Amid the Kerry Storm, a Calm Named Marvin

Marvin Nicholson Jr. is sitting on the beige carpet in the beige hallway of a motel outside of town here, late on another endless day on the campaign trail.

It’s several cigarettes and beers past midnight, as it often seems to be, when the question arises: How does it feel to move from golf caddie and windsurfing shop “dude” to personal assistant to the man who might become president?

Nicholson hesitates. His ability to remain mum has become a prized commodity for those who live inside the endlessly chattering campaign “bubble.”

“Five years ago I was raking sand traps and talking about a left-right break on a downhill putt,” Nicholson offers. “Now I’m in the middle of this huge thing. It’s wild.”

Quiet and an unwavering calm are just two of the attributes Nicholson brings to his work for Sen. John F. Kerry. The 32-year-old also must have the skills to shift nimbly from valet, secretary and coach to prod, tailor and friend.

He’s responsible for getting the presumptive Democratic nominee up in the morning and putting him to bed at the end of 18-hour days. He has a bottle of water at the ready when Kerry’s throat goes dry, a pen on hand when autographs must be signed and a sure set of hands when the candidate wants to toss a football across an airport tarmac.

In the black Swiss Army bag always draped over his shoulder, Nicholson totes the essentials for survival on the road. Advil, cold remedies, a lint roller and a sewing kit are inside. So are stationery for thank-you letters and strawberry Boost, the power drink that keeps weight on the chronically thin Kerry.

Nicholson’s business card bears the title: Chief of Stuff.

Generations of American leaders have relied on such assistants, known in the political trade as “body men,” to get through the day.

Logan Walters began as an intern answering mail for Texas Gov. George W. Bush before advancing to personal aide. His critical value to Bush in the 2000 presidential run could be measured by the number of times a day -- and there were many -- when Bush would call out, “Where’s Logan?” When Bush won, Walters followed him to the White House and subsequently returned to graduate school, to obtain a business degree.

Bill Clinton’s assistants had to remember, always, to pack a copy of the president’s beloved New York Times crossword puzzle. Retired Army Gen. Wesley K. Clark’s body man, Los Angeles actor Amad Jackson, had to spend a lot of time scouting for swimming pools. Clark was noticeably less cranky when he’d had a good swim.

David F. Powers described himself as “just a newsboy” before a young congressional candidate named John F. Kennedy met him in 1946 while ringing doorbells. Powers started as a campaign volunteer and eventually worked his way into a job as a personal assistant in the White House. Kennedy reportedly loved his aide’s irreverence -- he once called the visiting shah of Iran “my kind of shah” -- and his prodigious memory for statistics, both political and sporting.

Nicholson differs from some of his precursors not only because of his distinctly apolitical background but because he tends as much to Kerry’s spirit as to his body. That means he’s ever ready with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (ingredients pulled, any time, any place, from a Ziploc plastic bag) or the latest salve for Kerry’s ceaselessly chapped lips. (The candidate recently switched from Blistex to Bag Balm.)

But Nicholson is also likely to top the list of companions when the Massachusetts senator wants to unwind with a game of hearts or a hike into the mountains.

Others on the campaign staff cite the night of Kerry’s first big victory -- the Jan. 19 caucuses in Iowa -- as the highlight of the campaign thus far. Nicholson, on the other hand, places it two months later, on the day he and Kerry took an unpublicized jaunt high into the Rocky Mountains. They slogged 3,000 vertical feet through slushy snow up Endurance Peak before snowboarding back down.

“He hugged me and said how proud he was of me,” Nicholson recalls. “For me, it was a big accomplishment.”

Kerry’s aide stands apart for other reasons. At 6-foot-8, he is usually the only one in a crowd who is taller than the 6-foot-4 Kerry.

And his personality is distinctly laid-back in a campaign plane full of type-A staff members, advisors and reporters.

When Kerry’s speech or the seat to his Serotta touring bicycle goes missing, it’s usually Nicholson who calmly backtracks to find it.

“When all hell is breaking loose, it’s still important to Marvin to be Marvin,” says David Wade, press deputy to the candidate and Nicholson’s roommate on the road. “When things are chaotic, other people tend to point fingers and blame and get caught up in the frenzy. Marvin tends to focus on making things work and getting people through it.”

The man, whose mother recalls him delivering her coffee in bed at age 9, has become caretaker to the extended Kerry family.

When another staffer could not beat a cold in the dead of the New Hampshire winter or find time to buy medicine, Nicholson ventured out, unasked, to secure Nyquil, aspirin and juice.

When the candidate’s daughter Vanessa showed signs of dragging from exhaustion in Iowa, the towering Nicholson reached out a large hand to offer her whimsical solace: a tiny plastic bubblegum capsule with a charm bracelet inside.

They may not be skills taught at the Kennedy School of Government, but they are the ones that have made Nicholson one of the most beloved figures on Kerry’s staff.

“He is not just someone who works for me,” Kerry says. “He is a member of the extended family, and he is very important to everyone on the campaign, [to their] sense that things will work out.”

Nicholson’s arrival in the heart of the Kerry camp was typically atypical.

It began in 1998 at a windsurfing shop in Cambridge, Mass. The 26-year-old was working there not long after moving east from his home in Vancouver, Canada, to be with a girlfriend.

At that time, he had only a vague interest in politics. A naturalized U.S. citizen who was born in Canada, he had never voted.

But one day, the torpor receded when a tall, thin man in a leather flight jacket and aviator shades jumped out of a sedan and popped into the store. Something about the man’s appearance, and the fact that he had a driver, made an impression.

“I say to the manager, ‘Who was that?’ ” Nicholson recalls. “And he says, ‘That’s John Kerry,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh ... who’s John Kerry?’ ”

Months later, Nicholson delivered a pair of new sailboards to Kerry on Nantucket Island. The two ended up sailing up and down the harbor, then enjoying a beer on the beach. A friendship was born.

The next summer, Nicholson had taken a new job on the island as a caddie at a golf club, where he ran into Kerry again. He began carrying bags for the senator and some of his guests, including, on one occasion, then-President Clinton.

Kerry told his young friend he should come down to Washington for an internship. But another mentor from the golf course had a more alluring offer: a job caddying at Augusta National, home of the top tournament in golf, the Masters.

“If I had the choice between being president ... and the No. 1 professional golfer in the world, I would be the No. 1 golfer,” says Nicholson.

After a season at the storied golf links and another summer in Nantucket, Nicholson decided he was ready for Washington.

Soon, he had a job as Kerry’s driver.

Now he spends long hours meeting voters, senators and lawmakers. He has shaken hands with Robert DeNiro and said hello to Jennifer Aniston.

“Of course, those folks don’t really talk to you,” Nicholson says, “as much as the homeless, toothless people do.”

Nicholson snaps pictures patiently for well-wishers and accepts the stream of baseball caps, T-shirts and tchotchkes that come the candidate’s way. Then there’s the paper -- stacks of business cards, letters, fliers and cocktail napkins Kerry is handed, some with solutions to the Medicare crisis, others offering to raise money or recruit volunteers.

When the demands seem endless, sometimes Nicholson and Kerry shoot each other a knowing glance over the heads of the crowd.

“He’ll give me this look,” Nicholson says. “It’s like, it’s almost like, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we were windsurfing right now?’ ”