The Fightin’ Fifth!

I spent 13 hours at my local polling place Tuesday. No, it didn’t take that long to vote. I volunteered to help out for a few hours, but the crowd was so big that I stayed for a few more and then a few more after that.

Since I was the newbie on the poll team, I was given the low-level jobs, like directing voters toward empty booths, helping point citizens to the right check-in table and assisting as they fed their ballots into the optical scanning device.

“If your last name begins with the letters A through K, please come here; L through Z, over here.” Try saying that 200 times an hour. After a while, strange things began to pop from my mouth. “If your name is L through K, over here; A through Z, this table, please.”

I arrived at the polling station at 6:20 a.m., 40 minutes before voting commenced. There were 12 voters lined up in the lobby, ready to commit an act of democracy. By the time the poll actually opened, the line was out the door and around the corner of the building.

For the first ninety minutes, it was a non-stop capacity crowd. “Open booth over here, Ma’am. Right this way.” “Put your ballots in one at a time, any side up.” “Thanks for voting!” A news crew from Montreal showed up and filmed for an hour, adding to the congestion. Things slowed after that, but it was steady all day, with fresh bursts of energy at lunchtime and 5 p.m. I haven’t seen the final numbers, but between live voters and absentee ballots, I’m pretty sure we set a record for Burlington’s Fifth Ward. (The Fightin’ Fifth!)

Many of our voters were casting their first ballots, either because they had just turned 18, because they had just become American citizens or because they had never cared enough to vote before Tuesday.

We set up as many booths as our space would allow, so it was a bit tight at times; spots were found to accommodate strollers, wheelchairs and walkers. Everyone was welcome, everyone was given all the time and assistance they needed to cast their ballot.

One senior citizen with a bald head and prophet’s beard came in with the aid of a walker and a helper. He spent the better part of an hour poring over his ballot, his face just inches from the paper. When the time came, I had to lift him back to his feet. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” he said, sliding his ballot into the machine.

I finally managed to get away at 7:30 p.m., grabbed a sandwich and headed downtown to join friends watching the national returns. The room was filled with tee vees, computers, kids, dogs, food and drink, political talk. The windows were opened to an unseasonably warm evening.

We colored in our electoral map state by state and at 11 p.m. we cheered as Barack Obama was named the 44th president of the United States. We watched John McCain’s gracious concession speech and then we heard a roar from the street. Looking outside, we saw hundreds of college students running past the building. Outside a spontaneous demonstration of some three thousand people careened from intersection to intersection, clapping, cheering, chanting, “USA!” and “Yes, we can!”

The last leaves were falling from the trees and a crescent moon hung over the lake as the students marched – danced, really – back up the hill. Election night felt like a fresh wind blowing away the must and funk of the last eight years. There’s plenty of hard work ahead of us, but this week I can feel the energy to get the job done.

© Mark Floegel, 2008

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