We’d been crammed into the hard plastic seats of the Hy-Vee Hall since 6:30, waiting to hear Barack Obama speak. The program had started 20 minutes late, and by the time 11 p.m. had rolled along, that delay had grown to 90. On top of us being there an hour and a half late, we’d been in Des Moines since 2, having attended the pre-rally.
We’d watched the other candidates patiently. The drawing of lots had fated Barack to speak last, after five other candidates’ speeches, an auction, and speeches by the head of the state Democratic Party, the governor, lieutenant governor and every other Joe Schmo of the Iowa Democrats. We’d listened to Edwards, Dodd and Richardson. The hot dogs that we’d wolfed down after the pre-rally had long since stopped filling our stomachs, and the concession stand was filled with the yellow shirts of Hillary and Dodd and the white shirts of Edwards, preventing us in the red shirts from getting any food. We sat through Biden’s 20-minute monologue. Then we hunkered down for the last two speakers.
Most of the supporters of the other candidates were already gone. Within 10 minutes of the end of his speech, both of the sections of the auditorium occupied by Dodd’s supporters had emptied. Every once in a while the orange chairs in the four sections scattered throughout the auditorium were punctuated with a white Edwards shirt. By the time 11 came only the yellow of Clinton and Obama reds remained.
We sat through her speech, politely clapping at her suggestions and sound bytes. We stifled laughter when her eight sections of supporters answered that the correct method of dealing with Republican opposition on global warming was to “Turn Up the Heat!”
Finally the moment arrived. Although I had shaken hands with Michelle Obama and had seen Barack speak at the pre-rally, seeing him again six hours later was as exciting as though I’d never seen him before in my life. The 13 sections of the auditorium packed solid with a phalanx of red exploded as he walked down the aisle to the platform to speak. After four hours of sitting in small, uncomfortable seats without food, listening to every Tom, Dick and Harry that Iowa could throw at us, we finally got to hear the man that we’d came to see.
The highlight of the entire experience was that 15 minutes. Nancy Pelosi having to wait for 60 seconds to announce Obama as the Next President of the United States because we were cheering for too long. Waving our Obama signs, with half of us yelling “Fired up,” with the rest of us replying with “Ready to go”. Filling that by now half-empty auditorium, screaming, chanting and completely blowing the competition out of the water. (The Obama campaign aides had told us that throughout the entire event we were the only ones that C-Span could hear.) Returning to my dorm room at 1 a.m, I was armed with three new Obama window signs to replace the one damaged in the mysterious window accident involving a politically dissident roommate. I had spent the last 13 hours immersing myself in the deep intricacies of Iowa politics, surrounded by political junkies like me. It had been an incredibly productive Saturday.
