DAVENPORT, Iowa, Aug. 4 -- This is a resolute city.
The mighty Mississippi floods its banks here repeatedly, sweeping away millions of dollars in property. But the sturdy townspeople have refused to build jetties, much to the irritation of federal engineers and emergency chiefs. They like their riverbank the way it is, where they can get right up close to the water and study it for themselves. They'll put up with the floods.
They like their presidential politics the same way -- no barriers. So when President Bush and Democratic nominee John Kerry both appeared here Wednesday, at the same time, three blocks apart, few in this struggling city of 98,000 seemed to find it unusual. These are Iowans, after all, smug and secure in their disproportionate political power.
"Iowa's a different state. We dissect candidates up, down, sideways, backwards," said Jerry Messer, head of the AFL-CIO here and a Kerry supporter. "We're spoiled rotten by the caucus."
Never mind that Iowa can contribute only a meager seven electoral votes to the 270 needed to win the White House.
Or that Davenport and surrounding Scott County have only about 100,000 registered voters, who may be more decisive than the rest of the country. Only 4 percent of those polled by the local Quad-City Times newspaper said they hadn't made up their minds in the neck-and-neck race here, which suggests that all the expensive motorcading, Secret Servicing and rhetorical flourishing Wednesday may have been for the benefit of about 4,000 voters here and in neighboring western Illinois.
Why the campaign convergence? Al Gore won Iowa by about 4,100 votes in 2000, in large part thanks to voters here, and Bush strategist Karl Rove later reportedly rued that the campaign plane was too big to land at any airport in eastern Iowa. And with both campaigns having announced their events -- an economic town hall meeting for Kerry, a riverside rally for Bush -- neither man was going to step down.
"We were here first," said Kerry spokeswoman Debra DeShong.
"Certainly we are going to travel to very competitive states," said Bush spokesman Scott Stanzel, explaining the president's trip had been in the works for "weeks" but declining to say how many weeks. Davenport police Lt. Don Gano said he received word of the dueling trips "about a week ago."
While Kerry fielded questions on more jobs for Davenport, which has the highest unemployment rate in the state, and Bush claimed he had helped farmers and ranchers, enterprising bandits made their own economic opportunity: With nearly every local officer on security detail downtown, armed robbers a few miles away committed three bank heists in quick succession, according to Gano.
Despite the similarity in scheduling, the campaign events were strikingly different.
Kerry went for voters' brains. At an invitation-only economic summit for 300, the Massachusetts senator surrounded himself with local labor and business leaders, as well as corporate executives who have endorsed him. Linda Bloodsworth was there -- the one who owns Quad Cities Metallurgical Laboratory, not the Linda Bloodworth who helped burnish Bill Clinton's telegenicity. So was Peter Chernin, president of News Corp., which owns Fox News, often criticized by Democrats for perceived bias in favor of Bush. And Bank of America chief Charles Gifford. After brief remarks, Kerry led the crew at a long table in a serious, wonkish discussion of policy.
Bush went for voters' hearts. His rally featured all the spectacular stagecraft at which this White House excels. Just as Aaron Tippin's "Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly" reached a high point -- "I pledge allegiance to the flag / And if that bothers you, well, that's too bad" -- Bush's motorcade came speeding dramatically into the riverfront park, all fast black cars and flashing blue and red lights. The crowd of several thousand, some of whom had lined up four hours earlier for security sweeps, erupted and waved small flags. Three Secret Service sharpshooters projected presidential power, standing atop a white trailer, their eyes trained through high-powered binoculars. Restless children inside the rally enclosure had a choice between a small carnival ride and a petting zoo featuring a dozen baby goats.
His blue shirt sleeves pushed up, the president stood with the river behind him, a highway bridge arcing gracefully away. He offered no new details on his programs for the next few years, sticking to his standard stump speech about keeping America strong and safe. "We stand for things," Bush told the crowd of several thousand. "We stand for something."
