I sat next to Marty in advanced chemistry my senior year of high school. That’s how I knew her father was running for selectman in my small Massachusetts town’s May election, the first in which I was old enough to vote. I liked Marty. She threw nice parties and almost always got the lead in the school play. Why wouldn’t I vote for her father?
Back in 1979, election booths weren’t very sophisticated—no butterfly ballots (or hanging chads), no buttons or lights that brightened when pushed. In my memory, they were Just large, green, clunky boxes with rows of little levers that rattled like a subway car when you pulled the bar to register your vote, reset the levers for the next person, and open the privacy curtain. They were perfect—well, almost. My only complaint (and I’m sure it had nothing to do with why they were eliminated in 2010), was the following:
It was never clear what to do if you pushed the wrong little lever. Which is to say, what if a new, 18-year-old voter pushed the wrong lever and voted for the wrong selectman? Which is to say, someone other than Marty’s father?
Which is to say, me.
It’s true, I voted for her father’s opponent. I didn't know how to fix it, and was too embarrassed to stick my head out of the curtain and ask for help. So I shrugged, and pulled the lever—the one that registers the vote, resets the levers for the next person, and opens the privacy curtain—because I didn’t figure it would matter much in the long run. I mean, it was only one vote.
I should hasten to add that I lived in a small New England town (is there any other kind?), with an even smaller voting population.
The next day I learned Marty’s dad lost the election by exactly one vote. My vote. I saw her in chemistry that day and told her about my mistake and laughed. I don’t remember her response, but I don’t believe it mirrored mine. In subsequent visits to the voting booth I looked and found there is actually a lever you can push to reset a vote to the neutral position while you are inside the booth. Today, it’s the first thing I look for when I go vote.
When we lived in Indiana my husband tried to tell me that my vote (as a Democrat) didn’t count because the state was so overwhelmingly Republican. He made me crazy and every time he said it I’d trot out my “first-time-I-ever-voted” story and he’d smile and kiss me and walk away. We’re still married, but it was stressful around election time until we left Indiana for New Jersey.
Every vote counts. In every way. Which brings me to the 2016 election.
This is the election that young voters have to turn out for. Only 41 percent of those age 18 to 24 who were eligible to vote in the presidential election of 2012 did so—and that won’t do. Only 48 percent of those age 18 to 29 who were eligible to vote in the presidential election of 2008 did. That won’t do, either.
Seriously, more than 70 percent of eligible voters age 65 and older made it to the polls in both those elections. You’re telling me you can’t do better than that?
If you want to make a difference don’t stay home or sit on your hands, or make a mistake in the voting booth. This is the year to say: Count me in.
So, remember:
1. It's OK to ask for help.
2. You can study the ballot in advance; a copy will be sent to you in the mail prior to Election Day. And that button that will reset your vote to neutral? Find it on the paper ballot and circle it in red, then bring the whole thing into the voting booth with you so you’ll have a reference.
Don’t be embarrassed to have one in your hand—I’ll be carrying one, too.
I wrote about this in 2006 for the Star-Ledger of New Jersey; I am revisiting the topic in relation to the 2016 presidential election.