A Memory of Caucuses Past

The sudden upset in the caucuses brings to mind the speeches of 2004: there was Dean's famous scream-based implosion after the race; the sore-throated Kerry thanking the caucus-goers of Iowa; and my own, slightly less historically important though also hoarse, speech that began: "The key is to get them out of the caucus room and into the cookie-room."

In my own defense, two weeks of 20-hour-a-day volunteering for Kerry's campaign had driven me insane. Thus this somewhat bizarre opening to a pep talk that reflected a form of logic only someone with mild dementia could buy.

My theory was that despite a record amount of press coverage, endless advertising, a brigade of phone-bankers who had spoken personally with almost every Democrat in the state, a back-breaking last-minute whirlwind campaign tour by our candidate, and the omnipresent yard signs and bumper stickers, the thing that would really pull a caucuser into our camp would be hors de oeuvres.

I pulled for Kerry for reasons as logically irrelevant as the cookies: when I was 12 and my dad was being called a traitor in senate confirmation hearings, Kerry stood up and said the only true patriots were Vietnam's protestors. It was a simple recipe for instant lifelong loyalty.

"Where exactly is the cookie room?" one of other volunteers asked.

"Down the hall," I responded. I was captain of the out-of-state volunteer team in charge of managing one of the caucus locations in Bettendorf, Iowa. 'Managing,' in retrospect, meant 'doing nothing.' The staffers in Kerry's office knew this, but they didn't have the heart to tell me.

When you are loyal to a candidate, and I was really loyal to Kerry, it's very hard to let go. You believe, to butcher a metaphor from Gatsby, in the green light. There is always something else you can do, some other way to nudge things a bit further in your guy's direction.

"Why do we want them in the cookie room?" another volunteer asked.

"So we can persuade them," I explained. "So I can convince the undecided."

Out-of-staters are not allowed to talk to the caucus-goers inside the caucus chamber. Thus the cookies. I figured people would come for the Chips Ahoy and stay to listen to my persuasive point-by-point analysis of why Kerry should be their candidate.

Even then, there was talk that Kerry was without charm, that he was unable to keep his answers succinct, and that his withdrawn New England demeanor would be a disaster in a general election. The fact that I felt that just what Kerry needed on caucus night was one more point-by-point analysis of the arguments in his favor was a sign that I had long since swallowed the Kool Aid.

When you work, or in my case volunteer, on a political campaign you might start supporting the candidate because of some position he or she takes on an issue that's important to you, but that changes very quickly. Pretty soon, you support your guy because you feel he or -- pardon the gender disagreement -- she deserves your loyalty regardless of the issues. You become a Kerry guy, or an Obama guy, or a Clinton guy.

This is particularly true in Iowa and New Hampshire, where the ratio of staffers to voters reaches absurdity. In 1968, Eugene McCarthy's campaign devoted two full-time campaign staffers to the earliest-voting part of New Hampshire, Dixville Notch, which has a population of around 75, only about 14 of whom vote in the Democratic primary. In circumstances like that, it's hard not to take it personally when someone doesn't vote for your guy. You feel like you should have some control over the people you have spent so much effort trying to persuade.

Of course, when caucus time rolled around, the Iowans weren't interested in the cookie room. Despite my best efforts, and the best efforts of the out-of-state volunteer squad, they walked casually by the cookie-room and into the caucus room. The caucus itself took 40 minutes and there was very little actual persuasion that took place. Everyone in the room had her first and second choice candidates picked out and the voting finished quickly. We watched stupefied as our candidate took home four representatives to Dean's three to Edwards' two.

I spent the night celebrating Kerry's victory as I imagine Obama's people celebrated Obama's victory: with exhausted enthusiasm and blended scotch at the Radisson Quad City Plaza Hotel. And I imagine that the Edwards and Clinton folks are nursing their wounds, unable to imagine what went wrong. Perhaps if they had knocked on a few more doors, or called a few more people. Maybe if that last-minute blitz by the candidate had included some more stops upstate or mentions of corn-subsidies. Or maybe, just maybe, if they had dished out that extra $1.50 and sprung for Pepperidge Farms over Chips Ahoy...Or lobster... maybe a lobster room. And so we beat on.

Comments

[wfjuggler]

I hope I can't be called 'Olde Guarde' at 27, but then those who believe that Kerry's only driving force was the support of some corrupt cabal of party insiders are also likely to see anyone who doesn't support their candidate as a party hack. For the record, I am an Obama guy this time round. - Nick

[January]

The down to earth sharing comes as relief from all the pontificating.

As I remember voting in a caucus next door in Davenport in 1968, our neighbor from the north, HHH, was a shoo-in, despite objections from those of us who opposed the war. I had absolutely no sense of the pending upset of the apple cart by the Nix and his boys, like Cheney.

I was glad to see that Kerry's campaign soon snowballed. I hoped that without Demo infighting, he'd at least have a chance. My contact with him was limited in Massachusetts to an abortive attempt to gain a Demo Rep seat. One could see then that he was a 'comer.

My fear since the last race was that we have fallen into a rut we'd never climb out of. The last off-year did not reassure me. An electorate that could return the Shrub to a second term is a loose canon.

But does your participation make you one of those olde guarde Demos that the Clinton haters see under every desk?