It was a day of decision. It was a day of democracy. Many people
in the South Valley now feel jubilant. Many also have tears in
their eyes. But the vast majority, including myself, just feel
overwhelmingly relieved one of the most contentious U.S.
presidential campaigns is finally over.
It was a day of decision. It was a day of democracy. Many people in the South Valley now feel jubilant. Many also have tears in their eyes. But the vast majority, including myself, just feel overwhelmingly relieved one of the most contentious U.S. presidential campaigns is finally over.
We’re still too close to those decisions made on Nov. 2 to judge them with the clarity of distance. But most certainly, democracy is still alive and kicking around here.
And there’s no better place to search for democracy than at your local polling place. I reached mine at Morgan Hill’s Jackson School library shortly after 9am. A line of about 40 voters stretched down the hall and outside the doors. Everyone waited patiently, chatting and enjoying coffee and pastries sold by a couple of fund-raising moms. What’s half an hour in line, I thought. Folks in Afghanistan must journey several days on donkeys, crossing rivers and mountains, to cast their ballots.
I cracked corny jokes with neighbors Roger and Lili Siddall who waited behind me: “Is the Electoral College a party school? And how good is its football team?” “Wouldn’t this voting business be a whole lot easier if we just had a show of hands?”
A lady ahead in line shot me an annoyed look. I deserved it.
Finally, I signed my John Hancock in the official Registrar of Voters record book, a nice lady handed me an ATM-like card, and I entered the sacred sanctum of the voting booth. A computer touch-screen stared me face-to-face. I began making my choices. Simple and fast. No fuss. No muss. I wondered what Ben Franklin, who knew a thing or do about electricity, might say about voting Silicon Valley-style.
In mid-afternoon, in my search for democracy in the South Valley, I drove down to Gavilan College to interview students. Wandering through the nearly vacant Gilroy campus, I passed a couple of people with “I VOTED” stickers on their clothes. The quiet of the Indian Summer afternoon was juxtaposed with the national events now taking place. It seemed like a pleasant picnic day, not a historic decision day. You’d never suspect it was now the “end game” between two political parties battling for the hearts and minds of the American people.
Gavilan’s Student Union was virtually empty. The Associated Student Body (ASB) office was closed. Everyone off voting? One young woman sitting at a table reading a novel didn’t have the time to discuss the day’s importance with me. One man with an “I VOTED” sticker typed furiously at his laptop – a last-minute report for class, I supposed. I wouldn’t distract him.
Finally, I met ASB Vice President of Student Services Dave DiDenti in the office of ASB advisor Leslie Tenney. We chatted about the election. “Student-wise, it’s black and white. There’s a real passion for either Kerry or Bush,” DiDenti said of the campus atmosphere. That tone reflected what was happening throughout the nation, he observed.
Tenney said she noticed a lot of Gavilan students in their thirties voting for the first time in their lives. “They feel it’s really critical they vote,” she said.
A campus rally on Monday encouraged students to hit the ballot booths. Debates were held. Politically active students discussed the merits of the presidential candidates as well as the state initiatives. The free flow of information to the people is vital to democratic decision making, the three of us concluded.
Ah, democracy!
Driving down Highway 25 toward Hollister, I listened to the news on KCBS radio. The weather, traffic reports, a fire somewhere in the East Bay, stock market reports, all mixed in with news on national voting. Seems things do happen on Election Day other than the election.
Around 3:30pm, I reached the Free Lance office. Editor Conan Knoll had earlier asked if I would step in to help with coverage of the local election. He was short on staff reporters. I’d first told him: “No, thanks.”
“There’ll be pizza,” he said with a cunning smile.
“Hmmmmmmm,” I pondered. My stomach made my decision.
Roaming the streets in search of news, I met many friendly Hollister citizens. Seems they sincerely believe in democracy around here, I observed. Many of the poll workers I interviewed worked that day from 6am to as late as 10pm – all for a measly $100 for the entire day. They weren’t doing it for the money, I suspected.
One thing that bothered me was the fact the federal government had flown in “observers” from Washington, D.C., to watch various polling sites in Hollister. I chatted with several of these observers from the Department of Justice, but they politely declined to be quoted. They gave me a 202 area-code phone number to call. A “duty officer” named Michael back East rudely refused to explain why Washington was watching our polls. Seems it was none of my business why the government spied on Hollister citizens on Election Day.
Ah, democracy!
My main assignment was covering Hollister’s two school district races. Unlike the DOJ’s duty officer, these candidates and their family members talked pleasantly with me. Down-home politics at its best. I got the feeling each of the candidates wanted to serve well the community they love.
Around 10pm, as voters’ verdicts became clear, I started making last-minute phone calls for my deadline. It’s fun getting comments from the newly elected. But the worst part of Election Night reporting is having to call candidates with less-than-hopeful prospects. No one likes bearing bad news. But it’s also a newspaper’s duty to give the non-elected folks the chance to have their say.
About 1am, as Wednesday’s paper was “put to bed,” I felt exhausted and bloated with pizza. As I drove down Hollister’s empty main drag on the journey home home, radio commentators blabbered about the election. I yawned, half listening.
At the city-limit sign on Highway 25, I switched the radio off. The quiet settled in. History had happened. I pondered that simple fact as I drove the lonely country road in silence. It was a day of decision. It was a day of democracy.
