DES MOINES, Iowa — It was just after 8 o’clock, and Carrie Giddins, the Iowa Democratic Party’s spokeswoman, was sitting in a low-slung arm chair wearing heels and a sequined black cocktail dress. A video camera was inches from her face. Giddins gave her hair a quick toss, and started to explain. The caucus has never been so early, she said in a smiling, broadcast-ready tone, and “we wanted to make sure the media had somewhere to go on New Year’s Eve.”
That somewhere was “The Raucous Before the Caucus” at Des Moines’ Temple For The Performing Arts, a restored 1913 Masonic hall. And that media was a good chunk of the East Coast press corps, now in snowy, windy, cold Iowa for the 2008 Caucus. A line of journalists waited to check their coats nearby.
The guests skewed young, but there were some big names. Time’s Karen Tumulty and Chris Cillizza of The Washington Post RSVPed. So did David Yepsen, The Des Moines Register’s heavyweight columnist. CBS’s Jeff Greenfield was in attendance, and NBC’s Chuck Todd could be seen propping up a cocktail table.
Somewhere around 300 attendees paid a $25 cover. Well-trafficked open bars—sponsored by two local pols—offered “cauctails.” Kegs from a local Anheuser-Busch distributor were untapped into souvenir-ready red and blue plastic cups.
Rick Fredericksen, an Iowa Public Radio reporter and Des Moines native, proudly described some of the local offerings on hand: Templeton rye whiskey, Maytag blue cheese, Iowa prosciutto, and Maid-Rite sandwiches—something like a sloppy joe. (“You might want to grab a spoon,” I was warned.) “These really are some well known Iowa companies, thinking maybe they can get some national attention,” said Fredricksen. He grabbed a pale-aqua “Caucustini” (Vodka, Sprite, Kool-Aid) from a passing waiter.
The whole affair, in a balconied Greek revival hall with faux-marble columns, stained-glass skylights, elaborate sconces and eighteen chandeliers, had the flavor of a cliquish junior high dance on deadline. The press seemed happy for the break, but well aware that plenty of work lay ahead in the next few days—or longer, if they were being sent on to New Hampshire.
A few people danced or bumped or glided or lurched along to the latin jazz sextet, but most hugged tables and chairs near the sides of the room. A chocolate fountain burbled up front, and an ice sculpture of a boxing-gloved donkey and elephant dripped near the back.
People were introduced, and leaned close to hear conversation through the music. A young staffer from The Guardian tried to engage an older Scottish colleague in a conversation about the merits of Johnny Walker, both Red and Black. He was in the middle of his second glass.
For many, despite the holiday, it was still a working night. About a half-mile away, the Clintons held a rally with a cash beer and wine bar. “If you’re going out to cover Hillary, just get your hand stamped,” Giddins advised, hoping that her guests would come back.
The Register had hung signs promising to deliver its highly anticipated January 1 issue “straight off the press.” When it came, its big news—a poll showing a clear lead for Senator Barack Obama—was the evening’s buzz. Copies were tucked under arms and folded into handbags, and the poll’s methodology and definitiveness were debated.
Just before midnight central time, the band and crowd shouted a countdown. The confetti guns popped, and the room downed champagne, about three ounces per glass. A few couples kissed in the darkened balcony and stairwell. Someone donned a pair of 2008 eyeglasses, with flashing lights built into the rims.
Dozens of somewhat greasy pizzas were delivered to a somewhat alcohol-soaked crowd. Two old friends from New York University’s J-school, one now a CNN producer, the other a writer for The Politico, chatted near a metal cart of half empty, oil-stained boxes. Harald Klungtveit, a bearded twenty-five-year-old reporter for the Norwegian tabloid Dagbladet, told how he’d hired a cab to take him fifty miles north to cover an Obama event in Boone, population 12,000. (CNN was nice enough to give him a ride back to Des Moines.)
I asked a local reporter what she made of the national press corps’ overwhelming descent on Des Moines. “It’s a big ego boost,” she said. “But, no offense, we want you all to leave.”
By one o’clock, almost all had.
Clint Hendler is the managing editor of Mother Jones, and a former deputy editor of CJR.