Walking A Hard Line On Campaign Trail in Iowa

When a few Mike Huckabee supporters call him over, they chide him for liking Mexican food.

"You ever check the kitchen?" one says.

"If I did," Tancredo replies, "I'd never get served."

Returning to the group, Tancredo, who's been away from his Colorado home for nearly a month and misses his wife, says, "Boy, we've been looking for some good Mexican food down here, I'll tell ya." As it happens, he's fond of anecdotes about his grandfather being an immigrant from Italy.

The following day Tancredo sits down in the town square in Oskaloosa to smoke a cheap cigar he'd picked up at a Walgreens "somewhere in Iowa." He's just come from a town hall where he addressed roughly 45 people, and where Ray Batchelder, an 81-year-old retired farmer said: "This man here speaks my language. I'm a Democrat, but this man makes a lot of sense. This is the right solution for this border problem: Shoot the first five and the next 1,000 won't come. But that goes against my teachings as a Christian."

When asked about running solely on the immigration issue, Tancredo replies, "First of all, it's not an issue, it's a phenomenon. Second, at least I have one. You know, I have something people can gravitate towards, can see. I think when you try and be a Renaissance man it doesn't work, especially when there's this underlying current of feeling about this out there."

Looking out at the small stores in this small town, Tancredo says, "Sure, there's that nostalgic part of me that idealizes an America that probably never existed. But, an America more homogeneous, yes. It is not a white America, which is something I've heard people attacking me for all the time. We've always been a nation made up of so many different people, but it seemed to me there was more of an attempt to assimilate. So yeah, I long for that. Can we put this genie back in the bottle? I don't know. I have to try."

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As much as he is a passionate gadfly, Tancredo knows his limits. Today's straw poll will answer whether or not a single issue, particularly this issue, is strong enough to push a man onward to something besides a punch line. He's conceded the victory to Romney, who has devoted significant resources to winning the Ames poll.

"If we can't show up in the top half of the crowd, even if we want to go forward it will be very, very difficult," he acknowledges, putting down his cigar. "The financial support will be tough and if you're not personally wealthy, how do you do this? It's more of a practical reality. I have to do well enough so I can keep the oar in the water, otherwise the boat comes to a stop."

At least for the remaining hours before the straw poll, Tancredo, pushed by Buchanan, seems unwilling to pull back the oar, to let others pass him by. That evening in the immaculate town of Pella, which owes most of its architecture to its Dutch beginnings, including a 134-foot windmill and working drawbridge, Tancredo arrives in the back room of a Pizza Ranch. Both Tancredo and Buchanan greet the 100 or so people.

In the corner, holding her 7-week-old grandson Maddox, Evie Jones echoes Tancredo's sentiments.

"I'm in health care," says the 55-year-old respiratory therapist, "and I see insurance costs rising. And from what I hear it's the costs of illegals. They're a burden."

Waiting in line for pizza, Vicki LeMay, a school psychologist, says: "It makes no sense we're sending people across the ocean when our borders are so open. If they're here legally, that's one thing. But they haven't gone through the proper channels. And it's a lie to say we don't have enough workers."

Tancredo offers up the anecdotes about the socks and the poultry plant in Georgia that did just fine after its illegal workers were hauled off. He tries to align his sentiments with the anger in the room.

He says that anti-American sentiments expressed in a mosque or street corner should be treated as acts of sedition. For the moment he's able to bundle the complaints about security and jobs, about schooling and amnesty. He seems to tap into the anger these people, these Americans, have.

"I wonder how many people today appreciate what citizenship is all about," Tancredo says, "whether the term even means anything anymore. Because we're willing to give it away. We're willing to let people have all of the benefits of citizenship even if they broke into this country."

"This is our home," he goes on to say. "But what happens when you come home and the house is full of people you don't even know? Is there nothing strange about this? Shouldn't I feel a little bit upset about this? This is my home, my country. Why should I be made to feel guilty about being upset when people come into it without our permission?"