The Road To The White House: In Iowa, Obama shows he's 'got game'
FAIRFIELD, Iowa -- Official records attest that Fairfield is a real-life municipality in southeast Iowa, but, as crowds ambled into its neat town square one evening last week, with the sun setting behind its central gazebo and a breeze stirring the trees around it, the scene was so picture-perfect that it looked suspiciously like a movie set rendering of small-town America.
Parked at one corner of the square was a white '60s-vintage Cadillac with soaring tail fins, painted with the logo, Obamalac. Dozens of Obama campaign workers circulated in the crowd, trying to collect information and signatories on cards that would swell a database of supporters for the state's crucial caucuses next winter. Thousands filled the shaded lawn to hear Sen. Barack Obama, the first term Illinois lawmaker, ask these Iowa Democrats to help make him the next president
As the applause for his entrance died down, Mr. Obama, in an open neck, gray, checked shirt, stood on the third step of the gazebo, which had been draped in red, white, and blue bunting in anticipation of the next day's Fourth of July celebration. Remarking at the size of the crowd -- about 2,000 -- surrounding him, the Democrat noted the other big audiences that had turned out for his rallies across the country.
"The reason people are coming out in record numbers is that they are hungry for change," he said. "They are desperate for something different. They've had enough of a politics that's small and timid and focused on who's up and who's down."
The twilight rally was the candidate's third of the day. It came at the start of a two-day bus tour, his 13th visit to the state. The procession past fields of corn and soybeans came amid developments that heralded both the promise and the still-formidable challenges facing a candidate seeking a special page in the nation's history as its first black president.
Mr. Obama headed into Iowa with a tailwind from the news that his campaign had raised a record amount of money in the third quarter, impressively outdistancing the receipts of his leading rival, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton, both in the total collected and in the number of donors. Continuing a pattern from the campaign's first quarter, it demonstrated that Mr. Obama would be able to meet or even exceed the spending of a candidate who once had been expected to dominate the Democratic field.
But in this holiday week, Mrs. Clinton was also working at the Hawkeye State's retail politics. With a formidable ally, former President Bill Clinton, at her side, she was attracting crowds as large or larger than Mr. Obama's. And while most state polls showed the two of them in a competitive race in Iowa, close behind former Sen. John Edwards, Mrs. Clinton retained a commanding position in national polls, with most showing her with double-digit leads over Mr. Obama.
But whether speaking from a truck bed in Keokuk or competing with train whistles in a back yard in Mount Pleasant, Mr. Obama confidently predicted that he will be the next president, carried to the White House by his unifying message of community, bi-partisanship and change.
"What I'm confident about is my ability to get Republican and independent votes," he told a press conference Wednesday in Pella. Referring to findings among his Illinois constituents, he said, "I've got a 20 percent margin of approval versus disapproval even among Republicans right now. ... Part of that is the new tone, a change in tone, that I think people are hungry for right now."
Mr. Obama appealed for a bridge over the red-state, blue- state divide in the 2004 Democratic Convention address that catapulted him to the front of the national political stage. In 1896, William Jennings Bryan won the Democratic nomination on the strength of his epic "Cross of Gold'' speech at a Democratic convention. If Mr. Obama were to win this year's nomination, his Boston address would find a place alongside Bryan's "Cross of Gold" as a political catalyst -- though Mr. Obama's speaking style bears little resemblance to Bryan's fiery 19th century rhetoric.
Emphasis on unifying
On the stump, there is a cerebral element to his speaking style, heartfelt but restrained.
"I really like that he's so intelligent and so literary,'' said Iowan Joanne McCabe, after hearing his talk in a neighbor's back yard.
"He's very inspirational, very impressive," said Cathy Cook, of Barn City. "And I like that fact that he's not trying to scare the bejesus out of us -- I mean give me some credit."
While praising his speech and his candidacy, however, both women said they were still undecided on whom to support in the caucuses.
Greeting supporters after his events, Mr. Obama displays a mix of reserve and intensity that parallels his speaking style. He grasps shoulders and holds handshakes with both hands, but he can't rival Mr. Clinton's genius for instant empathy..
Most of the voters he encounters want a handshake or an autograph. With the soft-tipped pen he carries in a pants pocket, the left-handed senator dispenses quick swirling signatures in which only the initial B and O are remotely legible. Many of the those who waited for him this past week wanted to ask him questions on issues, which he patiently fielded with quick capsules of his politics.
Mr. Obama does muster unusual passion and elicits a reliably passionate response from his crowds with a passage in his standard stump speech in which he recalls a visit earlier this year to the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala. He describes the assaults by state troopers, dogs and billy clubs on rights marchers attempting to walk to the state's capital on the famed "Bloody Sunday" of 1965.
Weaving the events of that confrontation with the themes of his own campaign, Mr. Obama's version of the story is not a horrific account of a shameful episode. Rather, he emphasizes the public response to the beatings, how the events stirred the nation's conscience and spurred the passage of the Voting Rights Act.
In a conclusion that can be counted on to stir waves of applause, Mr. Obama, his voice rising, says, "It was a powerful thing for me to stand on that bridge. ... I got back to Washington and some people said, 'That was a powerful celebration of African-American history.'
"I said, 'No, you don't understand. That was a powerful celebration of AMERICAN history.' "
As he recounts in his book, "Dreams of My Father,'' Mr. Obama was largely raised by a single mother, a white woman born in Kansas, after his father, a Kenyan student she met at the University of Hawaii, left the family, first to study at Harvard, then to return to his home in Kenya. As a boy, he knew his father from the stories he heard from his mother and his grandparents. Theirs was a benign portrayal, instilling a positive paternal image, even though his father had essentially abandoned them.
"[The stories] said less about the man himself than about the changes that had taken place in the people around him, the halting process by which my grandparents' racial attitudes had changed," he wrote
Describing the era of his Bloody Sunday vignette, he continues, "The stories gave voice to a spirit that would grip the nation, for that fleeting period between [John F.] Kennedy's election and the passage of the Voting Rights Act. The seeming triumph of universalism over parochialism and narrrow-mindedness, a bright new world where difference of race or culture would instruct and amuse and perhaps even ennoble. A useful fiction -- one that haunts me no less than it haunted my family, evoking as it does some lost Eden that extends beyond mere childhood.''
Mr. Obama's stump speech history lesson is not fiction. It is true, but like the stories about his father, it's only part of the truth. But through it, the black senator allows white crowds to feel good about themselves, rather than chagrined. His version allows him to characterize this history, and his candidacy, as unifying forces in a nation that he argues is weary of divisiveness.
Well positioned
On the eve of the week's Iowa swing, Mr. Obama's campaign strategist, David Plouffe, e-mailed supporters heralding the campaign's impressive fund-raising numbers and claiming, "Six months into the race, we simply couldn't be in a better position.''
He argues that the 258,000 donors who have contributed to the campaign so far have given it both the resources and the grass-roots base needed to compete and prevail in the brief but intense period in which the nomination is likely to be determined.
Mr. Plouffe insisted that Mrs. Clinton's current strength in national polls is not significant, but, in what could be seen as an implicit acknowledgement that it is a matter of concern, he spends more than half of the lengthy memo describing reasons to expect her numbers to erode.
Mr. Obama's campaign is likely to be remembered as a political phenomenon whether or not his surprising early strength translates into the nomination. But the Democratic history of Iowa offers plenty of cautionary lessons about political unknowns whose stars blazed here only to burn out in competition with more established politicians.
Former Vermont governor Howard Dean seemed unstoppable here in the late summer of 2004. A generation ago, Sen. Gary Hart was the up-from-nowhere phenomenon who eventually succumbed to Vice President Walter Mondale.
One Iowa staffer rejected the Dean analogy last week. He contrasted Mr. Obama's themes of change and bipartisanship with what he characterized as the confrontational character of Mr. Dean's anti-war message four years ago. He asserted that his boss' emphasis on community was in tune with the desires of most voters.
Mr. Obama generally mentions his Democratic rivals only in positive terms, and, while scathing in his assessments of Bush policies, notably the war, he seldom mentions the president by name. But the former high school basketball player demonstrated in an Independence Day press conference that he could throw an elbow on occasion.
Mrs. Clinton's slogan, proclaimed in big banners at her concurrent Iowa rallies, was "Ready for Change; Ready to Lead.''
Answering a question in the back yard of Heather and Dan Vroom in Pella. Mr. Obama said, "You know, change can't just be a slogan. Change has to be something that is demonstrated day to day on an ongoing basis."
Later, when asked about the high negative approval ratings that coexist with Mrs. Clinton's strong overall poll numbers, Mr. Obama said Iowans should focus on "who can shake up the status quo in Washington, who has the best chance of creating a working majority in this country. ... And if they ask themselves who's going to change ethical practices in Washington, they can refer back to the work I've done as a U.S. senator and as a state senator.''
Mr. Obama used similar language in an interview the same day with Mike Glover of the Associated Press. His insistence that "change can't be a slogan, change has to mean that we're not doing the same old thing that we've been doing," was an answer to a question about Mrs. Clinton and a tactical bid to make sure that on a day when the Clintons were soaking up media attention, any Clinton story would be an Obama story as well.
Mrs. Clinton's voting record is also a not-so-veiled target of his standard remarks, when, as he denounces the Iraq War, he starts with the observation: "This is a war that should never have been authorized.''
Later on his Fourth of July wanderings, Mr. Obama was standing outside the Iowa Cubs stadium in Des Moines chatting with staffers and volunteers who were being treated by the campaign to seats at the riverside ballpark. Informed that one young volunteer was a basketball player, the senator, in a political promise that may or not be redeemed, suggested that they should set up a some hoops the next time he's in town.
"I've got a little game,'' he said with a smile.