Dean's Team, Sleepless In Seattle

The task is doubly hard because the state switched to a caucus format this year. On top of telling people about Dean, callers have to educate them about this arcane political process, the complicated math of it, the need to stand up and declare their preferences in a roomful of strangers.

The day after the Iowa caucuses, the Iowa staff and the Seattle staff got together to go over lessons learned. Now the Seattle office has a chance to undo the damage, but that means letting go of some of the political newbie idealism and learning how to behave more like the enemy.

Minchew recalls watching live coverage of the Iowa caucuses and seeing the "pie eyes" of the Dean folks. "They expected to walk into the room and dominate, and instead there were a lot of other people dominating, too. They just weren't well-prepared. They got outmaneuvered." This time they are teaching Dean sympathizers to be real pols, to "horse trade, shake hands, say, 'Hey, that baby looks nice,' " says Minchew.

"We spent a lot of time bringing in new people, and the Kerry people spent a lot of time wooing the PCOs," adds John Taylor, a field director, referring to Iowa precinct committee officers, who tend to be party regulars. Here they are taking the Kerry way: Taylor just got off the phone with a local PCO who says he supports Clark. Taylor gave him the hard sell, from every angle: Dean is not flagging, he's "rock solid," he's brought many new people into the process. In the end the guy doesn't budge, but promises if Clark doesn't get enough votes he'll consider moving to Dean -- which is allowed under caucus rules. "Thank you," says Taylor. "That's all I can ask of you."

Their confidence is tempered. "We're hoping for the best, but I've stopped predicting," says local spokesman Josh Field, who added there was one thing he was sure they'd achieve: "Good feelings here." Already the Seattle people have come to consider the "if": "If we lose -- God forbid -- at least I'll be able to say I did all I could," says Julie Goldberg, echoing much of the staff.

Dean, too, appeared to be looking forward and back, starting to write the history. His revised stump speech that morning was an attempt to reclaim his roots, to remind voters that the rousing populism now gushing freely from other candidates started with him. "Over the course of the campaign, the party seems to have found its voice again, found our soul," he said, a gentle way of admitting his message had been co-opted. "So far change is the biggest winner of the Democratic primary. Even the Democrats who wouldn't stand up to Bush last year are beginning to adopt a message of change." Dean seemed to be casting himself in the role of movement grandfather, a Gorbachev, the vanguard made irrelevant now that his role has been usurped.

Kerry was in town this week, too, holding a victory party Tuesday night at a hotel near where Dean was staying. Indeed his themes did echo Dean's -- "Together we can lift our country up," the fulminating against "powerful interests," quotes from Harry Truman, even the promised interactive JohnKerry.com Web site in his White House. But if any listeners noticed they didn't much care. Two rooms overflowed into the street, as wave upon wave of gawkers strained to catch a glimpse of him.

Wednesday evening brings the monthly Meet-up for Dean. But the mood of the 40 or so Deanies at the Uptown Espresso is not exactly celebratory. It was intended to be a nuts-and-bolts workshop on the caucuses but it turns into something more like a Quaker meeting, confessional, emotional.

Some sit and earnestly write letters to undecided voters in other states. ("This is urgent! He is the only one who can beat Bush!") A few are certain that the truth when revealed must prevail. "I talked to a lot of Kerry people the other night," says Brendan Cassidy, who stood outside the victory party holding a "Kerry = Special Interest" sign. "A lot of them made really flimsy arguments. When I talked to them, when I looked them in the eye, they backed down in, like, 10 seconds."

But much of the passion feels like a last stand, even a eulogy. Ben Speakmon gives a speech about the Dean movement being what "democracy is intended to be," drifting into "no one will take our freedom away," ending with "I'm going to be behind him, no matter what."

People talk about being depressed, frustrated until they found Howard Dean, but they still sound somewhat depressed and frustrated. No one mentions Iowa, or Tuesday's primaries, or even the scream, or tries in any way to explain the moody undercurrent until this outburst: "I believe in Howard Dean. He's actually given me a voice," says Danny Lovejoy, tearing up. "I don't know why I'm so emotional, so scared.

"Oh, I do know why I'm scared," he continues. "Because I'm scared Howard Dean's not going to win."