The thermometer’s plunging, but Richard, an Iraq War Bravo Company veteran, is unconcerned. ‘I’ve got a mild kidney infection, but I’m fine,’ he says nonchalantly. ‘I’m here because I’m interested to see what he’s got to say.’
We’re standing outside Clinton Middle School, Iowa, where Donald Trump is set to address his devoted supporters.
Richard insists he’s more agnostic. ‘I’m not a Trump cultist,’ he says. ‘I just think he did a decent job as President. The border wall. The economy. I know the issues with him. But I served my country. If I believed he was guilty of insurrection, I wouldn’t be voting for the guy.’
Many other Americans believe he shouldn’t have the chance.
In typically provocative fashion, Trump has scheduled his speech for January 6, the third anniversary of the day a mob stormed the US Capitol in an attempt to get his 2020 election defeat overturned.
Donald Trump participates in a Fox News Town Hall event at the Iowa Events Center in Des Moines, Iowa, January 10
Republican presidential candidate and former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Nikki Haley speaks during a campaign event ahead of the caucus vote, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, US, January 11
As America recoiled in disgust, it was widely believed Trump’s political career was over, the violence providing a grim but fitting conclusion to his divisive presidency.
But with the first ballot of the Republican Party primary season just 24 hours away, the polls – remarkably – indicate he’s a shoo-in for his party’s nomination, and, potentially, on course for a return to the White House.
Steve, who runs a local security business, thinks he understands why. ‘I’m a patriot. I’m not into culture wars.
I’ve got Democrat friends and Republican friends,’ he says. He gestures to the queue snaking up the street.
‘I’ve been talking to a couple of hillbillies up there and explained it’s not about hating people, it’s about delivering. And I think Trump did that.’
Trump’s supporters say the man bidding for office in 2024 is markedly different to the 2016 version. Disciplined. Focused. His messaging more sophisticated and targeted.
But the coppery and chaotically coiffured figure breezing into the school gymnasium seems remarkably similar to the man I saw rallying the faithful in West Virginia in 2018.
Guests wait for the start of a rally with Republican presidential candidate former President Donald Trump at Clinton Middle School on January 6
Opinion polls show him to be on 52 per cent, with his nearest rival, Nikki Haley, the former US Ambassador to the United Nations, on 17 per cent
He begins with a crass dig at former Democrat President Jimmy Carter, 99, whose wife recently died. And quickly follows up by mocking late senator John McCain, a Vietnam veteran who was tortured by the Viet Cong.
Then he hits his stride. ‘Millions of illegal aliens are invading from all over the world… Our middle class is being crushed by Joe Biden’s crippling inflation… Violent criminals are running wild in Democrat-run cities… Law enforcement is being weaponised against Christians… Our military has gone woke… We’re teetering on the brink of World War Three.’
Rather than show any contrition for the attack on the US Capitol perpetrated in his name, he doubles down, warning darkly: ‘We had this terrible situation with the election. We can’t let it happen again. If it happens again, this country is finished.’
To my eye, the New Trump seems very much like the Old Trump. Which, in a Midwestern state such as Iowa, should be a problem.
As you follow the I-80 highway west, the political map gradually reddens with Republicanism. Insurance and auto-part adverts give way to entreaties to ‘pray for the troops’ and ‘Unborn Lives Matter’ signs.
On the radio, gravel-throated singers warn: ‘Stomp on the flag and light it up? Well, try that in a small town. Around here, we take care of our own.’
But between 1988 and 2012, the Republicans won Iowa only once. And in 2016, the last time a competitive caucus was held here, Trump came second to Texas senator Ted Cruz.
So has the former President really got this year’s nomination in the bag?
Opinion polls show him to be on 52 per cent, with his nearest rival, Nikki Haley, the former US Ambassador to the United Nations, on 17 per cent.
Mason City, population 27,338, is the largest town in Cerro Gordo county, and something of a bellwether.
In the 2020 election, it was the county where Trump won by the slenderest margin. So if his 2024 bandwagon is to be derailed, this is where the wheels could start wobbling
To my eye, the New Trump seems very much like the Old Trump. Which, in a Midwestern state such as Iowa, should be a problem
In the 2020 election, it was the county where Trump won by the slenderest margin. So if his 2024 bandwagon is to be derailed, this is where the wheels could start wobbling.
The week before, Team Trump had breezed into town, causing quite the commotion.
Secret Service agents fanned out across the cornfields, questioning the local farmers; and the municipal airport – where Buddy Holly took his final flight – was brought to a standstill.
John, an IT consultant, went to Trump’s speech. He tells me: ‘I don’t like the name-calling but I think he talked some sense. Particularly on the wall. We’ve got a massive problem with big cities suddenly saying, ‘Actually, we don’t want migrants any more.’ So they send them here.
‘Recently, an undocumented migrant murdered a girl in Brooklyn. I don’t agree with everything Trump says, but on migration he’s got a point.’
Melissa, who runs a local housing charity, is not a Trump fan but admits: ‘A lot of decent people round here are.’ Lowering her voice, she adds: ‘I’m worried.’
I’m not seeing a New Trump but I am detecting a change in his base. In 2018, the vast majority of his audiences were MAGA (Make America Great Again) hat true-believers.
This year, his supporters seem relatively ordinary people, expressing concerns that would not be out of place on doorsteps in Britain. The economy. Immigration. Crime.
Which means Trump is now posing a problem for both his opponents and his own party.
In a cavernous conference room in the Des Moines Hilton, the cream of the Iowa Republican establishment is gathering for a fundraising breakfast. And many of those who’ve paid $10,000 for a table aren’t happy.
Dean Fisher, a five-term member of the state legislature, reflects the fears of many colleagues. ‘Trump’s not a team player.
He didn’t work with Republicans in the House and Senate in Washington, and he won’t work with us. Instead, we need people who can get things done,’ he drawls.
If the vaunted Iowan Grand Old Party machine is refusing to get behind Trump, it’s still hard to buy the idea that the 77-year-old former President is running away with the Republican nomination.
So as the first blizzard of 2024 sweeps in, I set off along roads littered with overturned trucks and abandoned cars to Lyon County, the most north-westerly part of the state, and a traditional Republican fortress.
As I pull up outside the picturesque post office on Rock Valley Main Street, it feels like I’ve arrived in Bedford Falls, from the classic movie It’s A Wonderful Life.
In the 2020 election, this and the surrounding towns voted for Trump by a staggering 83 per cent. But that was before the rioting, attempted election theft and court cases. Surely, amid such a huge block of support for Trump, there must be one or two people who are having doubts?
Jingles – ‘that’s what they call me’ – a former Marine who now rears pigs, rapidly puts me right. ‘I can’t wait for Trump to get back in,’ he tells me cheerfully. But what about the allegations of election manipulation? ‘Pah! That’s just the Democrats throwing stuff and seeing what sticks.’
Tom, who markets grain, nods. ‘Know why people like him? Because he’s not a politician. So he tells the truth. The others aren’t allowed to. But he can.’
And the storming of Congress? He laughs. ‘That was the CIA. Everyone knows that.’
Trump isn’t just leading in the polls. He’s again defying electoral gravity. And all conventional – some might say rational – political logic.
The day before I arrived in Iowa, a student at the local Perry High School turned up to class with a gun, killed a sixth-grader, injured five others, then shot himself. When asked about the incident, Trump replied: ‘That’s just horrible. It’s so surprising to see it here. But we have to get over it.’
When I arrive at Perry High, the SWAT teams and cameras are long gone. Old Glory flying at half-mast, blue ribbons tied to lampposts and a makeshift sign declaring ‘Perry Strong’ are the only indication of what has happened to this small town.
A short drive up the road, I pull up at the Get Some Guns store. Jordan, the friendly manager with an Iron Cross biker tattoo, invites me to inspect the weapons adorning his walls.
He explains that, with a quick background check, an assault rifle could be mine. Given the recent shooting in Perry, I ask if he’s had any local community reaction. He shrugs. ‘We don’t do politics in here. But people know this is a gun shop, and respect why people come in.’
Having spent some time in Iowa I’m finally starting to understand Trump’s Lazarus-like resurrection.
First, although there’s synergy between British and US politics, an historic and cultural chasm also separates them.
If children had been shot inside a British school, and a British politician had said ‘Get over it’, they would have been instantly and permanently expelled from public life. Here, it hardly merits a comment.
Then there is the staggering incompetence of Trump’s opponents. While Biden attempts to brand Trump a threat to democracy, self-styled progressives are agitating to remove him from the ballot in dozens of states.
The same liberal commentators who recoiled in horror at Trump’s threat to ‘lock up’ his 2016 rival Hillary Clinton are cheering on the numerous – and frequently spurious – court cases being brought against him.
And just as Democratic strategists argued a vote for Trump would mean a return to chaotic and disorderly government, it was revealed Biden’s Defence Secretary had been in hospital for three days without the President, White House or Pentagon even knowing.
But perhaps the most significant issue is that, in truth, the New Trump is a fiction. There’s only the Old Trump – the 2016 Trump, who challenged the status quo, said the things other politicians wouldn’t say and offered an alternative to millions of Americans who believe the system is broken for them.
This is undoubtedly the view of Trump voters in Mason City and Rock Valley. And they find it reassuring.
Donald Trump is supposed to be an unpredictable political disruptor. But the phrase I heard time and again was, ‘At least you know where you stand with him.’
My final stop is Springfield, Illinois, the home of Abraham Lincoln. In a modest building on 8th Street, visitors can walk through the tiny study where America’s 16th President composed his speeches, see the austere chair he sat on to read Shakespeare, and stand on the very spot where he decided to run for President, changing his country and his world for ever.
‘A house divided against itself cannot stand,’ he famously observed. This week in Iowa, Donald Trump will begin to put that belief to the test.