For someone my age, one cannot say that it was an ordinary day. It was the first time in my life that I was going to campaign for a presidential candidate in New Hampshire, the first state with a primary election. Houses would be assigned for me to ring door bells and, hopefully, I would identify supporters of my person, Barack Obama. Since the list included only Democrats and Independents, it seemed simple enough.
It turned out to be a horrendous day (maybe explained in total by my age; I may just be too old for this type of activity!).
At any rate, I had to some blood work done prior to my primary care visit (I pleaded unsuccessfully for the lab work without a physical unless the chemistry results were abnormal). I got to the lab at 9:30 am only to find that the operations did not start until 10 am. It would be a small matter, except that I was now very hungry (fasting for the blood work) and I still had to get to Obama’s Headquarters in Manchester, NH by noon.
After completing the lab work, I needed to eat. I was reduced to Dunkin Donuts due to time constraints. I would have eaten virtually anything at this point.
My former work life required my traveling to Manchester relatively often. I never considered it onerous. However, this trip seemed endless! I was old when I started; I was much older when I got there!
Added to the length of the drive was the horrendous set of directions from Google! Even though my younger son thought that this was a sign of growing senility, I am convinced that the directions could have been more clearly delineated. Be that as it may, it took me added time and misery to wind my way through the “Queen City” of New Hampshire.
When I finally found the former warehouse or factory in an off beaten road, I was a little late, measured by what I thought would have been a highly efficient four hours of campaigning. However, it not take much grey matter to figure out that I was a minority of one senior citizen, albeit there was one other person with some grey hair. And, according to the code of these young (mostly college age) men and women, it takes time to get organized. “Take it easy and relax”, I repeat as a mantra while I try to keep focused on our leader’s instructions.
Unable to find a partner (maybe a blessing), I was given two clip boards with a cover sheet to summarize my activities, a map to find the “turf” (usually referred to as a neighborhood), and a list of names of Democrats and Independents with a code sheet to identify their political leanings and concerns. It so happened that I was assigned a town south of Manchester, requiring another 30 minutes in negotiating Google directions! Thankfully, these directions were better or, possibly, the few brain cells operating as designed were transmitting the information on demand.
I find the “turf” and park my car for what I expected to a somewhat interesting set of conversations with a voting public attuned to the intriguing electoral process. New Hampshire was distinguished because of its enlightened electorate. What I found were the following:
a). The majority of calls were unanswered because no one was home. There were two or three calls that represented people who chose not to open the door.
b). Of the approximately 50-60 calls, I found no one who was clearly an Obama supporter. This was somewhat a surprise.
c). There were three committed to voting Republican (one was for Romney, no less).
d). The remaining people were clearly undecided without giving much evidence that they were leaning in any direction.
e). The issues considered important to their decision to identify a candidate to represent their interests included everything but Iraq, possibly because Iraq was self-evidently a problem.
During the canvassing of the “turf”, I noted myself beginning to faint (hypoglycemic since I had so little to eat or drink since the prior night). Can you imagine one of my adult children getting a call from a local hospital, “We found your father unconscious on the street. He seems to be coming around, but you may want to drive him home.” In spite of occasional signs of dysphoria, I plodded on trying to finish my second “turf”.
In spite of my attempt to complete the task, I had to quit in order to drive back another 30 minutes to headquarters. As in my prior attempt to negotiate the streets of Manchester, the journey was convoluted. Without asking for directions again, I probably would still be there.
The day would end eventually. The ride back home was as endless as when I came. However, this time I would stop to visit my new granddaughter, an event which put the rest of the day into a better perspective.
Campaigning may not be for the old people! Or, it could be that this old person has lost it! For sure, it was discouraging to find no one committed to Obama. And to find so many uncommitted makes me wonder what this special electorate who treasures its role as the state with the first primary reads. Thankfully, there are apparently tons of young people who will compensate for those of us who seemed to have passed into another category, labeled “useless”.
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