This graphic used to be a waving MD flag, but it made people uncomfortable, so I changed it.
This afternoon was my second session phone-banking. Every election I have a ‘big issue’ that dominates my thinking. Usually it’s an issue on which I vote, such as health care, the economy, etc. But this elections it’s votes. Turnout, to be specific.
“Turnout wins,” I keep telling myself.
All the polls and data seem to indicate that the one thing Democrats can do to win is to get Democrats to vote. Ah, how true that was two years ago, and how true it is this year.
Here in Maryland our candidate, Ben Jealous, is running behind incumbent Republican Governor Larry Hogan. Ben has a smaller war chest, and Hogan is a popular governor. It’s easy to see why, too. Hogan has committed few unforced errors since his election, and he has succeeded in doing small things that everyone seems to like, such as lower some bridge tolls. He has not sucked up to the Predator-in-Chief, either, because that would be political death here in the very blue state of Maryland.
But I’m not really here to talk about Ben vs. Larry. Suffice it to say that Ben needs help. “Hogan has an enormous amount of money,” some have said to me. “Votes beat dollars,” I reply. But only if we get out those votes. GOTV is my ‘big issue,’ and so I have decided to phone bank as much as possible between now and the election. So, here is how my first session went.
First, getting precise information about how to help out was thin. After filling out an online form, without any immediate feedback such as ‘We’ll call you, soon!’, I just waited a few days. I did eventually get an email, which was clearly a canned letter with just enough information for me to figure out where to go, and when. I’m the kind of guy who appreciates precise and detailed information about where, when, how, etc. so getting a response that was skeletal in detail worried me, at first. Being determined to do this was quite helpful. A volunteer who was less savvy or perhaps needed more hand-holding might be daunted and just say, ‘forget it, I’ll just vote on election day.’
But I finally got my schedule cleared enough to do a phone-banking session, and just got in the car and drove over.
The first impression I had, having to wait for a space to park, was that the meet-and-greet with Ben Jealous at that office the next day was going to be hampered by too little parking. Street parking is problematic in that area, and as it turns out the lot next door is owned by a Trumper who is more than happy to have volunteers cars towed.
The office is not huge, but it is spacious enough to get the job done. There are tables and cables, literature and signs, a coffee machine, two ample restrooms, and a conference space. The white board announces what’s up, the critical dates, etc. As I stepped in, no one greeted me. There were about a half dozen people, maybe eight, and everyone was busy, and seemed to assume that I knew what I was doing. It’s really a natural assumption, because they get a varying crowd hour-by-hour, and knowing everyone would be a daunting task. There was a sign-in book, and so I started signing in. “Hi, what are you here to do?” a young woman asked.
“I am here to help.”
“W/hat would you like to do? Which candidate are you working for?” she asked. “Well, I want to help get out the vote in the governor’s race. I think Ben needs my help the most.”
A young man who had been deeply engrossed in a phone conversation directed her to give me a laptop and show me how to use the system. It turned out he is the district manager, Dustin. He would later describe himself as a ‘carpetbagger’, which I thought a funny since he seemed the farthest thing from it. Many of these operatives are itinerant. They work where they are needed, and Dustin was no exception. He seemed, bright, young (to me, at least), capable, and in charge. And without any time to spend on a fresh volunteer. He had a canvassing event with the candidate for Governor the next day, and a million details to oversee. He immediately went back to his phone calls, interspersed with giving order about where and what he needed various people to be and do.
The young woman, Amber, sat me down and showed me the calling system with a quick, to-the-point, and accurate lesson. She had things to do, but she was patient as I asked about whichever features I did not understand. She kept asking if I wanted to start. “No, I want to think about what I’m going to say.”
I’m the kind of person who hates performing without practicing. Even something as mundane as talking on the telephone requires some forethought. I read a few of the scripts. She offered a hand-written outline. After about ten minutes of dry-running in my mind, I decided to take the plunge and start to make calls.
The system is everything you expect it to be. It calls ten numbers at once and connects you with one, rapid fire. You get a script to read, you get a name of someone to ask for, and you have some data boxes to fill if you can.
I decided, with a tiny hint from Amber, to abandon the actual robotic script in favor of a more natural style inside an outline of just the points that they seem interested in me hitting: I’m a volunteer for the Maryland Democrats (heavy emphasis on the volunteer), does the person have a plan to vote, does the person support the Democratic ticket? I quickly realize that if I ask for a person by full name people hang up more quickly than if I ask for the person just by the first name.
“Is Robert home?” “Who’s calling?” And I am off on my spiel.
Getting the scant info into the laptop in the few seconds you have is tough, at first. Hanging up the call and classifying it (Answering machine/ Do not Call / Not interested / No answer / Wrong number / and the jackpot: CANVASSED) are easier.
It is everything you expect. Lots of hang ups, especially because this session is heading into the dinner hour, lots of machines, a few answers, and fewer people willing to actually have a brief conversation with you.
“Smile while you talk,” I remind myself. People can hear you smiling. Also, respect their time (“Do you have a few moments to talk?”) and be as positive and polite as you possibly can, even when they are rude to you (“Never call this number, again!” “I’ll make sure we don’t. Thank you for taking my call.”) Always thank them for taking the call.
And the calls are rapid-fire at this time of the evening, even if the results are slim. Democrats who answer WANT you to know that they would never vote for a Republican. The list seems to be people who are either Democrat or independent, but occasionally someone answers who declares themselves to be a Republican. I am polite with them, and I remind them to vote, too. I believe that if I respect them and I’m polite, then they will have less reason to viscerally hate liberals. I certainly am not going to *give* them a reason to hate liberals, at least.
The hard part for me is that support for Ben Jealous is running about 50/50 among Democrats. I get a guy who is voting blue except for Governor. I ask him why he can’t support Jealous. “I’m not going to debate you on this!” he yells at me. “I don’t want to debate you. I genuinely want to know your thoughts,” I reply. So, he gives me his reasons. Heatedly at first, and then when he realized I am just listening, he calmly lays out a few more reasons. They are all debatable, but I have promised him I won’t debate him. He has cooled down. I thank him for his time and remind him that his vote is important. Then, I check “Lean Democrat,” not “Strong Democrat” and write a note: “Voting for Hogan.”
After a couple hours I am weary of it, and my wife is waiting for me to come home for dinner. “I’m a volunteer with the Maryland Democrats, and I’m reaching out to talk about voting in this November’s election,” I say to the next person. “This is a REPUBLICAN HOUSEHOLD!” he intones in a firm voice, “Everyone here votes Republican! Don’t ever call this number again, YOU CROOKED BASTARD!” I say in a mildly hurt voice, “I’m sorry you feel that way about me! But I’ll be sure we don’t call you, again. Thanks for taking my call.” I wasn’t just smiling when I hung up, I was laughing. A nice, long chortle. Crooked bastard, indeed.
That was quite enough for one session.
I packed up my things, and headed out. I didn’t want to just disappear, so I walked over to Dustin, who was engrossed in another phone call, and gave him a ‘bye’ salute, and walked out into the parking lot. I got halfway to my car and the door opened. Out came Dustin to talk.
It was a nice talk. I outlined my reasons for being there, and what I planned to do until the election. He outlined his plans. He’s been doing this a long time — ten years, since the first Obama election. That is a long time to do this kind of thing, especially at the grass roots, grunt kind of ground level. For me, although it’s not my first rodeo, at least I don’t have saddle sores.
But that he took the time to come out and talk, and not just let me fade away into the night, actually impressed me a lot.
Always respect their time. And, smile while you talk.
