Monday, November 3
I had volunteered to help the Obama campaign, and after getting calls from two different Obama campaign offices, I had no idea what I'd be doing, or where, or when. I googled 'canvass Obama' and I wasn't sure whether to prepare for combat or hugs. People person that I am not, neither option left me enthused. But I had been spouting off about politics for years, and I was determined to literally walk the talk.
I sent an IM to a co-worker, joking that he might have to take over some of my responsibilities in case I got shot. "Not everyone who gets shot, dies," was his inspiring response.
Fearing that I might be expected to wander the streets for the day, I packed a few things in a cheap backpack: sunglasses, sunscreen, a long-sleeved t-shirt in case the day cooled off, and a small notebook - I thought it would be interesting to keep track of how many doors I knocked on or other observations I made throughout the day. I put the notebook in an easily accessible pocket of the backpack, so that I'd be able to reach it quickly if I needed to write down, say, distinctive scars and tattoos or license plate numbers.
Tuesday, November 4
When I arrived at 8:30, there were only a handful of people at the local campaign office - turns out that they were going to get started at 9. There was a life-sized cardboard George Bush standing in one corner, wearing an Obama hat and a Howard Dean button, and I'm not sure if that was meant to inspire, bemuse or enrage. I helped sort boxes of door hangers into smaller piles and read 'Safety Tips for Wisconsin Canvassers,' which I hoped would not be pertinent. There was also a flier with voting information, and another page with a suggested script to use when people came to their doors.
By 9, fifteen volunteers had walked in, and two of the people in charge - Paul and Joe - sat us down to give us our marching orders. They encouraged us to connect with people: make eye contact and speak from the heart about why we believed so strongly in Obama. Every vote counted; in 2000 and 2004, the Democrats had won Wisconsin by thin margins, so even a couple of people in each ward could mean the difference between victory and defeat. We were to do whatever we could, short of piggyback rides, to get people to the polls.
We would be paired up and assigned to 'turfs' - a small section of a ward, usually covering a few blocks. During the first wave, we'd be putting out door hangers which listed where the polling place was for that particular ward. We were to avoid any house with a McCain yard sign or 'no soliciting' sign, or any house that looked sketchy in some way. We were also given 'do not knock' lists, addresses that we were supposed to skip, but it wasn't clear why. I was going to ask if there was a federal 'do not knock' list that I could register for, but that seemed to be against the spirit of the day.
The First Turf
I was paired with Lee, a 30-ish woman from Mequon with one toddler at home and another one on the way. She joked that she had considered wearing something that would show that she was expecting in hopes of getting sympathy votes. The campaign office there had asked people to go to other parts of town, with the idea that canvassing in Mequon (a strongly conservative suburb, apparently) would be counterproductive. Maybe there was a fear that an Obama canvasser would somehow stir up a nest of lazy Republicans and inspire them to vote.
Lee had canvassed before, so I asked her to take the lead for a while until I was comfortable with the script. I realized quickly that if we followed the script to the letter, we'd cover about five houses per hour. Not that we saw many people - during the first turf, I'd say we talked to perhaps ten people. With the exception of two people who spoke no English, everyone said they had voted, or were about to vote.
I live in Bay View, a fairly fashionable neighborhood just south of Milwaukee. I love it here - it feels suburban, but we get to have sidewalks. Much of the neighborhood was established in the late 1800's and early 1900's, and there's a fair variety of architectural styles. But it appears everyone lives on a hill, something which I began to loathe as the days went on. Listen: if you want to put up a 'no soliciting' sign, put it where I can see it from the bottom of your steps, you sick bastards.
Lee and I had just started climbing rickety stairs to a high front porch when we heard a scratching sound. We reached the top of the steps and found a squirrel, caught in a live trap and trying frantically to get out. If someone had come to the door, I'm thinking the squirrel might come up in casual conversation. Most likely the plan was to release it in the park or something, but it seems like such a futile endeavor. For all I know, squirrel is the other, other, other white meat.
The Second Turf
We were assigned another few blocks in a different ward. Many of the houses we went to already had door hangers from the previous day; the only difference was that yesterday's hangers said 'vote November 4' instead of 'vote today.' Lee and I had been replacing the old hangers with the new; we wondered if anyone might still not be aware that today was election day. There were Obama hangers and other literature everywhere (hmm, isn't he the one that's supposed to be good about the environment?), but I didn't see any McCain literature the whole day.
Joe and Paul told us that we should leave the old hangers and add the new ones: the idea was that people would see the clutter on their front doors and that would drive them to read the message. I'd hazard the guess that people who let the clutter build up for a while are probably not overly concerned about their role in the democratic process, but perhaps that's another sign that I'm an elitist.
We stepped over a lot of rotting jack-o-lanterns to ring doorbells, and rarely saw anyone. Several times we came to houses where the front door was open behind the screen door, and yet no one answered the doorbell. Perhaps they were rude people who had left their doors open to catch the warm breeze of the unusually pleasant day; perhaps they were just very trusting. We saw one house with no less than seven McCain signs on the yard, and numerous 'no trespassing' signs, which is apparently one way to get yourself on the 'do not knock' list.
By now it was coming up on noon, and Lee had to get home to relieve the babysitter. I enjoyed working with her, and I wondered who I'd be paired with next. I grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water, and waited for the next batch of volunteers to assemble.
The Third Turf
I was paired with Joe F., not to be confused with the aforementioned Joe. It so happens that Joe F. works with Joe. For the sake of telling this story I probably should just call them as Joe the staffer and Joe the canvasser. Or I could refer to Joe F. as Bob, but that seems awkward.
Bob had a quiet intensity. Like me, he had never done any political work before, or even donated to a campaign, but Obama had inspired him to action. Bob had never canvassed before, while my three hours of volunteering made me a grizzled veteran. (Little did I know that I would soon encounter a veteran who was far more grizzled.)
We were sent to a turf a couple of blocks from the office. Bob sized up the map and pointed out that if we did a figure-eight pattern, we could cover the area without doubling back. (I guessed correctly that Bob worked in IT.)
We had covered half a block before we encountered an actual voter. A stocky man who looked to be in his fifties greeted us enthusiastically, and stepped out to talk to us. "I understand there's a volunteer office just down the street," he said. "I'd have volunteered, but I'm pretty much brain dead. You know, from the smoking." We nodded politely, thanked him and made a move to go back down the steps to the sidewalk. "I volunteered back in '72 for McGovern," he continued. "Clinton, Gore, and Kerry too. Oh, and Dukakis, but hey, what could we do?"
I glanced at Bob, who was frozen in place, perhaps by the same mix of politeness and horror that gripped me.
"I used to be in the military," the man continued. "Not much good to a campaign now. Brain dead. And I've got the pot tits," he said, cupping his breasts. "You know, you get 'em from smoking too much marijuana." He grinned. "You think Obama can do it?"
"We sure hope so," Bob said. "Well, we better get going." We made our way back down the steps and continued on.
The Fourth Turf
Joe was perhaps the most animated of the staffers managing the campaign office. At one point he remarked that he had champagne and a shotgun waiting at home, and he was going to use one or the other depending on who became the next president. He joked that his insurance had a suicide clause. Maybe this would have worked if he had used the obvious gag about popping off one or the other.
By now, a hundred volunteers had managed to canvass almost all of Bay View - but the goal was to hit every house three times.We wouldn't be putting out door hangers anymore, but we still had the same goal of talking to everyone we could find and asking them if they voted. We were given bright yellow "I voted today" stickers: we told people that if they had already voted, they could leave the sticker on their door, and canvassers would skip their house from then on. We could have sold them for a pretty tidy sum if the Obama campaign needed a last-minute influx of cash.
We were sent to a neighborhood I had never seen before. Big houses and
gigantic, ancient trees lined the quiet streets. Many of the homes were
in the process of being fixed up, and a few had fallen into disrepair.
There were a lot of home-made Obama yard signs. At one house a woman
said she had already voted, as had her 93-year-old mother. A man with a
McCain sign in his yard told us he was happy to see so many people
fired up about voting.
A few doors down, I encountered some hostility. As I knocked on the screen door, I saw that the front door was ajar. I was wondering if someone had forgotten to close it when someone inside - an elderly man, I guessed - shouted "Go away!" I turned on my heel and left, more amused than anything else.
The Fifth Turf
Bob and I were sent to an idyllic neighborhood that bordered a park. By now, we were far more likely to run into people, and every last one said that they had voted. I believed most of them. One woman testily said that I was the fifth canvasser to come to her door, and I suggested that an "I voted today" sticker and a string of garlic would probably prevent any more of us from coming to her door.
We passed some kids playing with toy guns. Future Palin voters, I surmised.
I asked one woman if she had voted yet, and she looked at me quizzically for a few moments before
she said her parents were not at home. I realized that I had no idea if
she was 16 or 21, whereas I felt like I was approximately 82.
By now, my calves were starting to ache from the steps I had been climbing all day. When we got back to the car, I was grateful to sit down. We drove back to the office. Joe F. was done for the day; he shook my hand, wished everyone luck, and headed out the door.
It was 4:30. I walked outside and leaned against the building to catch my breath for a minute. I saw that I had missed a call from my wife, who wondered if I was going to stop home for dinner. As I put my phone back in my pocket, I accidentally took a picture of myself.
I had been walking around for about eight hours, and I was feeling it. I understood that every vote was important, but by now, I figured everyone who intended to vote had either done so or was standing in a line somewhere. I decided to call it a day. I went inside and signed out, and a couple of staffers near the door thanked me profusely for my help.
The final tally
My legs felt like stone as I walked into the house. My wife was still picking Quinn up from day care, so I had the house to myself for a few minutes. I peeled off my shoes and socks, grabbed a beer and sat on the front porch. The sun was setting, but the day was still unusually warm.
It hadn't been what I had expected. I had envisioned arguing with people through screen doors in some unfamiliar and unfriendly part of town. I should have realized how ridiculous my preconceptions were. The people running the campaign office must have had an idea of what they were doing, because they wanted volunteers to stay in their own neighborhood and avoid debating with McCain supporters. Furthermore, this neighborhood is firmly in the Obama camp.
My wife and I didn't watch the election results until sometime after 8, and Obama already had a sizable lead. Wisconsin was solidly blue, with Obama getting something like 13% more of the popular vote. Then, at 10 pm, when the polls on the west coast closed, CNN simply projected a landslide victory for Obama, and we couldn't believe it at first. We were both dead tired, but we forced ourselves to stay up long enough to see the victory speech.
Was it worth it? A qualified yes. I certainly walked the talk, and had a few blisters to show for it. The cynic in me would point out that Obama's sizable margin of victory means that I really didn't make much of an impact, like I was one of thousands of people heaping sandbags against a flood that never came. Next to the people who were out there canvassing months ago, my day of effort seems paltry.
There were a few moments during the day when I felt like I was caught up in something much bigger than myself. I managed to step outside my comfort zone and talk to strangers all day. And if I were to develop an interest in marijuana, I have a source.
