Rahm Emanuel was seething.
The head of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee was hurtling down an asphalt road in upstate New York on the 47th trip of his ferocious effort to win control of the House. A lecture, even from political consultant James Carville, was the last thing he needed.
In just 12 days, his campaign would end either in a historic victory -- a triumph that almost no one believed possible when he took the job nearly two years ago -- or in colossal failure.
And here were Carville and pollster Stan Greenberg telling him he had to make each of his handpicked candidates shift from attack mode and strike a conciliatory note in their final campaign ads.
"James. No, James, YOU LISTEN," Illinois Rep. Emanuel barked into a cellphone before releasing a string of profane invectives more intense than usual. "Can you listen for one ... minute? I'm working these campaigns all the time. The campaigns all have different textures."
His wiry body tensed, his voice breaking with stress. Emanuel shouted, "If you don't like what you see, I highly recommend you pick up the ... phone and do it yourself."
The moment captured Rahm in full, a portrait in power of a brutally effective taskmaster.
During the last year, the Chicago Tribune had exclusive access to strategy sessions, private fundraisers and other moments that helped shape the victory. It agreed not to print details until after the election.
Emanuel helped end an era of GOP rule in large measure by remaking the Democratic Party in his image.
Democrats had never raised enough money. Emanuel, a savvy fundraiser who honed his skills under Chicago Mayor Richard M. Daley and then-Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton, yelled at colleagues and threatened his candidates into generating a record amount of campaign cash.
Democrats had a history of appeasing party constituencies. Emanuel tore up the old litmus tests on abortion, gun control and other issues. With techniques that would make a Big Ten football coach blush, he recruited candidates who could mount tough challenges in some of America's reddest patches.
Democrats had blanched at hardball. Emanuel, jokingly called "Rahmbo" even by his mother, muscled weaker Democrats out of races in favor of stronger ones, and ridiculed the chairman of his own party.
In January 2005, when House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi of San Francisco asked Emanuel to head the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, experts predicted the party would take perhaps three seats. On Tuesday, it picked up at least 28.
In a world where lawmakers refer to one another as "my distinguished colleague," Emanuel, 46, is sometimes unable to get through a single sentence without several obscenities. His politics are centrist, but his style is extremist. The top of his right middle finger was severed as a teen, adding to his air of toughness -- especially when he extends that middle finger, which he does with some regularity.
For all his forcefulness, Emanuel was not responsible for the political climate, in which public sentiment was turning against the conduct of the war in Iraq and in which sex and corruption scandals were racking the Republican Party.
But with creative recruiting, unremitting fundraising and a national message, he positioned the Democrats to exploit that climate.
The Republicans have had on their side ruthless closers like Karl Rove, Tom DeLay and Lee Atwater, the late mudslinging mastermind credited with getting President George H.W. Bush elected.
In Emanuel, Democrats had their counterpart, a tactician of a caliber the party had not seen since the young Lyndon B. Johnson converted the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee into a power base.
Emanuel's thin, unimposing frame still hints at the teen and college years devoted to ballet; his voice sometimes screeches, and his words can get jumbled in public speeches.
But his political style isn't gentle or uncertain. Some Republicans cope by using humor.
In the House gym in July, Rep. Christopher Shays (R-Conn.) told Emanuel he knew he'd been targeted. Emanuel was planning to spend $3 million to defeat the popular moderate.
"I'll tell you what," Shays said. "Just give me the $3 million, and I'll retire voluntarily."
Emanuel's strategy was to keep the opposition uncomfortable. If a House Republican took a vote that he hoped no one in his district would notice, such as supporting a Bush budget cut, Emanuel immediately came up with a news release that he sent to the Republican's hometown newspaper. Then he sent it to the lawmaker's office to, as he said, "[mess] with their heads."
He had the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee designate one Republican the "rubber stamp of the week" and another the "crony of the week." Republicans who received money from drug makers or oil companies were ridiculed as lackeys of special interests.
