While there may not be much on which we all might agree during this most contentious of political seasons, perhaps we might agree to heed the wise advice being bandied about by all sides: VOTE!
In most societies, voting is a hard-won right and a distinct privilege for which dozens of the world’s peoples would gladly give their lives to exercise. And yet many Americans shirk their responsibilities as citizens and find any number of excuses to avoid the voting booth as if it might be some kind of inconvenience to do something to help maintain our democracy.
I, for one, have yet to hear a valid excuse for not voting—voter suppression attempts notwithstanding.
In the 2016 presidential election, a record 139 million Americans cast their votes. While that was the largest number of actual voters, the statistic is but a reflection of the country’s population growth. The number represented barely 60 percent of eligible voters. It stands in stark contrast to the 80 percent voter turnout between 1836 and 1900.
In Montana, we’re well ahead of the national average. In 2016, 74.4 percent of the state’s 679,333 registered voters trudged to the polls to cast their ballots. In Park County, where I live, the voter turnout was 77 percent, rivaling the national numbers from the 19th Century.
I was 20 when the 26th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution granting 18-year-olds the right to vote passed in 1971. The year before, I had been selected in the second lottery draft (#125) and I remember wondering at the time why I could be conscripted to defend a nation in whose governance I had no say.
I voted for the first time in 1972. I was living in the 12th Congressional District of New York, which included Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and I remember casting a ballot for Shirley Chisholm. I don’t remember the names of other officials I might have voted for, but my Presidential pick was George McGovern, who lost in a monumental landslide to Richard M. Nixon.
By 1976 I was working as a reporter in Los Angeles and cast my presidential vote for President Gerald Ford, who, of course, lost to Jimmy Carter. I also voted for incumbent Senator John Tunney, who lost his re-election bid to the Republican S.I. Hayakawa.
It was becoming clear that I was a jinx to both parties, although two years later, in 1978, I voted for Governor Jerry Brown who handily won re-election.
Although we wouldn’t readily admit it at the time, the press liked Gov. Brown. He was accessible, seemingly sincere and as straight a shooter as is perhaps possible in the business of politics. When he was in L.A., he liked to hang out at Lucy’s El Adobe Café, a mediocre Mexican restaurant on Melrose Avenue across the street from Paramount Studios. It had a great bar and reporters liked to hang out there, as did too many celebrities to mention. Frank Casado, the owner of the restaurant that bore his wife’s name, had a great sense of humor.
One night, he had scrawled a “Jerry Brown Special” as the evening’s featured entrée. What is it? inquiring minds wanted to know.
“A chicken taco made out of left wings and assholes,” Frank dead-panned.
See how much fun politics can be?
EVERY THREE WEEKS OR SO I MEET up with a friend for coffee and an hour or so of solving most of the world’s myriad problems. For the most part, we have a shared world view and so we move on to talking about other things in pretty short order. We talk about kids and grandkids, health issues, and people we know in common. We gossip a bit, tell a few jokes. We speak of the changes we’ve seen in our little town and offer our assessments of their value in our lives. And, because we both have newspaper backgrounds, we tell each other some outrageous stories of the stories we’ve covered on our respective beats.
Election seasons are exciting times for reporters and editors. They are times we take seriously because there is always so much at stake.
“This [our town] is the perfect place to vote,” he said, setting his 14-oz. mug of coffee, vanilla cream, cinnamon and chocolate on the table between us.
It seemed an odd statement, especially coming from a guy whose mid-morning coffee seems more like a dessert than the triple-espresso I drink in three swift gulps.
“How so?”
He didn’t have to answer. A short nod of his head, a sustained shrug of his shoulders, the opening of his hands like a pastor during the benediction… I knew what he meant.
Our town (pop. 7,500) has one polling place. It’s at the County Fairgrounds, nestled between St. Mary’s Catholic Church and the Country Club on the edge of town. There’s plenty of parking in the gravel lot, and the facility is fully accessible for the handicapped. Besides the annual County Fair, where this building plays host to displays of canned vegetables, quilts and various attempts at art, the brightly lit room with tiled floors and painted cinder block walls hosts dances and Pioneer Days dinners, gun shows and health fairs.
But it is on election day that the room really comes to life.
I absolutely love going there to vote. And although this year I voted by mail because there was a chance I might have been out of town, I might run down there just to hang out for a while on Tuesday.
There is a table right inside a vestibule whose two sets of doors offer refuge from the blowing cold and wet snow that is somehow synonymous with Montana elections—even those held in June. Nobody much remembers from election to election which precinct they might live in—despite there being only four—and so we tell our street addresses to the people with big ledger books spread across the folding banquet tables. Of course, we visit with the volunteer election workers because they are our friends and neighbors. We’re reminded of our precinct number and off we trundle to the appropriate tables to show some ID, sign a line in yet another ledger book, receive our paper ballots and listen to some instructions.
We visit with more of our friends and neighbors as we make our way to the free-standing plastic-and-aluminum privacy booths to perform our civic duty.
When we’re done, we slide the ballot into the black steel box and are presented with an oval sticker that says, “I Voted.” It is a rightfully proud moment and we look around the room to nod and wave at yet more friends and neighbors and engage in some conversation about the weather or the car problems we might be having or the hunting season we’re in the middle of. We might trade a little gossip or offer condolences to people who might recently have lost a loved one.
It is but one shining example of democracy at work; it is this nation’s citizenry at our best. Please vote.
Senate Bean Soup
This delicious, simple soup is served every day in the United States Senate dining room. Election Day just wouldn’t be the same without a bowl of it.
2 pounds dried navy beans
four quarts hot water
1-1/2 pounds smoked ham hocks
1 large onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
salt and pepper to taste
Rinse the navy beans and then run hot water through them until they are slightly whitened. Place beans into a large stockpot with hot water. Add ham hocks and simmer approximately three hours, covered, stirring occasionally. Remove ham hocks and set aside to cool. Dice meat and return to soup. Lightly brown the chopped onion in butter. Add to soup. Before serving, bring to a boil and season with salt and pepper. Serves 8.
Photography by Courtney A. Liska