Today I've been canvassing in my home town, Waupun, Wisconsin. I'm knocking on doors for Ryan Flejter (facebook link), the Democratic candidate for Wisconsin's 53rd Assembly District, as well as State Senator Jessica King, Wisconsin 6th Congressional District Candidate Joe Kallas, US Senate Candidate Tammy Baldwin, and this other guy you might have heard of. Today I walked a turf with about fifty stops and most of them are likely Democratic voters. The goal in this phase is making sure that our supporters actually get out to vote. So I'm asking folks about their plans to vote. Will they vote early or will they wait until election day? (In Wisconsin, you can fill out an "absentee" ballot in person or mail it in, starting Monday.)
I met a lot of people who were eager to vote for our slate and that is always gives me a boost. Waupun is a small city and I know a lot of these folks. Our kids went to the same schools, we work together, we play together. Even though we may never have met, our lives are connected in a fabric of small town threads. The garment is larger and the weave is much tighter than we realize. Doors open and as we talk, names and faces appear in the pattern of the cloth. One of those faces appeared today. Let me tell you about it below the cheese-doodle flourish.
This is a true story. Respecting the privacy of the people in it, I have changed their names.
The name on my canvass sheet was Mary XYZ. XYZ is fairly common name in this town. She went to school with my oldest daughter. I was surprised to see that she was still around. I saw her father's name, "Kevin XYZ", on the mailbox. I had worked with Kevin. He died when he was only 53. He was a Vietnam vet who smoked a pipe and had a jaunty mustache. I rang the bell and waited. I was ready to leave when there appeared an elderly woman with a cane. Behind her bifocals she had pale, peaceful blue eyes.
As she opened the door, I introduced myself and told her I was out on behalf of Obama For America. She said "Oh, I am too!" I expressed my approval and asked for Mary. She told me that Mary had moved away to Madison several years ago. She told me her name, Verna Jean XYZ and that Mary is her granddaughter.
I had a lot of calls to make and didn't plan to spend a lot of time with someone who wasn't on my list, but I couldn't help asking about the name on the mailbox. Was that the same Kevin I used to work with? Her eyes welled up with tears as she told me, "Yes, he's my son", referring to Kevin in the present tense. I told her that Kevin had been a fine fellow and a good man to work with. I thanked her for supporting the President and gave her a packet of literature. I was ready to be on my way as she held up the brochures and said "These will help me fill out my ballot."
"You already have a ballot?" I asked. There have been Republican scammers sending out official-looking paperwork to confuse voters, so my interest was piqued. "Could I see it?"
"Sure" she replied, "Come in." I followed her through the door and we sat at her kitchen table. Atop a small pile of junk mail was a bona fide absentee ballot with an official return envelope. I told her I was a little uncomfortable with watching somebody else vote, but Verna Jean brushed it aside. "That's OK, you can sign that you witnessed me vote. It's hard for me to get around so I always do it this way. My friend Vera usually comes over to sign as a witness, but you'll do."
I talked with her about the candidates in the literature pack. She seemed eager to vote for President Obama and Jessica King. She was especially pleased to hear that Ryan Flejter is a hometown boy and wanted to know more about Joe Kallas. I told her that I had met Joe's sister at a meeting of local volunteers and she was "good people."
I thought she might have a problem with Tammy Baldwin because of a barrage of nasty NRSC ads that feature an angry snippet of audio wherein Tammy says "You're damned right." Clipped from it's context, "You're damned right" is repeated four times in a thirty second ad. Like a lot of seniors I know, Verna Jean doesn't approve of swearing. I know this because she told me so. She's heard that little kids are hearing that ad and parroting the offending phrase. I confessed to her that I have used some bad language in moments of anger but I was fortunate that nobody was there with a microphone. I went on to say that the folks who are against Tammy are paying for those ads and that they are responsible for putting that nasty phrase in children's ears. After some consideration she told me she would be voting for Tammy.
As we talked, Verna Jean wielded a black marker and I averted my eyes, so as not to see her choices. (According to the rules, the witness is only to verify that the voter listed on the envelope is the person who actually marked the enclosed ballot.) When she finished, I wrote my address and signature on the return envelope. She took up the envelope and sealed her ballot in it.
Our discussion was interspersed with chat about Kevin. Whenever his name came up, the familiar tears glistened in her blue eyes. "He turned 62 last week" she said, as if he was simply gone for the weekend. I related that my father had passed away last year and how hard he had taken the death of my older brother, Jack.
They are with Kevin now, and Kevin is always with his mom, and somehow, I was with Dad and Jack as I sat there in Verna Jean's kitchen. It's a small town and we are all connected here by fibers that twist the personal and political into one thread, one weave, one garment. I soon took my leave of Verna Jean and went on my way. If you had seen me out on Brown Street, you'd have thought I was alone. Jack and Kevin and Frank were with me and were seen there by a pair of teary blue eyes.
Thank you, Verna Jean.
Ryan Flejter is a small-town guy. Go here for an interview with him.
Go here to contribute to his campaign.