Political Cajoling Turns to Hounding : As Caucuses Near, Many in Iowa Feel Under Siege

Karen Silverberg was annoyed. A worker from the campaign of Democratic presidential candidate Paul Simon called her at home to ask whether she was going to the Feb. 8 presidential caucuses and, if so, whom would she support. Yes, she said, she was going to the Newton Township caucus and would “probably” stand up for Simon.

Minutes later, the phone rang again. It was another Simon campaign worker with the same list of questions.

“He came on like a high-pressure telephone salesman, like someone who works a telephone scam,” she said. “I said, ‘I just talked to someone from your campaign not 20 minutes ago.’ ”

Exasperated, Silverberg finally hung up on the caller. “He wouldn’t listen. They should really get him off the campaign.”

It is January, and the courtship and cajoling that Iowans have enjoyed for the last several months have turned to hounding. Campaign workers are tripping over one another in their frenzied pursuit of supporters. For some caucus-goers, the persistence backfires. The once-friendly persuasion can become badgering.

In Iowa’s Democratic Party caucuses, small numbers make a big difference. If 50 people show up at a precinct meeting place, a candidate with 25 supporters can dominate the caucus. So campaigns spend lots of money and energy trying to identify supporters and get them to their precinct meeting place on caucus night.

Supporters are asked to pass on names of neighbors or acquaint ances suspected of leaning toward their candidate. If a grocery shopper happens to mention in line that she “kind of” likes a certain candidate, there is a good chance the information will find its way to the candidate’s campaign and a telephone call will follow.

In Newton Township, one of 2,487 precincts in Iowa, the residents are already under fire. Telephone calls, mailings, personal notes and visits by the candidates and their spouses are the weapons.

At times, they misfire.

A campaigner for former Arizona Gov. Bruce Babbitt called Silverberg’s elderly mother and told her that Karen and her husband, Julian, were supporting Babbitt. It was not true.

‘Really Annoyed’

“That really annoyed my mother, and I didn’t like it either,” said Silverberg, 52, a director of Planned Parenthood in Iowa and a volunteer at a nonprofit group that helps the poor.

Silverberg is one of 10 Newton Township Democrats whose views The Times has chronicled in an occasional series leading up to the caucuses. She is a faithful caucus-goer, the kind of supporter that campaigns want and, therefore, a favorite target.

Despite her irritation with the calls, she said an absence of them would probably also affect her negatively. She would wonder if the candidate had the necessary organization to win.

Likes Personal Touch

In Silverberg’s view, a personal touch is effective. She liked, for example, the Christmas card from Simon. It had a picture of the Illinois senator with his family, dressed casually, and a typewritten message about what they were all doing. Silverberg found it “homey.”

The feminist activist was also impressed by the efficiency of Michael S. Dukakis’ organization. At a luncheon held by the Iowa Women’s Political Caucus, Silverberg shared a table with a woman legislator from Massachusetts. The legislator, who was there to promote the Massachusetts governor’s candidacy, wrote down Silverberg’s address on a napkin.

A few days later, Silverberg received a personal note from the legislator declaring how much she had enjoyed the lunch. Of course, the note also praised Dukakis’ record in Massachusetts.

Mary Lee and Forrest Rusk, who also plan to attend the township caucus, appreciate most of the calls from the campaigns and admit being influenced by them. Mary Lee is leaning to Dukakis, and Forrest is still undecided.

Forrest, 62, who runs an insurance business, said a call from a campaign forces him to give the candidate consideration. “Basically, it’s a selling tool, and a phone call to ask you (whom you support) in some ways makes you feel, ‘Well, they called me. Maybe they really want my opinion.’ ”

Of course, not every call is equal. A woman working for Rep. Richard A. Gephardt (D-Mo.) called the Rusks a few weeks ago, and Mary Lee answered. The caller, an acquaintance of the Rusks, said hello to Mary Lee and then asked to speak to Forrest. Once Forrest had the line, the caller asked him whom he and his wife were supporting.

“She asked to speak to Forrest to find out who we were supporting,” said Mary Lee, 62, who sells advertising for a radio station. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Linda Gifford, 45, Jasper County auditor and elections commissioner, signed up with the Simon campaign last month and attended her first Simon organizing meeting a week ago.

With 13 others in a small room in the Jasper County library, Gifford listened as a 22-year-old man from “the Chicago area” read a campaign document explaining what happens at a caucus. Gifford looked across the room, caught another’s eye, smiled, shook her head and winked.

“A lot of these staffers, they’re all kids,” she said in an interview in her apartment. “They come and they are 23 years old and they’re going to tell you how to organize. Well, we’ve been organizing (since) before they were born.”

A Coup for Simon

Landing Gifford was a coup for the Simon campaign. The elected county official is well-known and respected in Jasper County. She is the daughter of a retired union political organizer, Edris (Soapy) Owens, who is famous throughout Iowa, and is an experienced political activist herself.

Supporting Simon is a “political gamble” for Gifford because she draws much of her support from the United Auto Workers, whose members are largely supporting Gephardt. Her former husband, Chuck Gifford, is a prominent UAW organizer for Gephardt. The union is an important constituency in Jasper County. Its members build Maytag appliances in Newton, the national headquarters for the company that boasts of having the loneliest repairman in town.

So far, the Simon campaign has asked Gifford to do two things. One is to call another county auditor in another town, chat about auditor business and then put in a plug for Simon. This she will do.

Too Many Calls

They want her to call residents of her precinct also. She is wary. She said she will make the calls only if the campaign promises not to call the same people. Every day, she said, she hears complaints from people about too many calls.

“I don’t want those outsiders coming in and undoing what I’ve built up for several years,” she said.

In the caucus system, each precinct is apportioned a certain number of delegates to the county conventions, based on turnout in that precinct in previous elections. The candidates with the most supporters in the caucus room get the most delegates.

Gifford wants to be a delegate, or at least an alternate. She figures she can probably round up support from “people who could really care less” by asking them to support her candidate as a personal favor.

“You say, ‘Listen, I just want to be a delegate . . . . Since you really don’t care, I just want to make sure we get a few delegates.’ You can usually get two or three people to go along with you.”

Patricia and Jack Umbarger also are on Simon’s team, committed workers both. Jack Umbarger, 56, a sales manager for a telephone directory publishing company, has just learned that the Simon campaign has no coordinators for six precincts in the county, and he is alarmed.

“Somebody better bust their butt,” he said.

He is convinced that organization is “everything.”

“If you’re not organized, your man isn’t going to get any support,” he said.

Organizing means finding residents or “coordinators” in each precinct to round up supporters for your candidate and prevent them from defecting on caucus night. In a caucus, the Democrats divide into different groups for different candidates. One group will try to woo members from another. The pressure can be intense, and the captain is supposed to keep his people in line.

Must Be Lured Out

Because the process can be both protracted and intimidating, many Democrats would rather stay home. It is up to the precinct organizers to lure them out. “Most people won’t come unless they’re called,” Jack Umbarger said.

His wife believes Gephardt will have an edge in the township because of his UAW support. “The union gets their people to caucus,” the 57-year-old homemaker said.

But her husband is convinced that Simon has a weapon just as important as the UAW. “We’ll wipe Gephardt out,” he said. “We’ve got Linda Gifford.”

He plans to begin his calls this week. If the person on the other end says he or she is leaning to Simon, that will be his opening.

“It’s not unlike selling the Yellow Pages,” he said. “If they’re hesitant, you need to give them reasons to buy.”

On the weekend before the Monday caucuses, he will call back all those who said they supported Simon or were leaning toward him and will attempt to persuade them to go to the caucus. If they don’t have transportation, he will offer to pick them up. If they need a baby-sitter, he will find them one.

“Of course,” his wife noted, “if there’s a blizzard that night, you can figure they won’t be there.”

Wray Hartschen, 54, a UAW activist, is working--you guessed it--for Gephardt. He believes that organizing begins at home. He has already persuaded his 18-year-old daughter, Debra, to stand up for Gephardt and now he is working on his wife, Rosemary.

Rosemary, 49, a substitute schoolteacher, is still undecided. She likes Simon, Dukakis and Gephardt and just wants to know who is the most “electable.” She figures Gephardt and Dukakis have “an edge” because Gephardt is tall and clean-cut and Dukakis has a “nice head of hair.”

Her husband, seated next to her at their kitchen table, listened closely. He saw his opportunity and grabbed it.

“Dukakis is short,” he interrupted.

“Yes, but you can’t tell that on TV,” she shot back.

‘Squeaky Clean’

Gephardt is “squeaky clean,” he persisted. “I don’t think we’d have any unpleasant surprises with Gephardt.” He turned to their daughter, who was standing at the kitchen counter, and suggested they leave Rosemary at home on caucus night unless she agrees to stand up for Gephardt.

Rosemary smiled, enjoying the banter. “You just want me to make your phone calls, Wray,” she said.

Ah, the phone calls, a touchy subject in the Hartschen household. Hartschen is supposed to call precinct residents for Gephardt but keeps putting it off.

“I never did like it,” admitted the union activist, who works on the dryer assembly line at Maytag.

Attends Meetings

Despite his procrastination on the phone calls, Hartschen has done his share for Gephardt. He regularly attends Gephardt organizing meetings. They are run by “a kid” who reviews recent polls and news stories and tries to put a positive slant on them.

“Boy, he’s a talker,” Wray said. “He’s a good booster, though; he keeps everybody’s hopes up.”

On a cold, gray afternoon, he drove 45 minutes to Des Moines to act in Gephardt’s television commercials.

Hartschen is the tall, lanky fellow in the black cap and black jacket--the UAW’s 50th anniversary jacket--walking behind Gephardt in one of the scenes. He is also in a crowd shot that shows Gephardt making a rousing speech before 100 supporters.

Hartschen, modest about his contribution, is proud of the commercials.

“A lot of people at the plant are mentioning them,” he said.

On Monday nights, Randa Walker can be found in downtown Newton seated at her husband’s desk in his paneled law office. She is making telephone calls for the Rev. Jesse Jackson. Her son, Kerry, 12, is seated nearby doing his homework, ready to run for soda pop or popcorn at his mother’s bidding.

“Hello,” says Walker, a schoolteacher now on leave from her job. “This is Randa Walker. Are you a supporter of Jesse Jackson’s candidacy for President?”

Some people hang up on her. “I don’t want anything to do with that,” they will snap before slamming down the receiver. Others are secretive. They will not tell her whom they support.

Of more than 100 calls, Walker, 37, found about 10 people who said they were considering Jackson. It was not encouraging. The Jackson campaign is so poorly financed that Walker initially could not even get buttons or bumper stickers to distribute.

‘Not Electable’

But she said the work makes her feel good about herself. Now, if she could only persuade her husband, Lee M. Walker. The attorney, 37, whose car license plate reads “IA LAW,” insists he will not support Jackson because “Jackson is not electable.”

His wife’s lobbying has been effective, however. Walker now says he believes Jackson would make a good vice president.

He is still undecided about the top spot. Two weeks ago, he began considering Gephardt more seriously. Not because of any phone call. “The kind of phone calls my wife is making, those tend to irritate me more than anything else,” he said.

‘Very Pretty’ Wife

What influenced him was meeting Gephardt’s “very pretty” wife and “very stately” mother. He was having lunch at the Midtown cafe with a banker friend when the two women approached their booth and asked them to support Gephardt.

“After I met them, I thought maybe the guy does have a chance,” Walker said. “It led me to believe that the guy is out beating the bush.”

With stories about the caucuses in each day’s newspaper and conversations about the candidates in every Newton cafe, Walker admits to feeling “pressure” to decide.

“I just don’t know why I haven’t made up my mind,” he said.