The home caucus: Cozy tradition nears extinction

It's the romanticized version of an Iowa caucus. Neighbors gather on a sofa to debate who is a better future president while holding an Iowa winter survival kit of coffee and cookies.

Just five caucuses were held in homes among Iowa's 1,681 precincts on Monday. The practice nears extinction.

“Back to 1976, they were still fairly common. You could find 30 to 40 percent that took place in living rooms,” said Dave Nagle, a former Iowa congressman. “Part of it was schools didn’t want to get mixed up in politics. But then the caucuses became statewide community events, so schools became more available.

“But when you move to public buildings, which are better, you lose that community flavor. At least you saw your neighbors.

"You don’t see your neighbors that much anymore.”

Space concerns and a push to public buildings such as schools, libraries or fire stations to accommodate people with disabilities play a part in the home caucus decline. But in rural areas and small towns, you'll still find caucus sites in homes, neighborhood bars and restaurants or the meeting room at the local bank.

On Monday, the five remaining home caucuses unfolded just like the charming treasures of yore, and without any of the controversies of crowding and vote-counting issues that emerged from the larger public venues.

The Weavers have held a caucus for Democrats here near Rippey since 2004, so they knew to clear the space: pushing sofas together, bringing in folding chairs and taping handwritten signs for each of three candidates over framed photographs of buffalo and varieties of corn. (The family photograph remained uncovered).

Mary and Gary Weaver’s farm home is off a muddy rural Boone County road, enveloped in the darkness of an empty countryside.

The caucus was formerly in a public building, but it didn't meet Americans With Disabilities Act guidelines, Mary Weaver said. Newcomers did a double take when looking up where to go, because it's so uncommon today.

“We were shocked when we found out it was in a home,” said Christine Schaefer, who was there with her husband, Reid, both teachers in nearby schools.

A Washington Post reporter chronicling the event was astounded that a political process could take place where a cuckoo clock was going off.

Forty years ago, caucuses were more obscure — local events held in living rooms or barns in rural areas. Mary Richards of Ames said the gatherings of friends and neighbors on her Story County farm in the early 1970s often included just a half-dozen people. There weren't enough people to volunteer for rules committees or other party business, "so sometimes you'd nominate someone who wasn't there. It was quite informal."

But today, many of the 52 people at the rural Rippey caucus didn’t know each other.

“We just met a lot of these people. We live a mile apart from them,” said Christine Schaefer, gesturing to Scott and Rachel Snyder, another young couple.

Perhaps the home caucus is an antidote to modern social isolation.

“Even though we are rural, we don’t always know each other. We don’t make hay together,” said Mary Weaver, 71. “It’s a garage remote society. Come home from work, shut the garage door and you don’t see your neighbors.”

At some homes, neighbors settled in to chat awhile.

“We had people until 10 at night talking in small groups,” said Charles Bromander, 64, who held a Republican caucus in his farm house near the tiny town of Smithland. “It’s a social event. Some of the people you don’t see that often, and you get a chance to catch up.”

Bromander’s mother, Adelene, had held caucuses in her home since 1972, until her son took over in 1996. At 89, she still brings sandwiches.

Charles said they kept it at home because people are more open to speak out in a small setting, and it’s more civil.

“They all went home eventually and agreed to disagree,” he said of the 47 people (21 for Donald Trump and 17 for Ted Cruz). “But they are still part of the community.”

At the other remaining Republican home caucus, Gary and Sharon McNutt held their fourth in their Silver City dwelling because there wasn't an available public space — the town is that small.

“We had folks who had never attended a caucus, including a World War II vet,” Gary McNutt said.Fifty showed up and 42 voted, enough to fill a 20-by-20 living room with overflow in the mudroom. The McNutts' grandson helped direct cars to the parking lot: their front yard.

He said newbies came because there was a feeling the government was “off the rails,” and nothing was being done about the problems of illegal immigration and the threat posed by terrorism.

Two candidates who emphasized those issues in strong language, Trump and Cruz, got the most votes, with 16 each.

“People are waking up to the fact there is a frustration with the government, and they have to do something,” McNutt said. “They have one vote, but it is powerful. You got enough raindrops, pretty soon you got a flood.”

Back at the Weavers, the menu included sliced sausage and cheese, carrots and celery, salsa and bean dip with chips, coffee, bottled water and scotcharoos, set out below the sign "uncommitted."

Mary Weaver was pleased that many seemed to partake, as precinct captains began cornering folks with full mouths for their support.

“You’re up-close to the political process,” said Connie Doran, Hillary Clinton’s precinct captain. “A lot of times, when you have it in schools, they don’t talk. It’s usually taboo to talk politics. This gives it a little more informal atmosphere.”

Philip Roberts, 76, was standing around, waiting for the 7 p.m. convening. “My wife is over there for Bernie (Sanders),” said the Clinton supporter. “I’ve been trying to talk her out of it all week.”

There was plenty of room to move about the home. The huge driveway and sidewalks had been cleared enough that you could have backed a bus up to the front entrance.

Jane Hudson, executive director of Disability Rights Iowa, said she has no problem with home caucuses if they have a clear pathway to the entrance with no steps and sufficient space for wheelchairs.

But, she added, “I think every community must have a school, church or another space that is accessible.”

“A lot of it came down to wanting larger locations to fit enough people and ADA accessibility,” said Josh Levitt, a spokesman for the Iowa Democratic Party.Disability groups have pushed to hold caucuses in public buildings in recent years, as have the political parties.

But some places are so remote, public buildings are hard to come by. You dearly need global positioning navigation to find the Weavers.

Inside, a woman with a baby joined several elderly folks, one man with a cane and another with a hand-held electronic larynx he held to his throat to speak.

The latter was Dale Gard, who was uncommitted.

“Why don’t you come on over?” a Clinton supporter urged him just before 7.

“I guess,” Gard said, before joining the group, smiling.

“You’re a good man.”

Bill and Pat Ipsen live in a little bungalow in New Hampton that was “elbow to elbow” in 2008 when Barack Obama’s wave of support led to a record turnout. But on Monday, they had 26, along with a reporter, two pollsters and one baby.

The retirees have held it in their home since 2000, when Pat didn’t want to sit in the cold, metal chairs of the fire station anymore.

“She would rather be warm and comfortable,” Bill Ipsen said. “And we like to have company, too.”

After all the preparation, which included Pat making sure the house was presentable, she had a feeling that a little cold doesn’t hurt anyone.

“My wife is talking about not holding it here. It wasn’t that bad for me, but it was for her,” Ipsen said.

“People lingered for a bit. I was thinking about offering a stronger thing than coffee, but none of them wanted to stay.”

They did stay in a rural Poweshiek County caucus. In fact, the debate at Becky Petig’s home on her acreage near Brooklyn went on for 1½ hours among the 10 in attendance before seven voted for Clinton and three for Sanders.

It was her first caucus at her home, and she would do it again.

“None of them had ever been to my home,” said the county attorney. “It was nice to have them sitting on my living room floor.”

The caucus came to a rousing conclusion in rural Rippey. Mary Weaver said it might be the last in their home because they might be pushing 80 before another one rolls around.

Gary Weaver told the crowd that so many attended in 2008 — 105 — that they had to open all the windows.

Then he asked to pass the hat for party donations.

“This isn’t church, but about the same thing as,” he said.

The counting began. Clinton, 29. Sanders, 23. A caucusgoer wondered why they weren’t allowed to speak.

At first, Weaver said they had already counted and had forgotten to let people give a speech to sway voters from one candidate to another. But after consulting on the rules, he figured he had not officially put in the numbers yet.

So four Clinton supporters rose to tell why they were voting for her — experience, women’s rights, grace under fire, and so on.

Then John Means rose to say his piece, right in front of the big flat-screen TV.

He said there was no way Sanders would ever be president; the party wouldn’t allow it. A chorus of Sanders supporters began to speak at once in retort.

“Are you not listening!” Means said, raising his voices to a shout. “He is a socialist.”

Sanders supporter Carrie Kimrey shouted back that Sanders was about big ideas, and “at least he is not taking payment from Monsanto!”

“Wait a month,” shouted back a Clinton supporter, until the room erupted in unintelligible yelling.

Gary Weaver stopped it. No one switched sides. The votes were counted again. People ate and talked. Shook hands.

World War II veteran Carvel Naeve clutched his cane and whispered to his wife, Phyllis, “What was that monologue about?”

It became too noisy, so he had taken out his hearing aid.

“People want to be able to express their opinion,” Mary Weaver said as the last filed out the door near 9 p.m. “That’s what it’s all about.”