At a rally in Decorah on Monday, U.S. Sen. Bernie Sanders called Danielle Burg onto stage. She had been paying $1,750 a month for health insurance, but recently enrolled in Medicare so her costs went down.

At a high school assembly in Northwood earlier that day, Sanders ditched the lectern-pounding and spread his philosophy with questions about fairness and equality. By the end, the style eroded some of 18-year-old Sarah McCormick's political apathy.

At a Des Moines beer hall Sunday, Ivan Guerra, a teacher, told the Vermont senator about how his family needed to ration medication to pay for his son's insulin — not the most horrific tale at the town hall, but one Guerra felt compelled to share after hearing others' stories.

As a Democratic candidate for president, Sanders frequently pushes his policies pugnaciously, framing them as moral imperatives as much as practical matters.

But in his recent four-day swing through Iowa, he balanced his high-volume sermons with stories from his supporters.

Sanders is the only current Democratic presidential candidate who also ran in 2016. In that race, he battled eventual nominee Hillary Clinton to a near tie on caucus night.

Now, Sanders is in a clear third place, according to the Iowa Poll released Saturday. He has slipped from being the first choice for 16% of likely Democratic caucusgoers in June to 11% in September. The gap between favorable and unfavorable feelings toward him had also narrowed.

Respondents who watched the September televised debate, where Sanders — who approached the debate stage with his typical fervor, but with a hoarse rasp — were more likely to have an unfavorable view of him.

The debate-stage Sanders, whose style is described by some, including one of his 2020 rivals, as "yelling", was less present in his late September Iowa swing, Instead, Sanders often gave up the microphone to let others speak.

They moved his well-established policy positions — free tuition at colleges and trade schools, "Medicare for All," and waging war against the ultra wealthy — from rally stage to kitchen table.

“What if I said, 'Danielle, when you were on private insurance, instead of spending $20,000 a year to insurance companies for premiums, I was going to end that completely — no out of pocket expenses, you're going to spend no more than $200 a year on prescription drugs — and maybe, this is hypothetical, your taxes going up $10,000. Does that sound good to you?'" Sanders asked Burg, the Minnesotan who paid $1,750 a month in premiums before qualifying for Medicare.

“Yes!” Burg responded. “Why don’t people get it?”

At his Iowa events, some of the personal stories are arranged in advance. But others are organic — hearing the stories of others inspires Sanders supporters to tell their own.

Guerra, the teacher, was part of a town hall audience at the Iowa Tap Room on Sunday organized around the subject of absolving medical debt.

A doctor who served the extremely impoverished told of his wife keeping her suffering silent until her colon cancer was fatal. She didn't want to worry him with medical bills.

An Iowa woman spoke of losing a pregnancy while waiting for insurance at a new job to kick in, and a medical debt payment plan that would mean monthly reminders for decades of her lost child and fertility. More stories followed and audience members consoled each other.

Guerra felt compelled to share his own story, too. He didn't think it was as severe as others', but he was comforted to know he wasn't alone. One of his sons is a diabetic, and he can't go without his insulin. So Guerra, who needs prescription medication himself, figures out medical rations for the family every month, in addition to driving for Uber to make ends meet.

"We've had to cut and figure out who can't take their medication this month, because our son can't afford not to take his," Guerra told the crowd.

At the gathering of students in Northwood, Sanders, again, presented a toned down approach.

Sanders accepted Northwood-Kensett Jr./Sr. High School social studies teacher Monte DeArmoun’s invitation to address the students and community. More than 350 people, mostly students, showed up. Parents could excuse their children from the school assembly. Only three students took the offer, DeArmoun said.

Mindful of the non-partisan venue, Sanders framed his campaign platforms as questions for the crowd: What does it mean to live paycheck to paycheck? Is health care a human right? Are the students concerned about paying for trade school or college?

And when he spoke of legalizing marijuana, something he has long supported, he told the 200-plus students that he didn’t think they should use the drug. But, he added, “I don’t want your lives destroyed” if they do use it.

McCormick, an 18-year-old senior at the school, said she walked into the assembly not really into politics. She responded to one of Sanders’ call and responses, though, and walked out of the auditorium thinking about getting more involved in politics.

“It felt like we were speaking our own truth,” she said.

While Sanders is adding personal touches to the campaign, that doesn't mean he's losing the touch that long has defined his style.

Part of his Iowa trip was a swing through eastern Iowa dubbed the "Bernie Beats Trump Tour," and Sanders was as pointed as ever about President Donald Trump, whom he calls a liar, a hoax, a sexist, a homophobe, racist, xenophobe and a bigot. He hoodwinked eastern Iowa with promises to protect the working class while manufacturing Trump-brand gear in places like Bangladesh, he says.

At a rally in Dubuque, Sanders roared his platforms and dug at Trump for 40 minutes, though not without sympathy for the county flipping to Trump after voting for President Barack Obama twice.

Codi Sharkey, 32, of Dubuque, was perfectly happy to hear Sanders at full volume.

“I like the tough love,” she said. “I think that it gets the message across.”

But she admits to disagreements with her grandfather, who thinks Sanders needs to tone it down. Sometimes hollering is the only way to get noticed, but, eventually, the volume does need to come down, she said.

“You can’t have a conversation with me yelling and you whispering,” she said.

Sharkey didn’t know when, exactly, Sanders should tone it down, though. She has supported him since 2016 and, while she’s interested in U.S. Sen. Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts, she still prefers Sanders.

Casey Olinger, Sharkey's boyfriend, had an opinion on when Sanders should stop shouting.

“The day after Trump is out of office,” Olinger cracked.

Nick Coltrain is a politics and data reporter for the Register. Reach him at ncoltrain@registermedia.com or at 515-284-8361. Your subscription makes work like this possible. Subscribe today at DesMoinesRegister.com/Deal.