New Hampshire's Indomitable US Senator Styles Bridges
Anyone ever notice the little signs that read “Senator Styles Bridges Highway” posted intermittently along New Hampshire’s I-93, beginning from Concord to the Canadian border?
Styles Bridges served one two-year term as New Hampshire's governor (1935-1937), and spent the rest of his life in the United States Senate, becoming the most senior and powerful Republican in that body, dying in office just over a year after being re-elected to his fourth term in 1960.
I met him once as a kid when I was maybe eleven. I was with my grandfather during an all-day political event, visiting every town in Belknap county. The fall election was weeks away, and we were with a group of Republican candidates for local government seeking votes, headed by the governor, our congressman, and Bridges, all up for re-election. I was the only youngster among them. The first stop was Meredith, and my grandfather, himself up for re-election both as county commissioner and state representative, and a friend of Bridges for some 30 years, made sure I shook the Great Man’s hand. Actually it’s a moment I’ve not forgotten.
Styles Bridges spoke in a kind of nasal, Yankee drawl. He was five-seven, maybe? That day: gray hair, gray suit, gray over-coat. Pale face, grayish-blue eyes. When
speaking, his left eyebrow would occasionally rise slightly over that eye. His mouth had a little
crooked way about it. His teeth, I think, were not good, some might have been missing,
couldn’t quite tell. So his smile was unnatural, like he was being careful not
to part his lips. A man I later worked for who knew Bridges for many years called
it, “That grin.”
We traveled in cars from town to town, in a caravan called "The Flying Squadron," which occurred every election time for many years, where a reception of people awaited at each, with of course refreshments and decorations of flags and campaign posters. The major candidates gave brief remarks, maybe a joke, often with references relating to that town. Bridges, at every stop, though, gave exactly the same speech, word-for-word, in a droning monotone without much inflection. All about arcane bills and policies. We visited ten towns that day. A Daniel Webster he was not.
After the speeches, people enjoyed socializing, meeting candidates, some of whom were seriously politicking, "working the room," a ritual I would later learn to understand.
With Bridges, there was none of that. He'd stand there by a table, or in the middle of the room, where ever he landed after the speeches, chatting with people as they came by, not scanning the room to see who he should soon move on to talk with next. He appeared to be a quiet listener. No rush. People came by him, then moved on. He reminded me of a favorite uncle at one of our family reunions. I didn't see any celebrity in him.
But he was.
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