So I’m riding in a ‘72 El Camino with a thirty-two ounce of Schlitz between my legs, cold numbing my thighs, MM in the seat next to me with a king-size Heineken and a dozen potato logs, riding past Freedom’s Corner—the intersection of Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard and Medgar Evers Drive.
“Goddamn these potato logs taste like chicken,” says MM the vegetarian, jamming another one in her mouth.
“Yeah, I’m sure they use the same grease,” I say, thinking about the tiny kitchen at the West Jackson quick-stop where we grabbed the beer and potato logs (we had run out of the beer we brought). Then I reached for one myself.
“Goddamn, but they’re good,” she says again, as her Blackberry chirps another message. “Looks like Gary’s is at Hal & Mal’s,” she mumbles, speaking of the Democratic candidate for Treasurer while looking down at the tiny blue lights, “and so is DeWayne and Wilson,” the Democratic nominee for our state senate seat and the Republican candidate for Hinds County District Attorney, respectively.
“Maybe they’ll be a fight,” I offer, squinting at the dozens of cars lined up down the side of the road. “Where in the hell are we?”
It’s Election Night, 2003, and the director of the voting project we’re working on has sent us on a mission: make sure every damn West Jackson vote gets counted. The beer was just a bonus we gave ourself.
I wish the rest was glamorous, but its not—ensuring enough paper ballots and that everyone in line knew they could stay in line and vote, even when seven o’clock came in (there were reports that folks voted until ten o’clock in some places—they’d been in line for four hours).
Democracy is alive and well in Mississippi. I don’t feel like commenting on the results, but the heart is alive—hundreds of people standing in line for hours to exercise their right to vote.
Work done, back at MM’s new townhouse (“I’m still in the city limits, okay?” she grits, a bit defensively, but it beats the bars-on-the-window places she had while still a law student, and comes with a great seventies intercom system that we can’t quite figure out) we watch the results trickle in. They go from alright to okay to shit to well, it could have been worse to fuck fuck fuck to well, we won that one.
The governor comes on the teevee. “There’s his kids,” says MM, ruins of Thai House tofu pad thai still on the plate in her lap, biting her lip, working for then-state senator and lieutenant governor hopeful Musgrove her first job out of Ole Miss. “They’re such good kids,” she says, hearing the concession, biting a little harder.
Earlier in the election, the son had been busted, along with some friends, for sticking his dad’s sticker on a car with Haley stickers. I thought that was pretty damn cool.
The rest was just hangovers and regrets. We did make it to Hal & Mal’s, to see Gary—who wouldn’t concede to around one thirty in the morning—but busted victory parties (you always call them victory parties, even if you’re going to get creamed) are always filled with tears and drunks. They’re just so depressing—like going to a nursing home.
I went to bed in the wee hours. I woke up a little worse for the wear. I hope the next four years don’t feel like this. Maybe a new president will make it feel a little better.
Gorjus, your posts are always so beautifully written.
Well, 601-style was boom’n all over Jacktown. I waited in line for the FIRST time ever for an election. Let’s just say that I got my “poll” on 36-A precinct style. A mix of old farts, yuppies, work’n folk, the Campbell’s and their new baby Michael, and one frumpy-after work Jason Seabold. (the latter looking haggard and down trodden) I spent the evening trying to avoid any return news and listening to classic STYX.
There wasn’t this large a turn out for the last presidential election (at least at my precinct).
Gorjus, when are we going on some more ninja campaign sign missions?
Damn, that’s a fine post. Made me a little less depressed about our new guv’ner and his gaggle of elephants.
thanks, all. kicker, good work below—highly insightful commentary. i’ve got my own take on the election, but i’m just too damn depressed to write it.
i think i am going to do a good breakdown of voting patterns. the “mm” in the story is from a north mississippi county that is all white—who voted for haley, amy, and—gary anderson?? yep.
mississippi is a great and weird place.