I talk to my mom on the phone. She tells me, "You should see it here. There are more Obama signs then you would expect." I figured I'd drive up to Pennsylvania and see for myself, since I promised I'd visit the family as soon as possible.
Franklin County is George Bush country. For that matter, it should also be McCain-Palin country. Registered republicans outnumber registered democrats nearly two-to-one. Back when Pat Roberts was running for President, they released a list of his top zip-codes for campaign contributions. Chambersburg was in the top five. This is Small Town, USA if there ever was such a place. If you drive down Route 30 from Adams County into Franklin, you pass that massive "Jesus is Lord Ministries" building. At least superficially, this does not seem like the sort of place where Senator Obama would pick up very many votes. But superficialities and first appearances often belie the truth of things.
Early Monday evening, I drove around town for a few hours. I stayed mostly in Fayetteville, which is an even smaller town on the outskirts of Chambersburg. I stopped on Main Street and snapped some pictures.
For every McCain-Palin sign, it seemed like there was an Obama sign only a few houses away.
While I was in the process of snapping one of those pictures, the occupant - an older woman - emerged from the front door. She was visibly frightened and ask, "Can I help you?" I quickly apologized for alarming her, and explained to her that I was an Obama supporter who grew up just down the street, and that I was driving around town just looking for Obama signs. Once she was convinced that my motives were pure, it became apparent that this woman wanted to talk. "I'm sorry I got upset with you at first," she said, "it's just that I thought you were somebody who was going to harass me about my sign." I was a bit shocked at the thought of someone harassing this nice old woman, who appeared well into her 70's and had such a genuinely cheerful disposition. I asked, "Has anybody harassed you about it before, about your Obama sign?" She told me about the day she put it up. How her next door neighbor watched and exclaimed, "You can't be serious!" How a few days later, that same neighbor put up a McCain-Palin sign. How she'd thought about taking her sign down, but - in the end - resolved that she had a duty to keep that sign up, to show her support, and to show people that "folks around here aren't all fools." She had lots to say. I've come to learn that lots of folks, particularly older people who might have less day-to-day contact with the world, are often some of the most loquacious and opinionated.
"You know, everyone says how they used to like John McCain back when he was younger, but I never saw it. What, with how he left his crippled wife, and that whole Charles Keating mess. And, I know it's not really related to politics, but have you ever seen him up there on stage with his wife? Just this last debate, the presidential one, did you see John McCain and his wife? They just look so cold. Like they don't really care much for each other. Then you see that Senator Obama and his wife and their little girls. And they just look so happy. You can really tell that he's got a good family, a good close family. And I know it's not political, but that says a lot about a man, you know? When a man is close like that with his family. It says something good about his character. I don't know, maybe I'm just old fashioned..."
We talked for a while. About the weather, how it had been the first cold night we'd had so far this year. We talked about the old school house that had just been torn down, the new one just built, and how it was probably best for the kids. She got chilly, and stepped inside to grab a sweater. We talked some more. She asked me about the economy and the bailout. She didn't really understand all of it. She tried reading some articles about it, but got bogged down in all the abbreviations and strange words like tranches. I did my best to explain it to her. After half an hour of talking, I wished her a good night, and moved on down the road. She asked me to stop back in any time for tea.
It was nearly 6 o'clock, and the air was turning cool. The sun wasn't too far off from setting. I drove all the way down Main Street, past the turn-off onto Mount Pleasant -- you know that hill that seemed so big when we were kids, the one that leads down to the ball fields behind the fire hall. So much of the geography of my youth is based on bike rides and ball fields. I drove past Mims Hoagies, and hung a right into some neighborhood that I didn't rightfully remember, but the street signs had names that seemed vaguely familiar. I saw McCain-Palin signs. But for every McCain-Palin sign, I saw an Obama sign. I passed a small house on the corner, large pick-up truck parked outside, work boots on the porch. Obama sign prominently displayed in the middle of the small, well-kept front yard. I couldn't resist. I just had to talk to whoever lived in that house. I put my truck in park, left it running in the middle of the street, hopped out with camera in hand, and walked up to the front door. I knocked once. I knocked again. The man who answered the door had just come home from work. He was white. About 35. Sleeveless shirt. Jeans stained with grass. He ran a lawn-care business. I asked him if I could take a picture of his Obama sign. "Hell yeah, man!" Without any prompting, he offered, "You know, you see lots of McCain signs around town, but you're starting to see more and more signs for Obama. I think people are starting to come around. I was talking to one of my customers today, just made the decision to vote for Obama. They know McCain's lost it." He couldn't stand Sarah Palin, and noted that McCain had already had several bouts of cancer and probably wasn't physically up to the task of the world's most stressful job. The thought of a Palin presidency terrified the guy. "Man, did you see that Saturday Night Live? They didn't even have to write the skit. They just used Palin's words man. That's bad news." I thanked him, snapped some pictures, and drove away.
Carl Sandburg once wrote about how the people would live on. How they would occasionally falter. How they would occasionally blunder. But how they would learn and live on. I guess I have that same faith in people, justified or not. So I thought about Sandburg as I drove the back roads between Fayetteville and Scotland. In a town like mine, you can never get too lost. If you drive around for a few minutes, you'll usually run into a street that sounds familiar, and you can take that street back home.
I wound up on Mount Pleasant, out near the mall, drove through a mile or so of farmland, and turned off into a new development named Mountain Shadows. Nice, single family houses that start around $200,000. Kids bikes' strewn in the yards. Basketball hoops. Families out walking their dogs. John Mellancamp style little pink houses. You know what I'm talking about.
When I turned into the development, I was a bit disheartened. I saw three or four McCain-Palin signs. I thought to myself, "What did you expect? This is Fayetteville." Still, I decided to drive through the rest of the development, just to take a look around. The road wound through the development. Around the corner, I found the unexpected: a string of 3 Obama signs in a row. While I was snapping a picture, trying to look like a prospective home-buyer, a guy I used to know from high school - a guy who now has his own family - yells out from a few houses down, "Hey Pollard, I thought that was you!" We catch up for a minute. He doesn't even ask me what I'm doing out there in his neighborhood. He's just happy to see an old friend. After a few minutes, he heads back inside to his family. And I head on down the road, taking pictures of the Obama signs, which are cropping up everywhere.
I drive down Route 30 to the state forest at Caledonia, my favorite place on earth.
I try running on my torn ACL, but it doesn't work. So I just walk a few miles on the trails. A few minutes past sunset, I jump in my truck and head back toward town. I stop at the gas station to fill up my tank. A guy walks out of the A Plus wearing overalls and a John Deere hat. He sees my Obama sign, "Hey, you work for Obama?" Instantly, in my own ignorance and prejudice, I'm expecting a torrent of Republican talking points. After all, this is Fayetteville, at the gas station. I could not have been more mistaken. I explain that I'm a big Obama supporter, and that I volunteer on his campaign. The guy says, "Man, I love that guy! I'm just wondering where I can get a sign!"
We spend the next thirty minutes talking. About education. About healthcare. About ACLs. The guy tore his too, about ten years back. He says the surgery is a bitch, but it's worth it. We talk about rugby. About Chambersburg, and how it's getting bigger. They've got all those new stores out off Walker road. It's late, and the sun's gone down. You can tell it's finally autumn. He's gotta pick up dinner for his daughter, the one whose trying to get into Milton Hershey Academy. He jumps into his truck, and I jump into mine. He rolls down his window and says, "Hey man, I really think we can win this thing. I really do."
I turn up my Bruce Springsteen, take a left out of the gas station parking lot, and take the back way home. Past the farms. Past the fields. Past the growing number of Obama signs that dot the landscape in a small town in Pennsylvania.