Wes Moore, the Democratic governor of Maryland, was still shaking hands as his body man began to lead him out of the afternoon cocktail party at an Italian restaurant above the Chicago River. Flanked by a retinue of aides and security officials, he and his wife, Dawn, left through a side door and made their way into a narrow hallway, past waiting trays of meatballs and lamb chops, into a prep kitchen — wrong way, everybody turn around — and, finally, into a capacious service elevator.
Yes, the Democratic National Convention is a party. It is also a nonstop logistical scramble for high-profile elected officials like Mr. Moore, whose presence is in constant demand.
“You see a lot of back kitchens,” he said. “There’s a slogan we learned in the military: ‘Stay frosty.’ Because things are going to move and shift, and I think there’s been a lot of that, that we’ve seen, from the convention.”
Mr. Moore, 45, a former Army captain who served in Afghanistan, was a guest of honor at the cocktail reception, sponsored by the With Honor PAC, which works with veterans in Congress. He had arrived there straight from an event across town, a panel discussion hosted by the Black Economic Alliance, where he spoke about patriotism, his family and his work on criminal justice reform. There had been many hands to shake.
It was an anxious few hours for his team. His press secretary, Carter Elliott, was doing double-duty as a photographer, dressed in a short-sleeve shirt and Converse sneakers. He had walked from the previous event. The night before, he had spent three hours stuck on a bus trying to get into the convention center.
If the life of an ambitious Democratic governor at the D.N.C. is complicated, the life of an aide may be more so, and perhaps less dignified.
On Tuesday, David Turner, Mr. Moore’s senior adviser and communications director, was concerned about trying to conserve Mr. Moore’s voice: He was scheduled to speak at a breakfast early Wednesday morning, and deliver a prime-time speech Wednesday night at the convention.
“This will be hard, because he is chatty,” Mr. Turner said.
In the restaurant freight elevator, Mr. Moore said he enjoyed the backstage conversations at the convention, which he found to be the best place to talk about big ideas. “That’s where the change actually happens,” he said.
The Moore team was disgorged into a dark locker room on the ground floor of the restaurant. Dawn Moore walked ahead, in a champagne pantsuit and white sneakers — she had heels on at the earlier event, but there was a long night ahead — and descended into an underground loading dock, where two black Chevy Suburbans were waiting.
Standing next to a green dumpster, Mr. Moore had a few thoughts about what he had learned in Chicago. “I’ve been amazed at how I do not like deep dish pizza,” he said. Mr. Elliott winced.
Mr. Moore continued: “Chicago cuisine is just not good. It’s not good. I know I’m very biased.”
Then he had to go. In a matter of minutes, he was due on the convention floor for roll call. As the cars rolled away, Mr. Elliott sighed, deeply.
“He said he didn’t like Chicago cuisine,” Mr. Elliott said. “Pritzker has already ratioed us once on Twitter,” he said, apparently referring to an incident last month when JB Pritzker, the governor of Illinois, shot back at a post from Mr. Moore praising the superiority of Maryland cheese dogs.
Then, Mr. Elliott said: “We need to get out of here before they close the garage door.”
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