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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 III
When I arrived back at the McCaskill HQ, I was greeted by my wife with a stern, “Where have you been?” I explained that: a) at the senior citizens’ centers they need a little extra time, and b) the polls were on overload, and c) I had stopped to vote. The sternness melted to compassion. “Yeah, it’s been a zoo here, too.” she said, noting that they were having problems with drivers delayed by long waits at the polls, and the ride schedule was getting heavily backed up.
I grabbed a quick cup of aging coffee and half a semi-stale bagel, then picked up my next assignments: Two more senior citizens’ centers. The first one was in the city on the near north side. Four ladies were waiting for me. After getting everyone in and arranging their canes, one complained, “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that. Someone could have been here a little earlier, but I specifically requested this location because I heard all the women were so good looking.” Their laughter signaled the end of any gripes, and the woman who had registered the original complaint responded, “You should have seen me sixty years ago, Sonny!” (Wow. Even though I’m a grandfather, I had now been called ‘young man’ and ‘Sonny’ in the same day.)
I took the opportunity to thank them for voting and they began bragging to each other about how many years they’d been voting and how they never missed an election. I mentioned to them that there would be new methods of voting, the touch screen computers and the Opti-scan. They asked questions about the methods and I answered. I saw in my rear view mirror that one woman had a look of discomfort with my comment. “Now if any of you have a problem with your eyesight and need some help, be sure to ask. You are allowed to have help if you want it.” Her somewhat pained look turned to relief. It dawned on me that she might have been illiterate and was pleased to know that help was available.
We arrived at their polling place. I was grateful they knew where it was because I wasn’t familiar with this part of town. As I helped the women exit the car and walk to the entrance, we were greeted by two young women who were stumping for Democrats. They handed out green sample ballots with check marks by all the Democratic candidates’ names. My passengers each grabbed one and went inside.
I chatted with the party volunteers. I thought it was interesting that there were no Republicans there, although someone had placed a Jim Talent sign in the boulevard grass. One of the volunteers said that she had gotten a couple of questions about Amendment 2. I answered her questions and she thanked me. Then I suggested that as she handed out the sample ballots, that she ask, “Please vote Democratic - and be sure to vote for Amendment 2.” She started doing so immediately.
About 5 minutes later, one of the election officials asked to see the sample ballots. The volunteer handed him one. He turned it over and looked at the back. “You can’t use these,” he said. “See this guy on the back?” There was a photo. “See what it says? It says ‘Re-elect him’ and he’s not on the ballot. He’s not running in this election. Now I’ve got voters complaining that they think the ballots are wrong because he’s not on them.”
He took the sample ballots and tossed them into a trash can. The volunteers were stunned. They froze and didn’t know what to do. I went inside and found that official. Being from the county, I didn’t know much about the city elections or their representatives, but I knew that Jeff Smith was the Democrat running for state representative from the city. I asked the official if he had a directory of campaign offices. He opened his briefcase and found one in a file. He found the telephone number of Jeff Smith’s campaign office. I got on the phone and called. It turned out to be Jeff Smith’s cell phone. No answer, but I got voicemail. I left a message explaining that I was working with the McCaskill headquarters and what had happened. I gave him the ward and precinct information and asked that someone deliver the proper ballot samples.
In less than ten minutes, a pickup arrived. A fellow got out and had in his hands two large stacks of the corrected flyers. He walked over to me and asked, “Are you the guy who called about these?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Well, let me tell you what happened. You see the Alderman wanted his own printed, and he was asking folks to pass them out. I’m just a Committeeman, but I told him it was wrong and…”
I cut him off. “Look, I’m not trying to blame anyone. I don’t care how the wrong ones got here or who’s responsible. I just want it fixed.”
“But I just want to explain that it wasn’t my fault and…”
I cut him off again. “No, I really mean it when I say I don’t care. You have the right ones here now and that’s all that matters.” He shook my hand and thanked me as if I had provided absolution.
I later realized that when I had called about the problem, I had identified myself as working out of the McCaskill office. Smith didn’t realize I was just a ‘schlepper’ and must have thought I held some important state position in the Democratic Party. That’s likely why they responded so quickly and why the fellow was so worried he might be blamed. Lesson learned: Perception is everything.
A moment later, the polling official came out and told me that one of my passengers had asked for me. I went in and she was seated at a table with her ballot. She wanted help and she wanted it from me. As I started to read the candidates’ names she cut me off, saying, “I want to vote for all the Democrats.” I filled in all the corresponding little circles next to the names of the Democratic candidates. Next we came to the judges. “Don’t bother with them,” she said. “I‘ve never been to court anyway.” And finally we came to the Amendment and ballot issues. I began to read them. She grabbed my arm. “How would you vote?”
I paused and then told her that it was her vote, not mine. She squeezed my arm a little more. “No, I like you and I want to vote the way you would.” I pointed to my tee-shirt that read “Vote YES on Amendment 2.” She nodded. “Alright,” she said, “Let’s vote for that one - and then we’ll call it a day.”
Once again I loaded everyone into the car and we headed back to drop them off. And, once again, there was a second crowd that had been alerted about a ride to the polls. The process was repeated with another four seniors.
- Jeff Eisen
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