Welcome to the Deep Dive. Glad to be here. If
you're joining us today, you are, well, you're
probably someone who loves to learn. Oh, absolutely.
But you also fiercely protect your time. Yeah.
I mean, you want that deep understanding, right?
The rich historical context, the underlying mechanics
of how things actually work. The real substance.
Exactly. But you absolutely do not want to wade
through some... Some giant textbook of dry dates
and disconnected data points. Nobody has time
for that. No one. Well, you are in the exact
right place today. We are analyzing what might
look at first glance anyway, like the driest
document imaginable. It really does look dry.
It's literally a comprehensive Wikipedia roster
of United States senators from the state of Iowa.
Which sounds less than thrilling. Right. A list
of names and dates might not sound thrilling
on the surface, but stick with us here. our mission
today is to look far beyond the basic party affiliations
and the election years we're digging into the
good stuff we are going to decode this document
We want to uncover these hidden stories of, well,
structural dysfunction, intense procedural vengeance.
Well, the vengeance is my favorite part. It's
so good. And just the fascinating evolution of
political power in the Hawkeye State. This simple
chronological list is actually a roadmap of how
American political behavior has fundamentally
transformed. OK, let's unpack this. It genuinely
is a revealing document when you start to analyze
the patterns rather than just reading the names.
Right. But before we get to the procedural anomalies,
we should probably establish the baseline. Yeah.
Lay the groundwork for everyone. According to
the text, Iowa officially became a state. You
know, it was admitted to the union on December
28, 1846. 1846. Right. Now, contextually, 1846
is a highly combustible period in American history.
The national debate over the expansion. of slavery
was just intensifying. Carrying the country apart.
Exactly. And every single seat added to the United
States Senate carried massive implications for
the national balance of power. So it wasn't just
a formality. Not at all. The admission of a new
state wasn't just administrative paperwork. It
was a high stakes political event. And as part
of that admission, Iowa gets two Senate seats.
Two seats like every state. The document notes
these are class two and class three seats. And
for anyone who hasn't brushed up on congressional
rules recently, which is probably most of us.
Fair enough. The framers divided the Senate into
three distinct classes. This design ensures that
only about one -third of the chamber is up for
election every two years. It's a structural safeguard.
Right. Meant to prevent a single populist wave
from completely wiping out the institutional
memory of the legislative branch in one fell
swoop. It keeps things stable. Exactly. And looking
at the current era on this roster, Iowa's Senate
delegation provides a very stable modern baseline.
It is entirely Republican, currently held by
Chuck Grassley and Joni Ernst. So we have our
starting point. Statehood in late 1846 and a
modern era characterized by an unbroken political
alignment. A solid baseline. But the data showing
the journey from 1846 today reveals a system
that was anything but stable. It was chaos. Complete
chaos. What's fascinating here is the very first
entry on this entire chronological list. This
blew my mind. Remember, Iowa officially became
a state at the very end of 1846. They are admitted
to the Union. They finally have a voice. in this
incredibly tense national landscape. Right. The
logical assumption is that the state would immediately
dispatch its newly minted senators to Washington
to start asserting influence. I mean, that would
be the entire point of fighting for statehood.
You'd think so. You'd finally secure a seat at
the table where federal policy is being decided,
especially back then, in an era where federal
land grants and railroad roads were vital to
a new state's survival. It was make or break.
It's like fighting for a seat at the cool kid's
table and then just... not showing up. That's
exactly what they did. According to the roster,
they just leave the chairs completely empty.
Iowa didn't send a single senator to Washington
until almost two full years later. December of
1848. Both the class two and class three seats
sat totally vacant. And the official reason listed
in the document. Failed to elect. That the state
legislature failed to elect. It is a striking
failure of governance. How does that even happen?
Well, to understand how a state fumbles its federal
representation so completely, we have to look
at the mechanics of the era. The rules of the
game back then. Right. Prior to the ratification
of the 17th Amendment in 1913, United States
senators were not chosen by the general public.
You and I couldn't vote for them. No. They were
elected by the state legislatures. Okay. This
meant the process was entirely an inside game.
deeply vulnerable to local partisan standoffs.
The Iowa legislature was so bitterly divided
between different factions that they simply could
not secure a majority vote for any candidate.
They just bickered themselves into a corner.
They deadlocked. And as a result, the entire
state went unrepresented in the Senate for its
first two years of existence. That implies a
level of bureaucratic stubbornness that is honestly
hard to fathom. They really dug their heels in.
The legislators in Des Moines were essentially
willing to hamstring their own state's national
influence rather than compromise with their political
rivals. That's exactly what happened. It paints
a picture of early American politics that is
incredibly messy, just totally uncored. And this
wasn't just initial growing pains either. No,
it happens again. The document shows that this
exact type of vulnerability caused another massive
disruption just a few years later. With James
Harlan. Yes, the Harlan situation in 1855 takes
the dysfunction to a completely different level.
It's wild. The text notes that James Harlan was
a free soil candidate. Contextually, the Free
Soil Party was built around a single, highly
polarizing issue. Opposing the expansion of slavery
into the Western Territories. Right. By 1855,
this was the defining crisis of the nation. So
Harlan runs for the class three Senate seat.
The state legislature holds the election and
Harlan wins. He wins the vote. He travels to
Washington to take his oath and begin serving.
But then his election is entirely invalidated.
Tossed out completely. The document states the
election was thrown out because the Iowa State
Senate, the upper chamber of the very legislature
that was supposed to be running the election,
hadn't even participated in the vote. They boycotted
it. How does an election even proceed if half
of the electoral body just boycotts the process?
It was a calculated procedural maneuver. A loophole.
A huge loophole. The factions opposing Harlan's
free soil platform knew they might not have the
votes to defeat him outright in a joint session
of the legislature. So they just didn't show
up. They simply refused to convene. They boycotted
the joint session. arguing that without their
official presence, any vote taken by the lower
house was unconstitutional. That is so sneaky.
Harlan was seated initially, but his opponents
took the challenge all the way to the U .S. Senate
floor. And the U .S. Senate agreed with him.
The U .S. Senate eventually agreed with the procedural
argument. Harlan's mandate was revoked and he
was ousted. Think about the logistics of that
in the 1850s. Oh, the travel alone. Harlan endures
the grueling travel from Iowa to Washington,
D .C., unpacks his office. starts doing the job
of a senator, and is then told his hiring committee
was legally invalid. Pack your bags. He is sent
packing. And the data shows that Class 3 seat
plunges right back into a vacant status starting
in March of 1855. Vacant again. Harlan then sits
in political limbo for nearly two years. Two
years of waiting. Until the state legislature
finally gets its act together, resolves the standoff,
and officially re -elects him in January of 1857,
just so he can finish his own vacant turn. It
perfectly illustrates how fragile the democratic
machinery was in those early decades. A tactical
boycott in a local statehouse in the Midwest
literally dictated the ideological makeup of
the federal government in the years immediately
preceding the Civil War. It's staggering when
you think about it. It was an era where procedural
loopholes were weapons. Here's where it gets
really interesting, though. Oh, the 1920s. Yes.
If you assume that these procedural loopholes
were closed and everything became standardized
as the country matured, well... The roster from
the 1920s proves otherwise. It definitely does.
The document outlines one of the most bizarre
sequences of events in the entire timeline. It
centers on a Republican incumbent named Smith
W. Brookhart and his Democratic challenger, Daniel
F. Steck. The Brookhart -Steck saga is an absolute
masterclass in political maneuvering. By this
point in the 1920s, the 17th Amendment is in
place. So no more state legislature voting. Right.
Senators are now elected directly by the people.
So in 1924, Smith W. Brookhart runs for reelection
to his class two seat. OK. The initial returns
show him winning. He is certified as the winner.
He takes the oath and he resumes his career in
the Senate. But Daniel F. Steck refuses to concede.
He fights it. He files a formal challenge against
the election results. Now, challenging a statewide
election today involves. Rapid legal filings,
digital voter rolls, immediate media scrutiny.
It's fast now. But in 1924, challenging an election
meant a slow, agonizing process. You're transporting
physical paper ballots, convening special Senate
subcommittees and arguing over voter intent precinct
by precinct. It was a massive undertaking. The
timeline here is what is truly staggering. The
document notes that Steck's challenge isn't resolved
until April 12th, 1926. 1926. That is nearly
a year and a half into the six -year term. And
the culmination of that year and a half investigation
is that Steck successfully proves his case. He
wins. He wins. The Senate votes to unseat Burkhart.
and seats Steck in his place. It is a massive
upheaval. I can't even imagine. Brookhart had
been actively legislating, voting on bills, and
functioning as a U .S. senator for over a year,
only to be retroactively told he actually lost
the election. He's ousted in the middle of the
term. And Steck literally takes over his desk.
Most politicians who suffer a retroactive defeat
of that magnitude would likely retreat from public
life. You'd hide out for a while. It's humiliating.
Yeah. You'd expect them to join a private law
practice or at least sit out an election cycle
to rebuild their reputation. But not Burkhart.
Not Burkhart. He takes a completely different
route. He is ousted from the Class 2 seat in
April of 1926. According to the timeline, he
turns around and runs for Iowa's other Senate
seat, the Class 3 seat. In the exact same year.
In the general election that takes place in November
of 1926. He channels his ouster into immediate
electoral momentum. It's pure revenge. It really
is. He challenges the establishment, wins the
primary, wins the general election, and officially
takes the Class 3 seat in March of 1927. The
psychological dynamics of that return are just
fascinating. Picture the physical environment
of the United States Senate chamber in 1927.
Just visualize it. Daniel F. Steck, the Democrat
who spent two years grinding through a recount
to prove Brookhart was illegitimate, is finally
settling into his hard -won seat. He's finally
comfortable. And then, mere months later, Brookhart
walks right back through the mahogany doors,
having secured the state's other seat, and sits
down across the aisle. Hello, Em. For the next
several years, Stack and Brookhart are forced
to represent the state of Iowa together. The
animosity must have been palpable. It reveals
a profound level of political resilience, but
it also highlights how personalized and localized
these political battles were. It was personal.
It wasn't just about party platforms. It was
about individual vindication. You'd think after
seeing Brookhart claw his way back with such
ferocity, politicians of that era would treat
a United States Senate seat like the absolute
pinnacle of power. Something you guard with your
life. Something you rush to claim the second
you win it. But scrolling down the document to
the 1930s and 40s, there is a recurring anomaly
that suggests otherwise. The governor's? It involves
two different men. Clyde L. Herring elected in
1936, and George A. Wilson elected in 1942. Both
of these men won their Senate campaigns while
they were actively serving as the governor of
Iowa. Which isn't that unusual on its own. The
governor to senator pipeline is structurally
very common. Sure. The executive experience often
translates well to a statewide federal campaign.
But the specific footnotes attached to Herring
and Wilson's entries are highly unusual. The
U .S. Constitution mandates that congressional
terms begin in early January, traditionally January
3rd, following the passage of the 20th Amendment.
Right. But the text explicitly notes that both
Herring and Wilson. purposely delayed taking
their oaths of office in Washington. They just
didn't go. Herring waited until January 15th,
1937, and Wilson waited until January 14th, 1943.
They allowed their newly won federal Senate seats
to sit empty for nearly two weeks. And their
reason for this? The stated reason is that they
wanted to remain governor of Iowa for a few extra
days to finish out their gubernatorial terms
to the absolute final hour. If we connect this
to the bigger picture. It tells us volumes about
the shifting landscape of American federalism
and where politicians perceive true power to
reside. Where the real clout was. Exactly. In
the modern era, we tend to view the United States
Senate as the ultimate destination. The top of
the mountain. It comes with national media visibility,
massive fundraising networks, and influence over
trillion -dollar federal budgets. But in the
1930s and 40s, the balance of power felt very
different at the local level. Right. As the governor
of Iowa, you are the undisputed chief executive.
You are the boss. You command the state's National
Guard, you have direct appointment power over
state agencies, you sign or veto legislation,
and you are the singular focal point of state
politics. You are running the machine. Precisely.
But the moment you transition to the U .S. Senate,
especially as a freshman, your direct executive
authority drops to zero. You're just the new
guy. You become one out of 100. You are placed
at the absolute bottom of the seniority list,
which dictates your committee assignments, your
office space, and your ability to bring legislation
to the floor. It's like going from CEO to the
mailroom. It really is. By delaying their Senate
oaths, Herring and Wilson were making a calculated
choice. They prioritized clinging to tangible,
immediate executive power at the state level
over the prestige of joining the federal legislative
branch a few days early. They wanted those last
two weeks of being in charge. They wanted to
exercise every last drop of authority as chief
executive before submitting to the institutional
hierarchy of the Senate. So what does this all
mean? We have examined states so deadlocked,
they leave seats vacant for years, legislatures
boycotting their own elections. Bitter recount
rivalries. Right, the awkward seat swapping and
governors dragging their feet just to keep their
executive authority. When you step back and look
at the macro level timeline of this Wikipedia
roster, it really tells the story of two entirely
different political ecosystems. A tale of two
eras. There's the era of the revolving door.
and there is the modern era of the iron seat.
The contrast is mathematically stark. When you
analyze the 19th and early 20th century entries,
the landscape is defined by constant, unpredictable
turnover. Nobody stayed very long. The Senate
was rarely a terminal career destination. Careers
ended abruptly due to shifting local political
winds, health crises, or simply better opportunities
elsewhere. The sheer volume of attrition in those
early decades is remarkable. You have senators
who died in office creating sudden vacancies
figures like John H. Gere in 1900, Jonathan P.
Dolliver in 1910, and Lewis Murphy in 1936. Just
sudden stops. You have James W. Grimes resigning
due to failing health in 1869. But perhaps most
surprisingly, you have a significant number of
men who simply resigned because they viewed other
government roles as more appealing or prestigious
than the U .S. Senate. They voluntarily left.
Augustus C. Dodge resigned to accept an appointment
as the U .S. Minister to Spain. Not a bad gig.
James Harlan, the same man who fought for two
years to get his seat, eventually resigned to
become the U .S. Secretary of the Interior. A
path also taken by Samuel J. Kirkwood. Right.
William S. Kenyon left his Senate seat to become
a judge on the U .S. Court of Appeals. The Senate
was frequently treated as a stepping stone. Contrast
that constant churn with the modern era entries.
And we are looking at this purely through an
objective statistical lens, setting aside any
partisan analysis of the state's shift between
Democrats and Republican control over the centuries.
Just looking at the data. Exactly. The defining
characteristic of the modern data is incredible
longevity. People just stay. The prime statistical
example on this list is Chuck Grassley. The data
shows he has been serving continuously in his
class three seat since 1981. Since 1981. Making
him the longest serving senator in Iowa's history.
It is a fundamental transformation of the institution.
In the 1800s, local political machines, sudden
illnesses, and presidential cabinet appointments
constantly shuffled the deck of federal representation.
The timeline was inherently unstable. Today.
The data clearly shows that once a senator establishes
a foothold, the statistical likelihood of them
remaining in that exact seat for decades increases
exponentially. The overwhelming advantage of
incumbency replaces the chaotic turnover of the
early centuries. It changes the entire nature
of how a state interacts with the federal government.
When turnover is high, a state relies on shifting
alliances. But when tenure is measured in decades,
a state relies on accumulated seniority to secure
influence and federal resources. It completely
reframes how you look at a simple table of names
and dates. As we wrap up this analysis, I want
to ask you, the listener, what data points stood
out to you the most? There's a lot to choose
from. We journeyed from a newly admitted state
so paralyzed by factionalism that it couldn't
elect a senator for two years. To the grueling
procedural revenge of Smith W. Brookhart. Oh,
that was incredible. To the calculated delays
of mid -century governors holding onto power.
We promised that looking past the dry dates would
reveal a roadmap of changing American political
behavior. And the turbulent history hidden inside
these Iowa Senate seats proves exactly that.
This raises an important question, though, and
it is a concept I want to leave you to ponder.
OK, well, it's here. If you review the middle
decades of this roster, particularly the late
1800s and early 1900s, you will see a high volume
of entries terminating with the phrases lost
renomination or lost reelection. It's everywhere
in those middle years. Incumbents were routinely
ousted by their own party conventions or defeated
in general elections. But as you trace the timeline
into the modern era, those phrases largely vanish
from the data. These are gone. Replaced by a
repetitive sequence of reelected, reelected,
reelected. Right. It invites a provocative thought.
Is the modern overwhelming advantage of political
incumbency making our representation more stable,
reliable, and equipped to navigate complex federal
bureaucracy? Or, by mathematically locking in
politicians for decades, is the modern system
preventing the exact kind of dynamic, unpredictable,
and perhaps necessary political turnover that
defined the first century of our history? That
is a brilliant structural question to chew on.
Is decades -long stability a feature of a maturing
democracy, or is it a bug that stifles new voices?
It's worth thinking about. That is absolutely
something you can debate the next time politics
comes up. Thank you so much for taking this deep
dive with us today. We hope we proved that there
are incredible narratives of human ambition and
structural vulnerability hiding in the driest
of historical sources. If you simply know how
to read the patterns. Exactly. Keep asking questions,
keep looking beyond the surface data, and we
will catch you on the next deep dive.