Ensconced among Iowans, campaign volunteers, and donors, Austan and I began to lead our section in a series of unsophisticated chants. “Give me an O!” I shouted. Austan wrapped his arms above his head in the shape of an O. The bleacher roared, “OOOOOOOOO!” The next morning, a picture of us making the large O sign and shouting at the top of our lungs was splashed on the pages of the Des Moines Register. We looked like drunken members of a fraternity rather than senior advisers to a potential president, but the photo captured the exaltation of the night.
