It was Ann Romney’s first major test as a would-be political wife and by all accounts it was a disaster.
Mitt Romney was fighting his first election in 1994, an uphill battle for a Senate seat Edward Kennedy had held for more than 30 years. Ms. Romney invited a reporter from The Boston Globe to their home to counter her family’s image of privilege, something that did not sit well with Massachusetts voters.
Instead, she chatted about dieting down to her college weight (117 pounds) and how the couple had struggled as students, living off inherited stock investments. Asked to describe herself in three words, Ms. Romney foundered: “Peaceful, loving and serene,” she managed. At one point, she compared a political campaign to pregnancy.
“The thing that’s nice about pregnancy is that in the end, you have a baby,” she told the reporter, who concluded that his encounter with Ms. Romney in her million-dollar mansion resembled something like a trip to the Twilight Zone.
As Mr. Romney forges to the front in the Republican primaries, his wife is being heralded as one of his greatest assets, a humanizing force that counters his rigidity. She is the most visible of the Republican candidates’ wives.
Her stories of dealing with debilitating multiple sclerosis and her brush with breast cancer have moved crowds to tears, helping her – and by extension, her husband – connect with voters. In speeches and interviews she weaves stories about how she has used alternative therapies, such as reflexology and horseback riding, to heal. In Republican households “Baron,” her horse, has become something of a folk hero.
Seventeen years ago, however, she was squarely blamed for her husband’s Senate loss. She was dismissed as a millstone that did nothing to help his political ambition and was written off as arm candy.
Now, in a Republican contest filled with unexpected moments, Ms. Romney’s quiet metamorphosis from a coddled housewife to political powerhouse has been equally dramatic.
“In the past there was this idea that the Romneys were this golden couple, they had it all. How can you root for someone that has it all?” observed Thomas Whalen, a political science professor at Boston University.
“In this race, she has opened up about her health struggles. Since then it’s been onwards and upwards for her image. She’s really learned from her mistakes,” he said.
On the campaign trail, the Romneys have sought to project themselves as the embodiment of social-conservative values. Compared to rival Newt Gingrich, whose marriage to his third wife, Callista, followed an affair, it’s not exactly a stretch.
Ann Davies, the daughter of a Welsh immigrant, was 15 years old when she went on her first date with her future husband. The son of Michigan’s then governor picked her up in a red Marlin made by American Motors Corp., the company his father served as chairman and CEO. Armed with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two chilled glasses, he took her to see The Sound of Music. A few months later, he proposed.
She converted to his religion, Mormonism, at the age of 18. The process was overseen by Mr. Romney’s father, George, who performed the ritual when she decided to be baptized. Marriage had to wait another year, when her fiancé returned from two years spent as a missionary in France.
The newlyweds moved to Belmont in 1971 so Mr. Romney could attend graduate school. Ms. Romney spent much of the next decade pregnant, staying home to raise five sons.
“Mitt thought it was important for me to stay home with the children, and I was delighted,” she told The Boston Globe.
Ms. Romney’s fate, friends say, was largely decided by her faith.
“In the Mormon religion we really teach that the most significant thing that one can do during our life on this Earth is to be a parent. The legacy we leave is our family,” Grant Bennett, who has been friends with the Romneys for 33 years, said in an interview with The Globe And Mail.
