When politics and neighborliness combine

I didn't have to know where I was going. Last Monday night, I simply followed the stream of cars through my neighborhood.

They all were headed to our caucus location, despite the cold and even though the next morning was a work day. I decided this year to attend the Democrats' caucus, figuring the voting method and array of candidates would make it far more interesting than the GOP's.

Apparently, others had the same thought as me. Though I planned to arrive with 10 minutes to spare before the 6:30 start time, I found myself at the end of a line 75 people long.

It wasn't poor organization at work. The elementary school gym holding my precinct's caucus already was full and, during the next several minutes, another 75 neighbors got in line behind me. The precinct anticipated record turnout - maybe 150 people at best. We had 271.

•••

No one seemed to mind. Neighbors talked about what their kids were doing and how the Hawkeyes did this year.

But the conversation inevitably turned to politics as we advanced toward the registration table: "Did you read the article on John Kerry in The Atlantic Monthly?" "Do you think Kucinich's health care plan has a chance?"

And then something would distract us, maybe a school child's cute piece of art or writing, like "Snowflakes are white like vanilla cream." We marveled over our children's imaginations and creativity.

Then came a sobering return to politics: "You know, I'm afraid for my kids' future."

•••

Somehow we all found room in the gym. The collective bodies warmed the huge space so that we soon took off our coats and jackets, and piles of them everywhere quickly competed for space.

Conversations about home, family and jobs continued as we waited patiently for all to register. Some sat quietly. One elderly lady was smart enough to bring a book.

Fifty minutes later than originally planned, the precinct chairman tapped his gavel. For a moment he surveyed the gym, looking at all the people packed closer than stalks in a cornfield, and said, "I'll take this as a sign that people are real happy with the job George Bush is doing."

And then he announced that the caucuses were a 32-step process.

•••

Though I'd explained to the national media in a dozen interviews during the week leading up to the event how the Democrats' caucuses work, there is nothing quite like going through one to fully grasp what it's all about.

There's one thing my colleagues would have discovered if they could have participated: It's only partially about expressing one's political views.

Supporters of each candidate were asked to go to a specific corner of the gym so a count could be taken. Once we got there, it was a matter not of counting but of introductions. "Hi, I'm - " "Oh you work in that building! I've always wondered what they did in that there."

Finally we got around to nominating and electing a preference group chairperson and making the count.

•••

My candidate garnered 90 of the 271 in attendance. We could send three delegates to the convention.

We gazed out on the other candidates' preference groups. Dick Gephardt, Dennis Kucinich and Wesley Clark weren't "viable" candidates as they had to have at least 15 percent of the total crowd.

Then our preference group chairwoman an-nounced that if we could get 15 more supporters, our candidate would get a fourth delegate. We had a half-hour before the final count.

"No problem," said one woman, "two of my neighbors are for Gephardt." She zoomed across the gym toward their corner.

As did just about everyone else. Kucinich and Gephardt and Edwards folks got together to see if they could combine forces. They swooped upon the Clark camp and the undeclareds to find supporters. Those in the Kerry and Dean corners did so as well.

Suddenly, the room was abuzz with talk about the war, about NAFTA, about No Child Left Behind, about the cost of health insurance, about the space program.

•••

And then came the gavel. Time for the final count.

The woman returned from the Gephardt camp with five people in tow. A few Kucinich supporters also joined us, under the agreement that one of them would get to be a county delegate - a chance for Ku-cinich's issues to be heard and placed on the platform, but a vote to move our candidate along. It was a compromise, sort of like agreeing who will prune the shrubs on the property line.

As the final count was taken, our conversations turned back to seemingly more mundane issues: which neighbor had a son in Iraq, about the plant closing in West Branch, about our kids' homework, about how little our pay raises were after the new payroll taxes, about how one guy's company was hoping to bid on a high-tech NASA project.

Because this caucus - just as it was for our Republican brethren across the street - was more than a political event. It was a neighborhood gathering. A block party at an elementary school.

And that's community building at its best.

(originally published Jan. 25, 2004)