Once upon a time, a milkman's son from St. Louis started out for Des Moines driving one of those pickups Howard Dean was talking about over the Internet the other day. But the Missouri tortoise wasn't sporting either a Confederate Flag or Bush sticker, so Howie's wireless Internet camera didn't spot the Congressman until he stopped at a Stuckey's to use the pay phone. Dick Gephardt had made the long haul back and forth to the Corn State capital 500 times, always stopping here to get some pecan pie and use the same pay phone trick. He would call his campaign HQ collect, and they would refuse to accept. Then, a minute later, they would call back, laughing how they were scamming old AT&T.

While they laughing, Howie's Hackers would have made about 500,000 Internet contacts in the Hawkeye State, as the former Vermont Governor was flying coast-to-coast picking up union and other endorsements. "Life without Dick," the movie with Jessica Parker, was playing on Howie's laptop as the Vermonter held Court in one of his chat room type-meetings with supporters across the Corn State. Next to him, Joe Trippi was knitting, using the latest voice-recognition software to edit his files, keeping track of those to be denied access to all electrical impulses come the Revolution November 2004. " Life without Dick" has naturally become the top rental for all Deaniacs, male and female I must add, in case any of my readers should feel I am not sufficiently politically correct.

Back in his weather-beaten pickup, Dick Gephardt settles in for the long drive, the engine burning oil, a couple of old-fashioned Playboy pinups on the dashboard, his aide reading about Jessica Parker and her new role in "Sex in the City." It is, shall we say, subtitled "Life with Dick," precisely what the Missouri Congressman has in mind for Democrats in 2004, and hopefully the country as a whole.

"I should be in Des Moines in three hours" says Gephardt, his aide nodding, watching the SUVs speed by with "Democrats Against the Bush War" stickers next to their IOWA license plates. One, two, three, four in a row rush by, all with a "Caucus Goer" on the left side of the back bumper.

"Get some sleep" says Gephardt, and the aide smiles. He would awake in three hours. Of course, in that period, the Deaniacs will have made 3 million Internet contacts, raising another $300,000, and mesmerized 30 national reporters who are trying to make it seem as if they actually understand Internet politics with their stories about how the landlined are no match anymore for the wireless.

So the Congressman trucks on, the vehicle made at that Ohio plant closed down after the Internet entrepreneurs figured it would be cheaper to make the cars in Mexico or India, or some say Iraq if they can cut the right deal with the remnants of Mr. Hussein's entourage once Bush has spent $400 billion building up the country's infrastructure.

It's a good truck, rebuilt basically with parts made in foreign countries. But it does say "Made in America" next to the "NAFTA Sucks" bumper sticker. His aide, a 72 year-old ex-union organizer whose father was the assistant to Samuel Gompers, decides not to sleep, and starts reading his autographed version of the Aesop Fable The Tortoise and the Hare.

Back in the wireless world, Howie's Hackers are busy at work, updating the files on every adult in Iowa, making sure the former Governor will know precisely what to say on the campaign trail when he meets any of them. Reporters have not seen the small receiver planted into his head right above and behind the left ear. Truth is, Mr. Dean himself doesn't know it's there, Joe Trippi having not told the boss. All the senior Deaniac staff have these receivers in their crania so they can communicate without moving their lips.

The Governor's receiver allows the staff to instantly provide him with the most personal data on any voter he meets, and it makes Dean seem perfectly natural when he amazingly tells the voter they both like the same TV dinner or that he Vermonter knows how much the voter is worried about the 11.4 percent increase in their health care premium. "I can't believe they notified you about it on your birthday" Dean might say, leaving the voter slack jawed.

"He really understands me" the voter invariably tells the observing reporter, as both are amazed at the former Governor's ability to connect in a way that far exceeds Bill Clinton's "feel your pain thing." The reporter and voter assume it is Dean's medical training that allows him to not just feel the pain, but sense enough of the personal situation to be Dr. Welby.

But of course, no one -- the candidate, the voter, the reporter and of course the opposition -- know that the Deaniacs are using the Internet to find, store and then transmit this personal data.

How do the Deaniacs really do it? Here is how it works: Howie is on Main Street, targeting voters who are leaning to Gephardt. He shakes hands as his aide, Madame Defarge aka Joe Trippi, whispers the name of the voter into his wireless mike. The name is then instantly transmitted to the Dean Internet Site, and run through the Files. When the voter is confirmed as a Gephardt leaner, then the necessary personal data is sent to the receiver in Mr. Dean's ear.

"So I understand you saw Congressman Gephardt the other day" the Governor says, as the thought is transmitted instantly into his mind.

Naturally, the voter is startled. "Why, yes" she says, astounded that Mr. Dean would know that.

"I am sorry he didn't address your personal health care coverage situation" responds the former Governor, the receiver in his head picking up key voter material. "I have studied your situation, and here is what I would do as President about it," says Dean, the receiver again picking up the electronic communications of a solution that has been instantly developed by his Internet mavens.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Dean" says the voter. Naturally, it could be a mortgage payment issue, troubles at school for the voter or her child, a loved one in Iraq, a concern about the price of hogs or corn, or any issue, no matter how arcane. Somewhere in the Deaniacs' File Room is that voter's personal history, instantly accessible to Mr. Dean's brain through the receiver in his head.

"My pleasure" says the Governor, his brain already focusing on the next voter. "So you missed Mr. Gephardt last week, I understand" he says to the senior citizen, who nods in amazement that the Vermonter would know such a thing. "Yeah, my car wouldn't start" the voter says.

"I think it was the intake valve" says Dean, a report of the voter's car repair bill displayed in his brain. "But I think you got ripped off on the price of the foreign made battery," Dean continues, as the voter nods in agreement.

Three hours later, Dick Gephardt chugs into Des Moines, having lost about 100 sure Caucus voters as former Governor Dean picks off his voters one by one.

"Dean did it again" says the Missourian's campaign manager as they huddle in the cramped HQ near the boarded-up factory on the Westside of town. "He got Sally and Mrs. Nash."

"Darn," said Gephardt, having spent a whole day with each woman just last week. "They were solid, I thought," he said.

"Dean wowed them as usual" said the campaign manager. "They said it was like he knew everything about them."

Gephardt sighed. He pulled an old address book out of his torn jacket, and re-read the notes he had scribbled on both women. "I guess I missed something" he remarked.

"Tomorrow's another day" said the former Democratic Minority Leader in the House of Representatives. "I think we should drive out to the Farm Bureau event tomorrow, there are always some solid Caucusgoers there."

So he went to bed. He would sleep for 7 hours. In that time, Howie's Hackers would be surfing the NET, finding out all the information available on every person in Iowa. Then the data would categorized and storied for instant retrieval.

"I don't know how Dean does it," Gephardt would tell his wife over the hotel phone the next morning, after his aides awoke him with reporters of another 100 former supporters having gone over to the Vermonter's side during the night. "The guy must be the greatest communicator in the world."

"You know," Dean was telling his aides at the same time during their morning Internet chat room strategy session, "I am really getting the hang of this. All those things you are asking me to speed read every morning must be working, since I don't seem to remember any of it until the moment I meet these people."

"It's like this stuff just pops into my head," Dean says. Trippi nods, telling the candidate he is really getting the hang of things. But given the speed of his campaign, there isn't any time to explore the phenomena in more depth.

"Sorry Dick," says an old-union guy at the Farm Event. The man had backed Gephardt strongly in 1988 and was one of his earliest boosters this time. "I had a good chat with Governor Dean the other day, and, well, he just seemed to really know what I felt."

Slowly, Dick Gephardt crossed a line through the man's name in that weather-beaten notebook. "What about your wife?" the Missourian asked.

"She is still with you" he said as Dick smiled. "Howard Dean called the other day to talk to her about the problems she was having with a boss at work. But she wasn't home."

Gephardt smiled again. But he knew it was only a matter of time before it would be necessary to cross her name off the list.

"I need to use the telephone," he said, excusing himself.

"The pay phones are over there," said the farmer.

As the Missourian walked to the phone, the Deaniacs would make 100,000 Internet contacts, all targeted to Gephardt backers and leaners in Iowa.

"How do I know so much about people I never met?" the Governor asked one of his aides as they taxied at the Ames airport for takeoff. "It's uncanny."

But his campaign was moving so fast, he was already on to another subject before it was time to answer. An aide had the Internet camera set up and Howie was talking with folks in South Carolina, as his aides huddled in the back of the plane, watching "Life Without Dick."

At the same, Dick Gephardt was at a feed store, asking the guy behind the counter whether he could use the pay phone. " Sure," said the guy, "but everyone around here uses email. It's a wireless world now, bud."

(c) Copyright. All rights reserved. Paul Goldman. 2003