From Outsider To Politician

"He finally met Rickey on his level, and that got him some respect," Lightford said. "That's what Barack needed to do, and it worked. They didn't tease him so much after that. It was like they finally realized that Barack was more than some soft punk to push around. He could play tough to get his way."

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He could also play smart, and Obama used his relationships with new allies to build his résumé. Shortly after Democrats overtook the Senate in the 2002 elections, Obama approached Jones, the new Senate president, and asked for his assistance.

Obama blamed his loss in a 2000 election for Congress on his perceived lack of political experience, he told friends, and Jones could assist him in filling that gap. He scheduled a meeting with Jones in his office and asked the majority leader to help make him a U.S. senator. Jones, who had grown so close to Obama that he considered him a godson, immediately agreed.

During Obama's final two years in Springfield, Jones gave him coveted committee assignments and several high-profile bills to sponsor, other senators said. Jones sometimes scheduled legislative sessions around Obama's Senate campaign events.

"The big thing the president did was to step in and give Barack a lot of bills where there may have been a bunch of work done on them," Trotter said. "We'd been in the minority for a long time, so a lot of bills had just been sitting there, mostly done but not yet passed. President Jones gave a lot of those to Obama to shepherd through. He might not have to do a lot of work in some of those situations, but he could get a lot of credit."

Obama fulfilled his end of the deal by adapting the cool demeanor of a power broker. Gone was the verbose young senator who liked to hear himself talk on the chamber's floor. Toward the end of his time in Springfield, Obama became one of the quietest senators, colleagues said. He spoke only on big-ticket issues and delivered his thoughts with cadence and brevity. When he stood, the room now fell silent.

Listening, Obama decided, was usually more persuasive than lecturing. He offered to hear Republicans' ideas before they proposed them on the floor, acting as an early barometer of Democratic response. Even though his record leaned more liberal than most senators', Obama voted with Republicans during his eight years in the Senate more frequently than all but a few other Democrats. Occasionally, he offered to speak on behalf of legislation proposed by Republicans.

One longtime conservative, Republican state Sen. Kirk Dillard, cut a commercial for Obama's presidential campaign last year, saying, "Obama worked on some of the deepest issues we had, and he was successful in a bipartisan way."

In an interview during his Senate years, Obama listed his idols as Mahatma Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., prompting one colleague to joke, "Bold choices, huh?" Similarly, as a legislator, Obama molded his ideas until few reasonable people could disagree, becoming an expert at building consensus. His aspirations for universal health care resulted in a more modest expansion of Illinois's current system. He took control of a once-controversial bill requiring police to videotape interrogations and tinkered with it until it passed without a single dissenting vote.

"He realized sometimes that you can't get the whole hog, so you take the ham sandwich," said Jacobs, one of Obama's poker buddies. "For somebody who people criticize for being an idealist, I've seen Barack get realistic pretty fast. He understands that it's better to accomplish what you can, take your lumps and move on."

Jones helped Obama become the chief sponsor of a racial profiling bill that colleagues in the black caucus had developed. Hendon, who said he had worked on the legislation for a few months, proposed that police officers be punished and even fired for targeting minorities. In his early arguments for the bill, Hendon told first-person stories about the humiliation of being pulled over with his wife in the car and forced to stand in the rain. The bill did not gain significant support.

Then Obama took charge of the legislation and met with conservative Democrats and some Republicans. Taking their suggestions, he amended the bill so that it required police departments to keep track of whom officers pulled over. Those officers who showed patterns of racial profiling would receive warnings and counseling. On the Senate floor, Obama argued that the legislation was an essentially an insurance issue meant to help Illinois ward off lawsuits. Some police organizations supported his version of the bill, and it passed with ease.

During his two years in the majority, Obama worked his name onto 200 bills that became laws. He served as the primary sponsor on more than 20 successful measures. "I remember more than a few days," Trotter said, "when almost everything we voted on had his name on it."

By the time Obama readied for his 2004 campaign for U.S. Senate, he could run on a record of proof as much as promise. He had built a résumé that showed a prolific legislator, and a reformer who stayed true to liberal principles.

There remained only one problem with Obama's résumé, a rare hole the politician himself had never foreseen, friends said. Obama voted "Present" 129 times in the state Senate, all during his six years in the minority. His political opponents have used those votes as proof of cowardice. By refusing to vote "Yes" or "No," they argue, Obama avoided casting votes on controversial issues in order to protect his record.

But Obama placed more than half of his "Present" votes along with other Democrats in organized protest of Republican legislation, voting records showed. Allies said many of his other "Present" votes reflected his tendency toward analysis and precision: He voted "Present" whenever he liked a bill but felt uncomfortable with its wording, they said.

"Nobody ever thought the 'Present' votes would become an issue," Lightford said. "Obviously, he never thought so, or he probably would have voted 'Yes' or 'No.' "

Obama won the Democratic primary for U.S. Senate and delivered a speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention that turned him into an overnight celebrity, and he returned to Springfield with swagger, colleagues said. In conversations with allies -- at the poker game or on the golf course -- he spoke excitedly about Washington, his next destination.

Sure, he looked forward to a chance to effect significant legislative change, he said. But he also told friends that he relished the challenges at "the next level." There, he would find new secrets to unlock, new coalitions to build and new games to play.

Again, Obama felt confident he could win acceptance.

"You could tell he couldn't wait to move on to Washington," Lightford said. "He wore it well. It was kind of like: 'Yeah, I can do Springfield with my eyes closed. What's next?' "