A Campaign in Iowa: Plenty of Pork and Politics
The GOP straw poll was the final resting place for many a pig and probably more than one campaign
Confession. The day began at 10:30 a.m. with a corn dog and ended many hot, sweaty hours later with a tasty pork cutlet sandwich. In between, there were servings of homemade vanilla ice cream, two bags of well-salted popcorn, and a pulled-pork sandwich from Famous Dave's BBQ.
Yes, as always, the Iowa Republican presidential straw poll—held in every contested presidential election year since 1979—was the final resting place for many a pig and probably more than one campaign.
And though Saturday's sweltering big-tent, all-day carnival on the grounds of Iowa State University ended with a bit of early-evening electoral excitement—Mike Huckabee wins! (No, wait: Mitt Romney won, by a lot. Huckabee unexpectedly "won" second)—the day was just as much about free food, music, long shots, and another meat, this one red, served up by candidates to Hawkeye State loyalists who seemed to need a bit of bucking up.
Abolish the IRS. Ban abortion. Support gun ownership and the Second Amendment. Throw out illegal immigrants, and build a fence. The opening musical act at anti-illegal immigrant crusader Tom Tancredo's tent featured a barbershop quartet of aging white men dressed up for the occasion in sombreros and ponchos.
Enough said about that. Much more to say about the day itself.
The Winner. The Romney campaign isn't saying yet how much it spent to organize, entertain, feed, rent buses, and purchase tickets at $35 a pop to get supporters to the straw poll, where the ticket buys you the opportunity to vote. Over $1 million is a very safe bet. "Pay to play—that's really what they're doing here," tsk-tsked Scott Brennan, chairman of the Iowa Democratic Party, who infiltrated the event. Truth be told, Brennan was invited by state Republicans—surely an example of "Iowa nice." Brennan freely worked the halls of the Hilton (no relation to Paris) Coliseum, where the candidates were allotted 15 minutes each to sell themselves to the crowd.
Romney's spending showed. In an area the size of two football fields, and in prime space just outside the Coliseum, "The Nadas" played a morning folk rock set on a festival-size stage, kids scaled a rock-climbing wall or jumped in a moon bounce, while supporters in yellow Team Romney T-shirts loaded their plates and searched for shade to eat their pork sandwiches, beans, pasta salad, and cookies.
The Romney family—the five sons and Dad in chinos, Mom in pearls and blue skirt—made periodic appearances. "We've been touched by the people in Iowa," Ann Romney said. (And gosh darn it, we've shelled out more than $440 per vote to get you here! She didn't actually say that.) Candidate Romney, mobbed for autographs, may have had a hair out of place, an aide joked to one reporter, though it wasn't apparent to the naked eye.
"This is a great state, I'll tell you what," Romney said before he wheeled around to shake more hands and unexpectedly came face to face with New York Times political reporter Adam Nagourney. "I don't want to shake your hand," the candidate joked. It was a joke, right, Governor? Joking aside, it was an exceedingly good day for the Romney family patriarch.
The Other Winner. Former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee is an ordained minister who knows how to party. At his tent on a much smaller slice of the Coliseum grounds, supporters ate—surprise!—barbecued pork and watermelon trucked up from the candidate's hometown of Hope, Ark. Yes, the same. (Earlier, he was introduced in the Coliseum as a man from Hope who "is not going to marry Hillary Clinton; he's going to beat Hillary Clinton." In the electoral sense, of course. )
Huckabee slung a guitar over his shoulder and joined his band, Capitol Offense, at his camp's stage. In jeans and black sunglasses, he and the band sawed their way through a stand-up version of "Sweet Home Alabama." And this was before the votes were counted, before he knew he had edged out his archconservative Christian rival Sam Brownback, who later pronounced himself "thrilled to come in close to second." Huckabee spent $150,000 on the straw poll, Brownback about $325,000.
Huckabee, in his Coliseum speech, reliably tossed out a few good one-liners:
As a Republican in Arkansas, he said, he feels like "Michael Vick at the Westminster Dog Show." And about buying votes: "I can't buy you. I don't have the money. I can't even rent you."
But to whom were you referring, Governor, when you added this: "A straw poll is not about electing a straw man." And what fellow candidates were you pointing the finger at when you said they may be engaging in false advertising, a behavior you said Jesus cursed?
The Others. You have to love the Ron Paul-ites. Loud, fervent, and looking much more like the motley crews—young and old, dreadlocked and crew cut—that frequent liberal gatherings, not conservative events in the middle of the heartland.
They marched through the grounds chanting for their guy, toting signs—example: "Abolish the IRS and Replace it with Nothing"—and crowding Paul's tent (hot dogs and lemonade, for the record) to hear the candidate's libertarian pep talks.
"He's the opposite of a politician—he's never made deals," said Jamie Kelso, a supporter from Florida who was wearing a "Gun Owners 4 Paul" button. And that was one of Paul's problems Saturday: Most of his supporters came from out of state. But no one in the Texas congressman's tent complained about his fifth-place finish ahead of former Wisconsin Gov. Tommy Thompson and three big names who didn't compete here: Fred Thompson, Rudy Giuliani, and John McCain.
But at Tommy Thompson's tent, even before votes were counted, there was the feeling of a chapter on the verge of being closed. Supporters stopped by to quietly hug the former Health and Human Services chief, offering good wishes and thanks. Thompson posed for a picture with immigrants from India, now successful business people in Iowa, while a supporter, "New York" Myke Shelby, a Harley rider in from California, suggested a Duncan Hunter-Tommy Thompson ticket. "It would attract all the liberals who would think they're voting for Hunter Thompson," Shelby said. He admitted to using the joke before. More than once. But by Sunday, the quips were history; Thompson announced he was withdrawing from the race.
Fred Heads. Fred Thompson, the almost-a-candidate-for-president, didn't show, but a handful of guys who met through Thompson sites on the Internet did. With a folding table and a piece of paper taped to a handicapped parking sign, they proclaimed their patch of asphalt Fred Heads HQ and handed out bumper stickers and FDT08 buttons.
"We're coming in second today," Dan Garcia, a student at Texas A&M, predicted. He was later proved to be wildly optimistic. But Garcia and his buddies can take heart. They got lots more attention than the folks at the Alan Keyes table next to them.
The Ambivalent Republican. Romney may have toted a big win Saturday, but the general feeling among Republicans who showed up at the event—nearly 10,000 fewer voted than in the last contested GOP presidential race in 1999—was "eh."
"I'd like to take part of all of them and merge them into one," said Doug Attema, whose shirt was plastered with stickers from all the candidates—with the exception of Romney, whom he says he could vote for but needs convincing.
An evangelical Christian and father of six from Pella, Iowa, Attema said he's dissatisfied with the front-runners. A flat "no" on Giuliani and McCain, and a not-very-convincing "maybe" on Romney and Thompson. "I could support them, but I'm not thrilled."
He decided to vote for Huckabee, he said, "because I like governors better than senators."
Inside the (Not Paris) Hilton Coliseum. The inside event—part pep rally, part political convention—dragged.
Too many long introductions, too many pep talks from local politicos—"It is great to be a Republican today," Congressman Tom Latham said to tepid response—and too many stale bits from emcee Laura Ingraham. The big boar at the Iowa State Fair, the big "bores" in Washington—get it? And a Dixie Chicks joke? In 2007? (Oh, wait—the conservative talk show host has a four-year-old book on the subject to plug. Sorry, forgot.)
The highlights, if you will:
• Romney hitting his theme of the need for change in Washington but standing alone among candidates in mentioning President Bush in a positive light. "He's kept us safe these last eight years," he said, blaming the media for not noting that fact properly and frequently enough.
• Tancredo doing a passable Yakov Smirnoff accent, quoting the Russian comedian's signature line, "America, what a country," before launching into a speech that sounded more Germany 1939.
• Paul assuring the audience that, as president, "I would not want to do a lot of things."
Even Impossible Dreams Die Hard. In the shank of the afternoon, a few of Duncan Hunter's supporters kept cranking the homemade ice cream and grilling corn on the cob for practically nobody. About a half-dozen people, seeking shade and waiting for the merciful breeze that would come, stared glassy-eyed while an Elvis impersonator in a powder-blue jumpsuit with silver fringe persevered from a small flatbed banked by hay bales.
"Tell me, dear," he sang, "are you lonesome tonight?"
Hunter finished ninth but was thrilled: He beat McCain. Early Sunday morning, there he was on live television at Iowa State Fair exulting over the 174 unpaid-for votes he received, and pledging to continue. He had pamphlets, he said, and he was going to pass them out.