Every presidential election I have covered as a political journalist has had its share of surprises. There was the Ross Perot phenomenon of 1992, the hanging chads of 2000, and, more recently, the razor-thin contests of 2016 and 2020.
And this year has been no different, with Donald Trump leading the Republican ticket for the third consecutive election, facing a historic Democratic nominee, Kamala Harris, who jumped to the top of the ticket after Joe Biden’s July surprise.
Yet it’s a safe bet that come election night, as my hands criss-cross the country on CNN’s Magic Wall — a touchscreen map displaying real-time voting results — little or no time will be spent in the place I treasure most: Suffolk County. Boston. Dorchester. St. Mark’s Parish, to be precise.
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My native Massachusetts, like most of New England, is almost certain to fill in blue. The battlegrounds in the Rust Belt and Sunbelt will no doubt decide who wins, and, because of that, they will dominate media coverage.
But even as I zoom in to those critical areas on election night, county by county, the lessons I learned in my hometown will figure prominently in my mind.
As a kid, I was the third of seven Kings growing up on King Street. Our neighborhood was overwhelmingly Irish-Catholic, blue collar, loud, and vibrant. Pictures of President Kennedy adorned the walls of many kitchens; the Vietnam draft was a concern for older kids and their parents.
I am a proud graduate of Boston Latin School, class of 1981. I first walked through those doors as a seventh-grader. It was September 1975, the second year of Boston’s tumultuous experiment with forced busing. The city was raw, to say the least, and I could never have imagined then there would be a Black president in my lifetime. Now the question is whether America is open to a Black woman as president. A double test, if you will.
My dad was a union guy who worked as a guard at the Charles Street Jail (which now, oddly, houses a luxury hotel). My first exposure to politics was listening to him mutter about then-Mayor Kevin White during contract negotiations, or about President Nixon as the Watergate scandal unfolded.
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He didn’t say much, but hard work was his example, respect was his North Star.
Things were especially tight after a health crisis put my father out of work for a stretch. As strong as he was, it was then we all learned how resilient and determined our mother was. And from her I learned dignity is quiet.
How to stretch every dollar at the grocery store was a constant kitchen table conversation. The home heating oil bill would send the thermostat setting a little lower. We never had a new car. Similar stories and anxiety are the driving force of this campaign.
Voters being ahead of Washington is nothing new. In 1988, when I was a young Associated Press reporter, I learned I’d be covering Governor Michael Dukakis’s presidential bid. The conventional wisdom in D.C. was that his campaign would be short lived. This meant more experienced correspondents should spend their time elsewhere.
Soon, I found myself in Iowa, New Hampshire, and beyond, following Dukakis. A misreading of the political climate had opened the door for me. That Washington is wrong more than it is right about the country’s mood became a guiding principle of my work.
Dukakis won the nomination, of course, but went on to lose 40 states in November. He went back to Beacon Hill; this kid from Dorchester transferred to Washington, D.C., and has been fortunate to cover every campaign since.
In the early days of this one, I asked my bosses to let me go back to the road — back to the kitchen table, so to speak — to retrace the steps of past campaigns and find the new places about to shape or settle this one.
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Our project, All Over the Map, has taken us to 10 states and into the homes, workplaces, and communities of voters there. The goal is to experience the campaign through the experiences of everyday Americans who live in the battlegrounds or are members of key voting blocs. Or both. I am beyond grateful for the candor and good will I’ve experienced.
And, as they often were in Dorchester, I’ve found the voters to be a step ahead of the politicians. The cost of living has been a top issue, as were worries about President Biden’s age. And we see so much evidence of the Trump paradox: Yes, about half the country reviles him, but his support is deep, resilient, and more diverse than many in New York and Washington believe.
On the night of November 5, voters like these across the country will provide early clues. Rural counties in Kentucky along the Ohio River were the first glimpse in 2016 that Trump was getting high turnout. In the Philadelphia suburbs, Harris will need big margins in Bucks, Delaware, and Montgomery counties. Georgia’s Cobb County is a test of whether Trump can bolster his performance in suburbs.
Then there’s Maine’s Second Congressional District. Maine, like Nebraska, allocates electoral votes based on a formula that includes congressional district performance. Trump won Maine’s Second and its electoral vote in 2020, and is favored to do so again. In a close race, that vote might just matter. Plus, it might be the only chance for my hands to spend much time back home in New England.
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Regardless of the little time I spend on air talking about it, I’ll be thinking about my hometown. I’ll forever be grateful for parents who had so little but gave so much, and mindful that the pressures we faced remain front and center for millions of working families in this campaign.
John King is CNN’s chief national correspondent. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.