The story Ron DeSantis isn't telling is his own

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has a classic American dream story.

He almost never tells it.

As a middle-class kid, his baseball skills helped his team to the Little League World Series — not that many Iowans would know it, despite his visits to all 99 of the state's counties during his campaign for the Republican nomination. After graduating from Harvard Law School, he opted to join the Navy and was deployed to Iraq, which he usually only mentions in passing. His wife, Casey DeSantis, was diagnosed with breast cancer early in his governorship, but he almost never talks about what it took to get her through it — while raising three young children — or what he learned.

And while Mr. DeSantis often appears out and about with his children, he is more likely to describe them by their ages (7, 5 and 3) than by their names (Madison, Mason and Mamie). Even Ms. DeSantis, a former news anchor who is seen as providing a human touch, tends to call him “the governor” instead of “Ron” at his rallies.

If there was ever a time when Mr. DeSantis could share more about his biography, it would be now, as his hopes for a strong finish in the Iowa caucuses, and perhaps his entire presidential campaign, appear to be fading. He follows former President Donald J. Trump by more than 35 points in Iowa and that almost certainly will happen things are getting worse in New Hampshire on January 23. Former South Carolina Governor Nikki Haley has overtaken him in most polls.

But in a speech outside Des Moines on Thursday, just four days before the Iowa caucuses, when DeSantis appealed to Benjamin Franklin and the sacrifices needed to preserve the republic, including the need to “put on a uniform sometimes” ', he didn't. take the opportunity to mention his own service or the fact that he is the only veteran in the race. He talked about the “biomedical security regime,” ballot harvesting, social credit scores and FICA, but said next to nothing about his family.

Those who know Mr. DeSantis describe him as intensely private, averse to personal boasts and more at ease with policy than with people. He is convinced that Republican voters care more about his conservative bona fides and his performance as governor than about his life story and personality. Two former advisers said he had long resisted efforts to persuade him to open up.

Mr. DeSantis' reluctance to tell his own story has left him defined by others, especially Mr. Trump, who branded him as inept and weak. And it has made him seem anemic compared to Ms. Haley, a daughter of immigrants who weaves her life experience into almost every stump speech.

“I don't mind going on the record to say that I pushed him a little bit to not be afraid to tell that story,” said Representative Chip Roy of Texas, who endorsed Mr. DeSantis and campaigned with him in Iowa, during an interview in West Des Moines this week. “Because it's a good one. But it is to his credit. It's just not in his DNA to want to trumpet things like that about himself, because it was never about him.”

American politics relies as much on storytelling as it does on policy. Bill Clinton was Hope's man. John McCain was a maverick, a war hero who put country first. Barack Obama represented hope and change. Mr. DeSantis' campaign doesn't even have a slogan on a bumper sticker.

That feeling of alienation became clear during the campaign. His stump speech is about facts, not feelings. When Mr. DeSantis appeals to his life experiences, it can sound more like bullet points he crosses off on a resume than moments voters can identify with.

He often says he is the only veteran running; he rarely tells stories about his time in Iraq or Guantánamo Bay, or about the soldiers he worked with – few of whom campaigned with him. And when he talks about enlisting after the September 11 terrorist attacks, he sometimes doesn't talk about it in the usual frame of sacrifice for his country — but by pointing out the financial opportunities he sidestepped along the way by opting out to see an easy career. in the field of corporate law.

Although Mr. DeSantis considered announcing his bid for the White House in May at a baseball field in his hometown of Dunedin, Florida, he ultimately opted for a much less intimate venue: a livestream Twitter forum with Elon Musk. The event was audio only. Viewers couldn't even see the face of the man who wanted to be their next president.

“A gifted politician takes a story about his or her background and weaves it into a story about how he or she understands you and your concerns, your challenges and your fears,” said Whit Ayres, a Republican political consultant who served in the House during his term in office. Mr. DeSantis worked. ran for governor for the first time in 2018. “They build an emotional connection with people, and that's just not part of his skill set.”

A strong personal story seems especially crucial for any candidate seeking to dethrone Mr. Trump. who has become a master of his own story, aided by his hit television show 'The Apprentice'.Of the remaining contenders, Ms. Haley is the most explicit about the way her biography informs her politics. She even found an opportunity to do so in a 15-minute speech to a trade group for the renewable fuel industry in Iowa on Thursday.

“The reason I'm running is because my parents came here 50 years ago to an America that was strong and proud and full of possibility,” Ms. Haley told the crowd. “I want them to get to know that country again.”

She then quoted her husband and his fellow soldiers (“I want them to know what their sacrifice matters”); her daughter and son-in-law, who struggled to afford a house (“The American dream is moving away from us”); and her son, a senior in college (“I'm tired of seeing him write papers about things he doesn't believe in just to get an A”).

It's the kind of human connection that voters say they would like to hear more of from Mr. DeSantis.

Jessie Eben, 35, who heard Mr. DeSantis speak this week in Rock Rapids, Iowa, said she already knew a lot about his policies and wanted him to be “sincere” and talk more about his experiences “as a human being.”

“I think you have to have empathy to be a good leader,” Ms. Eben explained.

Of course, Mr. DeSantis faces a host of challenges that have nothing to do with the way he presents himself to voters, including the indictments against Mr. Trump that Republicans rallied around the former president, as well as a messy campaign structure that has produced a lot of negative news. stories. A good life story is also not an antidote for a bad candidate. Senator Tim Scott of South Carolina – who had perhaps the most compelling and oft-told biography of the race – dropped out early.

David Polyansky, Mr. DeSantis' deputy campaign manager, said Iowans had gotten to know Mr. DeSantis through his constant travels around the state.

“People across the state have had the opportunity to meet and hear him in person, from cafes and dinners to town halls,” Mr Polyanksy said. “He answered their questions, he shook their hands and he took pictures with them over and over again.”

But instead of telling his story directly to voters, Mr. DeSantis often lets his wife and his political allies describe his life when they introduce him at events, especially when it comes to his service as a military lawyer.

“As a Navy man, I don't think it's in his character to brag,” said Dave Vasquez, a spokesman for Never Back Back Down, a super PAC supporting Mr. DeSantis.

Earlier in the campaign, Never Back Down produced a series of television ads highlighting Mr. DeSantis' biography. One of them explained that he was “the grandson of a steelworker” and named his Bronze Star. Another, titled “Grit,” talked about how he paid his way through college with blue-collar jobs.

But Mr. DeSantis rarely gets personal where it seems most natural. His memoir does not recount a conversation with another human being until he reaches his senior year at Yale.

He has also largely avoided talking about the profound tragedies life has brought him — unlike President Biden, who often speaks about what he has learned from grief.

In November, Mr. DeSantis publicly announced for the first time at a gathering of conservative Christians in Iowa that his wife had suffered a miscarriage earlier in their marriage. However, he chose not to dwell on the moment, calling it a “difficult matter” and a test of faith. During a CNN town hall meeting this month, he was asked to discuss his sister's sudden death, something he rarely does. He called it the kind of “loss that affects you the most,” but showed little outward emotion.

“When they asked about his sister's death, he was very analytical about it, but I think that's kind of who he is,” said Bob Vander Plaats, an influential evangelical leader in Iowa who supports Mr. DeSantis. “There's no doubt he cares deeply about it, but he won't wear it on his sleeve.”

Despite his apparent emotional restraint, Mr. DeSantis visibly has more energy when his wife and children are with him at campaign events. When they are away, he calls his wife or video chats with the children after almost every campaign stop, according to five people who know him.

It's exactly the kind of authentic, moving detail that his supporters seem to appreciate.

In Le Mars, Iowa, Mr. DeSantis told the crowd Thursday that his son had begun parroting some of his best lines from the previous night's debate to Ms. Haley. The crowd chuckled.

Arlene Lang, 83, said she was glad Mr. DeSantis had indulged in banter that “wasn't that serious.”

“Then everyone listens a little better,” said Mrs. Lang.

Reporting was contributed by Molly Longman of Rock Rapids and Le Mars, Iowa; Shane Goldmacher from Des Moines and Clive, Iowa; And Catie Edmondson from Grimes, Iowa.