On Saturday morning, Ben Carson greeted and thanked a few of his remaining campaign volunteers in his Manchester, New Hampshire headquarters. Jezebel was not allowed to witness that meeting, because the space had “reached capacity,” but we were permitted to wait in the front hallway, where Carson and his wife, Candy, would be out soon to shake hands.
“People ask me all the time [about my campaign], ‘Is it really worth going through all that you have to go through, having people attack your character, and attack your family and attack everything?’” he reportedly said in his pump-up speech, vowing to stay in the race for the “uphill battle.”
“And the answer to that is no. Not if you’re doing it for yourself. But the answer is a resounding yes if you’re doing it for others.”
Candy was the first to make her way down the outside line of fans and curious voters, and she was a fucking vision. I have long admired Carson’s wife for her passion for music, as well as her endless patience for her drowsy husband, and she was as charismatic and lovely as ever.
Carson’s Manchester, NH headquarters.
When she finally reached us, I asked her if she was doing alright.
“I’m fine. I’m good, I had a great time at the veterans’ place yesterday,” she said vaguely, before launching into a spirited description of an ice cream shop. “We went to what I think is a nursing home and they have an amazing—they have different shops and they have a cafe and all that, but they also have an ice cream parlor where you can get a float for a buck! And they have these ice cream cones on the ceiling, fabric ones as a buffer for the sound because it’s a tile floor so that keeps the sound out.”
Oops, I’m in love!
“Like I said, you can get an ice cream cone for like 50 cents, so it’s a good place to go.”
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