Photo by Julie Gammack of an Iowa Democratic caucus on the south side of Des Moines, January 15, 2024. Published with permission.
Kurt Meyer writes a weekly column for the Nora Springs – Rockford Register and the Substack newsletter Showing Up, where this essay first appeared. He serves as chair of the executive committee (the equivalent of board chair) of Americans for Democratic Action, America’s most experienced liberal organization.
The Facebook message came in late Monday morning. “Just wondering if you are going to your caucus tonight. I’m worried that there will only be a few people there. Nobody seems interested this year in the Dem caucus.”
My friend, who lives 200 miles distant, began this exchange by noting a recent column I had written. I respond, “Yes, you bet I’m going. Sometimes we send important messages simply by showing up, which is why I named my column such.”
I hadn’t promoted our 2024 caucus, other than mentioning it to my brother and his wife when we saw them Sunday evening. They weren’t attending, due to a hectic work week. (They’ll soon learn, however, they’re delegates to the county convention.)
This year’s caucus prompted a flashback to fifty years ago, attending my first caucus in Decorah, January 1974. I was 19, and walked to Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, three blocks from the Luther College campus. Seven of us attended, maybe one other student. I sat by Oivind Hovde, head librarian at Luther from 1949 to 1977.
Pleasant with Norwegian-reserve, Oivind was nearing the end of his distinguished career. I knew who he was, although I don’t suppose we’d ever exchanged words. When it came time to select delegates to the county convention, the last available slot came down to Oivind or me—and he kindly deferred to me, a raw college sophomore.
He would have been the better choice on many levels. Oivind had substance and stature; he was involved and respected in the community. I was a transient college student, trying out politics for, what? A January term? Maybe a semester? Oivind looked at me and said something like, “If you’re interested, I think you should do it.”
I’ve revisited this episode occasionally over the years. My political involvement now spans five decades, admittedly low-key during our Pennsylvania and Wisconsin years, 1981 to 1994, and merely a trusty door-knocker while living in Minnesota. Had Oivind contested our modest delegate race, he most certainly would have been selected. And I, with tentative, ill-defined political interests, might have simply walked away, literally and figuratively, back to the dorm and onto some other vague youthful calling.
As it turned out, at the Winneshiek County convention, I became a delegate to district and state conventions. At the district convention, I became a delegate to the first-ever Democratic Party national mid-term convention (held in 1974, 1978, and 1982). Also in 1974, I became regional organizer in an unsuccessful Congressional primary, then managed a successful state Senate campaign. Through these and other comparable opportunities, political involvement became both a passion and a pursuit.
Yes indeed, I attended our caucus this year, as did thirty others in my rural county, including six from Otranto Township, hooray for us! I was eager to visit with friends I hadn’t seen recently, happy about not knowing everyone there.
New faces replace the dearly departed, like Jeanette and Bruce, loyal activists who have gone to their reward. I pay homage to them, offering a brief (for me!) tribute. I hug Cynthia and extend sympathy regarding her mother’s recent passing. I hear from another friend that her husband, a decade older than me, isn’t doing very well. All poignant reminders that in many rural communities, parties lean heavily on those my age and older. Sigh.
I agree to be a precinct committee person, but due to travel plans will miss our county convention. Paula and I depart shortly before the platform discussion begins, confident that planks important to us will advance. We head toward the Twin Cities, where we’re catching a flight to warmer weather.
Driving north, I reflect on previous caucuses, not so much all the presidential hoo-ha, fine and fun as it’s been, but rather my first caucus experience. On a cold evening, I recall many warm, meaningful friendships rooted in a shared political commitment. Finally, thoughts circle back to Oivind and his modest but timely encouragement, remembered fondly after fifty years… and with great gratitude.