California Democratic Party Convention

Standing ovation for Nancy Pelosi

I’ve been a Democrat my entire life. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of me keeping a manual tally of delegate votes during the 1960 Democratic National Convention (DNC), when John Kennedy was nominated. I was six years old and have wanted to be a party delegate ever since.

Although I haven’t served as a DNC delegate (yet!), the national political situation has become so dire that I’ve been feeling the need to do more than just voting and donating money. So I answered a call for volunteers to help-out at this year’s California Democratic state convention in San Diego. I completed the requisite volunteer application form, describing my extensive experience planning and participating in other (non-political) conventions, and was soon invited to participate. I attended the convention today, helping one of the ethnic caucuses.

Tim and I follow the political scene very closely, but we have little knowledge of how candidates are selected, etc. Turns out the state convention is extremely important as this is where endorsements—which translate into campaign funding—are generated. Support is courted through the official party caucuses that represent various political constituencies: veterans, labor, seniors, Chicanos/Latinos, women, environment, Native Americans, etc. I was hoping to help either the women’s or environmental caucus, but was ultimately overjoyed with my assignment.

The caucus chair wasn’t expecting any help and so was pleasantly surprised to have me and another first-time volunteer. He quickly asked us to assist the staff member registering attendees before they entered the relatively small (only 60 seats) meeting room. A short business meeting was held before the floor was opened to candidates, who were each given just one minute (!) to explain their platform and solicit votes. Although most of the campaigners were apparently scheduled in advance, candidates could sign-up on-site in case there was leftover time to speak.

Non-caucus members were welcome to attend, but only members could vote. Therefore, much of the activity at our desk consisted of registering and collecting dues ($25) from new members who wanted to vote. While the staff member and the other volunteer handled that task, I signed-up unscheduled candidates who wanted to speak. I then physically carried their business cards into the meeting room and handed them to the caucus chair, who added their names to the agenda until there was no more time.

 John Chiang (in glasses), running for governor

The caucus meeting was almost two hours long, so we had lots of time to watch the state’s political world pass by. All four Democratic candidates for governor—Gavin Newsome, John Chiang, Delaine Eastin, and L.A.’s own Antonio Villaraigosa—walked by us several times. Most of them were with just one or two companions, but Chiang surrounded himself with a large retinue of folks carrying signs. At one point, both Villaraigosa and Chiang entered our tiny caucus room, causing a big flurry as their followers tried to get inside, too. A convention organizer happened to walk by, just then, and was amazed at the overflow of people spilling out into the hallway. “We’ll have to assign you a bigger room next year!” she said excitedly. We nodded knowingly.

 Antonio Villaraigosa (right), facing right, with supporters holding signs

By the way, I asked the caucus staffer if the proceedings automatically stopped for big-name candidates and she said no—they would not be allowed to speak unless they had signed up in advance. We were outside the room and so couldn't see if they actually spoke or not. We did hear later, however, that the women’s caucus went crazy when congressmember Nancy Pelosi (who we had seen rush by earlier) unexpectedly entered the room. Big-name candidates do get noticed even if they don’t speak.

Other impressive candidates who caught our eye were state senator Ricardo Lara, who had a HUGE crowd following him and chanting (“Lara! Lara!”), and Katie Hill, congressional candidate from Santa Clarita/Palmdale, whose camera crew seemed to film every little thing she did. Everyone who walked by either wore a t-shirt or carried a sign promoting one candidate or other. Quite a show!

After my shift ended, I joined everyone else downstairs for the general session in Hall F. Speakers included Lupe Valdez, the first openly gay Latina running for Texas governor, L.A. mayor Eric Garcetti, and Pelosi. They were all received warmly with Pelosi getting a standing ovation. After a while, I decided to grab a quick snack at Starbuck’s and was shocked to hear jeers when I returned 20 minutes later. I did not recognize the speaker, but apparently not all Democratic candidates are created equal! He was followed by Ricardo Lara, whose supporters screamed and waved signs. For a moment there I thought I was at a national convention, watching delegates cheer for their favorite presidential nominee. So much excitement!

 Pelosi signs on every chair in the general session

There were far more candidates to see and hear, but I left the convention early so Tim and I could start heading home. Such a fascinating—and exhilarating—experience. I might just have to do it again next year . . .

Obama 2012

President Obama was in town last night for a big fundraising concert at the Nokia theater in downtown L.A. This was his last local appearance before the election, so I decided to go. Ticket prices ranged from $44 to $2500. As usual, my contribution was somewhere in the middle.

About 10 days ago I received an email directing me to pickup my ticket at the Obama Victory Fund office on Wilshire Blvd., which I did. Then 3 days ago I got another email outlining what I needed to know to get into the concert. No oversized bags or unusually large cameras. Doors were opening at 2:30PM, with the first of many performers playing at 3:45PM. I was taking the train into town and so thought I’d leave around 2:30PM. But when the president’s helicopter entourage flew over the house at 1:30PM, I put on my “Obama 2012” pin and quickly headed to the train station. I did not want to be late.

A woman and her 14-year-old son followed me off the train once we got to L.A. Live. She asked if I was going to the Obama event. They had never taken the train into downtown before and needed directions. “Follow me!” I said, as we headed over to the theater.

The line to get into the Nokia literally stretched around the block: past the Conga Room and five restaurants, north on Figueroa in front of the Grammy Museum, and then around the corner and west on Olympic to Trader Vic’s. We stood with a charming young man who had come alone. Turns out he and my other companions were all campaign volunteers and so had much better seats than mine. Since this was their first big political fundraiser, I told them what to expect: lots of waiting, rewarded by a rousing speech by the president at the end.

“And keep your eyes peeled for celebrities,” I warned. In fact, we were standing directly behind Aldis Hodge, who plays my favorite character, Hardison, on the TV show Leverage. My new friends had no idea who he was, but were thrilled nonetheless, especially when passersby stopped to take their picture with him.

After waiting on line for about 30 minutes, things suddenly got crazy once we approached the theater. We were asked to remove all political buttons before walking through one of several metal detectors. All doors were open, so people scrambled to get on the shortest line. I followed Aldis and lost my friends. The lobby was a madhouse as people scurried to buy refreshments before finding their seats. My seat was in loge, so I went upstairs to call Tim.

“I stood on line behind Hardison!” I told him excitedly.

I then bought some popcorn and went in search of my seat. And not a minute too soon as the lights dimmed and a group of school kids walked on stage to sing the national anthem. They were followed by Earth, Wind and Fire, who immediately brought the audience—all 7000 of us!—to our feet.

Earth, Wind and Fire

It was a star-studded evening. Jennifer Hudson came out next and sang an extremely moving rendition of the civil rights standard “A Change is Gonna Come.” The concert had just started and I was already blinking back tears! Hudson was followed by rocker Jon Bon Jovi, who was dressed in a suit and played a short acoustic set, along with a violinist and second guitar. He's apparently been traveling with Obama, because he mentioned a long list of campaign stops he and the president had made together over the past two weeks.

Bon Jovi, looking very fine in his suit

Katy Perry was next. She made three costume changes even though she sang only four songs! But she, too, almost made me cry when she brought out another group of school kids to help her sing a mellower version of her hit song “Firework.” The young woman who was sitting next to me was ecstatic.

Katy Perry

Politicos also spoke, of course, including L.A. mayor Antonio Villaraigoso and Julián Castro, mayor of San Antonio, TX. They briefly alluded to Obama’s unfortunate debate last week against the Republican candidate and then quickly made us feel better about the president’s chances at being re-elected. Castro, in particular, did a good job of emphasizing Obama’s track record of providing equal opportunities to all Americans.

George Clooney then took the stage, grabbing even the attention of the young couple next to me, who had been talking through most of the event. He spoke about Obama’s accomplishments these past four years, before introducing singer Steve Wonder, who had us dancing in the aisles.

Clooney

Stevie Wonder

Obama then emerged to cheers and a standing ovation. He may not be a good debater, but he is a masterful speaker and had us all screaming our approval by the end. Reenergized, we all poured out onto the L.A. Live plaza afterward and headed home. It was 6:30PM.

The President

The train to Culver City was filled with Obama supporters. As we approached our destination, an older gentleman, who had gotten on two stops before, scratched his head and asked, “Did any of you go see the president downtown?”

“YES!!” we yelled in unison and then happily got off the train.

Don’t forget to vote on November 6^th! 

Obama in L.A.

A couple weeks ago, I got an email announcing that president Obama would be keynoting a fundraiser on April 19 (yesterday) for senator Barbara Boxer, who is running for reelection this year. The event was taking place at the California Science Center just south of downtown L.A.

Now, I’d seen Obama speak before at the 2005 American Library Association conference in Chicago, a year after his galvanizing speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. More than a few of my colleagues predicted then that he’d run for president in 2008.

But I, of course, hadn’t seen him speak yet as president. So I immediately bought a ticket. Tim was working, so I was on my own.

On Sunday, I got another email detailing event logistics. I was to enter the parking lot at 39th and Figueroa and then follow the crowds to the Science Center. Protesters were already demonstrating by the time I got there, but I was so intent on following the directions that I didn’t pay any attention to their shenanigans. When I emerged from the parking lot, hundreds of people were already queued up. The email had suggested “business or business casual” as appropriate attire.

“Boy, if nothing else, Democrats certainly are a handsome lot,” I thought to myself as I admired men in their pinstripe suits and several women in what looked like cocktail dresses. Obviously many of them had paid the $17,000-a-plate cost for eating dinner with the president that evening--a price tag far too rich for me, so I was way underdressed.

Although people seemed perfectly happy to wait on line, there was lots of confusion over exactly which line we should be waiting in. The man directly behind me asked if this was the V.I.P. line. Wondering if I was considered a V.I.P., I told him how much I paid for my ticket. He then showed me his, which had cost ten times more than mine. He was far more a V.I.P. than I was! I told him I’d save his place in line if he wanted to go ask someone. Turns out, we all--except former governor Gray Davis, whom we saw glad-handing folks as he bypassed everyone on his way to the head of the line--had to stand on line according to the first initial of our last names. A-L to the left and M-Z to the right. Mr. V.I.P. pointed out basketball great Elgin Baylor and his family standing toward the end of the A-L line.

After about 45 minutes, we finally approached the first rung of security. Names checked-off, we were then directed to tables where we showed our “valid government-issued I.D.s” and got our hands stamped. We then proceeded through metal detectors as our belongings were inspected and cleared. Next stop: up the stairs to the Wallis Annenberg building, where the event was being held. V.I.P.s went to the right, while the rest of us veered left. I had assumed we would be in some sort of auditorium where we’d be seated the entire time. But no. Although V.I.P.s got to sit at tables on folding chairs, the majority of us had to stand. By the time the event finally got underway, several fancy-dressed women had removed their beautiful high-heeled shoes. I may have been underdressed, but at least I was comfortable!

The venue was odd: an open hangar-like area with a small, shallow pool in the middle. The podium, which I couldn’t see at first through all the V.I.P.s, was projected onto a medium-sized screen at the front of the hall. To the right was the podium, not too far from where I stood. People were noshing on hors d’oeuvre (meatball sliders--gag!) and drinking wine (open bar), so I quickly planted myself within clear view of the microphones. After a few minutes, a man came out to address the crowd. First up: vocalist India Arie, whose voice was lovely, but inaudible. Between the horrible acoustics and people yelling, it was impossible to hear anything.

Democratic party chair Tim Kaine then introduced Barbara Boxer and the excitement really began. We cheered everything she said--even if we couldn’t hear!--but it was no secret why we were all there. Within minutes, Boxer stopped talking and suddenly Obama appeared. The crowd went wild as I held back my tears. It was wonderful just being in the room with him.

The acoustics continued to be bad, plus there was an annoying heckler who kept yelling about repealing “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Still, we were all thrilled to be there in Obama's presence and encouraged him with our cheers. I clapped loudest when he talked about education and healthcare. (Click here for a transcript of his entire speech). I was especially pleased when he briefly mentioned the importance of science, so wrongfully maligned during the dark ages of the Bush administration.

I moved toward the door as soon as Obama started to wrap-up. Despite sore feet (“If I would have known I was going to have to stand for four hours, I would have worn comfortable shoes,” one man commented), everyone was jubilant.

“I’m happy we came,” a woman cheerfully said to her husband, “even if we couldn’t hear everything he said!”

Other people were looking forward to dinner with the president in a building nearby.

“See you there!” two lucky men yelled as they parted ways.

I zoomed to the parking lot, hoping to beat traffic.

Seeing Hillary

The invitation arrived in my e-mailbox about three weeks ago. Hillary Clinton was being honored at the home of Bruce Raben, a businessperson who lives in Hancock Park. I could attend a private “VIP” reception with the Senator for $1000 or I could go as a “Friend” for a fraction of the cost. I decided that, as much as I love the Clintons, I’m no more than just a friend and so RSVP’d accordingly. I then sent the invite to Tim to see if he wanted to tag along. He took one look at Raben’s address on Google Maps and e-mailed me immediately.

“The house is HUGE!” he wrote. “I’m going!”

So we got dressed up and drove to Hancock Park, one of L.A.’s most opulent neighborhoods, located directly south of Hollywood. A few police officers were on the street when we got there. We checked-in at the registration table and then joined others as they walked up a short flight of stone stairs to the front yard.

The 1920s Tudor-style house and its grounds were truly magnificent—at least 10 times the size of our small mid-century home. Since we weren’t part of the VIP reception, we were directed to the backyard where various soft drinks were being served. There we saw a slightly raised stone patio and people (mostly women) standing on the lawn behind a cord. Beyond the lawn was a pool, pool house (a little smaller than our home), and a tennis court. It had rained earlier in the day, so we made our way up to the pool deck, where it was dry.

We were standing there trying to see if anyone famous had arrived, when an older woman in a suit came up and started chatting with us. Turns out she was a high-powered lawyer from Manhattan who now lives here. She wondered if we knew the history of Hancock Park. We may not be welcome inside Bruce Raben’s home, but we have toured (as L.A. Conservancy members, etc.) many houses in the area, so were able to tell her what little we knew.

After about half-an-hour, I noticed an imposing-looking man in a suit, wearing an earpiece, standing outside the tennis court.

“Secret Service,” I said to myself. “Hillary must be here.”

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, a nice young woman came over and suggested that we join everyone else on the lawn. When I balked, her pretty face hardened and I knew then that this was not a request but an order. I realized later that the pool, which was raised a few feet above the yard, was the perfect vantage point for anyone wanting to do Hillary harm.

Local dignitaries in the audience were introduced (L.A. city council members and our hero John Chiang, the state controller who refused to lower state employees’ salaries to minimum wage during California’s recent budget crisis). Next, an event organizer in a black t-shirt (and we got dressed-up!) came out and told us about the first time he met Senator Clinton. And, then, before I knew it, there she was, smiling and waving to everyone from the patio. The crowd (maybe 200 people) went wild.

She thanked us all for our support and talked a bit about the presidential election. She then told us about her campaign to get Democrats across the country elected to the Senate. Hillary looked rested and happy and was, quite frankly, very normal. She didn’t make a speech; instead, she just chatted as if she were among friends. After about 15-20 minutes, she stopped talking and started shaking hands and posing for pictures. I really couldn’t find an excuse to climb over the people closest to her and so watched from afar. As someone standing next to me said, “It’s good enough just being in this backyard with her. I don’t need to shake her hand.”

Hillary schmoozed for quite a while and then waved good-bye. We applauded and cheered—not only because we love her, but also because the gates, which had been sealed shut during the Senator’s appearance, were once again open. When it was safe to do so, we were released to go back out into the world and promote the Democratic ticket.


(Me and a faux Hillary at the Public Library Association conference last March)

Obama for President

I’ve tried not to make this blog a forum for blatantly promoting my political beliefs, but last night I became a convert and don’t care who knows it!

Still stinging from Hillary’s hard-fought defeat, I began the week rather blasé about the Democratic convention. But when Barack Obama took the stage last night as the first African-American presidential nominee in history, I started to cry and didn’t stop until well after his speech. He was brilliant, inspiring and, I dare say, just may be the most authentic candidate we’ve ever had. I am now fully committed to seeing him become president.

If George Bush accomplished nothing else during his eight years of magnificent incompetence, he at least paved the way for people to realize that now is the time for historic change. Let’s hope the rest of the country agrees and elects Barack Obama as the next president of the United States.

Speaker of the Assembly

Somehow, I received an invitation to the swearing-in ceremony of Karen Bass, speaker-elect of the California Assembly. Sure, I live in Bass’s district, am a lifelong Democrat and contribute regularly to the party, but I still haven’t figured out why I was invited. Nevertheless, I was very aware of the historical significance of Bass’s appointment—not only is she the first African-American woman to be named speaker of the state Assembly, she’s also the only African-American woman ever to lead a state legislative body anywhere in the U.S. I was already scheduled to be in Sacramento that morning, so I called the capitol and accepted the invitation.

When I arrived at the airport, everyone at the gate was happily hugging and kissing. “This is the Karen Bass plane!” someone shouted. Indeed, it seemed like everyone from the 47th Assembly district was flying up for the ceremony. The founders of the New Frontier Club, the oldest and largest African-American Democratic organization in the state, were there, as was state senator Mark Ridley-Thomas, who is running for L.A. county supervisor. A young man who’s working with Bass on the Obama campaign looked wide-eyed and rather overwhelmed by the commotion whirling around him. I stood on the waiting line next to Mrs. Lee Welinsky, secretary of the Culver City Democratic Club. With so many Democrats on the plane, I knew we’d have a safe flight and so tuned into my iPod and took a nap, even though people were noisily celebrating.

The swearing-in ceremony started at noon. Not knowing what to expect, I headed over to the capitol a few minutes early. The place was a mob scene with dignitaries and school kids clogging the hallways. I asked a security guard where I needed to check-in and was directed to an area on the other side of the building.

“You’ll be in viewing room 4203, on the fourth floor,” the woman at the registration desk said as she handed me a ticket to get into the event.

I was disappointed to be relegated to watching the ceremony via closed-circuit TV, but changed my tune when I arrived at the room and saw it was almost filled to capacity! I showed my ticket and was given a program.

Although not as magnificent as the Assembly chambers, room 4203, named in honor of former state legislator and Congressmember John L. Burton, was still very beautiful with its wood-panelled walls and ceiling-high mural depicting California’s history. A large flat-screen television was set-up at the front of the room in addition to the two smaller TVs on the side. I sat behind a woman who talked about staging a peaceful demonstration demanding more funding for Alzheimer’s research.

At noon the TV screens switched from an outside shot of the capitol to inside the Assembly chambers. The caption noted that this was a “floor session.” People in the viewing room began to settle down. Then, after about eight minutes of watching attendees greet each other, someone yelled, “There she is!” as we all spontaneously leapt to our feet and started to clap. Karen Bass had entered the Assembly chambers. It felt like we were right there with her even though we were half-a-building away.

Speaker Fabián Núñez led the festivities by recognizing “special guests” in the audience. Several people on my end gasped and yelled “OH NO!” when he introduced esteemed actress Alfre Woodard as “Alfred.” Núñez then began naming all the various politicos present. Judging by the reaction in room 4203, former speaker Willie Brown was the most popular man at the event. Governor Schwarzenegger, on the other hand, received only a smattering of applause.

We could feel the excitement of the moment through the TV. We stood for the invocation and pledge of allegiance and cheered our favorite speakers. Three legislators spoke of the speaker-elect’s good deeds and Ms. Woodard recited a poem, “Ego Tripping,” by Nikki Giovanni—all while Bass looked on from the back of the Assembly chambers. I almost cried when the governor mentioned Bass’s 23-year-old daughter who had died in a car crash two years ago.

Then came time for the escort committee, made-up of former speakers Brown, Robert Monagan, Cruz Bustamante, Antonio Villaraigosa, and Herb Wesson, Jr., to accompany Karen Bass to the podium. Her stepdaughter Yvette carried the Bible on which the oath was administered. Afterwards, the new speaker admonished her colleagues to unite in responding to “the current economic crisis the way we would a natural disaster." She also announced that she has asked former governors Pete Wilson and Gray Davis to head a commission to examine California’s antiquated tax structure. The viewers in room 4203 clapped their approval. She ended by asking the Assembly to “get back to work!”

I returned to my office across the street and got back to work of my own, moved by the historic event I had just witnessed. Although the plane ride home was far more subdued than the morning, people nonetheless remained joyous as they reflected on the significance of the day. I could almost hear the unasked question on everyone’s lips: is this a sign of what’s to come this November if Barack Obama is indeed nominated?

Little Rock, AR

It’s no secret that I love the Clintons. As I’ve reported elsewhere on this blog, I’ve met and seen Bill speak twice. Plus, Hillary has my vote for president. No surprise, then, that when my boss asked me to attend a library conference in Little Rock, Arkansas—where Bill was governor for 12 years—I jumped at the chance.

Everyone who loves the Clintons should make a pilgrimage to Little Rock at least once in his or her life. The entire town is something of a shrine to the 42nd president and his family. Included in our conference packet was a brochure entitled “A Guided Tour of President Clinton’s Little Rock,” highlighting relevant sites: the governor’s mansion, the Old State House where Bill declared his candidacy for president, Clinton/Gore campaign headquarters, the firm where Hillary practiced law, Chelsea's middle school, and even the McDonald’s where Bill often stopped to get, er, coffee.

The main tourist attraction these days, though, is the Clinton Presidential Center and Park, located northeast of downtown next to the Arkansas River. Built on land that had been overrun by derelicts and homeless people, the Clinton library is a magnificent edifice that evokes a bridge to the future. I recognized it immediately as we drove into town from the airport and, despite the hot and muggy weather, wandered over there during the first day of conference.

A reception was being held at the library later in the week, so I restrained myself from going upstairs. But I did buy a ticket to see the miniature White House on display on the ground floor. Very cute! I then walked back to the hotel, stopping at the River Market, where I spied the award-winning Shaka Smoke Lodge eatery. Taking a big bite of my lunch, I left a message on Tim’s cellphone, bragging that this was the best chopped pork sandwich I ever had. Why would governor Clinton even bother with McDonald’s when the Shaka barbecue was only blocks away?

Some 60 librarians and I returned to the library two days later for the final conference night’s reception. A docent led us upstairs to a small theater, where Bill narrated a 12-minute film about Little Rock and his ascendancy to the White House. I was thrilled when we all burst into spontaneous applause afterward. I was among kindred spirits.

From the theater, the docent took us to a reproduction of the president’s cabinet room and described the rest of the building. The second floor chronicled the Clinton presidency and its accomplishments. But I was far more interested in the human side of the story, so quickly slunk up to the third floor, where memorabilia from both Bill and Hillary’s younger lives were exhibited. Also there were displays of the First Lady’s gowns, Bill’s saxophones, and various gifts from people around the globe.

The main event, though, was a reproduction of Clinton’s oval office, complete with family photographs and a Rockwell painting that the Spielbergs gave Bill soon after he became president. I had a hard time tearing myself away.

As wonderful as the oval office was, my favorite exhibit was of the correspondence the Clintons sent to and received from dignitaries and celebrities worldwide: a handwritten letter to Hillary from Jordan’s queen Noor, affectionately signed “from your sister,” a note from Bill to Paul Newman jokingly asking him not to run for president, and a congratulatory letter from Elton John expressing hope that he and Bill would work together to fight AIDS. The guard had to rouse me from my reading to announce that dinner was about to be served downstairs.

I flew home the next day and proclaimed that we had to watch “Primary Colors,” the fictional account of Bill’s first run for the presidency. John Travolta and Emma Thompson’s portrayal of the “Stantons” was far from flattering. Still, as full of clay as the Clintons' feet are, I remain a huge fan and care about them even more after spending a few days in Little Rock.

Zorro in Hell

We’ve been fans of the Latino theater troupe Culture Clash since we saw their play “Bowl of Beings” in San Diego almost 20 years ago. Their humor is often irreverent, but always poignant and timely. Their last two plays, “Chavez Ravine” and “Water and Power,” did an especially terrific job of poking holes in the dark underbelly of L.A. politics. As soon as their latest play “Zorro in Hell” opened a couple of weeks ago, I got on the phone and ordered tickets.

The play is appearing at the Ricardo Montalban theater on Vine St. in Hollywood. Never quite as glamorous as the nearby Pantages, the theater—formerly called the Huntington Hartford and then the Doolittle—was saved from the wrecking ball in 1999 by the Ricardo Montalban Foundation in hopes of creating a venue for aspiring Hispanic actors. Although this potential still hasn't been truly realized, the building itself has a colorful history. I remember seeing “Equus” there when I was in college—it was the first time I had ever seen a completely naked man in person! Much more recently, the theater served as the backdrop for a Progressive Democrats fundraiser, which Tim, Karen and I attended during the 2004 presidential election. The star-studded event featured a reading of Tony Kushner’s “Only We Who Guard the Mystery Shall Be Unhappy,” a satirical work-in-progress about Laura Bush (played by Sally Field). Lots of lefty celebrities in the audience—we were in our glory.

Although not as exciting as Kushner, the play Friday night was nonetheless fun as a picture of Che Guevara, donning a Zorro mask, set the tone. The play focused on a “pocho” (non-Spanish-speaking Latino) playwright who, through a series of humorous hallucinations, gets in touch with his inner “Zorro.” (A glossary in the playbill translated key Spanish phrases for the gringos in the audience!) The play's message: it’s time to take back California from the Imperialist pigs. OK, so it wasn’t very subtle. But we did note the irony of staging an agitprop performance across the street from the future site of an opulent W Hotel currently under construction. In fact, nightshift bulldozers greeted us loudly as we left the sanctity of the theater. I’ve complained before about the encroaching gentrification of Hollywood, but maybe Culture Clash is right. It’s time we all become Zorro-istas and demand that the craziness stop. Just how much development can Los Angeles stand anyway? Que vive El Zorro!

8/6/07

Working the Polls

I worked my first polls in 2004. It was a presidential election year and several of my former students had volunteered to work. I figured that if they could do it, then why not me and so contacted the county registrar for an appointment. I was asked to be a clerk at a polling site located in a small building at the back of a nearby Volvo dealer’s lot. The polls were supposed to open at 7AM, but the lot manager didn’t show up with the key until 7:15AM. I lobbied for setting up the booths in the parking lot, but the site inspector (i.e., supervisor) refused even though some of the 20+ people, who had shown up early, started leaving for work. Eventually we were able to open—and, indeed, had a wonderful day participating in the democratic process—but I swore that if I ever did this again, I’d be the inspector so no one would go away unhappy.

Well, be careful what you wish for! Sure enough, last March I got a call asking if I’d like to supervise a polling site during the June primaries. Remembering how rewarding it was to help facilitate the election process in 2004, I said yes and quickly proceeded to recruit three students to work the polls with me. Unfortunately, our site was located inside a decrepit convalescent hospital that smelled of urine and housed several moaning and screaming patients. Still, despite these distractions, we got the job done and felt good afterward. So much so, in fact, that I gladly agreed to supervise another site during this week’s gubernatorial election.

So, what do pollworkers do? Once you agree to serve, you’re invited to attend a 2-3 hour orientation. There you watch three videos (how to setup, how to close, and what to do in-between) and ask all manner of questions. Much of the work is just common sense; but there are certain protocols that must be followed and there’s a ton of detailed paperwork to complete once the ballots have all been cast. The best thing to do is recruit competent clerks who can each handle a small part of the process (e.g., check-in; mark rosters; collect ballots; etc.). The inspector then manages the clerks and troubleshoots any problems. I also make a point of insisting that everyone who walks in the door gets to vote, even if s/he lives in a precinct thirty miles away.

Ten days before the election, the inspector picks up the voting equipment at a designated place in Culver City (e.g., Fox Hills mall). With a major election like the governor’s race, it’s expected that many people will want to vote and so we were given five regular booths, one lower (more sturdy) booth for disabled voters and (something new!) a “talking booth” for visually-impaired and non-English language-speaking voters. In addition, this was the first election to use the new Inkavote ballot-scanner—a small photocopier-sized machine that reads each ballot to make sure the voter hasn’t double-voted, etc. This sits atop the ballot box, which is a little larger than those Rubbermaid boxes designed to store Christmas ornaments or other less precious items.

I guess enough people complained about the convalescent hospital, because this time we were assigned to a polling site in the waiting room of a tire store (!) The manager couldn’t guarantee that anyone would be available to open the store at 6AM, so I threatened to setup on the sidewalk if necessary. For two nights, I tossed and turned with nightmares about having to open the polls late. I even convinced Tim to go with me in case we had to setup everything outside. Come election day, however, the store owner himself was there by 6AM (phew!). The polls opened right on time at 7AM. By 8:30AM, fifty people had already voted. It looked to be a busy day.

Only two of my students were available to work again; but happily two other pollworkers—a mother and her 18-year-old son Nick—unexpectedly joined us at 6AM. Between the five of us, we were able to handle all duties quite smoothly and even had time to take long breaks during slow times. Poll watchers stopped by periodically to see how things were going. A staffer from the Secretary of State’s office also dropped in and asked me some questions. Taking notes on a clipboard, she congratulated us on doing a great job and then gave us all red-white-and-blue lapel pins. At 7PM our young pollworker Nick cast his first ballot. We all cheered.

Despite some celebratory moments, it’s always a long day working the polls. By 8PM we were thoroughly exhausted and reeked of rubber. Once we declared the polls officially closed, Tim returned to help us tear everything down and count the ballots. Two hundred and thirty-nine people had voted—over 30% of our precinct. Not a bad day’s work.

Still, it’s a wonder to me that the process even works. For little more than minimum wage, the county registrar is able to recruit thousands of volunteers to staff the polls for thirteen long hours every election. That the ballots even get delivered safely back to the registrar seems a miracle.

Driving back to the Fox Hills mall late that night to deliver the ballots and equipment, I turned on the radio just in time to hear that the Democrats had reclaimed the House of Representatives. Bursting into tears, I realized that the process does indeed work and that sometimes even the longest days have a happy ending.

11/9/06