Mitt Romney's Assistant Seldom Leaves His Side MILWAUKEE - Garrett Jackson and Mitt Romney are stuck together like the peanut butter and honey sandwiches they both love. Mr. Jackson, 25, is Mr. Romney's "body man," the personal assistant who spends more time with the candidate than even Mr. Romney's wife, Ann, does. Mr. Jackson is often the first person to see Mr. Romney in the morning; the candidate is dressed and ready, waiting with his iPad, at least 15 minutes before Mr. Jackson arrives at his hotel room to fetch him. And Mr. Jackson is the last person to see Mr. Romney each night, before leaving him alone to call his wife and catch up with what Mr. Jackson calls "his fun books" - "The Hunger Games" trilogy most recently, he said. Perhaps more than anyone else in the campaign, Mr. Jackson understands the likes and dislikes, the rhythms and moods, the quirks and habits of the famously reserved Mr. Romney. Mr. Jackson knows him so well that he recently began blogging about his days with Mr. Romney, an acknowledgment that a young, energetic and devoted aide might help voters connect to a candidate who has been called out of touch. Mr. Jackson knows, for instance, that Mr. Romney's preferred breakfast is McDonald's pancakes ("We eat in the car most of the time") and that for snacks and drinks, he likes Cherry Coke Zero, chocolate milk, water and Peanut M&Ms. Often on hand are the supplies for their beloved peanut butter and honey sandwiches. He knows that Mr. Romney always wants a plan, so first thing each morning he lays out that day's itinerary - everything from political events ("two town halls") to appropriate attire ("business casual"). "He always goes, "What's up, boss?" Or, "What's up, doc?" " Mr. Jackson said, referring to Mr. Romney's prompt for a schedule update. He's a very good listener, and then if he's confused by something, he'll start quizzing me. Mr. Jackson also knows that, more than almost anything, Mr. Romney hates being late. He views it as the ultimate politician's affront, one of the few things that can rile him. Before the campaign started, if Mr. Jackson was running a few minutes behind in picking up Mr. Romney at his townhouse in Belmont, Mass., Mr. Romney's bags would be waiting in a tidy pile outside the front door. "I knew that was his little nudge, his way of saying, "I walked out and you weren't here; you were a little late," " Mr. Jackson said. The two once hopped out of a traffic-snarled taxi in Midtown Manhattan and sprinted - in the heat of summer, in jacket and tie, both carrying briefcases - seven blocks to a luncheon to arrive on time. Mr. Jackson's job is to anticipate the candidate's every need, and his black briefcase is stocked with Sharpies, batteries, granola bars, collar stays, flag pins, hand sanitizer, Advil, Tide pens, chargers, note cards and half-eaten meals wrapped in napkins. He has offered his back as a hard surface on which Mr. Romney can sign posters and, at an event in Mason City, Iowa, Mr. Jackson dived to the floor to steady a rickety chair that his boss stood on to address a large crowd. Mr. Romney teased that Mr. Jackson only had to catch him if he fell - but a photo of Mr. Jackson crouched awkwardly, holding the chair, flooded the Web. "After the infamous chair photo came out, he was calling me Mr. Chairman or Chairman Jackson," Mr. Jackson said. In recent days, Mr. Jackson has become part of an effort to help humanize Mr. Romney. Though the job of the body man is to be seen in the shadow of the candidate but never heard, on his blog Mr. Jackson chronicles Mr. Romney eating cupcakes backstage at "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno" or watching the returns on election night. Much like Mr. Jackson - and "The Gov," as he calls his boss - the blog is earnest, G-rated and, the campaign hopes, a way to relate to a candidate who sometimes comes across as distant or awkward. "I talk about his underappreciated sense of humor, the fact he's just a normal guy," Mr. Jackson said. "I'm always, like, "Gov, let me take your laundry," but he'd rather wash his own shirt in the sink, using an iron to dry it." He added, eyes wide, "I did not know that was possible."