Chapter 8: Day of Days

The 2008 Election featured the longest Presidential campaign season on record. For the first time in American history, individuals had declared their candidacy as early as January. An enormously unpopular sitting President made the public hungry for something new and the media was all too happy to oblige. The analysis, hype and suspense built up over the course of eleven months of debates, caucuses, primaries, conventions and commercials led some to wonder if this damn election would in fact ever come.

So when morning came on Election Day, November 4th 2008, to many of us, it was surreal.

The 6am alarm that morning greeted me with a noble headache and wrench in my back from the crooked cot I had slept on the last three nights. My head felt like it had a pulse of its own, my spine felt rugged, but this was the day of days. We were not going to allow ourselves to be stalled or deterred. The coffee tasted particularly magical that morning.

Polls can predict results, but it’s up to the volunteers on the ground to produce them. Little things beyond the realm of a campaign’s control such as weather, road conditions, butterfly ballots, or last minute slanderous robo-calling from the opposition can play a major factor in a close election. The time for debate and persuasion was over. Get your voters to the polls or you will lose. It’s that simple.

Johnstown is a newer, suburban town located conveniently close to the freeway for commuter accessibility. Millikan is a little bit further off the freeway. It’s a town that’s at a crossroads and can’t seem to decide if it wants to stay rural or is ready to become a suburb like Johnstown. Both populations were largely white and largely conservative. Even though Republicans far outnumbered Democrats in the area, it was essential to get the Democratic minority to the polls in Weld County, Colorado if we were going to win the White House in Washington D.C.

In 2004, John Kerry lost Colorado to George W. Bush by what was later determined to be an average of seven voters in every precinct. Data would later show that, statewide, large numbers of Democrats who resided in areas that held a conservative majority didn’t vote because (A) they didn’t think their vote mattered and/or (B) they felt overpowered or intimated. I see it as a vicious cycle in which one leads to the other – in either direction of motion.

For months the Obama campaign had worked to convey a message, target and inspire these voters to cast a ballot. On this day, in this closely contested “Battleground State” it was our responsibility to make sure people who had not already mailed their ballots in, physically moved to their voting precinct and cast their ballots. Telling them where to go vote and about Obama’s tax plan was easy. Getting them not to fear the wrath of hell was another matter.

Less than a quarter-mile away from our precinct headquarters in Johnstown was a church where we were told members of our opposition assembled and received political literature.

In the United States, political organizations need to register themselves and pay taxes on their donations. Churches are not taxed. They are not taxed as an organization. They are not taxed for the land they use. Patrons who donate to churches can deduct it on their taxes. In recent elections conservative organizations have exploited this loophole tremendously, directing individual contributions to the church then in turn, directing the church to donate the money to conservative causes and campaigns. In California for example, in an effort to pass Proposition 8 – the Constitutional Amendment to Ban Gay Marriage, the only time in history the Constitution would be changed to limit the rights of individuals – the Mormon Church, headquartered in Utah, donated over $22,800,000 to the “Yes on 8” campaign. None of it was taxed – at either end. If a registered political organization had donated that amount of money, they would have had to pay taxes on the donation, reducing the dollar amount actually received by the campaign by about 1/3. In a state election that was determined by less than a 4% margin, $7,600,000 was a hell of a lot of money. It is intricate and a bit confusing, but the bottom line is that this tax loophole has successfully built a backdoor bridge between the separation of church and state that the Founding Fathers of our Constitution fought so vociferously to uphold.

This phantom bridge was most visible on the residential streets of Weld County, Colorado on Election Day 2008. Some of the doors we knocked on that day belonged to registered Democrats who had already cast their vote for John McCain because they feared judgment from God. Every time we returned to our precinct headquarters after completing a list, we passed the church – big, white and ominous with the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains behind it. We knew our opposition was congregating there. It was the enemy’s locker room, and it was a church! I was sad for Christianity and sad for progress.

The day was long. We broke briefly for lunch, but that was it. Before we knew it, it was dark, less than one hour before polls were to close, less than two hours before our plane was to leave and we were still knocking on doors that were over sixty miles from the airport. This thing was almost over. But after eight years of bearing witness to – being both responsible for and a victim of – the worst presidency in American history we had to know we did everything we could. We were going to fight to the last possible moment. Our efficient trio hit seven different neighborhoods that day.

In our discussions the night before, we had laid out some potential scenarios for victory. There were five key states from the east: Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, Florida and Ohio. Whoever won the majority of those states was going to be in prime position to win as results rolled in from the western states.

We made our goodbyes at Johnstown, jumped in the car and hauled ass to the airport. As we made our way along the expressway, polls closed and results from the east began to come in. Obama had won Pennsylvania. North Carolina was too close to call, but the Dems had already picked up a Senate seat there. Then Virginia went blue. Then Florida.

In sports, athletes are coached to envision success: to visualize the perfect release and hear the swish of the basketball falling through the net before they shoot; to picture themselves making the perfect swing and see the ball crack from the bat; to envision absorbing the hits from the opposition, powering through and standing in the end zone. Naturally, subconsciously, everyone dreams. Visualizing success is different. It is a conscious action; a deliberate exercise not intended for the meek. It requires innovation, courage, faith, a solid work ethic, and healthy amount of tenacity – all for something that is really nothing more than a figment of the imagination. In its weakest form it is a dream. In its most powerful form it is a tangible weapon of hope – and it is beautiful.

I was one of those stupid, stupid idiots in 2004 who threatened to move to Canada if George W. Bush actually won. I’ll show you America! I’ll leave! To the defense of myself and my fellow stupid idiot brethren, the thought of this guy actually getting elected (remember, he wasn’t elected in 2000, he was nominated by the Supreme Court) was a horrific, asinine thought that seemed absolutely ridiculous and shameful. It still does.

I know I wasn’t alone. But this was visualizing failure and it put us into paralysis. This time, instead of thinking about what I would do if we lost, I pictured what I would do when we won. And I know I wasn’t alone.

My visualization wasn’t anything dramatic or colorful: no fireworks or smashing of walls, no dancing on mountaintops or streaking in the streets, just me at night in an open field. That’s it. Stillness. Silence. Peace. “Life in Technicolor” by Coldplay became an odd sort of default mantra every time a lack of faith entered my spirit or lack of commitment entered my step. I allowed myself to believe and experience how good it would feel to win – and I did everything I could to realize this vision.

When the moment finally came, there was no open field. I was returning a rental car. The surprisingly large echoey, neon facility was eerily empty. There were more televisions on than there were people present. I was closing out the paperwork, while my friends cleaned out the car and waited for the bus. The process was taking longer than it should have because everybody was glued to the television as pundits played out every potential if/then scenario. Then it happened: Ohio went blue.

I am a naturally loud person. I don’t try to be, often times I wish I wasn’t, but I just am. I am loud in public. I am loud in private. I am loud when I talk. I am loud when I type. I am loud when I don’t want to be. I am loud when other people don’t want me to be.

When Ohio went blue I got very loud.

I shouted – nothing intelligible or comprehensible to the English language – but I remember hearing my own primal noise bounce off the walls, tile floors and ceiling, and looking across the room at a stranger who smiled and flashed a cool thumbs up as I dashed outside to tell my friends the news.

The bus ride to the airport, security check and long walk to our gate seemed to take forever. Obama had not reached the all-important, all-coveted 270 electoral votes yet, but he was getting damn close.

We had less than ten minutes at the bar to get food (and drinks) before we had to board our plane. If America was buzzing in excitement and anticipation as much as that tiny airport bar was, our country must have been electric that night.

Everyone was fixed on the television. I remember watching Keith Olbermann do the math. “Let me get this straight… If Obama takes the west coast states of Washington, Oregon and California, and his home state of Hawaii, throw in Colorado or Nevada, and he’s over 270…” I then saw something I had not seen in eight months of televised election analysis: All pundits on the panel got quiet. Someone in the back of the bar yelled “You bet your ass!” and some cheered. The rest of us, just like those awestruck reporters, remained silent. Could this really be happening?

The final boarding call came up before the final verdict came out.

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