Election Day 2020

 

I walked into the Lions Club on Porter Road about 5:30 a.m. on November 3.  The street running between Post and Champlain Streets was renamed Bellvue Avenue, but it will always be Porter Road to me.

My fellow election judges were still setting up.  Two precincts stage elections at the Lions Club.  Ottawa 12 and Ottawa 4.  We share voting booths, a vote tabulator, and a secure WiFi connection to the County Clerk’s office.  Ottawa 4 judges mark their ballots and applications using red pens while we at Ottawa 12 use green.  At the end of the day we remove all the ballots from the tabulator, divide them according to those ink colors, and finish our work separately.

I set up our precinct’s tablet pollbook computer that contains a data base of registered voters.  That is generally my workstation throughout the day although we switch jobs from time to time.  I confirmed it was synced to the correct precinct, updated, and ready to go when the polls opened at 6:00.

We unpacked our ballots, put up the required signs and notices, set up the Plexiglass shield (new this year) in front of the judges station, put hand sanitizer and masks near the entrance, unpacked the ballots, security sleeves, the application spindles, all the stuff.  A lot of gear goes into an election.

After we all raise our hands, take the oath, and sign various forms I like to be the one to do the yell out the door at 6:00 a.m..  (Not sure this is still required.)  At the first election I worked I assumed it was a joke.  Something they pulled on rookies.

My mentor, a veteran (read old) election judge, was obviously not kidding. 

“Will you announce the polls opening?  It’s part of the process,” he said, showing me a script.

I read about announcing the polls opening in the book he handed me, laughed, then looked back up at him.  He never cracked a smile.  Serious as a heart attack.

“I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

We were in the gym of an old school on Bucklin in LaSalle.  It was sometime in the 90’s.  I walked across the basketball floor, went to the side door we were using as an entrance, opened it, and yelled loudly into the dark night, to no one.

“Oyez, Oyez.  The polls are now open.”

Crickets.

I shut the door and walked back to my station.  I felt like the town crier.  That had to be a holdover from the very earliest elections held after Illinois became a state in 1818.  Government really does change slowly.   

On November 3, 2020 I didn’t get the chance to do the yell.  We inadvertently left the door unlocked and a woman came in early, at about 5:50, took a chair, and waited patiently.  Before 6:00 there were two people behind her.  It stayed that way most of the day.  Busiest election I ever worked.

With me at the Ottawa 12 precinct was a 21-year old election judge working her first election along with an experienced young man.  Well, younger than me at least, and very familiar with all the forms and processes involved in an election.  I appreciate working with someone who likes and knows details. They were both Republicans and I am a Democrat.  Ideally, we would have had another judge but that wasn’t possible this year.  If the clerk’s office had been able to fill that slot, they would have made the additional judge a Democrat. 

I liked former County Clerk JoAnn Carretto’s reference for party affiliation.  She simply referred to us as R’s or D’s.  I can hear her voice at the trainings in the basement of the LaSalle County courthouse.

“OK, if you do curbside voting,  when you can’t get someone inside the polling place, you can go out to their car and do everything you would do inside but two of you have to go, and you have to make sure one is an R and the other a D.  You got that?  R and a D, then we’re all good.”

We alternate R’s and D’s as much as possible along the precinct’s tables.  If there is a D identifying the voter as registered in the precinct and eligible for a ballot, then an R signs off on the voter’s application and issues the ballot.  Two sets of eyes on that process, one from each of the two major parties.

The county determines party affiliation from our voting record in primary elections.  Lots of voters don’t like that Illinois requirement and some do not vote in primaries because of it, but that’s the system.  The system has changed very little during my time as a judge. 

JoAnn would also remind us, in that deadpan voice of hers, the rules for returning the ballots, the memory card from the tabulator, the various forms signed by all the judges, and all the gear to the courthouse.

“OK, let’s talk supply judges.  After the polls close and your votes are counted, when the number of ballots voted plus spoiled ballots subtracted from the number of ballots matches the number you were issued, you load all your stuff in your vehicle and bring it up to the courthouse, get in line, and DON’T LEAVE till we tell you everything checks out and it is OK for you to go.  You all with me?”

It’s the end of the training.  The election judges in the basement murmur tiredly.

“Now, who can tell me how many people have to be in that car?”

“Two,” someone says.

“That’s right and who do they need to be?”

“A Republican and a Democrat.”

“That’s right.  A D and an R.  Those ballots have been with you all day, in the same room, and in the end, two of you travel with them to the courthouse and give them to us.  Then your job is done.”

JoAnn’s replacement, Lori Bongartz, worked for JoAnn and was part of those past trainings.  She leads them now.  There’s a lot of continuity in the County Clerk’s office in LaSalle County.  Procedures change slowly, but when they do election judges know all about them, because the clerk and her staff tell us about them in detail.

We learn new procedures best by using them during an election.   Learning by doing is awkward sometimes, but it works.  Election judges do the same thing over and over.  It goes like this.

Guy walks into the precinct and looks confused.

“How you doing today sir?”

He’s looking around.  People are voting in the booths while others are standing in front of the two rows of tables representing two precincts.  Maybe he has his voter registration card in his hand.  Maybe he looks at it but remains confused.

“I think I’m in the right place, but I don’t remember my precinct.”

His precinct number is on the card, but in tiny print in an unlikely place.

“Let’s find out.  What’s your name? Let’s start with the last name.”

“Johnson.  Tim Johnson.”

In the tablet computer is a database of registered voters in LaSalle County.  I have it set to search the Ottawa 12 precinct.  I type Johnson into the tablet on the last name line and a bunch of Johnsons pop up.  I type Tim on the first name line and two pop up.

“What’s your address Tim?”

He tells me.  It matches one of the two addresses listed for Tim Johnson.

“Yeah, we got you right here.”

We used to flip through pages and pages of registered voters to find names.  With the tablet it takes only a few seconds.

“You’re in the right place.  Ottawa 12.”

If he had not been in my precinct, he likely would have been in Ottawa 4 a few steps away.  I see that he has not been mailed a ballot or voted early.  That makes him a registered voter eligible to cast a ballot.  I print a label with his name and address on it and paste it on an application for a ballot.

“Sign right here would you please, Tim?”

I click another tab and a clear picture of Tim’s signature, taken from when he registered to vote, appears on the tablet screen.  After he signs the application, I compare the two signatures.  They match.  I initial the application on a line that says something like ‘Registration verified by _____.’ 

Often the judge sitting next to me glances at the screen and sees that the signatures match.  He or she initials the line that says ’Ballot issued by_______.’ 

He then numbers the application and put it on a spindle.  He initials the ballot in green ink, so we know it comes from Ottawa 12, and passes it to the next judge.  That judge gives the voter some basic directions, asks if there are questions, directs him or her to any open voting booth, and points to the tabulating machine where the ballot is taken when done.  Pretty simple deal.

The tabulator is a simply a locked metal bin with an optical scanner on top.  It reads the voter’s selected candidates and stores that information on a memory card.  Optical scanners are old and unhackable technology, connected to nothing but an electrical outlet.  Its not fancy but it works.

People often want to give us their voter registration card, or driver’s license, as if they need to prove their identity to get a ballot.  We know their identity because of the registration process.  The crucial part of making sure the person requesting a ballot is eligible to vote is matching the signature.  It’s eerie how closely signatures tell the story of who we are.

By now, I’ve watched thousands of people sign their names on those applications.  Some take a long time, some scrawl out marks in seconds, some are small and cramped, while others are grand and flamboyant.  However signatures appear on my screen, when the voter signs the application the two signatures inevitably look the same.

I was pointing that out to first time judge sitting next to me late in the afternoon.  You get a little punchy after a while.  I was about to give the person in front of me an application to sign.  When his signature came up on the screen, I whispered to get her attention.

“Look at this.”

His signature was more like a drawing.  The first mark was way up off the signature line.  It might have been an S but it looked more like an exaggerated comma.  Next was a small batch of marks on the line, then an explosion of big squiggles to finish it out.  It appeared to have no relationship to his printed name.

We watched as he quickly scratched out his signature.  My partner took his application, handed him a ballot, and he went on his way.  I put his just completed signature next to the image of his signature on my tablet screen.  Not a damned bit of difference.  Illegible, but identical.

I have never, so far, rejected a signature.  That’s because they always match.  I’ve not been involved in mail in voting, but I’m sure the signature is vital there too.  Signatures tell us the person requesting a ballot has a right to a ballot.  The voter marks it, puts it in the tabulator which records the voter’s choices, and at the end of the day the votes are counted.

Throughout the day we check to make sure the number of ballots issued on the tablet, the hand-written number of ballot applications on the spindle, and the combined number of ballots put through the tabulator by both precincts match.  If those counts are off, we must resolve it.  We don’t know which candidates voters select until we read the tape when the polls are closed.  And as we work we don't care.  Our job is to safeguard the ballots, and to make sure those voting them are eligible to do so.  At the end of the day we deliver them to the County Clerk.  That’s the deal.

We can do more now than we could on past election days.  For example, we have been doing same day registration for a number of years.  Once you learn how, the tablet pollbooks make that process much easier.  It quickly became my favorite thing to do as an election judge.

In the afternoon a middle-aged man came to vote and before he left for the booth, he asked a question.

“Today is my son’s eighteenth birthday.  November third.  If he came in here today could you register him and let him vote?”

“Absolutely,” my co-worker said.  “As long as he comes in with two forms of ID that show him residing at an address within the precinct.”

“Well he lives with me.  He was talking about voting this morning and I told him I’d find out if he could.  He really wants to vote.”

“Then by all means send him in.”

About an hour later a boy came in with a fistful of papers. 

“I’d like to register to vote.”

“Did your Dad come in earlier and talk to us about this?”

“Yeah.” He was smiling.  “I have my birth certificate, driver’s license, library card, bunch of stuff.”

“We’ve been waiting for you.  Step off to the side here.  We’ve got a form for you to fill out and then we’ll enter you into the system.  Won’t take long.”

“Great.” 

I processed a few more voters and he returned with the completed form.  I was getting the hang of it.  It takes clicking on several screens we don’t typically use but I navigated through it, entering information off his form.

“OK.  We’re going to issue you a ballot.  As long as you live at this address, in the Ottawa 12 precinct, this will be your polling place.  Unless you hear different.  The County Clerk will mail you your voter’s registration card.  You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” he said. “This is great.”

The judge down the line gave him his first ever ballot, explained how to mark it, and directed him to a voting booth.

In a few minutes he emerged from the voting booth, pushed his ballot into the tabulator, and got his sticker.

He walked over to my station. 

“Thanks again,” he said, still smiling.  “I thought I’d waited too long.  This is really cool.”

“I think so too.  Congratulations.  Welcome to American democracy.  Glad you’re part of it.”

In 2016 Donald Trump narrowly won over Hillary Clinton in Ottawa’s 12^th precinct. I wish I could find those numbers, but so far they escape me.  I came home after working that election with an uneasy feeling.  My celebratory whiskey on the rocks went sour in the wee hours of Wednesday morning after Michigan was called by the networks for Trump.  I went to bed and woke up to what I’d feared since the polls closed.

Four years later I came home with that same bad feeling.  We had 267 voters in our precinct during election day, and we knew from the pollbook 288 had voted early.  That’s a turnout of over 72%, which has never been that high.  Say anything you want about our recent election; the real winner was civic involvement.  I think both the D’s and the R’s won by that measure.

Of the 267 the tape from the tabulator, which all of the judges in the precinct sign, showed that of election day voters in Ottawa 12, 259 participated in the presidential contest.  157 voted for Trump and 102 for Biden.  I didn’t stay up to watch TV election coverage for the result because I was sure nothing would be decided that night.  I was tired, and worried besides.   

But in 2020 the vote on election day was only part of the story. 

Sometime later I checked the County Clerk’s website for election results.  119 of 119 precincts had reported.  All the early votes had been counted.  I went straight to Ottawa 12.

256 votes were cast in Ottawa 12 for Donald Trump and Mike Pence.  283 were cast for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.  My neighbors and I made a slight change in our voting pattern.  The D’s presidential candidate edged out the R’s by 27 votes.   I could only hope, as a Democrat, that pattern held across the country.  And it did.

I don’t doubt for a second the accuracy of the vote in my precinct in LaSalle County, or of my county’s election results.  We have good people working the election who take their oath and their job seriously.

I believe elections across America are similarly accurate.  Elections are local, staffed by common people, and managed by local government officials like our County Clerk who answers to the people she serves.  That is what makes American elections free and fair.

You can be displeased by the outcome of this election, but for Christ’s sake don’t throw America’s vote counting process under the bus.  Elections are run by your neighbors and proven over and over to be accurate.  I have a close-up view of how it works and have never seen fraud of any kind. 

Let’s accept the result, shall we?  We’ll do it all again in four years.  With any luck, I will once again be at the Lions Club.  I hope you are part of the process too, either by voting early, going to your precinct on election day, or becoming an election judge. 

Don’t doubt that your vote counts.  Its how we Americans strive to build that more perfect union.  It will never be perfect you know, but we won’t stop trying.   

A Dinner Conversation Revisited

 

In the Spring of 2018, I took a solo road trip following the Civil Rights Trail through Alabama and blogged about it.  I met a lot of people along the way and one couple thought they knew me.  It got me an invitation to join them at their table for dinner at a great BBQ/Seafood shack near the Alabama Florida border.  It had that Alabama ambience.  Distinctive decor.

I expanded the conversation I had with the fictional Don and Lola Ackland that night (Dinner at the Shack May 2018) to include much of what I heard on that trip from people who have political points of view different than mine.  If you’re a regular reader you’ll remember Don and Lola, and if not, I’m glad I can introduce you.  Let’s pick it up after I order dinner from Shirley the waitress, and Don and Lola realize I’m not their friend Darrell Ebener.

 

“So, what brings you down our way Mr. …uh…McClure.  Or is it Dave?”

“Call me Dave. Please.  I’m making my way to Pensacola to golf with some fellas that are flying down from Illinois.  I’m on a solo road trip to, you know, acquaint myself with this part of the country.  Been following the Civil Rights Trail.  I was in Selma this morning, Montgomery and Birmingham before.  Learning a lot about Alabama.  My wife is joining me after the golf.  We’re going to spend a week or so with some relatives, then head home slowly.  May stop in Memphis.”

“I hope you’re enjoying Alabama Dave.”

“Well, your weather beats ours all to heck, I’ll tell you that.

“What part of Illinois you from?”

“Ottawa.  Town of about 18,000 ninety miles southwest of Chicago.”

While I talked to Don, Lola scrolled furiously on her phone and now held it up.

“There’s Darrell Ebner, just so you don’t think Don and I are getting Alzheimers.  Now isn’t he just about your double?”  She passed me her phone.

I looked on the screen and a grinning gray-haired man in a Titleist hat peered back at me.  It was like looking in a mirror. 

“My god yes.  Let’s hope I’m not his evil twin.”

“I bet not,” Lola said with a toothy smile.  Don followed his wife up quickly.

“So, what are you learning about us Alabamans?”

“You eat well, for one thing.  And you like your beer nice and cold.” 

I took a big swig of my long neck, which was sweating from the heat.  Heat in February.  Nothing but a screen door and windows open there in The Shack.  You gotta love it.  I felt far from home.  I wasn’t sure how much to say about what I thought of Alabama.

“You eat here often?” I said.

“Yes, we do.  Beats cooking,” Lola said.  I can’t turn out food near as good as the cook here anyway.”

“What county am I in?”

“Conecuh,” Don said.  “Little county less than 13,000 people.  We’ve lived here all our lives.  And Lola never forgets anything.  If there is something you want to know she is the one to ask.”

“We are keeping you from your supper Mr. McClure.  Don’t mind us.  Eat that gumbo before it gets cold.  It may be the best you ever eat,” Lola said.

I had a spoonful and agreed with Lola.  The stew had the holy trinity of delta cooking; celery, onions, carrots, along with okra and peppers in a pale roux., and it was heavy with crawfish, shrimp, and chunks of fish.  In lots of gumbo one or more of the seafood items are overdone and rubbery, but in that cup each was cooked just right.  The best thing about the The Shack’s gumbo though, was the sausage.  Spicy and smooth, but not greasy.

“Wow,” I said.

“What’d I tell ya,” Lola said.  “That’s more of a creole dish with the light-colored butter roux.  Cajun gumbo is darker, made with lard a lot of times.  I prefer this kind.  And that sausage is made right here in Evergreen.  Conecuh sausage company.  Been around since 1947.”

Don wasn’t into talking about food. 

“So, what have you been learning about Civil Rights in Alabama?”

I swallowed a mouthful of gumbo and paused.

“I learned civil rights for black people were pretty hard to come by until the 60’s when they had to fight to get them.  I knew about what was happening in Birmingham, because I was a kid then and saw it on TV, and I’d read about Montgomery with the freedom riders and what happened on the bridge in Selma.  But I didn’t know what brought it on, and how bad it was for so long after the Civil War ended.”

“I was a kid then too.”

“How old are you Don?”

“I’ll be 69 comin’ up here soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be 68 in August.  I remember seeing young people being knocked down with a fire hose rolling down the street.  I saw them sic the dogs on black people that looked to be just standing there.  But what I remember most is the look on the faces of those cops.  How hateful they looked.  I didn’t understand it back then.  Not sure I do now.”

“Yeah, it would be hard for a Yankee kid to know what it was like down heah then.”

“How’d you feel when that was happening Don?”

“Scared.  I thought everything was breaking loose and I didn’t know what it was going to be like next.  It was like people my parent’s age were losing control.  And they were pissed.”

“White people you mean.”

“Yeah.  I think they were scared too truth be told.  But they were so mad.  At the federal government and the news media as much as the black people.  Looking back, I think the leaders of those protests wanted that to happen in front of the TV cameras and we played into it.  They got the upper hand on that one.  It’s never been the same since.”

“Would you want it to be the same?”

“No.  But it didn’t have to happen like it did.”

“It was shameful,” Lola said.  “I just felt ashamed.  I didn’t say it to my parents.  But when they killed those four little black girls with a bomb in their Sunday School?  They was my age those little girls.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was scared because I didn’t know how far we would go to stop those black protestors.  So, I guess I was scared too in a different way.  I was afraid lots and lots more black people would get killed and they’d bring the army in.  And then they did bring the army in.  It was a terrible time for Alabama.”

“I suppose you went to the new lynching museum in Montgomery that Stephenson fella put together.”

“Yeah I did.  You been there?”

“No.  Not going neither.”

“It’s really pretty well done, Don.  Straightforward and factual.  It’s not just about Alabama but the whole South, the whole country for that matter.  We lynched black people in Illinois too.  That was news to me.  I mean it happened.  I didn’t realize it was anywhere as big a number as it was though.  4,000 they could document.  Surely more we’ll never know about.  Maybe double.  I had no idea.”

They were both quiet.

“I mean, I don’t blame you.  The whole country was responsible.  The North took damned little interest in stopping it.  Trouble was the country was run by nothing but white men for all but a few years after the Civil War.  The slaves may have been free, but they didn’t have any rights.  Couldn’t vote.  It was a different time, but still it happened.  I think we all have to own it.”

Our dinner came, which was good timing.  My dinner companions were having BBQ.  Lola had a pulled pork sandwich with slaw on top (the Slaw Slammer) and Don had the Smoked Butt plate.  My plate had a big pile of mullet.  When the waitress asked if she could bring us anything else, I ordered another beer and asked Don if I could buy him one.  He shot a look at Lola.

“Go ahead.  I’ll drive home honey.  I can see you’re gonna have a good time talking.”  She turned to me.  “My husband likes a good discussion, as you might have caught on to.”

Don went on.  “It might be we all have to own it, but you know as well as I do the rest of the country puts it all on guys like me.  Alabama good old boy born and bred.  White, redneck, NASCAR watchin’, gun totin’, racist cracker.”

“I think you pretty much got all the stereotypes wrapped up into one there, Don.  It might work for some people but not me.  Presumes too much don’t you think?  I imagine you have your ideas about Yankees too.  But I’d rather not be anyone’s typical anything if I can help it.”

“I know that, but I have you figured as a Democrat just the same.”

“You’d be right.  I am a Democrat.  I’m a retired social worker.  I ran a private not for profit that worked with kids and families.  We took government money so we could provide foster care and therapy.  We also did day care and immigration work.  A lot of the people we worked with were poor.  Being a Democrat, especially in Illinois, kind of goes with that territory.”

“That sounds like a tough job.”

“It was.  But satisfying too.  Those programs work you know.  Not every time but they work.  What did you do for a living Don?”

“I ran an insurance agency.  Took it over from my Dad.  I started out selling life insurance, ended up being something of a financial advisor.  That business changed so much.  It works too if people stick with it.”

“I bet you helped a lot of people, a lot of families, get ahead and stay there.”

“Those that could afford it I did.  There are plenty of poor people round heah I couldn’t figure out how to help.”

“I’d guess you to be a Republican.”

“You’d be right about that.  My whole family is Republican.  Trump got 62% of the vote here.  Better than Mitt Romney.  Alabama state government is pretty much all Republican.  Not much future in being Democrat in Alabama.”

Lola jumped in.  I felt bad about leaving her out.

“I don’t know what I am anymore.  Don’t know that I’m a Democrat, but I’m fixin’ to vote that way come the next election.  I think things are going crazy myself.  And it’d be wrong to think of Alabama as all red Republican.”

“Where did you work Lola?”

“I started out working at our kid’s school, Sparta Academy, private.  Then I went and worked as an aide in the public school.  That opened my eyes.  Best thing I ever did was to see how the other half lives.  Oh, and I’m an election judge.”

“I am too Lola.  You had a special election not long ago that got pretty nutty.  Alabama was on the national news every night.  How did that happen Lola?”

“Oh boy, that’s a whopping long story Dave.  How’s that mullet?”

“Just like I hoped it would be.  Nice and fishy.  I get tired of bland white fish sometimes.  And the slaw is great.  Lots of places overlook the sides and they all end up tasting the same.  These beans are nice and spicy too with that same good sausage.”

“I’m telling you, you’re at the best roadside joint in South Alabama.”

Don swallowed a mouthful of smoked pork, took a swig of beer, and leaned back in his chair.

“That damn special election was a circus.  We were replacing Jeff Sessions right?  Who probably wishes he’d a never taken that Attorney General job, and it should have been a slam dunk for the Republicans, who started out behind Luther Strange.  But somehow, they dug up Roy Moore and expected us to vote him in.  Strange was a perfectly good candidate, moderate, and damned if they didn’t put Moore on the ballot.  I still don’t know what happened.”

“The only thing crazier is they expected Alabama women to vote for him,” Lola added.

“I don’t believe quite all that sexist stuff about Moore like Lola, but they plumb overshot thinking they could get enough votes out of the cities and black votes to elect him in the general.  Put that scandal stuff aside and Roy Moore is too old school, even for Alabama.  At least I hope so.  I reckon even Alabama gets more fair-minded over time.”

“You think they’ll run him again against Doug Jones?”

“If they do that’s the only way Doug Jones gets re-elected.  Jones worked for the feds and prosecuted the boys that bombed that Birmingham church where the four black girls were killed.”

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sayin’ it’s bad.  I’m just sayin’ that stuff is never forgotten in the South.  That background is not going to get you elected down here in a statewide election against any decent Republican.  Not Alabama, not Georgia, Mississippi, not any of the southern states.”

“But he’s an Alabama senator right now.”

“But he’s a Democrat.  He’s going to be a one termer if the party just plays its cards right and starts looking at how Alabama votes these days instead of listening to people outside heah.  No way Alabama should have a Democrat senator.”

“Why aren’t you guys talking about the Donald?”

We both looked at Lola.  I didn’t especially want to talk about him.  I had a feeling my dinner partner didn’t either.

“He’s the elephant in the room.  How you going to talk politics and not talk about him?”

I looked up at my dinner companion and he looked at me.

Don said, “You voted for Hillary and I voted for Trump.  Am I right?”

“You’re right.  You going to vote for him again?”

“To tell the truth, I don’t really want to.  I think he’s kinda dangerous. I mean we wanted him to shake things up and he’s sure doin’ that but I’m not sure he knows what he’s doin’ with foreign policy.  Not sure I trust him.  But unless the Democrats give me somebody I can vote for I’ll give him my vote again.  That’s a promise.”

“Just how bad would a Democratic candidate have to be before you’d vote for Trump again?”

“Well I’m not going to vote for a damn socialist I’ll tell you that.”

Lola spoke up.  “You know, we cancel each other’s votes out quite often, Don and I do.”

“Are you going to vote for Trump next election Lola?”

“I doubt it.  I voted for Hillary. And I voted for Obama the second time.  I thought Don was gonna divorce me.”

“Lola thinks the Democrats can do government programs that help poor people, and I say all they need is jobs and they can take care of themselves.” 

I had to speak up.

“Don, didn’t Obama help poor people with the Affordable Care Act?  Wasn’t he on the right side of the health care problem?”

“Dave, I used to sell health insurance.  Obamacare was a mess.  Still is.  The government has no business in health care.”

“If you ask me the government is knee deep in health care.  Medicaid, Medicare, the Veteran’s program.  That’s government health care.  Tell me, when you were selling insurance, could you find decent individual health policies poor people could afford?”

Don shook his head no.

“I worked with poor families Don.  Without Medicaid they had practically no mental health or substance abuse coverage, and even when it was included in the private insurance it had serious limits.  I’m sure you both know people without insurance who are hurting.”

“Yes, we do,” Lola said.

“Obama gave us a start to figuring out healthcare, but we’ve done nothing since.  Trump and the Republicans wanted to repeal Obamacare and replace it with something else and they had nothing.  Nothing.”

“I just know Obama was a big threat to people down here,” Don said.

“Oh Don,” Lola said.  “I haven’t heard you ever say it like that.  Who did he threaten?”

“He threatened what America stands for.”

I got back in.

“Don, don’t you think Obama did a lot of good?  Don’t you think he was decent, represented us well in the world, made thoughtful decisions?”

“Well I’ll give him this.  Obama did a lot for black people.  But I don’t think he did much for me.”

I had taken a bite of mullet but stopped chewing it.  Then I resumed and swallowed.  Washed it down with the last of my watery lite beer.

“So Don, I live in a part of Illinois that is not very diverse.  Farm country.  Small businesses.  We had factories with good paying jobs close and tourism and what not took their place.  Earnings went down.  We don’t have many black people where I live.  But we have poor people.  Lots of kids get free lunch in school.  We have a big opioid addiction problem.  Overdose deaths.  Obama was helping those people too not just black people.  Maybe down here it seems that equates to black people, but I see expanded health care as trying to bring everybody up.  Floating all the boats.  You know what I mean?”

“I know what you’re trying to say.  I’ve heard all that.  But just a minute ago you used the word ‘equates.’  Please don’t go all Yankee liberal on me and start using big words.  I may be a redneck but I’m listening.  I get it.”

He called across the room “Shirley can you bring us a couple more beers?”

Lola got up.  “I’m going to the ladies room.  Are you boys going to be OK while I’m gone?”

“I’ll be good honey,” Don said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Shirley brought over two more long necks.  Don resumed his thoughts on our previous president.

“Look, even though Obama was black and a Democrat he was smart.  I’ll give you that.  And I respected him for being a good family man.  I think I gave Obama a real chance.  You know when I lost all respect for him Dave?  It was that deal with the black professor, the Gates fellah.  Shot his mouth off then tried to make it all better by having a beer with him and the cop, brought Biden along to referee.”

“You’re talking about Louis Gates.  Has a TV show about genealogy on public TV.  Yeah.  He and Obama are friends.  Both taught at Harvard.  Gates still does.  He has a PhD.”

“And both are black.”

“So?  The cops arrested Gates on the front porch of his own house, suspected him of being an intruder.  White neighborhood, black man.  I bet you’d be pissed Don, if it happened to you or a friend of yours.  I would.  I’d be pissed as hell.”

“That’s not the point.  Obama called the policeman who made the arrest stupid.  It’s unforgiveable for the President of the United States to say that about law enforcement.”

“Is that right?”

I scooped up the last of my baked beans with a chunk of hush puppy, put it in my mouth, and tried to compose myself.

“You know when I lost all respect for Trump?

“When?”

“When he mocked the disabled reporter.  When he bragged about assaulting women.  When he called Central American immigrants at our southern border murderers and rapists.  When he immediately said the murder of a Saudi journalist in their own embassy shouldn’t interfere with us doing business with that country.  When he purposely separated kids from their parents and put them in cages to send immigrants a message.  When he claimed there were good people on both sides of the demonstrations in Charlottesville and gave credence to white supremacists.  When he ruined the grain markets for midwestern farmers with his tariff idea.  I could go on.”

“I’m sure you could.  Look, he’s not like other presidents.  He shoots his mouth off.  But he says what a lot of us think.”

Lola had come back and caught the last part of our conversation.

“It doesn’t do any good to argue with Don about the Donald,” Lola said.  “I do it regularly and it gets me nowhere.”

I kept talking to Don anyway.

“Can you really look at Obama’s presidency and say he didn’t accomplish good things for you?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

I was a little stunned.  Lola helped.

“He did away with your pre-existing condition Don.  You know that helped you.”

“How about you let me talk to my friend here, so I don’t get ganged up on two on one.  Could you do that Lola?”

“As long as you tell the truth.  Besides that, he’s my new friend too.”

“Yeah, well that figures, cause he thinks like you.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to both of you.  We can do this I think, don’t you think?  Without it getting out of hand?”

Don leaned back.  I couldn’t resist the next question.

“You’re not armed, are you?”

He smiled.  “The pistol’s in the truck.  Got a permit.  You’re safe.  We haven’t plugged a Yankee down here since the carpetbaggers I don’t think.”

“That’s not true.  White folks killed white sympathizers from the North during the Civil Rights demonstrations.  I’m just finding out about that.  But still I feel better you’re not carrying.”

I decided to keep my views on gun control to myself.

“Where were we?”

“Don was telling me to shut up I think.”

“Dang it Lola, I wasn’t.”

“All right you two, how about local voting?  What happens in local elections?”

“It’s pretty much over after the Republican primary, least it used to be,” Lola said.  “Except when it came to that year Obama first won.  That changed everything.”

“How so?”

“Obama won our county.  That’s how big the black turnout was.  I couldn’t believe it.  Nobody could.”

“It just shows you what could happen,” Don said.

“That what could happen?”

“That black voters could drive elections in the South if they got their shit together.  Them and the liberals in the cities.  It’s wrong to think of Alabama, or anywhere else in the South, is all one way.  We got the same tension between cities and rural folk as everybody else.  Thank God our cities aren’t that big.  You got Chicago up there to contend with, like California’s got LA and San Francisco.”

“But so what?  What if Democrats did drive elections?  What do you think would happen?”

“We’d have better public schools around here for one thing,” Lola said.

“Yeah, and be taxed to high heaven paying for them.  This little county?  Conecuh?  They’d spend our puny county budget up so fast it’d make your head spin.  We got so little tax base left it’d all be levied for property taxes on our houses.  And if we took that Medicaid subsidy?  All downhill from there brother, mark my words.  Before you know it, the Feds would back out and we’d be paying for it with higher taxes right here in Evergreen.”

“I think the biggest injustice that happened in reaction to Obamacare is when the red states refused to take federal payments to insure their own citizens with Medicaid.  It’s criminal to deny them that care, I think.  If not criminal, its damn cruel.”

“Now you sound like Lola. She tells me that about once a week.  Keeps finding ways to feel sorry for those folk without insurance, without this and that.”

“And you don’t?”

“They can get a job with an employer that covers them.  They can get an education so’s to get that kinda job.  They can work for it, ‘stead of getting it handed to them.  I did.  I assume you did too.  You ended up managing an outfit.”

“Oh, yeah.  I worked for it.  I did.  But I had advantages too.”

“Like what?”

“Well I was white for one.  I was a man.  And my family owned land.”

“Thank you very much,” Lola said.  “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Shirley the waitress showed up table side with her book out again.  Her timing was impeccable.

“How about dessert folks?”

“What do you have?”

“We got lots of stuff, but the best is the bread pudding.”  I looked at Lola who nodded.

“I’ll take it, with a cup of coffee.”

“How about you Lola?”

“Don and I’ll have one too. Two spoons.”

We commenced having a bread pudding conversation.  I told her about the wonderful bread pudding I ran into in Arkansas, and other memorable puddings in New Orleans and elsewhere.  Once again Don seemed eager to return to politics.

“So, who do you like coming out of this gaggle of Democrat presidential candidates?”

“I’m for whoever is going to get your vote Don.”

“I’m afraid that democrat won’t show up, unless you end up picking Biden and I’m afraid he’s screwed already.  Now Lola here, she’d vote for any one of them.”

“If it’s between one of them and the orange Cheeto, which it’s gonna be, you damn right I’ll vote for any one of them.  Any day.”

“You like Joe Biden?”

“Joe’s old.  We gotta be bold to get the young voters.  We’re not going to get any Republican votes anyway.  I don’t care what Don says.”

“But we need independent voters on our side.”

“We need new thinking you ask me.  I like Pete Buttigieg.  He’s a veteran you know.”

Don butted in.

“Hello.  That’s never going to happen.  You think you are going to get black votes with a gay candidate?  Think again.”

“Don, do you and Lola have kids?”

“Two.  Boy and a girl.  Both living in Atlanta.”

“Same as my wife and I except our kids are in Chicago.  Where are they on the LGBTQ issue?”

“Are you sure you got all the right letters there?  Seems like they add one every couple months.”

“I’ll tell ya, it isn’t an issue with our kids,” Lola said.  “And that after growing up in a house with Don Ackland.  I’m amazed, but I’m also proud of them.  They think for themselves.  They’re good smart kids.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.  I’ve never seen a social issue turn as quickly as the country’s attitude toward gay people and then gay marriage.  If we can change that much that quickly on an issue that seemed ingrained in our country, anything is possible.  Even racial equality.”

“Even socialism?” Don said.

“Yeah, even socialism.  I don’t for a minute think we’re going to be a socialist country.  They can try to scare you with Venezuela but that’s an absurd argument.  We’re not even going to be Denmark.  Look, if you can get past the label and look a little closer, we can adopt policies and create programs that really help people.  It doesn’t mean we’ll turn into a socialist country.  It will cost us more, and we’ll have to shift our spending, but it will make the country much better place to live for so many people.”

Don looked out the window at the driveway and Lola looked closely at her husband.

“You know, to hear a decent fellah, an otherwise smart guy like you, say that kind of stuff just scares the hell out of me.  We’re not that different.  Same age, both raised kids, had OK jobs.  We couldn’t think about the future any differently.  I just know spending money on the kind of shit that props people up and shields them from real work is not what made America great.  You do that, you spend our money on people who don’t earn the right to be real Americans, and this country will never be the same.”

I took the last bite of my bread pudding and washed it down with some coffee.

“Well, I gotta say it scares me just as much to think a guy like you with good values supports a man like Donald Trump and is starting to decide who’s a real American and who’s not.  We’ve got a constitution and we have got to pay attention to it.  The country is not the same place we grew up in Don.  The middle class we raised our families in is damn hard to find.  The country is changing.  It’s OK to change with it.  There’s no reason to be scared.  Listen to your kids if nothing else.  We’re going to be all right, but we have to work together and take care of each other.”

“OK Dave.  We’re not going to agree there.  It’s getting late but let me ask you one more thing.  How’s your 401(k)?”

“It’s fine.  I bet yours is too.”

“Mine is more than fine.  It’s booming.  Who do you think gets the credit for that?”

“All the people in government that worked to restore confidence after that huge recession.  Bankers and businessmen who made use of technology to better their operations, a whole bunch of people.”

”You can’t give Trump credit for anything can you?”

“I’m not sure Presidents, Obama or Trump or any of them, should get much credit for the performance of the economy.  That Trump tax cut, did it help you or your kids?  And if Trump removing restrictions on polluting the air and water that big business complained about juiced the economy, I’d gladly give up some of my 401(k) gains to have them back.  I think he’s doing real harm to the environment.  Hell, he won’t even acknowledge climate change.”

Lola stepped in.  “Let’s not talk about climate change.  We’re having dessert.”

“OK fine.  To get back to your 401(k) question, my wife and I are fine financially.  I think we’ll be OK regardless of what happens politically.  That’s not my concern. But let me ask you this, how’s your kids’ 401(k)s?”

“That’s a different story,” Lola said.  “They got student loans, pay a lot of rent, can’t even think about buying homes.  Living in Atlanta is not like living in Conechuh county.  We were able to save money.  I’m not sure they ever will.”

“That’s who I’m worried about.  My kids and their kids.  Automation and technology are going to continue to wipe out jobs.  It’s going to be a different world for them.”

“Yeah, well we’ll just have to see what happens won’t we?”  Don said.  “One thing I know is that people count on our votes down here.  The South is not going to turn blue while the Democrats keep going in the direction they’re headed.  And who knows?  One day you Democrats might want our votes. 

“The Republicans came to us in 1948, and what was a solid Democrat South turned Republican.  Strom Thurmond and the Dixiecrats all of a sudden jumped to the GOP.  But to do that the Republicans had to come around to our issues, and they did.  Still do.  You’re going to have to turn around some of your own Midwestern states, cause it’s not going to be the South that wins you back the White House.

“OK, let’s see what happens.  But on election night, after Lola and I both get home from the polls, I’ll be thinking of you down here and looking to see how Alabama goes in the election, particularly this little county.  We got a lot on the line the next election.”

“What did you think of the bread pudding?” Lola asked.

“It’s good but there’s a lady in Forest City Arkansas, wish to God I would have gotten her name, that’s got it beat.  Somehow hers was light and airy.  This pudding has good flavor, but it’s a little heavy like a lot of them, and chewy.  Love the restaurant, I wish it was in my hometown, but the bread pudding is not the best part of the meal.”

“You Yankees are so damn picky,” Don said smiling.

“Can’t help it Don, just saying what I think, which you like right?”

“It was nice talking to you Dave.  It’s hard to have this kind of conversation anymore.”

“I’m real glad you asked me to your table.  I’ve had a lot on my mind.  Sometimes it helps to talk.  I get to listen to what I’m thinking.  And it helps to put a face and a voice to views that aren’t my own.  Makes it more personal and real.  I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.  You made my day,” Lola said.  “I don’t feel quite so lonely down here now.”

“Yeah,’ Don said. “But I’m afraid you did nothing but encourage her.”

“It’s OK Don.  We don’t grow horns, or anything cause of the way we vote.  After we leave the polling booth, we’re all still Americans.”

“Remember that applies to me too,” Lola said to Don.

“I figure your political differences keep you two voting.  I have a sister and brother in law the same way.  Cancel each other’s votes out every time.  But neither dares not vote or the other gets the advantage.”

Lola laughed.  “Drive careful.  Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

I gave Lola a hug and shook Don’s hand.  He was a guy with a strong handshake too.  We tried to outgrip each other.  He has a very genuine smile.  I was glad I met them both.  Frank conversation keeps us grounded.

We have a propensity to fear each other, believe there is not enough for all of us, feel superior to those who oppose our views.  Don Ackland wouldn’t like me using the word propensity.  Better to say we’ve developed bad habits.  We have come a long way, but we have a long way to go.  Let’s get to work.

 

So much has happened since I wrote that.  Donald Trump tried to withhold congress approved military aid to Ukraine as a means to force them into launching a probe into the Biden family, as if he foresaw the coming election and tried to discredit his most feared Democratic rival before the primaries even began.  He was impeached for it but survived thanks to a Republican controlled Senate.

Since then he has downplayed the pandemic, discrediting scientists and their institutions, for political gain.  He takes no responsibility for the Covid 19 deaths that have resulted from his actions.  He continues to signal approval of right-wing extremists who most recently have interfered with his rival’s campaign efforts.  He denies the existence of systemic racism and the need to address it.  He continues to blame Democratic mayors and governors for the problems in their cities and states and threatens to withhold federal help for them as if they were another country and not a part of the country he pledged to support and defend.  The list is long.

But tomorrow night we will see, in the only poll that counts, how America responds.  Will they value their 401(k) above attacks on our environment, spurning foreign allies, attacking American values towards immigrants and refugees?  We’ll see if Joe Biden attracts the young voters, the minority voters, the moderate Republicans who want to see a return to a kinder and smarter America. 

I’ll be looking up vote counts in Conechu County Alabama and seeing how Don and Lola, and their neighbors, voted.  It’s not just whether states turn out Red or Blue, but how the votes trend among us.  Though we can’t always read the future from presidential elections, I think we will know after the dust settles where America is headed.

Be part of pointing us in the right direction.  If you haven’t voted, even if you haven’t registered, find where your polling place is located, go there, and make your voice heard.