Everything old is new again. Netroots, blogs, cyberscream--it's all wonderful, crazy Ward politics, the kind that should leave ink under your fingernails and mud on your shoes.
My sainted grandmother would be thrilled by the Connecticut outcome. Hooray for our side. When women got the vote in 1920 she was 50 years old and wasted no time figuring out that the vote was a powerful tool. She became a precinct worker for the local Ward captain and poll watched on election day, distributed pamphlets, and rang doorbells for the next 15 years of her life until a stroke felled her in 1936. As a reward for her efforts, she always got a Thanksgiving turkey from said Ward boss, a necessity in perilous times, especially after she became a widow in 1927 with no means of support, except for her children and 3 shares of NY Telephone stock. Upon delivery of the turkey, she got to find out what was up with him, what was up in the precinct, and what was up at City Hall. She almost lived long enough to see Social Security a reality.
Her story is important today because it reminds me of what politics was once like. Her enthusiasm for the issues and the funny stories she told of the infighting in the Wards--who was knifing who, who couldn't stay sober, who was afraid to make a speech--were the reasons politics seemed real to me. It was the rationale behind my decision to become a district rep in Levittown during the 1950s and 60s. I walked the streets of my own election district in my roll as local rep, talking to voters, phoning them when issues came up, offering rides, etc. The source of information was "the party," not paid pundits phoning in analysis from Albany. I had my own mimeograph machine, the kind with a drum you inked and got black goo all over the place. Cranking that thing and watching the amateur print job spin out on the floor made me feel like a patriot.
I hit my 75th year in March and am totally addicted to the American conversation that has finally re-emerged. I am an unrepentant liberal, and despise Democratic politicians who want it both ways. Bill Clinton could get away with it because he was cute. But Joe Lieberman? No way. At last, we don't sit in the sandbox and wait for some tall person to "frame" the issue. The people are doing it. The people are doing it. The people are doing it. (Repeat)