John Kasich meets other workers at RP Abrasives

Ohio Gov. John Kasich talks with employees in the break room during a visit at RP Abrasives, Monday, July 13, 2015, in Rochester, N.H. The 20-minute session was at times awkward as the Republican failed to connect with his blue-collar audience.

(Jim Cole, The Associated Press)

ROCHESTER, N.H. - One by one, they file into the break room. Boss' orders.

"Grab a seat," Joe Shean says as chairs squeak on the tile. "Grab a seat."

Five workers huddle around the lunch table, their knees bouncing. A few others line the wall. They wear ball caps, cargo shorts and sleeveless tees that show off their tattoos.

A soon-to-be presidential candidate sits at the head of the table, one leg crossed over another. He wears dark dress slacks and a wrinkle-free checkered shirt with a firm collar and buttoned cuffs. His film crew hovers, shooting footage for ads.

Reality quickly sets in for Ohio Gov. John Kasich. "This is really the last place you guys want to be," he says. "Of course you're in here, so you have a break."

These are the moments that try an underdog White House hopeful. The next 20 minutes at RP Abrasives are a painful, humbling slog for Kasich, who takes pride in his own blue-collar roots. His story, which friendly Republican crowds have eaten up for years, doesn't help him much here, and he seems uncomfortable telling it almost as soon as he starts.

"I grew up just outside of Pittsburgh," the governor tells them. "My dad carried mail on his back. A lot of people worked in steel plants, iron works. The kind of stuff you guys are doing. So, growing up in that was good, because, see, I kind of - not totally - but I kind of get you guys. I didn't come highfalutin, you know what I'm saying?"

Kasich quickly gets down to business. "So, any of you vote? Have you ever voted?"

Some shake their heads. "Every year," replies one.

Kasich tries to steer the conversation in that direction, not really getting anywhere.

"We've got to vote, even if you don't vote for me," says Kasich, who is expected to make his campaign official next week. "I'm not sure I'm running yet, so anyway ... ."

A few more questions. "You like your job? What's the future for all of you?"

One-word answers follow. Then Kasich gets on a bit of a roll, turning to his right, to a worker he chatted up out on the floor. "You're going to have a baby." They banter briefly about how the father-to-be met his wife. "Did you take her to the prom?"

Kasich turns to his left. "How about you?"

"Any hobbies?"

More silence.

It's getting hot. It's getting uncomfortable. Kasich tries another tack.

"Well, is there anything you'd like to say? Because, maybe, it's possible some day I could be president. I mean, it's hard to believe. For me, too. But it could happen."

Machinery whirs. The refrigerator purrs. No one stirs.

Kasich plunges ahead, but now he's struggling to find the right words.

"What I think is that no one should be not paid-attention-to, and no one should be ignored. Everybody should have a - have a say. So, you know, for you guys ... what we want to make sure, is to me, that you have the equipment you need ... ."

The governor then recognizes the "R-and-D guy"- a research-and-development manager who bails out Kasich by actually answering a question with more than two syllables.

The conversation still not stimulated, Kasich tries sports.

"You can complain about the Red Sox, whatever," he pleads.

"Here's how we're going to try," Kasich says, changing direction once again. "If the president of the United States was sitting in here ... and I said, 'OK, I'm the president, tell me one thing that's important to you that I should know,' what would it be?"

The R-and-D guy bails him out again. "Bring jobs back to America."

Kasich now seems disappointed.

"But I didn't ask you," he pouts, drawing some laughs.

Nevertheless, he riffs for a bit on trade and spends a couple of minutes talking about price dumping by foreign manufacturers - a dense subject, but one that animates Kasich.

Now he turns back to the father-to-be. "What thing would you like to say?"

A pause. "I don't know. I'll have to ponder for a moment."

Volley back to Kasich. "Ponder. That's a good word. I like that word."

Finally, the dam breaks. The father-to-be wonders "why the government wastes so much money on who gets married and who doesn't get married."

Kasich deflects to the reporters in the room.

"Well you should talk to these people. They're in the media."

But he senses an opening and talks about his own time in Congress.

"I used to work in Washington, like with the president and everything," he says. "It was pretty amazing. You're not going to believe this - this sounds like this would be a movie - but when I was there, I was one of the guys that got the budget balanced."

This has the desired effect. "Oh, wow," someone replies.

Kasich feels like he's hitting his stride. "There should be no sort of deals because you know somebody or if you don't know anybody, you don't get a deal. The fact that my father was a mailman, and everybody I grew up with were people like us here - why would I want to give a deal to somebody else if you didn't get a deal? That's important."

He's lost them again. So Kasich gestures to the journalists once more, remembering this reporter's father, like the governor's, carried mail. "Henry's father is a mailman. You think he doesn't know that? When you grow up that way, you don't forget it."

Shean steps up, filling a few minutes by discussing health care policy with Kasich. And then Bruce Berke, one of Kasich's New Hampshire advisers, interrupts to say it's about time to head to the next stop. But the governor is not ready to give up on the group.

"Do you have any big dreams? What would be your biggest dream? Do you have one?"

All quiet.

Kasich prods.

"I don't know, to own my own company some day?" one volunteers.

This pleases Kasich. "That's a good dream. That could happen, if you're smart."

Down the table, someone else chimes in: "God, to own my own house."

This floors Kasich. "You're gonna get that. How old are you?"

He's 21.

"You're going to have your own house, don't you know that? That's gonna happen. Does that seem like that's a really hard thing for you? Does that seem big?

It does.

"Do you save? You can't spend all the money on fishing gear. You've got to put a little aside. You know what I've found, you get more money - you get to be worth more and more money the more you save, because the more you save, the more it grows. And that's a really big part of having more money. That's a sweet dream. I like that."

Moving down the line, Gerri Widener, the office manager, speaks.

"Mine's to have a women's and children's shelter," she says.

"I've been homeless," Widener answers when Kasich asks why. "Two, I've been battered. And three, 'cause they need a voice. Look how many children go hungry every day, especially in the summer, because the only food is at school."

This is in Kasich's wheelhouse, and for the first time he seems comfortable.

Part of his rationale for expanding Medicaid - a sore sport with conservatives - was to help the poor. "These programs are really important to me," he says. "You know some people call me a liberal because I think we need to feed people, because I think we need to care for them, help them with diseases like mental illness and drug addiction."

Having finally connected with one employee, he could stop here. But he's not satisfied. Kasich turns to one of the quieter workers and pries loose his big dream.

"A house on the water? Give it to me!" the governor says, bumping fists.

There's some small talk about fishing and winning the lottery before Kasich rises.

"I'll be around," he tells them as he departs. "But I hope you'll remember this."