, 2016, a surprisingly warm fall afternoon in Toledo, Ohio. Mike Pence stood at the counter of Tony Packo’s Café chatting up diners at the legendary hot dog joint. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, but his collar was still buttoned and his red-striped tie still perfectly knotted. This stop—the look, the energy in the place—was all vintage campaign trail stuff, and Pence was totally in his element and riding high. He loved working a room. Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump had been through Packo’s earlier and completed the tradition of signing the hot dog bun that would join the dozens of other famous buns hanging on the walls inside the restaurant, including Barack Obama’s and George W. Bush’s. It was a campaign rite of passage for presidential contenders. Now it was Pence’s turn. The assembled reporters from all the major networks huddled just down the bar, waiting for their shots.

Pence was not exactly a compelling, news-making running mate, but on the rare chance that Pence did get some press, it usually went well for him. His surprise selection as running mate just a few months earlier reinserted him in the national conversation. His stellar performance on the national debate stage against Democratic vice presidential nominee Tim Kaine had raised his profile even higher. Pence appeared to be a sane salve to the disaster of Trump: the insults, the bullying, his history of cheating on his wives and on contracts. Pence magically shook it all off. If anything stuck, it stuck to Trump. Pence just squared his shoulders a bit, took a breath, nodded slightly—just like Ronald Reagan used to do—and delivered his lines. He was remarkably good at it. He even took the fatal flaws of Trump and made them into a