Caucus Night: Inside Ankeny High
ANKENY, Iowa--Angela Hagerty, a "30-something" stay-at-home mom from the suburbs of Des Moines, was playing Sorry! (the Simpsons Edition) with her two children when she got the call. " Hello, Angela," a voice said. "This is Barack Obama." Right away, she knew it was him. Two days earlier, Hagerty, a Ankeny Democrat who was then "considering several candidates," stopped by an Obama houseparty; her friend, the host, had voted for George W. Bush in 2000 and 2004, so she was intrigued. But Hagerty left that night still unsure. The next day, an Obama canvasser showed up in her driveway "want[ing] to know what [was] holding her back." She told him there was "an embarrassment of riches" in the Democratic field—and again refused to commit. Twenty-four hours later, Obama called. "I hear you're undecided," he said. Within a week, Hagerty had signed on as an Obama precinct captain.
That was two weeks ago. Tonight, Hagerty stood in the media center at Ankeny High School and told her story to 226 of her friends and neighbors during the tenth precinct's caucus. Her hope, she told me afterwards, was that she could convince some Joe Biden or Bill Richardson supporters to jump ship. It wasn't necessary. After the first round of caucusing—when attendees separate into their initial "preference groups"—Obama, at 82, led Edwards by 32 and Clinton by 37, earning three of the precinct's seven delegates. Obama's vaunted field organization—the houseparties, the canvassing, the calls from the candidate himself—had already gotten out the vote. Statewide, Obama won with 38 to Edwards' 30 and Clinton's 29; an estimated 239,000 Iowans, many of them young, first-time caucusgoers, participated, nearly doubling the 2004 turnout. And in Ankeny, as in Iowa, it wasn't even close. "If you've never been to a caucus before, this is an unprecedented crowd, let me tell you," said chairman Gary Nunn.
I've written the word "caucus" so many times that it's almost ceased to mean anything. That changed tonight when I actually sat through one of these quaint, chaotic events. The doors closed at 6:59 p.m.—and I was immediately approached by Biden's precinct captain. "Would you like to join our preference group?" she said. It wouldn't be the last time I was asked to participate; the process really does rely on honesty. "I've only lived here for four days," I responded. She looked confused. "Media," I added. She offered me some coffee-flavored, "Joe 4 Joe" jellybeans and a "Glow 4 Joe" glow stick anyway. I took the candy.
Nearby, an Edwards supporter was already looking to poach from Richardson. "I'm really all about Bill," he said, passing out a chart comparing the candidates. "But I'm worried he won't beat McCain. Otherwise I'd totally be voting for him." The Richardson crowd look skeptical. When he left, they told me they'd already settled on Obama as a second choice. Flattery be damned.
The first round of counting began at 7:30, and by 7:31 it was clear to everyone in the room that Obama had already won. "Seventy-seven!" shouted a supporter standing amid Obama's huge, young, vocal throng. "And we're not done!" "Yes you are," muttered a nearby Bidenite. (They weren't.) When the Delaware senator's tally stopped at 24—ten shy of viability—precinct captain Mark Olson suggested a recount. "Raise two hands this time," he said.
Clinton finished at 45 and Edwards at 50, so they were safe. But Richardson, at 21, was not. (No Dodd or Kucinich partisans bothered to show up.) Supporter Ron Fadness, a 42-year-old attorney and former DNC staffer, stood on a chair and delivered an impromptu speech calling for groups with extra caucusgoers—coughObama—to let his second-tier candidate "talk a little while longer." It didn't sway Obama people, but Richardson's supporters seemed convinced. When "realignment" was over ten minutes later, around 8:15, about half had shifted to Biden. It goes to show how random the caucuses can be; Biden's group simply stood there, waiting, and Richardson's people came to them (as opposed to vice versa). Meaning that Biden, now viable by exactly one vote, earned one delegate and 15 percent of precinct nine's caucusgoers—or 14 percent more than he won statewide. Edwards also gained in realignment, thanks to C. Carlyle Steele, a mysterious silver-tongued Southern lawyer in a blue blazer and boots who flew up from South Carolina for the occasion. If only Lyle Lanley were a Richardson fan.
The night's biggest loser? Clinton. Her sourpuss precinct captain, P.J. Yusten, spent most of her speech railing against Steele, an outsider, and belittling Obama and Edwards. "I know some of the women here like them because they're attractive," she said. Only two of Richardson's defectors were swayed. Flattery, it seems, may not convince Iowa caucusgoers—but neither does its opposite.
When the caucus ended at 8:45 or so, most of the crowd made for the (still-locked) exits. But Ron Fadness's wife, Marcy, was reluctant to let go. Yesterday, Ron took their nine-year-old daughter Laurel to see Obama and McCain speak; they didn't get back until 11:30 p.m. "She was so excited afterwards," said Marcy, who had switched from Richardson to Biden with her husband. "Now she wants to be president." In a few minutes, the Fadnesses would head home, too. But for now Marcy was fingering a sheet of stickers: Richardson, Biden, Obama. "We started with this guy, then we went to this guy, and we'll probably end up here," she said. She looked around the emptying room. "I keep thinking of the 'West Wing,'" she said. "This is where politics is actually inspiring. I'm going to miss it."
