It's late on a weekday morning and I'm sitting in an editorial meeting at the Des Moines Register. It's a long way home for a Bronx boy, but I needed the job. Across the table from me is Alan Keyes -- a conservative candidate for president. He's insisting that the moral decline of America is at the root of all the country's problems. We're five minutes into it and the interview is going reasonably well. Keyes has never held public office and he's just said something about how he hates politics, hates the travel, the fund-raising, the whole schmear. I ask Keyes why -- since he's at 3- or 4-percent in the polls -- he doesn't just pack it in. And he explodes in my face.

"BECAUSE I CAN DO SOMETHING FOR THIS COUNTRY THAT NOBODY ELSE CAN DO." Then he gets into this jag about polls and how they're designed to discourage true believers like himself from participating in the country's political process. I'm looking and listening to Alan Keyes, but in my head I'm seeing every bad comedy routine involving a hysterical preacher. It's all down hill from there.

Less than 24 hours later I'm in the same room and Bill Bradley is droning on about health care, tax cuts, farm policy and the need to change our approach to defense. Several times he mentions that "The Cold War is over." It's about 10 minutes after 8 in the morning, Bradley's talking more slowly than usual, and I'm having a hard time staying awake.

I should mention that this is Iowa, where they hold the first test of strength in the presidential race. To appreciate the impact this has -- the excitement this generates -- you have to understand that not much else goes on here. There are no mountains, no ocean, no big league sports. The weather is 9 months of paralyzing cold followed by 3 months of searing heat. Folks from hotspots like Nebraska, Kansas and the Dakotas make fun of Iowa. But every four years this state is ground zero in the presidential universe. Journalists and political junkies from all over the planet find their way here. Crossing paths with White House wannabes is easier than finding good Italian food.

I've had bagels and lox with Dan Quayle and listened while a group of orthodox Jews pelted him with questions about Israel. I've been accused of sexism for saying Liddy Dole is a control freak. I had to keep a straight face when Steve Forbes -- showing his knack to connect with the average Iowan -- called the International Monetary Fund "the most destructive force in the world." And I had to beg off when George W. invited me down to Texas to go fishing.

It's been like that since early spring when guys like Pat Buchanan and Lamar Alexander were opening headquarters, using large ceremonial scissors to cut oversized ribbons. They were laying out their vision for the new millennium, promising to restore America's greatness and making a lot of noise about oral sex --without actually using those words.

By late summer their run for the GOP nomination was a bad memory. Dole and Quayle went with them. But there's still eight left -- six Republicans, two Democrats. That's enough to ensure that every second ad on the TV and every third one on the radio is Al Gore promising more than he can deliver. Or Bradley warning you Gore is promising more than he can deliver.

I suspect those ads and the idea of being waist-deep in politicians is partly responsible for making folks crazy. Folks like Bobbi and Kenny McCaughey who are using their septuplets to raise money for Gary Bauer. Fork over $250 and you get to see the kids -- and these are folks who can't say two words without mentioning Jesus Christ; folks who promised never to exploit those babies.

And I suspect the general media saturation has other folks thinking they're missing out on something. It's got people making dinner reservations at high-end restaurants, not because of the food or the idea of a night out. They're hoping to catch a glimpse of Wolfe Blitzer and Jeff Greenfield having a late-night meal at a downtown Des Moines chophouse. Or maybe to see James Carville sitting at a brew pub bar with John McCain. Or getting a look at Bill Russell and Dave DeBusschere after a Bradley fund-raiser.

Some waiters are still talking about the night in '96 when Dan Rather dropped a grand on wine and steak dinners for his 16-member crew. Again, this is a town where you can still find a decent house for $80,000 and where local TV anchors get hit up for autographs. And here you are eating dinner in the same room with the next leader of the free world and a media star whose multi-million dollar contract got a mention in People magazine. Heady stuff.

But come Tuesday it'll be over. It'll be New Hampshire's turn. Then for about three years folks around here will be talking about the weather and hogs. And there will probably be times when I wouldn't mind sitting down with old Alan Keyes and asking him something just to see him explode.