I like the anecdote at the end of this. Can he be for real? I hope so. I think so. I hope running for President doesn't change him.
April 8, 2007
2 Years After Big Speech, a Lower Key for Obama
By ADAM NAGOURNEY
COLO, Iowa, April 6 — Senator Barack Obama is not big on what he calls
red-meat applause lines when he campaigns in small communities like
this one, 45 miles northeast of Des Moines. He does not tell many
jokes. He talks in even, measured tones, and at times is so low-key
that he lulls his audiences into long, if respectful, silences.
Mr. Obama likes to recount the chapters of his unusual life: growing
up in Hawaii, living overseas, community organizing in Chicago,
working in the Illinois legislature, though not his years as a United
States senator. He talks — more often than not in broad, general
strokes — about an Obama White House that would provide health care to
all, attack global warming, improve education, fix Social Security and
end the war in Iraq. His campaign events end almost as an
afterthought, surprising voters used to the big finishes typically
served up by the presidential candidates seeking their support.
"Thank you very much, everybody. Have a nice day," Mr. Obama said
pleasantly in Dakota City one afternoon, with a leisurely wave of a
hand. He headed over to a table where copies of his books, brought by
audience members, had been neatly laid out, awaiting the slash of his
left-handed autograph.
For most Democrats, Mr. Obama is the Illinois senator who riveted the
Democratic National Convention with a keynote speech that marked him
as one of the most powerful speakers his party had produced in 50
years. But as Mr. Obama methodically worked his way across swaths of
rural northern Iowa — his tall figure and skin color making him stand
out at diners and veterans' homes, at high schools and community
colleges — it was clear that he is not presenting himself,
stylistically at least, the way he did two years ago when he gripped
Democrats at the Fleet Center in Boston.
He is cerebral and easy-going, often talking over any applause that
might rise up from his audience, and perhaps consciously trying to
present a political style that contrasts with the more charged
presences of John Edwards, the former trial lawyer and senator from
North Carolina, and Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York.
He rarely mentions President Bush, as he disparages the partisan
quarrels of Washington, and is, at most, elliptically critical of Mr.
Edwards and Mrs. Clinton when he notes that he had opposed the war in
Iraq from the start; the two of them voted to authorize the war in
2002.
His audiences are rapt, if sometimes a tad restless; long periods can
go by when there is not a rustle in the crowd. Yet Iowa is not the
Fleet Center, and this appeal — "letting people see how I think," as
Mr. Obama put it in an interview — could clearly go a long way in
drawing the support of Iowans who are turning out in huge numbers to
see him in the state where the presidential voting process will start.
"He's low-key; he speaks like a professor," said Jim Sayer, 51, a
farmer from Humboldt. "Maybe I expected more emotion. But the lower
key impresses me: He seems to be at the level that we are."
Mary Margaret Gran, a middle-school teacher who met him when he spoke
to 25 Iowans eating breakfast at a tiny diner in Colo on Friday
morning, summed up her view the moment Mr. Obama had moved on to the
next table.
"Rock star?" Ms. Gran said, offering the description herself. "That's
the national moniker. But dazzle is not what he is about at all. He's
peaceful."
Mr. Obama, wearing sunglasses as he sat in the back of a car that was
taking him to a charter plane and then on to his home in Chicago for
the Easter weekend, nodded when told what Mr. Sayer and Ms. Gran had
said about him.
"I use a different style if I'm speaking to a big crowd; I can gin up
folks pretty well," he said. "But when I'm in these town hall
settings, my job is not to throw them a lot of red meat. I want to
give them a sense of my thought process."
Still, the emerging style of Mr. Obama as a candidate for president,
at least in a state like this with its emphasis on smaller settings,
might startle those who knew him only from the speech that made him
famous — a speech that is included prominently in the video sometimes
used to introduce him.
Yes, there are strains of the populist call of Ross Perot. "Thousands
of people across the country feel we are in this moment of time where
we might be able to take our country back," Mr. Obama said at the
Algona High School cafeteria, packed with young students and their
parents.
His language about community and shared sacrifice can be evocative of
Mario M. Cuomo's 1984 speech to the Democratic convention. "We have
responsibilities to ourselves, but we also have mutual
responsibilities, so if a child can't read so well, that matters to us
even if they are not our child," he said at V.F.W. Post 5240 in Dakota
City. Heads nodded among the people surrounding him in the
theater-in-the-round layout that he prefers.
But there is also, in a historical comparison that his supporters have
tended to resist, the cool intellectualism of Adlai Stevenson who, for
all the loyalty he inspired among many Democrats in the 1950s — some
of whom still remember him fondly — lost two presidential elections.
If Mr. Obama enters the room to the sounds of "Think" by Aretha
Franklin and the roar of people coming to their feet, clapping and
jostling for photographs, it is only moments before the atmosphere
turns from campaign rally to college seminar, when he talks, for
example, about the need for a "common sense, nonideological,
practical-minded, generous agenda for change in this country."
This evolution, or more precisely this attention to Mr. Obama's
credentials as a campaigner in communities like this, comes in a week
in which he has, with the report that he had nearly matched Mrs.
Clinton by raising $25 million in the first quarter of presidential
fund-raising, left no doubt that he had the resources and, presumably
the popular support, to potentially deny her the nomination.
For Mr. Obama, his reception in Iowa has certainly changed since he
came here after announcing his presidential bid in February, trailing
enough reporters, press aides, advisers, family members and friends to
fill a Boeing 767. Then, he was nearly suffocated at every campaign
event with people craning for a look or a handshake or an autograph,
or television crews shouting out a question.
This week, mostly far from the bigger cities of Iowa, there was much
less press and staff, and the crowds, while still big, were
manageable. Mr. Obama has developed a system for handling all the
people who brought copies of his books to sign. "If you can put your
name in the book and hand it to my staff after we're done, I'll sign
them all at once," he said.
Things have cooled off enough to permit Mr. Obama, dressed in his
signature open-collared white shirt and loose-hanging black sports
coat, to linger until almost the last person is gone. This more casual
setting has revealed Mr. Obama to be a tactile campaigner; his bony
hand grabbing elbows and hands, his long arms thrown over shoulders,
drawing voters close in conversation.
And it allowed for moments like one that took place at the V.F.W. Hall
in Dakota City, after almost everyone had gone. Mr. Obama was
approached by a woman, her eyes wet. She spoke into his ear and began
to weep, collapsing into his embrace. They stood like that for a full
minute, Mr. Obama looking ashen, before she pulled away. She began
crying again, Mr. Obama pulled her in for another embrace.
The woman left declining to give her name or recount their
conversation. Mr. Obama said she told him what had happened to her
20-year-old son, who was serving in Iraq.
"Her son died," he said. He paused. "What can you say? This happens to
me every single place I go."
The next day, at the rally here, Mr. Obama described the encounter for
the crowd. The woman, he said, had asked if her son's death was the
result of a mistake by the government. "And I told her the service of
our young men and women — the duty they show this country — that's
never a mistake," he said.
He paused carefully as he reflected on that encounter. "It reminds you
why you get into politics," he said. "It reminds you that this isn't a
game."