Iowans Trudge Through Mud to Reach Decisions

This state has turned to mud, and its citizens, grudgingly, to politics as both the weather and the campaign heated up in the final days before tonight’s Republican caucuses.

The problem, as they saw it here in the Hair Receiver and Tanning Salon, is the very mud itself. “I just don’t like the mudslinging; I hate that part of elections. I think everything can be done in a positive mode,” insisted stylist Karen Grant as the door slammed, the high school girls trooped in and the tanning beds filled, all signs that the senior prom is nearing.

Anne Kersten, who engineered publishing magnate Steve Forbes’ recent appearance here, blew in for a trim and a bottle of Fat Cat hair volumizer. “This is ‘Steel Magnolias,’ Iowa style,” she said with a laugh. Iowa style, of course, does include one major difference, and it’s called The Rule: No gossip. So what’s left to talk about in a beauty salon in thawing Iowa in early February? Politics. And it’s not a pretty sight.

For once, it seems, the polls are right. A surprising chunk of Iowans--anywhere from 20% to 40% in recent surveys--really don’t seem to know which of the nine aspirants to back as the Republican nominee for president. “Even looking at the candidates, it’s scary,” said Hair Receiver owner Peggy Bunker. “By now I would have felt something, but I’m so confused.”

Across hundreds of miles out here in the land of red barns and road kill, several common themes jump out of dozens of interviews with voters in the closing days of the campaign.

As Iowans watched the race deteriorate from talk of “hope, growth and opportunity” to charges of dirty tricks and anonymous phone calls, they know they’re tired of nasty campaigning. They know they hate the status quo. They know they have little trust in the men running for president who have been traveling the straight and mostly empty winter highways in search of support. They have even less trust in the process that eventually will fill the highest office in the land. They are tired of promises made and broken. They want something new.

“All old stories. I feel [the candidates] have old ideas,” said M.D. Ashland, professional artist and stroke survivor, as he discussed the problems of the GOP field. As he left a rally for conservative commentator Patrick J. Buchanan in Mason City, Ashland admitted that he’s not even sure--just days before the caucuses--whether he should register as a Republican or a Democrat.

At the Hair Receiver, though, they seem to lean toward Forbes, as much as they lean toward anyone. They liked his dad, the late and flashy Malcolm Sr., who raced hot air balloons over Iowa cornfields, shook their hands and was “common as an old rag.” (Here, that’s a compliment.)

The women are interested in Forbes’ flat-tax plan, but they can’t decide the appropriate adjective to describe his wife, Sabina, who just appeared in her first television ad for her husband. Frumpy? Dowdy? Matronly?

Sister Eugene, who taught their kids government at the Catholic high school, pointed out that being fashionably challenged does not disqualify one from the job of first lady. After all, she asked, who was more frumpy than the wonderful Eleanor Roosevelt?

But while she’ll defend Sabina Forbes, Sister Eugene won’t stand up for the process that’s playing out in her beloved home state. The candidates, she said, “are promising things that they can’t possibly do as incumbents.”

It’s Saturday afternoon in tiny Dike, a farm town that’s slowly outgrowing its motto: “Five Hundred Friendly People.” The Coffee Drinkers have yet to arrive at the Barn Cafe, where a sign wryly announces the existence of these garrulous regulars in gimme caps: “Official Agricultural Seminar Held Here Daily.”

Owners Helen and Ralph Immings fill the conversational void just fine. Ralph’s a Dole supporter from way back, and he plans to head to Dike High to make his views known at his caucus. He’s not real happy with his candidate, but who else is there to vote for?

“I don’t know too much about Forbes,” Ralph said. “I don’t like the way he’s diggin’ up all the mud, slinging half-truths and distorting the facts.” A frown. “Since the Age of Television, why do they have such a long, drawn-out campaign before the caucuses? It gets monotonous. Everybody gets fed up with the whole shebang.”

Helen is less certain and even less happy with her choices than is her husband. She wishes Sen. Charles E. Grassley, a Republican and local boy, would run for president. Then she’d know what to do. “I’ve known the family. They’ve come up the hard way. Some of these guys born with a golden spoon in their mouths don’t know anything about the common people.”

So who’s going to get Helen Immings’ nod? Not even she knows. “I gotta wait. I gotta see. I got no idea. I don’t know.”

But for all the confusion and concern, traditional Iowa politics still works for some. Here at the bitter end, it is possible to see voters make up their mind, watch them travel from “Who knows?” to “He’s mine.”

Here is Dean Azeltine, in Manchester, after listening to Forbes: “Just now I’m leaning toward Forbes. I started out being a Dole supporter.”

And Sara Barber, in Clinton, after hearing the former Tennessee governor in the red-and-black plaid: “I was a Dole supporter until today. Now I’m for Lamar [Alexander].”

And Debi Symes, at a Buchanan rally in Mason City: “I’ve been leaning toward him, but tonight I made my final decision. He just seems like an everyday person . . . You know, this is my first year paying attention. I used to think my little vote didn’t count.”

Times staff writers Henry Chu and Nancy Hill-Holtzman contributed to this story.