The Awful Advent of Tom Harkin

In the second week of October 1984, Geraldine Ferraro ended a campaign swing through the Midwest with an appearance at a Jefferson-Jackson Day dinner in a basketball coliseum on the campus of Iowa State. Sixteen hundred dining Democrats huddled on the huge floor of that huge building, looking like cheese mites, and every single one of them, it seemed, crept across the podium to say a few words in Mrs. Ferraro’s behalf. Among them was five-term congressman Tom Harkin. His rumply features, pleasant rather than comely, were not visible over those vast distances. His remarks, roaring through the concavity, were typical Democratic fare; he got two standing ovations, for a promise to “freeze right now,” and a pledge that “Jerry Falwell will not write prayers” for the public schools. His manner was also standard for that campaign season. 1984 was the year of the homely virtues; Mondale and Mrs. Ferraro together cited “family values” as often as the Moral Majority. Harkin’s contribution that evening was an anecdote about hearing, while doing duty with the navy at Guantánamo Bay, of the death of his father, a coal miner, from black-lung disease (the moral: More money for Medicare; the message: This veteran is the son of poor folks).

The Democrats, as we know, had slight success with these tactics, at least at the national level. Iowa, however, was a deviation. Reagan carried the state by only 8 per cent; relatively speaking, almost a Mondale landslide. Harkin, making a run for the Senate seat of Roger Jepsen, won. In his first notable act, the freshman senator traveled with another 1984 victor, John Kerry of Massachusetts, to Nicaragua, whence they returned with assurances of the Sandinistas’ peacefulness. It made the news, but it was nothing new. Harkin’s convictions, and connections, go back a long ways.

About the Author

Richard Brookhiser

Historian Richard Brookhiser is a senior editor of National Review and a senior fellow at the National Review Institute.

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In the second week of October 1984, Geraldine Ferraro ended a campaign swing through the Midwest with an appearance at a Jefferson-Jackson Day dinner in a basketball coliseum on the campus of Iowa State. Sixteen hundred dining Democrats huddled on the huge floor of that huge building, looking like cheese mites, and every single one of them, it seemed, crept across the podium to say a few words in Mrs. Ferraro’s behalf. Among them was five-term congressman Tom Harkin. His rumply features, pleasant rather than comely, were not visible over those vast distances. His remarks, roaring through the concavity, were typical Democratic fare; he got two standing ovations, for a promise to “freeze right now,” and a pledge that “Jerry Falwell will not write prayers” for the public schools. His manner was also standard for that campaign season. 1984 was the year of the homely virtues; Mondale and Mrs. Ferraro together cited “family values” as often as the Moral Majority. Harkin’s contribution that evening was an anecdote about hearing, while doing duty with the navy at Guantánamo Bay, of the death of his father, a coal miner, from black-lung disease (the moral: More money for Medicare; the message: This veteran is the son of poor folks).

The Democrats, as we know, had slight success with these tactics, at least at the national level. Iowa, however, was a deviation. Reagan carried the state by only 8 per cent; relatively speaking, almost a Mondale landslide. Harkin, making a run for the Senate seat of Roger Jepsen, won. In his first notable act, the freshman senator traveled with another 1984 victor, John Kerry of Massachusetts, to Nicaragua, whence they returned with assurances of the Sandinistas’ peacefulness. It made the news, but it was nothing new. Harkin’s convictions, and connections, go back a long ways.