COLLEGE STATION, TEXAS--For minutes before former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney strode on stage at the George H.W. Bush Presidential Library this morning--with Bush "41" at his side and his wife, Ann, and four of his five toothy sons in the front row--the room was silent. It was a strange sensation. Packed with hundreds of journalists, staffers, supporters and a few curious locals lucky enough to score a ticket, the cavernous auditorium was still quiet enough that, when I clicked my pen to scribble the word "quiet," three people seated in front of me swiveled in their seats.

Such was the anticipation greeting Romney's "major address" on Mormonism. Prompted by an avalanche of articles analyzing the risks and rewards of Romney's decision to confront his religious critics head-on, the political world has spent the 90 or so hours since Sunday, when the Romney campaign canceled its events in South Carolina to schedule the speech, waiting with the Beltway's best approximation of bated breath. Now that the address is over, the parsing has begun. But in between the pre-gaming and post-gaming is when the actual game is played. And for Romney, who has recently seen Mike Huckabee erase his crucial early lead in Iowa, that means winning over--or winning back--the ordinary, everyday Republicans who have the power to nominate him for president.

How did he do? Down here in "Aggieland," I spent time today with three area voters and one group of college Republicans. Individually, they represent various branches of the GOP--the young, hardcore politicos, the Southern Baptists, the evangelical activists, the undecideds. Collectively, they comprise a large swath of the Republican coalition Romney hopes to build. Their responses to his "Faith in America" address say a lot, I think, about who's open to his appeal--and who isn't.

I. The Southern Baptist (posted 1:30 p.m.)
Until today, Scott Talbert, the pastor at a small Baptist church in McDade, Texas, didn't even know Mitt Romney was coming to town. He heard this morning on the radio. At 8:30. So he did what any political junkie (who also happens to be a man of the cloth) would do: he climbed into his car and drove an hour north to College Station hoping to "be a part of history." By the time he arrived at 9:30, tickets were long gone and the speech was about to start. So Talbert, a fleshy man in a tan polo shirt and khakis, stood outside the auditorium, shook hands with George and Barbara Bush as they entered--"I'm a big President Bush fan," he says--and read a copy of the address while Romney spoke inside.

All in all, Talbert was impressed--especially with Romney's reassurance that faith not only guided his actions but should inform our public life. "Faith does have an impact," he says. "It does have a place in the square. I think Romney really spoke to the religious right when he said, 'Look, I believe in the Constitution. But at the same time we've made a mistake. We've overblown the separation of church and state so bad, that now religion isn't welcome in the public square. It should be.'" Romney, said Talbert, convinced him today that "he's got a true moral compass--even if it is slightly different than mine. Some Mormons are real crazy about that stuff. Some Mormons are low-key about that stuff. I haven't seen anything in Romney's makeup that's going to send him over the edge."

But despite agreeing with Romney's views on faith and accepting his doctrinal differences, Talbert isn't yet sold on the Massachusetts Mormon. Why? Like so many other religious Republicans, he likes Mike more. "When Huckabee kind of came along, I went to read his website," says Talbert. "He believes in a lot of things I believe. A lot of us would like to be able to pray for our man. We'd like to think we've got that same subset of beliefs going into the public arena. And we know that if we settle for Romney, we're going to have to pull one step back and go, 'Well, we like this guy on these issues. But this is not a guy I'm going to hug and bring to church.' But versus Huckabee? That's a guy I'm going to hug and bring to church. He's one of us. It's a deeper weld."

Southern Baptists like Talbert don't need to learn tolerance. For them, it's not that Romney's wrong. It's that Huckabee's right. And no speech, however stirring, can change that.

II. The Evangelical Activist (posted 2:15 p.m.)
Today, Rob Sivulka's only friends are reporters. When I caught up with him at 9:15 a.m.--a few minutes before Romney's speech--Sivulka had already spoken to scribes from "five or six" outlets. "Reuters, the BBC, the Dallas Morning News, a few others," he says. "Can't remember all of them." Which makes perfect sense, seeing as Sivulka, standing all alone in front of the Bush Library's press entrance, was wearing gold Christian cross ring, a hemp necklace with a red cross pendant and a "MormonInfo.org" t-shirt. His 10-foot tall sign boasted the same URL. "Frankly, I'm surprised there aren't more of us here," he says.

As president of a group called "Courageous Christians United"--motto: "[E]arnestly content for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints (Jude 3)"--Sivulka, an evangelical Christian, has dedicated a good deal of his life to "making sure people understand that Mormonism is not traditional Christianity and that Mormons worship a false Jesus, false prophets and false scripture." A native of nearby Tomball, Texas, he found his calling in 1982 while doing missionary work in Utah with his uncle, a pastor from California. "I started knocking on doors, and I fell in love with the Mormon people," says Sivulka--including, later, his wife, a "former Mormon." "I wanted these people to know what I believe as a traditional Christian." An "informer" rather than a "protester," he hasn't stopped since.

But even though Sivulka says "he just want[s] to make sure all the cards are on the table for people," there's no mistaking his deep-seated belief that Mormonism is fundamentally incompatible with a Christian worldview. To him--and many other evangelicals--Mormons are simply wrong. "Mormons try to blur the differences," he says. "They distort the teachings traditional Christianity to create this weird, twisted religion that looks Christian but isn't." I ask if there's anything Romney can say today to win the vote of "traditional Christians." "Sure," says Sivulka. "He can say he's not beholden to the LDS Chuch to make decisions that affect American citizens. He can say that he'll govern fairly, impartially."

A few minutes later, Romney did, in fact, say just that. But after the speech, Sivulka was still holding his sign and distributing his pamphlets. I doubt that he--or other Republicans who share his suspicions--were swayed.

III. The College Republicans (posted 3:30 p.m.)
Finals start tomorrow here at Texas A&M, and, right now, Sweet Eugene's House of Java--A&M's archetypally funky, sprawling undergraduate coffeehouse--is packed with Aggies. But when I walked in at 8:30 this morning, the place was empty. Except, of course, for the College Republicans, who has skipped studying (and sleeping, that favorite collegiate extracurricular) to perch on a trio of leather couches and watch Romney's speech on--what else?--Fox News

That said, no one expected much from Mitt. The reason, actually, had nothing to do Romney's religion, which most of the club considers irrelevant. (One who doesn't: "very strong Christian," Sarah Elias, 20--one of two solid Romney supporters in attendance. "I can step back from the specifics of faith," she says. "As a Christian I'm looking for family values, anti-abortion, anti-stem cell research.")

The real problem was Romney's timing. Coinciding with his slipping poll numbers in Iowa (and Huckabee's surge), the speech struck the hardcore politicos at Sweet Eugene's this morning as yet another example of Romney's "political posturing." "He could give an excellent performance, but it's a politicized response to a non-political issue, " says Jess Fields, 19, a Ron Paul supporter. "No matter what he says, no matter how personal, it's tainted by politics. And that's the problem with Romney. He's always saying what he thinks people want to hear. Scripted. Otherwise, I'd probably be backing him."

Or, as Fred Thompson fan Chris Buckley, 19, puts it: "I want to see him stutter."

When I returned to Sweet Eugene's after the speech, everyone was still lounging. I asked if Romney exceeded expectations. "Sure, yeah, it was a great speech," says Buckley. "Great 'alliteration.' What's to disagree with?" Lots of nodding. "But still. I get the sense it was a political move, rather than Romney wanting to 'express himself' to the American people. And that sort of ruins any authenticity.'"

Yesterday, I wrote that Romney "has a chance [with this speech] to show what he believes in a broader sense than just faith"--i.e., to address concerns that he's a political opportunist or "flip-flopper." But for many of the Texas A&M College Republicans--political junkies par excellence--today's address, heartfelt or not, was too little, too late. Their preconception of Romney had already become perception. "Americans tire of those who would jettison their beliefs, even to gain the world," said Romney on stage. Across town, a handful of young Americans were already tired.

IV. The Undecided Voter (posted 5:15 p.m.)
The tolerant Southern Baptist prefers Huckabee. The evangelical anti-Mormon isn't swayed. The passionate young politicos are still skeptical. Romneyites, at this point, would have reason to worry.

If not for the fact that most Republicans--like College Station local Ken Pounders, 59--are still undecided.

Pounders isn't an Iowan or New Hampshirite. He hasn't been following every twist and turn of the race. His daughter, in fact, is a library staffer--"which is probably how I got my ticket," he says, laughing. It's about 8:30 a.m., and the will-call line is at a standstill. I ask if he's a Romney supporter. "Oh no, no," he says. "I came out of curiosity. I don't know who I'm going vote for. Still learning." But religion, he quickly adds, won't be the deciding factor: "The issue of his religion doesn't bother me, so long as he's not going to govern as a Mormon."

As I let Pounders go--a shy, mustachioed man, he's a little uneasy in the media spotlight--I can't help but think that he's exactly whom Romney is--or should be--targeting today. The pundits pitched Romney's speech as a play for evangelicals, many of whom are flocking to Huckabee. But really religious types are either comfortable with a Mormon or they're not; there's not much Romney can say to overcome those doubts. Same goes for the people who've been paying close attention to his post-Massachusetts transformation--if they think he's a slick pol, they think he's a slick pol.

But voters like Pounders don't have a strong opinion about Romney. Yet. For them, today's address was an introduction--delivered at a presidential library, with a president in attendance and the entire political press corps obsessing. I imagine they reacted much like Pounders, whom I ran into, accidentally, on my way out of the auditorium.