On The Iowa Trail with Dean's Texas Rangers-- Part Four http://www.earthwire.net/dean/iowa/Part_4.

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ON THE IOWA TRAIL WITH DEAN’S TEXAS RANGERS

by M. Martin (copyright 2004, all rights reserved)

Introduction
Part One T he next morning, it was finally the day of the Iowa Cauc uses. For
better or worse, we would find out if our hard work would pay off or
Part Two not.
Part Three
Part Four T he plan was for Dean’s T exas Rangers to strike c amp and reload our
Afterword luggage onto the buses that would take us bac k to T exas. We would
then board our rented minivans for the last time, drive bac k to Dean
HQ in Des Moines, and c arry out whatever last minute tasks they had
for us. At two pm, the Rangers would then depart em masse for Ames,
Iowa, and join a Dean rally at Iowa State University.

I had done most of my pac king the night before, and made sure that
Ms. T and I would be easily able to find our remaining unpac ked
things the next day. As a result, I had a c hanc e to walk around the
c amp a little bit, take some photos, say some goodbyes. T he c amp
still reminded me a bit of a WWII internment c amp (and some of the
c abins easily dated bac k that far), but the rugged North Iowa
forestsc ape had bec ome a welc ome sight, and the people sharing
those c abins with me an extended family of new-found friends.

When the buses wound up being late, we had to modify our plans
somewhat. T wo vans of volunteers would stay behind to load luggage
and meet up with us in Ames. T he rest of us would leave our luggage
where it sat in the parking lot and push on to Des Moines. We later
found out that the reason for the delay was that our bus drivers, also
native T exans, were unaware that diesel fuel turns into immobile jelly
at low temperatures. One of the buses never did thaw, and eventually
had to be replac ed—delaying the Austin c ontingent’s return home by
over a day.

Ms. T and I again wound up riding with Patric k, David, Valerie, and
Rac hel. We got bac k to HQ just in time for the end of a speec h to the
troops by Governor Dean himself, who had c ome by to thank us for
our labors.

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It was the first time I got to see Howard Dean in person. T elevision
c annot adequately c onvey the sinc erity and c harisma of Howard
Dean—although his intelligenc e does c ome ac ross, and his passion
c ommunic ates perhaps all too well. T he speec h was a standard
expression of gratitude, probably not dissimilar to the same speec h
being given to similar groups all over downtown Des Moines.
Nonetheless, it was a personal epiphany for me: I realized that I liked
Howard Dean.

Not just in the sense of liking his politic s, or preferring him as a

leader. I realized I not only liked Howard Dean as a politic al figure, I
liked him as a person. I never had that feeling about Bill Clinton or Al
Gore, no matter how muc h I might’ve wanted either one of them to
be president. I c ertainly fail to understand those who c laim a similar
affec tion for our c urrent president. (the only way I would want to be in
the same bar with “Dubya” would be if I had a c lear opportunity to
re-arrange the famous smirk with a pool c ue). On the other hand,
Doc tor and Mrs. Doc tor Dean are the kind of people I have emulated
and tried to spend time with most of my life—intelligent, artic ulate,
and educ ated. I’d take them both out for sushi and c oc ktails any time.
Listening to Howard Dean thank those of us who had been stomping
ac ross Iowa for the last week in his behalf, I c ould easily understand
the dedic ation of his senior staff. T he man inspires affec tion and
respec t.

My group’s duties for the remainder of the day c onsisted solely of

“visibility”—walking bac k and forth thru c entral Des Moines with Dean
plac ards and our now somewhat dingy Deanie Beanies, making as
many people honk, and wave and ac knowledge our presenc e as
possible. More than on any other day of my stay in Iowa, the
presenc e of Dean supporters was unmistakable. We outnumbered
every other c andidate’s supports by an easy 2 to 1 margin. Also
notable, and probably absent for the remainder of the democ ratic
primary season, was an extraordinary sense of amity between the
different c andidate’s supporters. An elderly man with a Clark stic ker
stopped at one point and c ongratulated Ms. T and I for our energy
and enthusiasm. At one intersec tion, Kerry supporters, Kuc inic h
supporters, and Dean people stood side by side and engaged in
friendly c ompetition for honks from passing motorists. Again, the
universal distaste for George Bush united us, whatever else might’ve
separated us. Events sinc e that day have probably made suc h amity
nearly impossible.

At two PM, Dean’s T exas Rangers saddled up for the trip to Iowa
State University. Onc e there, we had a pleasant surprise, and one not
so pleasant. T he pleasant surprise was that Glen Maxey had finagled
for us the exc lusive use of a balc ony direc tly overlooking the small
stage where Governor Dean would be speaking. T he less pleasant
surprise, shared by us and the other out-of-town volunteers, was that
we were obliged to put away our c herished orange c aps before
entering the auditorium. Apparently, the huge number of out-of-town
volunteers in the servic e of Howard Dean was something of an
embarrassment to loc al and less mobilized democ rats. We were
somewhat mollified by a hundred or so pizzas and a few dozen c ases
of what our northern friends c all “pop” (and some east T exans c all
“c oke”, regardless the ac tual brand). Still, it was a bit of a slap,
c onsidering the miles we’d traveled and the hours we’d worked.

T he rally was being held in the atrium of a bioc hemistry building,

rather than an ac tual auditorium. As we munc hed pizza and sipped

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soda, the floor, walkways, and balc onies of the building gradually
filled until the plac e was pac ked. Eventually our c elebrity friends
Joan and Janeane took to the makeshift stage to warm up a c rowd
that didn’t really need it. Janeane Garofalo, after a few introduc tory
words, brought on Joan Jett (now c onsiderably more rec ognizable in
her trademark leathers), who promptly launc hed into her c lassic “I
Like Roc k ‘n’ Roll”—this time, with a slight twist on the lyric s in the
final c horus:

“I love Howard Dean

put a democrat in the Whitehouse, baby

I love Howard Dean…”

T hen Joan introduc ed Senator T om Harkin, who introduc ed the now

shrieking c rowd to Howard Dean.

T he energy in the room was a visc eral, solid thing. Howard Dean is a
man with a mission and a vision. Both c an be summed up very
simply: take bac k the c ountry from the c orporations and spec ial
interests. In 2000, Ralph Nader had employed a similar message to
mobilize a similar c onstituenc y. I had been indifferent to the
message then, and more than a little c ynic al of the messenger. Not
this time. Cynic ism was a luxury I c ould no longer afford. I don't
think any of us c an.

T he only thing more palpably real than Dean's vision, and the
sinc erity behind it, is the sinc erity of Dean’s supporters, partic ularly
those in the c ore 20-something demographic . T he speec h was
nothing new—I’d been hearing variations on it for weeks— but the
urgenc y was. Dean ended as he always does, by reminding the
audienc e that the power ours to take bac k the White House and take
bac k our c ountry from the privileged and the spec ial interests. T his
time he was able to add something for the first time—he was able to
tell those of us who were ac tually registered in Iowa to go out and
vote for him. Finally, all the endorsements, media exposure, and
endless knoc king on endless doors was going to pay off or not. T he
Iowans left to go to Cauc us. We T exans left to get our buses and get
ready for what we hoped would be a vic tory party.

*****

T hus we c ome at last in this narrative to the Dean Post-Cauc us

party—and one of the most misrepresented speec hes in modern
politic al history. In the days sinc e, while I have been working on this
story, the same c lip from that speec h has run endlessly, with
embellishments and jokes from people who were not there and have
no idea what they are joking about. Governor Dean himself has
attempted to put his performanc e in the proper c ontext, with mixed
results. Whether I c an do any better or not, I feel obligated to try.

After c ontinued transportation problems, Dean’s T exas Rangers finally

pulled up in front of the “Val-Air Ballroom” for the Dean vic tory party.
T he ballroom was a c lassic piec e of Midwestern kitsc h one rarely
sees in a town like Houston. From the 50’s-dec o neon over the
building to the aging array of signed and framed press photos
c overing the c loakroom wall, the Val-Air was a c lassic piec e of
Americ ana, utterly suited to the egalitarian and grassroots nature of
the Dean Campaign.

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Upon entry, we were again instruc ted to remove our orange c aps.
Even more disappointing was the almost ten buc k a pitc her pric e for
medioc re domestic beer (partic ularly to Ms. T and I, who had been
enjoying the wares of brewpubs for the last two days). Both turned out
to be very temporary disappointments. Shortly after 9:00 pm, Senator
Harkin again introduc ed Governor Dean, who promptly launc hed into
the speec h that ended in what has been dubbed by some "T he
Sc ream Heard 'Round the World." Overlooked by the late-night
c omedians and c onservative pundits: the fac t that everyone in that
room was sc reaming just as loudly, was just as passionately
determined to press on with the fight, to do what they c ould. In Ms.
T 's eyes I saw fierc e tears of joy. T o my surprise, I found them in my
eyes as well. Regardless the outc ome, I knew I was witnessing a
moment of history.

Either immediately before or immediately after the hoarsely-shouted

litany of states yet to be won, Howard pulled an orange knit c ap from
his own bac k poc ket and flung it into the audienc e. After that, the
Deanie Beanies went bac k on, regardless what loc al democ rats
might've thought of it. If there was a moment that should've been
selec ted to enc apsulate and represent the suc c esses and failures of
Howard Dean's Iowa c ampaign, that should've been it--but by that
time, the media c rews taking up half the room had already dec ided--
or been told-- what the story was. At that point, it no longer mattered
what Howard Dean or anyone else in that room said or did.

At about 9:40, word went out that the buses would be arriving soon to
take Dean’s T exas Rangers home and deliver us from overpric ed
pitc hers of Bud Lite. It was probably about 11:00 pm when the Val-Air
Ballroom and it’s vintage neon disappeared into the night behind us,
and the prospec t of another eighteen hour bus ride loomed before.
Ms. T pulled her Deanie Beanie over her eyes and snuggled against
my shoulder. After finding a way I c ould almost stretc h my legs, I
tugged my sweatshirt hood as low over my eyes as I c ould, and did
my best to nap at least as far as Kansas.

Continued >>

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