Make-Believe Reagan

Anyone who's ever had a problem with houseflies knows that that's the best time to hit them with a swatter, which might explain Thompson's astonishing early success. One poll has him already in a dead heat with rage-virus victim Rudy Giuliani -- despite the fact that twenty-eight percent of Republicans have never even heard of him. While voters often leave Giuliani events wondering if they should hand this seemingly crank-mad Catholic the nuclear football, Thompson crowds walk out with the dazed smiles of recovery-room zipperheads, looking like they've just had their brains removed and couldn't be happier about it.

In his stump speech, the hulking Southerner paces the stage wearing a fatherly expression, giving a Gregory Peck-like pensive rub of the chin from time to time and hypnotically tossing out soothing ruralisms like "ain't" and "wadn't" that descend upon his audiences of besieged Decent Folk like gentle snowflakes. The pulse rate in the crowd goes down, not up. The gritted teeth and wizened anger lines around the eyes of these taut, white Silent Majority faces loosen and relax. Whereas minutes before they were collectively certain of imminent attack by an evil confederacy of Al Qaeda and Mexicans and queers ("What should society's position be on deviants?" one Iowan wonders at a Thompson event) all inspired to violence by their envy of the Decent Folk's shimmering new trucks and almost-new big-screen TVs and prized displays of Christian collectible figurines, they now feel if not safe, then soothed, in the right tent, at least. And their hearts flutter as this humble actor who gave up a big career on TV for them -- for them! -- tells them a story they like, a story about a world where America is still the good guy and no changes need to be made for things to turn out just fine in the end.

I watched this phenomenon in action over and over again. In a dead-still convention hall in Sioux City, Thompson meanders his way through a stump speech that appears to be about absolutely nothing at all -- he makes tamely self-deprecating jokes about his bald head ("You young fellas with good-lookin' heads of hair, enjoy it while you can"), ogles a standard-issue stuffed-animal-bearing Adorable Toddler ("You're a good Republican. Now let's show 'em your elephant") and talks away questions about specific policy issues with inspired flurries of utterly nonsensical hick'ry saws (his take on how to deal with the energy crisis: "We got to learn to skip 'n chew gum't the same time").

When asked about Iraq, Thompson goes into a scene straight out of Hollywood, talking about visiting wounded soldiers at Walter Reed hospital who just couldn't wait for their leg stumps to grow back so they could give Jerry some more hell at the front. "It's the ones who are most wounded who most want to rejoin their comrades," he says.

Two minutes after that last bit, I am outside talking to an older woman named Rita Fairfield, who pronounces herself completely convinced. She likes Thompson's take on national security, among other things, especially the part about staying the course. I ask her why she thinks the surge is working.

"From what I heard from the soldiers who are coming back, they're willing to give up life and limb," she says. "The ones that are coming back maimed seem to be the ones most ready to go back to battle."

Huh, I think. Where did I just hear that?