Living in the shadow of Iowa State University, it’s easy to forget that Ames is largely different than the rest of the state, or even the country. Granted, there may be more feed stores than coffee shops here, but even the feed stores are a little high-brow. We have suburbs, sort of. To a degree, Ames is hipster friendly: Asian grocery stores, microbreweries, co-ops, and community radio. And scattered among the old, beautiful Protestant churches downtown are six or eight tattoo parlors. This is College Town, USA, and when viewed from the right perspective, it could pass for Madison, Athens, or even Tucson (only with more corn).
So how to explain that Iowa went red a year ago?
The difference between Ames and the rest of America was made clear recently when I was driving West on I-80 not far from The Kingman. I was in the portion of central Iowa where NPR drops out completely— the center of the void between Des Moines and Omaha. Here, low on the FM frequency I tuned into a local broadcast: After the school lunch menu was revealed (tuna sandwich and potato soup), the DJ played a recording of The Pledge of Allegiance recited by overly enthusiastic school children. As if this did not inspire enough liberty and justice for all, the announcer then doubled down with Lee Greenwood singing the pledge and featuring spoken word overdubs clipped from Ronald Reagan speeches. Patriotism was oozing from my speakers and onto the vinyl floor mats.
This daily act of devotion was followed by a full hour of polka. Remember, this is Steve King country. [For those non-Iowans: Steve King serves as a member of the United States House of Representatives from Iowa's 4th congressional district, which includes Ames. If you boiled Donald J. Trump into a concentrated mass of hate, ignorance, and greed, then added an equal mass of malignant ideology, you would have just created Steve King. This is a scientific fact.]
That was just the beginning of my road trip. I was going all the way West and traveling light. No thermos and wearing only sandals with no back-up footwear. My single comfort was a standard General Motors radio with no CD player, no Bluetooth connectivity, and no audio input jack. Like Thoreau, my intent was to live deliberately. It would be like the olden times, relying solely on truck stop coffee and local radio. Real Oregon Trail shit.
I had digested 1,232 miles of red state radio and was holding up nicely until Twin Falls, Idaho. The musical programming was top notch but the commercials became repetitive, notably a spot for “Peterson Family Farms Fall Festival.” Among other on-site attractions such as hay rides, Bible stories, and a giant corn maze, the announcer also promised a “live ammo shooting range for the young and old.”
Drinking cider, talking God, and shooting guns. Bring the kids. Steve King approved! Actually, I am sure the whole thing was very nice.
Back at home, the population of The Kingman has continued to decline, it’s just me and Ann Marie now. Peter moved across the tracks and enrolled at Iowa State in Materials Science Engineering. He took most of the furniture, all the Tupperware, and the Big TV with him. The house looked like a crime scene when he left. Nina is still hunkered down at the University of Iowa and killing it. Aside from hemorrhaging cash, the kids are alright.
We are thankful and wish you a Merry Christmas.
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