First-hand reporting of precinct activity on election day makes for fascinating reading, and so it was with some sense of excitement that I went to the polls today to catch primary fever and hopefully come away with a good story about massive voter turnout.
I came away with a pretty good story, but not one that I expected.
Maryland on the whole is deeply blue state, having gone for John Kerry in 2004 by 55.91% and having elected the Democratic nominee all but three times in the last 48 years. Nixon won here in 1972 by 61%, but that was only because homie Spiro Agnew was his VP. The state did not go for Reagan in 1980, and Reagan barely won here in 1984 (his minion and imperfect protege George H.W. Bush also won by a nose in Maryland in 1988).
On the state level, Republicans had one moment of true glory with the election in 2002 of upstart Robert Ehrlich over the early-declared, seemingly invincible (and, by all measures, the so-called "inevitable" winner) Kathleen Kennedy Townsend (in 2006 Ehrlich would later lose the contest for a second term to 2006 to popular Baltimore Mayor and Irish rock group frontman Martin O'Malley).
Other than Robert Ehrlich's victory, Maryland has been a rocky place where the Republican seed can find no purchase.
But even Maryland--as blue as any beefy crab pulled from the Chesapeake Bay may be--has its red spots.
The reddest of the red zones in Maryland is Anne Arundel County, Maryland, where I reside. This is the district of one beleagured Wayne Gilchrest, who is facing today a battle royale with two well-financed primary challengers, E.J. Pipkin and Andy Harris, each of whom has fought tooth-and-nail to convince voters that he and he alone is the most red-meat conservative hoss ever to saunter across the Old Line State.
(I note that the ads for the primary season on the GOP side have been almost comical in their stridency and their pandering to voters who identify themselves as "true" conservatives. Meaning, conservatives who would happily take us back to the 13th century if they could only get the chance. Pipkin promises a return to the type of "responsible government" that would eliminate social services such as those which outrageously provide aid and comfort to orphaned children who should get off their three-year-old duffs and get busy in the fields. Harris champions a return to "traditional values," meaning that he would enact policies requiring that flaming pitch be poured directly onto the heads of illegal immigrants.).[FN 1]
Thus, I did not expect--as teacherken has experienced--long lines around the block of anxious citizens eager to pull the lever for Democrats, be they Clinton or Obama. Nor was I surprised in this regard.
At 7:45 a.m. I walked into my polling place, the gymnasium of our closest elementary school, and found it virtually empty. There were, in fact, more poll workers than voters. There were perhaps ten of us there, fulfilling our solemn obligation as citizens to make our voices known through the sanctity of the secret ballot.
Saddened by the thought that I would actually make it into work on time, I went to the sign-in table to announce my presence and receive the temporary Diebold credit card that would or would not record my selection.
This is where my expectations made a sharp left turn.
Standing next to me was a man in his late 50s or early 60s. He wore a pair of jeans with a rag stuffed haphazardly into a back pocket, a plaid shirt, and the telltale sign of an honest-to-God working man: a John Deere hat.
As the election official looked up my name, I overheard him getting into a bit of a kerfuffle with the election official helping him.
This is what I heard:
Election official: We don't have you down for that affiliation.
Man: Well, what do you mean?
Official: Well, you are registered as a Republican.
Man: Okay...
Official: This is a closed primary. You had to have registered as a Democrat if you wanted to vote in the Democratic Primary.
Man: Well, I can't register now?
Official: No, sir, I'm sorry.
Man: (Pause) So, what, I have to vote Republican?
Official: Yes, sir.
Man: (Pause) Well, I don't want to do that!
At this point I took my little credit card of questionable reliability, was guided to a booth, and voted. Thirty seconds, bing bong bing. My primary obligation as a party member fulfilled.
I got my "I voted!" sticker and headed for the exit. The man I had seen at the table was walking away, apparently unable to resolve his issue with the official.
"Well I don't know what," he said in my general direction as we walked somewhat simulataneously through the wide double doors out of the auditorium.
"Sounds like you were having some trouble," I offered.
"Apparently you can't vote for anyone other than a Republican if you are a Republican today."
"That's just because it's a primary. You can still vote for whoever you want in the election in November."
He shook his head and laughed a little. "Well, if she makes it that far, I probably will."
A beat.
In my brain, a ding.
Because every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
As we got to the exit, I told him I'd see him back here in November and to have a nice day.
"You, have a good day, too," he said, as I headed off to my car.
And I think I will do just that.
FN 1 -- Good people like wmtriallawyer have been fighting the good fight here in Anne Arundel to turn this blood red county blue, and they should be applauded. I look forward to helping them this year and beyond.