I looked all around the gym. People everywhere. No seats. The sign-in line 4 wide, out the door, and into the parking lot on maybe the coldest night of a cold week where it never got above freezing.
I knew there were other precincts meeting one floor below, in the basement of the school. I wondered how bad it was down there. I took a walk. Last I had seen, there were a couple capacious rooms, and I wondered if maybe there was one more. When I got down there, I could see the precinct assigned to the basement was fairing better than we were above ground. But not by that much. It was still crowded. Everyone fit, but lots of people of all ages, standing. Most unfortunately, there were no other rooms down there.
I went back upstairs with the thought, "But it's a school for goodness sakes. There are classrooms all over the place." The classrooms are on the third floor, but it's a modest climb from the gym level to the classroom level, almost in the manner of a split-level home. I found the "super", Mike. Not the superintendent of schools, but the superintendent of that school, that is, the man with the keys. Mike was this fair colored, big guy with a thinning head of hair, and most importantly, a cooperative look about him. I said, "Hi, Mike. I'm Joe, with the Biden campaign." He said, "Hi," and gave me a kindly shake of the hand. I continued, "I don't know if you've been down to the gym," and he nodded like he had been, "but we've got a serious problem accommodating the 4 precincts assigned there..it's just too many..the line is still out the door and well into the parking lot..they'll never fit." I continued, and this eventuality seemed like a true shame to me, even if, as some from our office and the local media were saying, a significant increase in the turnout could be attributed to the appeal among new voters of Senator Obama, "People are going to start to balk and just go home."
I asked him if any of the classrooms could be utilized. I told him that if we could move two of the four precincts out of the gym and into the classrooms, that should be sufficient. Mike said, "Sure." He reached for his keys, and down the hall we went. Mike had this slow gate and somewhat hunched posture. When he walked, he didn't bob up and down like most people, but just sort of glided. He was an incredibly nice man, one could tell, and he wasn't worried about the prospect of a couple precincts (maybe 300 people the way the night was going) destroying a couple classrooms with water and sandwiches and other unavoidable after effects of their presence. He unlocked the first classroom and flicked on the lights. "Take a look," he said. A nice, big room, and forty or more of the tiniest chairs I had seen in some time. "Yeah, those chairs are a problem." It was an elementary school, I had temporarily forgotten. Mike said, "There are full-sized chairs in the 5th grade classrooms." I said, "How many of those are there?" He said, "There are four. A bit further down the hall. Two on the left and two on the right." I asked, "Can we check them out?" Mike said, "Sure." Mike unlocked two of the fifth grade rooms. Again, nice, big rooms. Lots of full-sized chairs, turned upside down on top of the desks. Not enough chairs, certainly, but then, I was well aware at this point, Iowans are used to standing. The chairs would provide more than enough seating for those for whom standing was a problem. Could an entire precinct fit in one room? I wasn't sure of that, but it was way better than the fire hazard taking place in the gym. I heard the next morning on the news how fire marshals had actually turned people away from some polling locations.
"Thanks," I told him, "Let me go downstairs and see if the Caucus Chair is up for moving a couple precincts to these rooms." Mike said, "Ok, I'll be right here." Nice man. I went back down to the gym, cut across the line heading out the gym and into the parking lot (still long as ever), and made my way to the front of the sign-in table, where our Caucus Chair, Jeff (a state legislator) and his assistant were head-down trying to find this person's precinct, sign-in that person, and register some other person who voted Republican last time but was all about Obama this time. The table they leaned over was awash in books, papers, pens, sign-in sheets, and just general craziness.
"Jeff," I said. He looked up, and gave me the once over, quickly. It was the damned suit. Had seemed like a good idea at the time. I said, "Hi, I'm Joe with the Biden campaign. Jeff, this place is packed, there are no seats, there is little space left to stand, and the line is out the door and into the parking lot. They'll never all fit. It's almost 7, and folks are going to start to balk and go home. I found Mike, the superintendent. He's willing to let us use the 5th grade classrooms. I looked at them. They look big enough. Plenty of chairs. People would have to go up the stairs, to the left, and down the hall. Mike has two rooms open, and I'm thinking two precincts could move up there. What do you think? If you want to do that, I can go back and tell Mike, and report back the room numbers to you." Jeff, with no apparent sense of urgency said, "Biden campaign, huh?" just like the gentleman sitting at one of the tables had 20 minutes earlier. He was a reasonably tall guy, and took a moment, maybe the first he'd taken, to pan the room and then the long sign-in line in front of him. He said, finally, in the calm and plain-spoken manner I had become familiar with from Iowans, "I like the way you think. Bring me back the room numbers."
Back through the crowd, up the stairs, down the hall, where Mike was still where he said he'd be. I told him we were on, that a precinct would be assigned to each room. We walked each room, taking the chairs down off the desks, and quickly moving globes and other things out of the way and to the side. There was a chalkboard at the front of each room. An easy place to write the precinct number.
I came back to Jeff with the room numbers, written hastily on a piece of paper. Jeff took the paper, didn't say a word, didn't look at me, just the paper. He pressed himself up onto the stage (this room clearly satisfied one more multi-use - as auditorium), with me standing pretty much at his feet. Jeff said, "Everyone! Can I have everyone's attention?" In true Iowan form, the place quickly quieted. "We're not going to be able to fit all four precincts in this gym. So, the following two precincts are going to relocate to two of the classrooms upstairs." There was an instant murmur of dissent and objection. Folks were ensconced. There were sandwiches, after all. There were large and heavy packs of water no one wanted to have to pick up again. There were precinct papers, books, and sign-in sheets. All of that would have to move with each precinct. Jeff continued in loud but calm tones, "Look, I know, but we'll never fit. We're all Iowans here. We make these things work. So let's move now and make this caucus night happen. Those from precinct 1-5, please move to room 9, those from 1-3 please move to room 8." I leaned toward Jeff and said quietly, "Up the stairs and to the left." Jeff said, "Up the stairs and to the left". And it dawned on me then the curious impact I was having on four precincts of Iowa voters. Jeff, for his part, got promptly down off the stage, moved through the crowd, and right back to his position behind the sign-in table.
In the most effective, orderly and cooperative manner you can imagine, something close to 300 people proceeded out one set of double doors which just happened at the time to be occupied by the line of people still waiting to sign-in. The 4-wide line of sign-in folks made itself porous, and 300 people passed through it while the sign-in line itself never moved. This move thing was my idea. I felt, as you can imagine, responsible for it, though my role in it was anonymous to all those now having to deal with it. So I watched, carefully, looking and hoping that moving those two precincts out of the gym and upstairs to the classrooms would work out. The grumbling was only at Jeff's first announcement. Everyone made it work. I was smack in the middle of that move and didn't hear one complaint as it took place. Once again, I thought, "Never, never would this work back home. People would be walking, but it would be right out the door to their cars."
I had wondered since seats first started become scarce how older and handicapped voters would be accommodated by the Caucuses. There didn't seem to be any particular accommodation at all. And, in fact, there wasn't, except again, for the spirit of Iowan cooperation which permeates caucus night. People would simply give up their seat for an older person, someone on crutches, and the like. Still, as the mass of two precincts moved out of the gym, and, I knew, necessarily up the stairs to get to the classroom level, I wondered again how the elderly and handicapped would make it. I joined the mass of people moving out of the gym to find out.
There were not too many steps, and there was a railing. Folks were making it no problem. I had noticed a few people in wheelchairs, though, in the gym. They seemed to remain in there. During the vote-counting phase later, I was surprised how many voters Jeff referred to by name ("...14, 15, Mary you're 16,..."). He knew many of these people, and I wouldn't put it past him to have known that the two precincts he chose to relocate didn't include anyone in wheelchairs. That's the human dimension to the Iowa Caucuses few outsiders ever see. It is low tech, low-low tech. It is personal. No one votes from behind a curtain. You raise your hand in the midst of your neighbors doing the same in order to cast your vote. And it works beautifully well, actually, because Iowans know their neighbors and cooperate with them, whatever their political leanings and differences.
I got down to the classrooms and took a look. They weren't going to be big enough. There would be overflow out into the halls. Anything, though, was better to the crush in the gym.
I walked back. As I descended the stairs, at the bottom I could see a woman on crutches and her two friends surveying the climb ahead of them. The woman handed her crutches to one of her friends. She took the railing with her right hand and her other friend's arm with her left. They were perhaps all in their sixties, and the friend on her left looked particularly uncertain about the climb. I asked, "Are you ok? Do you need help?" The friend on her left, more than willing to give up her post, smiled broadly signaling her approval of the idea. The woman with the bad leg said, "Yes, well, I think maybe we could." I squatted down to her height. She put her left arm over my shoulder, and up we went. It was no problem. When we got to the top, the woman re-situated herself on her crutches, smiled, and noticing my Biden sticker said, "Well, thank you. I'm still voting for Hillary, but I really like Joe," a line I had heard before, but which seemed particularly nice this time.
After the two precincts had relocated, and all those in that seemingly endless sign-in line had finally signed-in, the gym was still surprisingly crowded. That was confirmation that the decision of 20 minutes earlier had been the right one. Jeff returned to his position on the stage, and speaking loudly, steadily set about the business at hand. There were some administrative things which were handled by voice vote ("Those in favor?"). Then the voting for president began. I guess I didn't know exactly how votes would be counted. Well, the answer was in a decidedly low-tech yet effective way. Jeff, standing on the stage, asked those supporting each candidate, going candidate by candidate, to raise their hands. Jeff said, "I will point to you. When I do, lower your hand." This took a bit of time (Jeff, at this point, was only counting for the 130 or so in our precinct - the 1-4), but it still went off reasonably quickly. People were standing, sitting, and generally clustered closely together. So sometimes Jeff would point to someone and two or three people would put their arms down, or start to, and Jeff would say, calmly, "No, woman in the red shirt, arm back up please" or "No, just the man with the big coat," or "No, it's ok, you can all put your arms down" and he would quickly increase his count by 3 before pointing at anyone else. And that's how the voting went.
After the first count, Jeff said, "Ok, Dodd, Biden and Richardson are not viable. You will need to re-vote or abstain." I was standing not with the Biden group at this point, but by the wall near the exit doors. Jeff had insisted I stand there, because I was an observer. He had told all observers present to stand to the side so that they would not accidentally be counted during voting. When I told this to one of the Biden group who later decided to just go home rather than switch her vote to another candidate, she said, "You know, I know for a fact Edwards and Hillary have observers in their group. They're not voting, but they're over there. I think he singled you out because of the suit." She smiled and said, "I'm going home."
I had told the Biden group before the first vote that the campaign had requested folks not move to Richardson (since he was Biden's closest competition for the all important 4th place finish) and, if possible, not move to any candidate, but remain uncommitted. After the announcement that Biden was not viable, my Biden group looked at me, they in the center of the gym and me way over by the double doors. They looked concerned and uncertain, sort of a "What to do now?" There was a lot of movement now on the floor as the strong groups, those already viable, namely, Hillary, Barack and Edwards, had their precinct captains descending on the Dodd, Biden and Richardson groups in order to persuade them to join their side. Jeff had told me to stay to the left, but there was no voting going on now, and my group was definitely looking to me for some guidance. So I walked over to them, figuring, if Jeff threw me out, there were worse things.
My guys were sticking together. No one had peeled off for one of the other candidates. Our 10 were holding strong, but we had 50% of what we needed to be viable. I said to a couple of them, "Where are the Dodd and Richardson folks? We should be able to get them?" Not sure why I thought that, when certainly their candidates would have thought like Biden, that each was the other's closest competition for 4th place, and whatever you do, don't join one of them. Still, I looked for those folks so easily identifiable before the first round of voting, with their Dodd buttons and Richardson signs. They were nowhere to be found. They had disappeared, in an instant, really. I asked again, to no one in our group in particular, "Where are the Dodd folks? What happened to all the Richardson guys?" A couple of our people said, "I don't know. I don't see them at all." We were having this internal dialogue while Hillary, Barack and Edwards people were all talking at us at once. "Come on. You're not viable. Hillary is closer to Biden." "No way, Barack and Biden are much closer on the issues. Come on, join Barack." And so on. It was total insanity. But the bottom line was that the Dodd and Richardson supporters had blended. People had quickly pasted Barack or Hillary stickers over their Dodd and Richardson stickers. People were now standing on their Richardson signs. Everyone had, in effect, taken off their uniforms. It was hopeless.
I said to our Biden group, "Well, we're not going to be viable. So, do what your conscience tells you. The campaign has said that if we are not viable then better to stay uncommitted." At this, one of our group said to me apologetically, but with conviction, "Ah, you know, my head is with Biden, but my heart is with Edwards." I said, "You all do what you think is best. We just didn't have enough votes. Good luck." And I removed myself from the scene. I went back over to the exit doors, where another observer said "Are you with Biden? I'm observing for Barack. Turn-out is just crazy." It was probably the nicest thing he could have said to someone whose candidate was not viable, and he knew it.
Quickly enough, I saw my Biden folks move to one or another candidate. A few to Edwards and Hillary. The Barack group was too large, raucous and were holding up too many signs for me to see if any of our group had joined them, but I'm sure one or more did. That's the way it is with Biden people. They are not partisans, not demogogues. And it's why I like them and their candidate so much.
Quickly enough, it was all over. I took down the Biden signs I had taped up hours earlier. I thanked Jeff and the woman who was helping him. The gym had emptied considerably when Mike came down. I shook Mike's hand again and thanked him, and said to the woman who had been helping Jeff, "Do you know Mike? He's the superintendent here. He basically saved caucus night." Mike offered a modest grin, as the woman shook his hand and the two started to talk. That was it for me. Time to go.
The walk through the parking lot was a quiet, cold and sad one. The parking lot had largely emptied, and the crunch of snow underneath my shoes seemed particularly loud. The Biden signs, as I put them in the trunk, made me think of John Kerry bumper stickers you still sometimes see - an idea, an opportunity which had come and gone. And, yet, on the drive back to Jameson's, that feeling morphed into a tremendous feeling of calm and satisfaction about the whole thing. There is nothing quite like a presidential campaign, nor quite like doing exactly what you want to be doing at any given time, and having the pleasure and the very good fortune to be able to do that.
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