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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 IV
Meanwhile, I was running way behind. I had earlier called Regina, the contact at my next stop in the central west end - another senior citizens home. I apologized for being late and told her I’d keep her informed. I stayed in touch with her, calling at intervals of twenty minutes. She was pleased to have the regular communication and eventually I arrived at her stop. I picked up three women and one gentleman, who would also serve as my navigator. The polling place was only about five blocks away, but it took about ten minutes travel to overcome obstacles of one-way streets and barricades. We finally pulled into an old school yard.
I provided my now well rehearsed but brief orientation: I explained the new voting methods, asked them to be sure to vote for Claire and Amendment 2, and informed them that they could have help if they wanted or needed it (it had become routine). They headed out of the car and toward the building. There were volunteers with those green sample ballots, this time the correct ones, and each of my passengers grabbed one on the way in. One turned around and waved at me. She wanted help. I escorted her in, got her situated and helped her fill out an Opti-scan ballot.
I went back outside just in time to see a car pull up. A woman got out and went to her trunk, pulled out a wheelchair and brought it to the passenger side. She opened the door and began to struggle, trying to transfer an elderly woman to the wheelchair. When I say struggle, I mean struggle. I ran over and asked if I could help. She was grateful and asked if I could lift her mother out of the car.
Her mother wasn’t a large woman. In fact, she was rather small. But she was nearly completely limp, like a rag doll, totally dead weight. I managed to get her into the wheelchair, but she looked nearly unconscious. I asked the daughter, “Are you sure she’s well enough to be voting today?”
The daughter answered, “I tried to talk her out of it but…”
“Don’t pay her any mind,” the old woman broke in. “I’m just wore out from dialysis. I told her to bring me straight here ‘cause I ain’t missing a vote.” Clearly she was as determined as she was weakened from her treatment. “Now take me inside so I can vote for Claire!”
Her body was limp, but she barked the order like a drill sergeant. One of the volunteers, a young woman named Chaunte (“Shawn-Tay”) attempted to hand her a green sample ballot. “These the Democrats?” she asked. Once confirmed, she accepted the paper.
I introduced myself to Chaunte and asked her to be sure and recommend that people “vote for Amendment 2.” She introduced me to her son, Martin, a handsome ten year old with a heart-melting smile. She had given Martin the job of holding the door open as voters entered. As each one filed by, he would say, “Thank you for voting today!”
I asked Martin if he could change his script. He practiced saying, “Thank you for voting today – and be sure to vote YES on Amendment 2!” After he performed ably with half a dozen voters I handed him a tootsie roll and said “Thanks, Martin. You’re doing a great job. Keep it up.” His eyes lit up and he flashed that beautiful smile.
By then my passengers were ready to return. I hauled another round of voters from the same location. It was the second time we arrived at this polling place that I noticed something. Carved in the stone over one of the doors was the name of the school: Hamilton Elementary. I hadn’t realized it on the first trip, but this was time it provided a flashback.
My family had moved to St. Louis when I was five years old. We temporarily lived in an apartment in the city – about two weeks – and then moved to our ‘permanent’ apartment in the suburb of University City. While we lived in that first location, I began kindergarten. I had spent my first two weeks of kindergarten at Hamilton Elementary School. Now I had returned, fifty years later, to help people vote at the same location.
My passengers completed their mission and I returned them to their home.
- Jeff Eisen
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