One hand clutches a crisply folded U.S. flag with a concealed weapons certification protruding; the other slides discreetly into a denim coat pocket. Behind the beaming state lawmaker, a silhouette target with bullet holes square in the chest. Next to her nameplate, a "No New Taxes!" sticker.
In Bachmann's quick rise from state lawmaker to unofficial tea party ambassador in Washington, her brazen style has kept Republican leaders on edge and appealed to those in the GOP searching for a fresh, unfettered voice. She relishes the spotlight and seldom cedes ground.
Her unpredictable edge was on display during Monday night's GOP presidential debate in New Hampshire when, out of the blue, she announced that she had filed papers to be an official candidate for the Republican nomination.
"I do what I say and I say what I mean and I don't change what I do based on a political wind or desire to necessarily move up the next ladder," Bachmann told The Associated Press this spring in an interview in which she stressed her eagerness to "take on not only the opposing party but my own party as well to do what I think is right."
Known for piercing and sometimes inaccurate commentary, she regularly aggravates political foes and provides ample fodder to late-night comics. She once falsely claimed taxpayers would be stuck with a $200 million per day tab for Democratic President Barack Obama's trip to India. She mistakenly identified New Hampshire as the site of the Revolutionary War's opening shots. (That key American moment occurred in Massachusetts.)
While some see her as a novelty candidate, she's also regarded as a skilled, resilient politician.
"I know people like to pick at her," said Dan Nygaard, a local Republican official during Bachmann's early days in politics. "But you can never underestimate her."
Bachmann, 55, was born Michele Marie Amble in Waterloo, Iowa. Her father's engineering job led the family, including Michele and three brothers, to Minnesota when she was in elementary school. By high school, her parents had divorced. She stayed with her mother, who later remarried.
Michele Amble married college boyfriend Marcus Bachmann, a clinical therapist. The youngest of their five children will soon head off to college.
Religion has always factored heavily into Bachmann's life. She was in the last class to graduate from Oral Roberts University's now-defunct Coburn School of Law, a school dedicated to educating lawyers with Christian values. (Anita Hill, later involved in the scandal that nearly sank Clarence Thomas' Supreme Court nomination, taught a couple of Bachmann's classes.)
Until about two years ago, the Bachmanns were members of the Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in Stillwater, Minn., part of a conservative denomination that adheres to strict doctrine and excludes women from church leadership roles. The pastor there, the Rev. Marcus Birkholz, told the AP that the family stopped attending regularly when they moved to another Twin Cities suburb.
In Bachmann's quick rise from state lawmaker to unofficial tea party ambassador in Washington, her brazen style has kept Republican leaders on edge and appealed to those in the GOP searching for a fresh, unfettered voice. She relishes the spotlight and seldom cedes ground.
Her unpredictable edge was on display during Monday night's GOP presidential debate in New Hampshire when, out of the blue, she announced that she had filed papers to be an official candidate for the Republican nomination.
"I do what I say and I say what I mean and I don't change what I do based on a political wind or desire to necessarily move up the next ladder," Bachmann told The Associated Press this spring in an interview in which she stressed her eagerness to "take on not only the opposing party but my own party as well to do what I think is right."
Known for piercing and sometimes inaccurate commentary, she regularly aggravates political foes and provides ample fodder to late-night comics. She once falsely claimed taxpayers would be stuck with a $200 million per day tab for Democratic President Barack Obama's trip to India. She mistakenly identified New Hampshire as the site of the Revolutionary War's opening shots. (That key American moment occurred in Massachusetts.)
While some see her as a novelty candidate, she's also regarded as a skilled, resilient politician.
"I know people like to pick at her," said Dan Nygaard, a local Republican official during Bachmann's early days in politics. "But you can never underestimate her."
Bachmann, 55, was born Michele Marie Amble in Waterloo, Iowa. Her father's engineering job led the family, including Michele and three brothers, to Minnesota when she was in elementary school. By high school, her parents had divorced. She stayed with her mother, who later remarried.
Michele Amble married college boyfriend Marcus Bachmann, a clinical therapist. The youngest of their five children will soon head off to college.
Religion has always factored heavily into Bachmann's life. She was in the last class to graduate from Oral Roberts University's now-defunct Coburn School of Law, a school dedicated to educating lawyers with Christian values. (Anita Hill, later involved in the scandal that nearly sank Clarence Thomas' Supreme Court nomination, taught a couple of Bachmann's classes.)
Until about two years ago, the Bachmanns were members of the Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in Stillwater, Minn., part of a conservative denomination that adheres to strict doctrine and excludes women from church leadership roles. The pastor there, the Rev. Marcus Birkholz, told the AP that the family stopped attending regularly when they moved to another Twin Cities suburb.
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