I saw the future exactly 30 summers ago while on assignment in Iowa. I just didn't know it.

But that future — the mobilization of angry voters, the aggressive rhetoric, the twin senses of resentment and rebellion — was on full display in a van in north-central Iowa. Out the window were corn and soybean crops as far as the eye could see. In the front passenger seat was Patrick Buchanan, who had made the transition from commentator to presidential contender. I was in the back, taking notes and, amid this fusillade of grievance, hardly aware of the greater import of what I was witnessing:

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