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the Stem Cell Page time and ignorance are the enemies |
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Election Day Diary |
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PART I
For my wife, Zelda, it began at the crack of dawn. Well, actually dawn had not yet cracked. She was up, showered and dressed, had her prerequisite coffee brewed and was out the door at 5:30 am. I had been working on some writing for the web site and had gotten to bed around 2:30 am, and Zelda had mercifully allowed me to continue sleeping.
The McCaskill headquarters was within a 10 minute drive of our home, so her work began somewhere before 6:00 am. Her job that morning was to help people who had requested rides to the polls, confirm that they still needed transportation and begin the process of making logistical arrangements. That sounds easy, but with the polls clogged by record turnout, her job required more than usual follow up, explaining why drivers were going to be late and trying to predict – a best guess, really – when someone might arrive. Early on, the typical one hour window [“they’ll be there between 1 o’clock and 2”] was proving to be anything but right.
Back at home, my phone rang at about 8:00 am. It was Jeff Kopolow, a friend, neighbor and retired history teacher. He told me that he had arrived at his polling location, Old Bonhomme Elementary School, early enough to be among the first in line to vote. But when he entered, he was asked by one of the Republican election judges, “Are you voting Republican or Democrat?” He didn’t answer. He just “stared her down” until she backed off.
He attempted to vote on one of the new computerized touch-screen machines. It crashed. After they disabled that machine, he opted for an “Opti-scan” paper ballot. Jeff expressed his gut fear that these might be indicators that the election could be ‘stolen’ and asked me where he could report the difficulties. I conferenced Brandon Davis in on the call. Brandon, a McCaskill political advisor, provided all the necessary information to make a report. I made a mental note to check later to learn if such difficulties were prevalent.
After a shower and a quick cup of coffee, I arrived at the McCaskill headquarters about 9:00. My job was simple. I was a driver, or as I would be referred to later, a ‘schlepper.’ Pete, the ‘transportation captain,’ would hand drivers a sheet with an address and a rider list. Attached was a map and directions. Pete’s daughter was a campaign worker and he had traveled from his home in Boston to assist. He made sure that everyone understood the directions to their respective pick-up points. I was handed my first sheet. I was to go to the Rosewood Senior Citizens Center.
I tore a couple of “Vote for Claire” signs off the wall and removed the staples that had held them in place. I wedged them between the back windows of my car and the rubber molding so they’d stay up. That way when I arrived at the pick up points, folks would readily see that I was providing their ride. And since I would be on the streets all day, they served as small, but hopefully effective, rolling billboards.
There would be four people plus a nurse at Rosewood. It wasn’t too far away and I found it easily. When I arrived, there were only two people and a nurse. One woman had a walker, the other had a wheelchair and an oxygen tank.
The nurse helped transfer the woman in the wheelchair into the car and I loaded the wheelchair and the oxygen tank in the trunk. We were all aboard and I made a point to thank these women for taking the time to vote. One said, “I wouldn’t miss this. Claire needs my help.”
We arrived at our destination, a Catholic church with a day school. The cafeteria was the polling site. After I unloaded the ‘hardware’ from the trunk, the nurse helped the one woman get back in her wheelchair and they were off to the polls.
Outside, there were only two political volunteers. They introduced themselves cordially and we chatted about the turnout. It had been steady all morning and overflowing at times. I decided to remove my jacket and toss it in the car, transforming to a living billboard in my ‘Vote YES on Amendment 2’ tee-shirt.
After about 20 minutes, a class of children came in from the playground. Apparently they’d been enjoying an early recess. I was smiling at the young faces, but as they passed by me I noticed something odd. Once they got within about ten feet their smiles turned to scowls. Then it struck me. They had obviously been indoctrinated, either at school, at church or at home, that Amendment 2 would legalize “baby killing.” They were shocked to see my tee-shirt and though not one said a word to me, the looks on their faces made it clear that they had been taught quite a different lesson than the one I would have espoused. No matter, I just continued to smile at them as they filed past.
As voters came to vote and were leaving afterward, many came over to me and privately told me that they supported the Stem Cell Initiative. For some, it seemed, they wanted to tell someone that the official position of the church was wrong, but I suppose they didn’t feel right expressing that to their priest. Oddly, they were ‘confessing’ to me that they supported the measure. I wondered if they’d have so readily confessed or so freely complained about the church’s position had they known I was from the ‘St. Goldberg’s, Our Lady of Guilt’ parish. There were, of course, others who walked quickly past, hurrying so as not to have to speak with anyone.
After quite a bit of time had elapsed, I went into the building to see what had become of my passengers. I spotted them pouring over their ballots at a table. It wasn’t private, but afforded them the opportunity to vote while seated, rather than having to stand at a booth. I also observed that there was still an ample line of people waiting to vote so I returned to the parking lot. A few minutes later, my passengers exited the building. The nurse and I went through our routine and we headed back to Rosewood. Once returned to the lobby of the Center, both women thanked me for the ride and one said, “Come here, young man.”
‘Young man.’ I couldn’t help chuckling. I haven’t been called “young man” in at least 35 years, but age is certainly relative. She motioned for me to come close, apparently wanting to whisper something to me. I bent my 6-foot 1-inch frame enough to get my ear near her mouth – and she placed a kiss on my cheek! “My husband and I used to vote together,” she said softly. “I still miss him very much - but you’ll do anytime.” She smiled. I smiled back and returned a kiss to her cheek, then watched as she slowly disappeared into the building.
- Jeff Eisen
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