Walberg celebrates win in red-hot race

It's a little past midnight, and a staff member is popping blue and orange balloons adorning the corners of Tim Walberg's victory party at Daryl's restaurant in downtown Jackson. Waiters and bartenders, in their black uniforms, scurry back and forth picking up empty cups, glasses, bottles and plates spread out in the dimly lit room. Walberg is on the phone talking to media representatives while two college journalists nervously wait their turn nearby.
A black suited waitress passes by, picking up glasses on a table.
Earlier in the night, with her maroon colored hair and black uniform, she helped to set up the hors d'oeuvres and delivered a large chicken Caesar salad to a hungry public-radio reporter sitting at a small crowded table.
I sit across from the reporter, in the quarantined press section of Walberg's victory party with my media badge (TIMWalberg emblazoned on it in large print). Victory for Walberg isn't certain at the moment, but it seems inevitable.
The large L shaped room where the party is hosted is fairly sparse in decorations and beyond a few balloons, signs and tables the room seems bare. Then the supporters, guests, reporters, staffers pour in. A projector is set up on the other side of the room (the lower part of the 'L' is where the media is corralled) and plays Fox News. A smaller TV is playing "Glee." Young teenagers and supporters crowd around the projector watching the results pop up on the large screen.
Reporters and photographers, largely ignored, mope about the room and wait for either an appearance from Walberg, or for a staffer to update the whiteboard with the latest poll results from the War Room. They're monitored by staff members, and if a member of the media becomes too invasive, the staffer will intervene and ask the reporter to return to the corner.
Suddenly, cheers and applause erupt from the projector's corner. Some reporters jump to see what has happened. Walberg has popped up on the bottom of the screen with a slight lead. The crowd is energized. Reporters snap photos and return to their corner. They wait for any hint of Walberg's emergence. No media is allowed in the War Room.
Walberg makes a brief appearance and is immediately flooded with cameras, reporters, microphones and recorders. A crescent forms around Walberg and all recording devices are on him. He talks briefly to everyone, then he talks briefly to individual TV stations, then he disappears back into the War Room. The rest of the night is spent waiting — waiting for poll updates, for results to roll in and for Walberg to emerge again.
At 9:22 p.m. with 12 percent of the precincts reporting, Walberg is up 52 percent to Schauer's 47 percent.
By 10:30, Walberg is at 53.6 percent; Schauer is at 46.4 percent with 58 percent reporting.
At 10:44 Rick Snyder declares victory. The atmosphere is high, and the reporters are getting jumpy.
A staffer gets up from a nearby greeting table and repeats to himself, "We're up by six. Okay, we're up by six."
At 11:15 I notice staffers collecting signs from the window sills.
"I think something's about to happen," I say.
The reporter with 20 years of election experience doesn't look up from her computer, but asks, "What makes you say that?"
"Staffers are collecting signs from the windows," I say.
"Yep, you're right, something's up," she says. She grabs her recorder for only the second time that night.
Young Walberg supporters are given signs and are organized underneath a large blue banner with "TIM WALBERG for Congress" printed on it. They take a picture while media crowds in front. They don't take any photos. Soon, staffers begin asking the media to step back. Ten to fifteen minutes later, Walberg emerges from the War Room.
He's greeted with applause, camera flashes, an array of microphones, recorders and immediate silence.
"Well I'm glad to see you waited around," he says to the crowd. "Because I think it's been worth waiting, it has been a tough fought battle, as you may have noticed, its been well watched, it's been well spent and financed around; but we won!"
Elation, jubilation and wild applause.
He delivers his victory speech, and the media are released. Staff refrain from being quoted, but volunteers, supporters and visiting candidates and officials are sought out.
Micki Blunt, a volunteer for Walberg, a former attorney and a "stay-at-home-homeschooling-mommy" recalled her days on the campaign trail with her children. They helped with mailings and in one day did over six hours of campaign calling. She gave a slight shiver when campaign phone-calling came up, but she didn't stop smiling.
"Some people can be very rude," she said.
Mike Shinkey, a local candidate who ran for Michigan State House Representative and won his race said he believes people need to learn how to disagree without being disagreeable.
"There's too much emphasis on labels today," He said. "I believe we can find common ground across the board."
The crowd thins out until only relatives, a few staff members, reporters and candidates are left. I met up with another reporter from another college. She has an interview with Walberg, and asks if I'd like to ask a question.
Walberg paces back and forth on a cell phone talking with the media. A staffer is nearby, leading him to pre-selected members of the media who'd like to talk to him.
We shift our feet uncomfortably while a staffer begins to pop balloons in the background.
Eventually, Walberg is led over by a staff member. The college reporter asks her questions, then nervously introduces me. I'm not supposed to be asking a question and the staffer knows it. He shifts uncomfortably. Walberg looks at me, and I sputter out a question about Tea Party rage and the future of Republicans. He answers politely, saying the Tea Party must hold to their principals and keep the feet of the elected to the flame. I thank him, and he turns back to his cell phone.
The maroon-haired waitress gathers her cups, glasses and bottles. It's one in the morning and the last of the attendees filter out. I say goodbye, place a coffee cup on the table and head toward the elevator.