*Interactive links included.
Foreword
The night of November 4th, 2008 brought with it an awesome and emotionally sweeping moment.
Many remember exactly where they were, what they were doing and who they were with when they heard the news.
I would see footage of people storming the streets in jubilation in countries all over the world. I continue to hear stories of people crying that evening– not the type of tears that leak out that you try in vain to hold back, but huge, purging tears that you remember leaving your body for a long, long time.
For hundreds of millions of people around the world to reach this happy ending, thousands of volunteers had to dedicate countless hours, days, weeks and months behind the scenes, on the streets and in the trenches doing the work that needed to be done. They did this at tremendous cost and tremendous personal sacrifice. I was one of these volunteers.
What you are about to read is more than my best attempt to tell a story; it is my attempt to state as clearly as possible, for the record and to the best of my knowledge things left unresolved to many. It is also personal attempt to turn the page and move on.
I seek a sense of closure prior to complete resolution. Many details have been left out. Some are by choice (names). Some are by circumstance (facts and information). I hope as time goes on, more details will emerge and the full scope and breadth of this story will evolve and become clearer after this original posting. I do not know whether or not this story comes too late or too early, but I feel the need to begin.
For more reasons than one, I could not find the words to tell this story on the morning of November 5th. I needed to allow the dust to settle and everything to sink in. I also needed rest and distance. It took me a while to realize that a story does exist here, it’s just not the story that at one point I thought I might tell.
If the legacy is that a former teacher, a current salesman, a father with two kids and a mortgage – just a regular guy – can be an active part of the civic process and make a positive impact, then I’ll take that, and I will be proud.
1. Delegate Dan Recap
The months of April through September are documented in vivid detail – first with
emails and then on this
webpage. In summary: in April, I decided to run for the position of delegate to represent 11th Congressional District of California at the Democratic National Convention in Denver. Many of you got a personal
email from me asking for your support and your vote. In a single day, single polling place caucus race that featured more than twenty candidates,
I won, due in large part to my family members, friends, former students and their family members showing up to vote for me.
The position of
delegate is one of the most bizarre assignments within our civic system. Each party has separate rules and by-laws, but they are ultimately similar: In becoming a delegate, a citizen from within that party is required to pledge to cast their vote for a specific candidate at the
Convention. However, delegates can change their minds at any point thereafter – for any reason – prior to casting their vote. Each party allocates the number of delegates to individual congressional districts based on population and the results from the primary. In 2008, my congressional district was awarded four delegate positions: two for Hillary Clinton and two for Barack Obama.
In making the decision to run for delegate, I decided to represent – and pledge my support for – Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. I did this, primarily, for two reasons:
First, and foremost, in order to go to the Convention, I needed to win. I reside in – what must be –
one of the most gerrymandered congressional districts in the country. Somehow, my aunt who lives in Livermore, the city directly east of my home city of Pleasanton could not vote for me, but my brother, who lives an hour east in Stockton, could. Pleasanton and Stockton (and Morgan Hill) are in California Congressional District 11. Livermore is not. Both the Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton caucus races to elect delegates took place on the same day at the same time – but not in the same place. The Barack Obama caucus took place in the city of
Tracy, which is located forty minutes east of my hometown, and my voter base. The Hillary Clinton caucus race took place in the city of
Dublin which is directly North of Pleasanton. It took most of my voters less than ten minutes to drive to the poll and vote for me that Sunday.
My second reason requires more explanation.
If you think back to eight months ago, it appeared as if the Democratic Party might tear itself apart even before the Republicans had their chance. In what had begun as a civil contest, political barbs were now appearing in
higher frequency and growing ferocity. It appeared that neither Clinton nor Obama would gain the number of elected delegate votes necessary to secure the nomination
prior to the Convention. At twelve letters, the word “
superdelegate” entered common conversation as the longest four letter word in the history of the English language. To make matters worse, on April 3rd, when asked about Barack Obama's growing lead of pledged delegate votes at the Democratic National Convention,
Hillary Clinton declared "There is no such thing as a pledged delegate." The thing is, she wasn’t unjustified. The chaotic picture she painted was just something our modern political system was not accustomed to. Democratic principle dictates that the candidate who wins the most votes should earn the position. However, in a system in which Delegates are selected and can change their mind, such is not necessarily the case.
Because this election was so close, because both sides had dedicated supporters and substantial resources, in the battle to decide who would win the Democratic Party’s nomination for President of the United States, two frightening and very real possibilities emerged: (1) The winner would be decided by political puppet masters in a smoky back room instead of by the voters. (2) A fight might erupt on the Convention floor and the Democratic Party – along with its chances of winning in November – would shatter.
As an individual who taught high school Civics and American History for ten years, I felt trained for this moment. If we were to revert to the
brawls of yesteryear, then I wanted in. Not to exert my own agenda, but to do my best to make sure some form of sanity was preserved in an imperfect system.
On June 3rd the final primaries took place in Montana and South Dakota.
Barack Obama had won the national popular vote and held the overall delegate lead. On June 7th, Hillary Clinton -remember, it took her four days -
conceded and endorsed Barack Obama. Yet heading into the Convention at the end of August, there was talk that
Hillary Clinton and her supporters would continue their battle into the Convention for the nomination. Prior to my arrival in Denver, letters and emails signed by die hard supporters began to occupy my mailbox and a substantial portion of my
email inbox. While in Denver, I was approached several times by Clinton organizers seeking support of petitions, protests, and other extremist measures on the floor of the Convention.
Can you imagine the toll that would have wrought on the Democratic Party? On the country?
Allow me to state this plainly: If Hillary Clinton had won the national primary – total delegate votes or even the overall popular vote – I would have made sure my vote went to her. But she didn’t win. Barack Obama did. He won both the delegate count and popular vote. Given this democratic mandate, I arrived in Denver on August 25th ready and willing to cast my vote for Barack Obama.
And I did.
Although this was my single-most important responsibility in attending the Democratic National Convention, it was only a small fraction of an
awesome experience. In the last week of August, the city of Denver became one gigantic, vibrant mass of humanity. It was as if the entire city was breathing and exploding with excitement all hours of the day. I had to share what I was experiencing. Using the screen name “Delegate Dan” I set up this
website in the hope of accomplishing just that.
Some of my
former students, now college students, made the drive all the way from California to Denver to be a part of the experience. I was able to get them into some parties and into
Invesco Field for Obama’s acceptance speech. I
met some incredible people. I
heard some incredible speeches. I
shook some powerful hands. I
talked to reporters. I did some
radio interviews. I
was seen on CNN a lot and on
The Colbert Report once. It was hard to sleep and so I slept very little. And I had an
incredible time.
It was the Friday morning after Obama’s speech at Invesco Field that Sarah Palin was announced as the Republican Vice Presidential Candidate. It was a
shrewd and calculated move targeted at earning the votes of disenfranchised
Hillary Clinton supporters, galvanizing the religious base of the Republican Party and stifling the awesome energy generated by the Democrats in Denver.
I remember riding from the hotel back to the Airport when I heard the name Sarah Palin for the first time. The van I was in was full with other delegates from around the country. Everyone in the car was perplexed by this pick. They thought it changed the playing field. The overwhelming enthusiasm from the night before somehow seemed to have disappeared – in its place was timid silence.
“Who the hell is Sarah Palin?” I thought to myself and
“How could she have done this?”That’s one of the things about Democrats that I can’t stand. Often times instead of acting on our fears and innovating, carving out and setting forth on a new path, we remain frozen in worry, in a self-induced state of paralysis. We brace ourselves for the inevitable Republican low blow instead of rising in the name of progress and sanity to defend, throw counter punches and deliver the knockout that the moment and history calls for.
I was physically and emotionally exhausted and now a growing sense of claustrophobia began to swell within me and itch. In that van, at that moment I found myself feeling fired up and ready to explode. The date was Friday, August 28th. The fun was over. Now there was work to do and a fight to be won. It was a feeling that would stay with me until Tuesday, November 4th.
2. The New Mission
Beyond the balloons and confetti, what I saw, what I felt in Denver, the people I met, what I experienced inside the Convention, the energy I felt in the streets, had to reverberate and live. It was as if an electrical current was shot into me and it was my responsibility, as a delegate, as a citizen, as a human being to serve as a conduit and pass it along to as many people as I could.
I believed that if I did this to the best of my ability, if I did everything I could, if I dedicated every inch I had to give to this all important cause, there would be other people – people who I never met and would never meet, people just like the ones who filled the streets of Denver – making the same commitment and dedicating themselves to the same cause, and we would win.
Matched with that was a feeling of anger and urgency from that damn Palin proclamation-van ride back to Denver International Airport that I wanted to purge from my system as soon as possible.
The week immediately following the Democratic National Convention in Denver, the Republicans held their Convention in St. Paul. Everyone got to know who Sarah Palin was and remarkably enough, at first, they liked her – a lot. She was tough, punchy, easy on the eyes, made a funny comment about a hockey moms, pitbulls and lipstick, and she liked to shoot stuff. Immediately following her speech at the RNC the model of glasses she wore for her Convention speech went on back order. And the Republicans bounced in the polls, despite the fact that the war was going nowhere, public organizers were being mocked openly, our economy and our ecology had been sacked in the name of tax cuts and big oil, the Canadian National guard had arrived at New Orleans faster than our own troops, torture had become executive policy, and the sitting President – a Republican – had a lower approval rating than Nixon – also a Republican. Yet somehow, in this late hour, the Republicans had taken the lead.
“How could this be? It doesn’t make sense.” I have been shocked into paralysis before. I did it twice: in the bitter autumn cold of 2000 and 2004. “There is no way we will be that stupid on Election Day.” After much thought, stress and loss of hair over the last eight years I arrived upon a simple answer: Ignorance is powerful and Republicans are resourceful.
I wasn’t going to sit back and watch this time.
It was in the second week of September that I made an announcement on this webpage, that I planned to return to Denver for four days before the election to help win the state of Colorado for Barack Obama. California was blue as the Pacific Ocean, and voting here and staying at home would be the equivalent of sitting on the bench – nay, sitting in the stands – during the final minutes of a close ballgame. The state of Colorado was a close ballgame. In fact, in the weeks following the RNC many analysts were predicting that the entire race could come down to Colorado, as happened in Florida in 2000 and Ohio in 2004. This was a game I needed to be in.
The twist about my return to Denver was that this time I wanted as many people to come with me as possible. It was an open ended invitation to any passionate Obama supporter who wanted to be a part of this election, make an impact and be a part of history. It was also an opportunity for family, friends and former students to see the electric city I had reported from during the DNC just two weeks prior.
In the first forty-eight hours, our numbers were over twenty. In the next forty-eight our numbers passed fifty. I didn’t know how we would get there, but I felt if we dedicated ourselves to finding a way, we would find one. I contacted travel agencies, airlines, friends, family and the Democratic Party. I was put in touch with an organization known as Travelforchange.org.
Travelforchange.org was an independent organization dedicated to getting progressive volunteers to battleground states. Upon registering, our people provided individual mission statements and biographies. I encouraged all the members of our group to allow their hearts to dictate what they wrote. What you are about to do is a little bit crazy, why do you want to do it? These were the only guiding questions. After creating their own page, the individual volunteer could then send the link to all friends and family members in an effort to raise the funds and/or frequent flyer miles necessary for the trip. Potential donors could then logon, learn about each volunteer and decide whether or not to become a sponsor.
In an effort to show our collective strength and in the hopes of luring a large scale donor, I requested each of my volunteers close their biography with the following statement: Member: Dan’s Delegation. It was a play on words from my geeky cyber-universe name, but the name would stick. Within five days five of our people had flights. When the weekend before the election arrived we believed that every one of our volunteers would have flights to Denver.
Three things happened in the final days of September and the first days of October that dramatically altered the shape of the 2008 election and the role my group would play within it:
First, the economy crashed. While Congress began entertaining talks of an astronomical financial bailout, both campaigns searched for ways to show leadership in the face of crisis. John McCain postponed his campaign. Kind of. Barack Obama stayed cool. And he surged ahead.
Second, I got laid off. This news probably comes as a shock to many of you close to me, as I did my best to keep this to myself and my family. My former coworkers and I continue come up with theories as to whether or not this was a reactionary measure on the part of my company or if this was merely part of a plan put into action over a year ago. Either way I wasn’t alone: my entire division of sixty employees was eliminated and the National Unemployment Rate surged past 6.5%. I was told that my severance package would last until the end of December and on the very afternoon I got laid off, I was asked to apply for a new division that was being formed within the company. Regardless, fresh from a career change, sitting low man on the corporate totem pole with two children, a mortgage and a hefty monthly college loan bill was not the most comforting position to be in.
Third, through individuals I will keep confidential, I was put in touch with a wealthy American philanthropist living in Italy named David Gall. He was introduced as a valued and respected donor, with a good history of helping volunteers get where they needed to go. I was also told that he sought me out because he had been made aware of our group.
I remember driving in my car, on Friday, October 3rd, on my way to learn more about a potential job offering, when I was first contacted by David. He explained that he was impressed by the dedication and size and of the organization we had built from the grass roots up in such a short amount of time.
It was a phone interview and I got the job. He did, too.
I was impressed by his passion, high level of intelligence and sharp wit. He owned a business marketing agency in Boulder and was currently serving as a professor at an international university outside of Venice. Although he was independently wealthy through his own financial firm, he was part of Americans in Italy for Obama, and a network of Americans with substantial resources who were very dedicated to seeing Barack Obama become the next President of the United States. Together, we started laying plans for increasing our numbers and began the process of determining the states in which our volunteers would have the greatest impact. I would play the role of organizer. He would play the role of collective financier. Together, we would spend countless hours over the next four weeks reading the most current polls, organizing our volunteers, and speaking with organizers on the ground in six different battleground states.
It was around this time that I stopped blogging entirely and dedicated almost every aspect of my life to organizing.
3. Up, up and Away
The original goal of Dan’s Delegation was to send as many people as possible to Colorado for “Get Out The Vote Weekend” (the weekend before the election) through Election Day. However, as the campaign rolled into its final month, the colors on the board began to change. Colorado was getting bluer by the day and our numbers were growing quickly.
Shortly after speaking with David Gall, I had contacted a student organizer in Berkeley who I had met in Denver. He got some of his friends on board. When our total number of volunteers reached one hundred, we decided it would be best to consider splitting our volunteers into two different teams in two different states. Aggressively seeking every volunteer they could muster, the folks we had been working with in Denver were not pleased when we informed them of this decision. This was all less than a week after I first spoke with David Gall.
Then, seemingly overnight, something fantastic happened: Through email, text messaging, cell phone conversations, blogs and Facebook, the concept of a free flight to a battleground state went viral to young volunteers around the country. Beyond UC Berkeley and beyond our control, young volunteers around the country began to fill out our online application in overwhelming numbers. The UC Berkeley students who I had begun working with planted a seed, and in the second week of October, that seed vibrantly exploded.
We welcomed everyone who wanted this opportunity. Whereas the original members of Dan’s Delegation were my family members and friends, now the vast majority of our volunteers were students who had never voted before. Our only prerequisites were that each volunteer was passionate and dedicated. They did not need to have any prior election experience.
I could no longer do this on my own. Organizing this was going to take an organization. As our numbers grew, I actively sought and received help from an incredible group of student leaders at UC Berkeley. Working with these students was an amazing experience. The energy that was generated from their enthusiasm, commitment and dedication was similar to what I experienced in Denver; however, this was different. This was proactive.
Our volunteer and leadership base didn’t just come from states that were solid blue (Massachusetts and California), but also from states that were solid red (Oklahoma and Texas). These leaders would be responsible for registering and corresponding with volunteers on an individual level. David worked to lock up resources and I began contacting and working with organizers who were already on the ground in the six “Battleground States” we had determined to target: North Carolina, Georgia, Indiana, Missouri, Colorado and the 2nd Congressional District in Nebraska.
By the beginning of the second week of October we had surpassed seven hundred registered volunteers and were well on our way towards our goal of one thousand. It was at this point that David made it clear his resources were finite and asked us to stop enrolling volunteers.
Our next step was to take this massive grouping of names and organize them into hierarchical teams. This would be the hardest work of the campaign. Each group would have a State Director, City Captains and individual Team Leaders. As each of these positions would be important branches of our organization, individuals who were interested in this position were interviewed. These leaders would work closely with the organizers on the ground of the battleground state they were assigned to. Once the leaders were chosen, David and I held a series of conference calls to make sure these people were prepared and understood what their expectations were. This was a massive effort which involved finding housing, transportation and field training for nearly seven hundred volunteers.
This was my biggest responsibility. It began with phone interviews to each and every volunteer confirming that they were passionate, willing to physically walk onto an airplane, work long hours and live in a state unfamiliar to them for a couple of days. The Berkeley students were herculean in their time and effort in making confirmation phone calls and speaking with each volunteer. David began reserving flights and both of us worked to iron out every detail to make sure that all our volunteers would be taken care of and ready to accomplish the task at hand.
Soon thereafter, I wrote a letter to the entire group with directions and steps that would take place over the next week. Each volunteer would receive a flight confirmation via email. On the evening of Wednesday, October 22, David informed our leadership core that he was about one-third of the way through booking flights, was burning through donated frequent flyer miles and had already spent over $30,000 of his own money.
Our final number was six-hundred-and-eighty-four people. California college students from Stanford, USC, a variety of California State Schools and every single UC in the system made the bulk of our population. But there were also students from the University of Oklahoma, Texas, Tufts and over two hundred students from Harvard College. But it wasn’t just students. It was their friends and family. It was my friends and my family – and every single one of my original volunteers.
My goal had long been to put this thing in motion, provide leadership, then step away and fly to Colorado with my friends to knock on doors. I was now told I was bigger than that. On that same day, David told me he had a surprise and asked me to check my email. He had reserved my flight back to Denver, but instead of arriving from the San Francisco Bay Area, I would be departing from Nebraska. My arrival to Nebraska would be from Indiana. My arrival to Indiana would be from Georgia. My arrival to Georgia would be from North Carolina. He wanted me to stop in every single state we were sending volunteers in. He could not fit Missouri into the schedule, but I would cover five states in five days. I told him I thought this was excessive and that I would rather him use the flights fly a few more volunteers. David told me I was too important and that I was needed in these states to rally our volunteers. The student leaders agreed. I relented and I got excited.
David asked me to draft a “Mission Statement” to send to the entire group. I took a whole next day to come up with it and went through several different drafts and versions. I asked the Berkeley students to proofread it. I asked David to proofread it. I even asked my mother to proofread it. This was the final result.
The feedback I got from this letter was overwhelmingly positive. Immediately it became a rallying point. On Thursday, October 23, my work as an organizer was done. It was at this moment that I released myself to the structure we had created and the tasks we had delegated. After weeks of minimal sleep, more than a dozen conference calls to volunteers, a hell of a lot of work and a more than healthy amount of stress, I began to breathe again. Our state rosters were finalized. State Leaders were speaking daily with their respective organizers on the ground and had made arrangements for ground transportation, room and board for all of our volunteers. David provided each team captain with his personal home and cell phone number if they incurred any difficulty. All of our volunteers had been debriefed on the voter demographic they were to target. All of our volunteers had voted early.
The greatest, most important work was still to be done by our volunteers in the field, but the work we had done up to this point had both inspired and empowered people to participate in making change. Every responsibility was locked in and delegated to responsible people.
We were fired up and ready to go.
4. “…and many broke things”
Throughout the first four weeks of October, utilizing Skype technology, David Gall and I had made it a point to speak three times a day, everyday, even on weekends: (1) 8am Pacific Standard Time / 5pm Venice Time, (2) 11am Pacific Standard Time / 8pm Venice Time, (3) 11pm Pacific Standard Time / 8am Venice Time. We would follow current polls, make notes and adjustments, and send email clarifications while the other slept. He was meticulous and often times temperamental. Sometimes I would wake at 6am and have over ten new email messages from him in my inbox. When I only had time to address seven of them before our 8am phone call, I would incur criticism. We didn’t always get along, but we understood the importance of the task at hand and were exceedingly diligent and efficient in our efforts.
The morning of Saturday, October 25th brought strange news. On that morning, I had allowed myself the grace of sleeping in. As my wife and I had attended a family wedding the night before, our kids were with the grandparents, and I finally felt myself relaxing after what had been a very exhausting four weeks. A little after 8am I awoke, turned on my computer, and opened my email. There was only one message in my inbox. This is what it read:
“Hello. I am Giovanni. Excuse me for I do not speak English so I use translation machine. I see your email on the computer of David and I know you are important for him. Last night there has been an incident with the car of David. He is in the hospital. He is bad with concussion and many broke things. I can make you to know more when I talk to doctors again. I am very sad.” - Giovanni
Let’s backtrack for a second. A week prior to this I was standing in a UC Berkeley college apartment living room with a team of dedicated students at 2am. We were presenting David with – via phone, email attachments and GoogleDocs – our team rosters that we had finalized over the last two weeks and feverishly without sleep for the last forty-eight hours. The task was finally completed, there were a lot of high fives exchanged and we toasted our efforts with cans of Keystone Ice. David was impressed. I remember saying to David, “Buddy, I’m worried about you. There is so much at stake. What if something happens to you?” He replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” I came back, “David, I’m not messing around. I could disappear at this point, and this thing would still happen, but if you disappear, we’re toast. We need a number two in Italy.” He came back, “Dan, you are being ridiculous. I’ll be OK.” Fearing my words were a product of late night paranoia and were detracting from the mission at I hand, I let the moment pass.
I was intensely worried about his health, but at the same time, I recognized that our mission had suddenly and without warning entered its most urgent and critical hour.
Forgive the military reference, but when a company loses a member of their troop – infantry or officer – the company finds a way to march on. However, the military is structured strictly to the point that if you lose even a general, another one is ready to take his or her place. We didn’t have anyone to take David’s place. He was the one individual responsible for financing, booking and sending confirmation of all our flights. Furthermore, my mental state was far from that of the valor of a hero. I was in a full blown state of panic.
My wife and I realized the next few days would be incredibly stressful. In what was by far the ugliest moment of this whole experience, we made the decision that she and the two kids would stay at her parents’ home for a couple of days until things mellowed.
I called the student leaders and broke the news about David. Reactions were mixed. Emotions were flying. After a morning of freaking out, I did my best to regroup the troops and my own sanity. I sent out an email to the entire organization detailing the little that we new. Later that afternoon I held an emergency conference call with our leaders from across the country to figure out a way to move forward.
I tried to focus on the positive. The bottom line was that we still had six hundred and eighty four dedicated people fired up and hoping to volunteer. They were our most important resource. There had to be a way. I developed a desperate plan that called for reaching out to our own volunteers. Someone had to have a contact. Someone had to have resources – if not one large donor, then a few smaller ones; if we couldn’t send six hundred and eighty four then let’s find a way to send three hundred. Maybe someone knew Oprah. We couldn’t give up.
Days went by and we had no contact from David. This is a person to whom I spoke to three times a day for a month, and there was nothing. Dead silence. I came to this conclusion: If I was in an accident and in a hospital bed, with what was at stake the doctors would have to chain every limb of my body to the wall to keep me from hitting the return key on my laptop or making a phone call. Immediately, we had to look out for the safety and well being of our volunteers. Some investigation with law enforcement determined that a name, a phone number and an email was not enough for identity theft. Little else was clear after that.
The details that did emerge were not optimistic, and each piece of information struck a blow to any momentum we were desperately and frantically trying to produce.
David had promised an Omaha organizer, who both of us had been working with, that he would deliver a team of volunteers from Washington D.C. These individuals were personal friends of the Omaha organizer and they were to arrive a week earlier than our team. When nothing materialized, the Omaha organizer investigated. The travel agency that David had attempted to book flights through had put a stop on his flights because they feared a fraudulent situation. None of the flights David said he had booked were ever ticketed. The emails almost half our volunteers had received prior to the “accident” and were told were confirmations were not. None of our volunteers had flights.
After contacting the travel agency, we found out that David had two different Colorado drivers licenses, with two different names – David Gall and Davis Jerome Moller – but with the exact same picture.
Later in the week, a reporter somehow managed a law enforcement background check on David Gall and found that an individual bearing that name was wanted for fraud in two different states.
We contacted Americans in Italy for Obama, the organization that David cited his participation in to gain credibility with us. They knew who he was, confirmed his identity, and offered to help us to the greatest of their ability. Some of them were able to contact David. He claimed had been in a horrible accident and in terrible pain, but he was home and he was coherent. Days later, David Gall would be formally kicked out of Americans in Italy for Obama.
Sunday night I met with the Berkeley student leaders in person. I was amazed by their collective diligence and their optimism was uplifting. They were not to be deterred and had all intentions of moving forward. I spoke with leaders from different organizations and they informed me that since Nevada was also a closely contested battleground state, they would be willing to bus all volunteers for free from California to Las Vegas. This seemed like a viable alternative if our first options did not materialize.
After getting home at around 3am from my meeting with the students the night before, I awoke to a phone call at Monday morning at 8am. It was David. He sounded terrible, but I remained completely suspicious. After a few tacit questions about his health, I told him how concerned our whole team was and asked him to participate in a conference call immediately. He agreed. During this call he claimed his laptop – with all his records – had been destroyed in the accident, and there was nothing he could do. Four leaders were able to get on the call. Each one had a chance to speak with him. Each one left the conversation feeling distrustful and defeated. When I asked David “Do you have another name? Are you Davis Jerome Moller?” – he hung up.
The last forty eight hours had been hell.
5. Don’t Trust Anyone Over Thirty
I left the conversation disgusted, but with a sense of closure and a sense of certainty of what we needed to do if we were going to pull this off. The student leaders left the conversation just feeling disgusted.
Again I tried to rally the troops. Again I tried to keep our forces together. The conversation ended with us agreeing to push for one more day to pull off our original plan, and if it didn’t work we would resort to Plan B: busing to Las Vegas.
But there was too much angst and urgency. We were less than five days away from “Get Out The Vote Weekend” and six hundred and eighty four volunteers still didn’t know where they were going or if they were actually going anywhere – and now we had to figure out if we had perpetuated a fraud (we didn’t).
Immediately following the final conference call with David Gall, Berkeley went black for what felt like an eternity.
There were about a dozen student volunteers from Berkeley who I had come to rely on intimately in the month of October. Each had been instrumental in rallying volunteers and helping with the organization effort and each been nominated to important leadership positions in our organization. They were on call for me for two weeks straight. One volunteer even had my phone number programmed in his cell under the name “Delegate Dan ANSWER IT!”
Together we had grown increasingly sleep deprived as the breadth and scope and shape of our organization grew. But at this moment, for about three hours, none of them answered their phones. None of them answered text messages. None of them answered their emails.
Sometime in the afternoon, the silence broke and I received an email. This email was not only sent to me; it was sent to the entire team of volunteers – including my family members, my friends and my former students – and not just to our volunteers, but also to official ranking organizers on the ground who I had introduced these student leaders to and worked closely with myself.
I remember reading the first few sentences, walking away from my seat, and taking a big exhale before continuing. It stated that, in light of current circumstances, the student leadership core had elected to disassociate with Dan’s Delegation. The tone of their email expressed a sense of panic and cast a sense of distrust towards myself.
I wish they had come to a different conclusion; however I understand completely why they did it. There was simply too much uncertainty. The reality of the situation was that they didn’t know me from Adam. The primary reason I had emerged so prominently in their lives just three weeks prior was because I had promised them a free flight. Now that wasn’t there any more.
They had stuck their neck out for me. They trusted what we were offering. They sold it to their friends and family members and I had failed to live up to my end of the bargain. My credibility was shot. Their credibility was on the line.
Furthermore, they no longer knew who they could trust and I wasn’t one of them. At thirty-two years of age, driving from the suburbs into the middle of Berkeley with my company car, I must have stuck out a sore thumb. Naked, I look like a Republican and the clothes I wore to our meetings must not have helped my cause at this critical moment of judgment. I was often coming from work or job interviews. My shirt was tucked in. My shoes were shined. I wore a sports coat and a tie to more than one meeting. In a mini-crisis of its own I recognized that I had become the establishment I questioned so intensely when I was their age. I am a salesman. My twenty-year-old self would be dubious of my thirty-two year old self.
Once I had the chance to put myself in their shoes – and, perhaps my old shoes – it became a lot easier to take. But at age twenty, I never went through anything like what I put those students through in those four weeks.
I composed a hurried response and sent it out to the entire group. Above all else, even if it was no longer under my leadership, I was doing my damnedest to keep the group together, and make sure these volunteers remained organized and willing to work for change. I was also trying to save face. After clicking the send button, I called my old teaching friends, many of which received both emails, and told them I needed a beer. I called my wife and asked her to come home.
But still it wasn’t over. I remained consumed, except now, instead of being consumed by the hope and optimism that had flooded my life just days before, now I was consumed by fear. Everybody involved was absolutely terrified. One media misinterpretation could lead to catastrophic headlines days before an election that was far from a sure thing. The email that the students sent to all the volunteers implying “fraud” was picked up by local media and I began to get phone calls at my home.
I needed to be as open and accessible as I possibly could. This required answering my phone at all hours of the day. One of my biggest fears was waking up and reading in an article that I was “unavailable for comment.” I felt I had to convince each reporter I spoke to of my credibility. My conversations were long and detailed. I never wanted an article to state something inaccurate. Most importantly I had to make sure that each of them knew that we were completely unaffiliated with the Obama campaign and were travelling to these battleground states freely and on our own volition. I got phone calls at odd hours – sometimes at dinner, sometimes when I was putting the kids to bed – and I took the calls. It was incredibly unsettling, but it was the only way to keep this from exploding into something worse than it already was. My wife wondered if she had returned too soon.
In the end, the reporters turned into allies. Many of them found out a lot of information on David Gall that we were able to submit to the FBI and Italian authorities. Although David never perpetrated a crime against us, he may have against credit card companies, travel agencies and airline companies. I wrote emails after the election in an effort to press the situation and get an update, but as of yet, there is no news. One thing that is for certain: the hospital he claimed to be at has no record of checking him in.
After taking a few days with my family and licking my wounds a bit, some of my colleagues and I decided to road trip to Reno for “Get Out The Vote” weekend. After all the administrative cyber-work I had done, I needed to step out of the machine I had created and till the earth with my own hands. I needed to talk to voters. I needed to be active in this moment. I also needed a road trip.
We would drive up Saturday morning and drive back Tuesday night. We weren’t sure where we were going to stay, but by God, we were going.
6. The Indirect Path
Saturday morning brought heavy rain to the Bay Area. Heavy rain in the Bay Area means snow in the mountains. Snow in the mountains means good luck getting to Reno. If we were to go, we’d be in for a hell of a drive, and making it across the state line into the Battleground State of Nevada was not a guarantee.
My two friends were still part of the email list the student leaders were sending to volunteers. Remember that desperation plan I had for reaching out to our own volunteers for large donations? Late in the week, after the student leaders had severed their ties with me, people started answering the call. Donors emerged and began offering volunteers round trip flights for a small donation in return. I was forwarded the email and after two phone calls, I was put in direct touch with a donor.
I asked her for three round trip flights to Denver. When she asked me my name, I told her. There was a pause at the other end. She recognized me. She was very kind but informed me she would have to call me back. Less than two minutes later, I received a phone call from another volunteer asking me not to participate in this program. He feared that the organizers in Denver would not receive me warmly because I had promised them a hundred volunteers and had not delivered. I told him I just wanted to do everything I could to help and suggested they didn’t have to station us in Denver proper. They could fly us to Colorado and station us in the middle of nowhere - “Just let us go out there and work. Let us talk to people, we’re Civics teachers for chrissake, we’re good at this!” He paused, breathed heavy into the phone, took a look at a map, and said, “OK, you can go to Greeley.” I agreed, hung up the phone, and – in what may be the most enthusiastic response on record by a human being to travel thirteen hundred miles just to go to Greeley, Colorado – I jumped out of my seat, clapped my hands, and gave a hell yes.
Less than three hours later, my two friends and I were on a flight out of Oakland International Airport to Denver International Airport.
I remember them walking up to me in the terminal. When I saw them smiling, the weight of the last four weeks completely disappeared. I should have been exhausted, but instead once again, I felt a growing sense of excitement. This time it was coupled with a fleeting sense of fulfillment. My masterpiece had melted, but in a bizarre, unchartered sort of way, even after everything that had happened, I was about to come full circle and accomplish the exact task I had originally set out to do. Things were suddenly simple and beautiful. The final, most important task was about to begin.
I was returning to Denver, and this time I was bringing friends with me.
7. Return to Denver
We landed in Denver International late Saturday night, rented a car and headed into the city.
The city I returned to in November was different from the city I departed from in August. At night it was darker, colder, less crowded and less vibrant. By day it was more corporate. The diversity of tourists had been replaced by an army of (strikingly) young professionals. People still got off and on buses. Except now, rather than basking in festivity, they marched efficiently on direct path to their certain destinations - Starbucks and laptop briefcases in hand. No time for strangers to share in excitement and good cheer. There was little excitement at all. The carnival had left town long ago.
This new backdrop provided a consistent reminder that this trip was not a holiday. We were there to work and had a mission to complete.
We woke early Sunday morning in Denver and embarked on the fifty-two mile drive from Denver to Greeley. Although travel magazines probably wouldn’t report the drive as scenic, on that day it was absolutely beautiful and thrilling for me and my friends. Skyscrapers quickly gave way to cow pastures as stoplights began to appear on the freeways.
Greeley was the campaign headquarters of Weld County. It was also the heart of one of the most important battleground Congressional Elections in the country between Democratic challenger Betsy Markey and the Republican Incumbent Marilyn Musgrave. Representative Musgrave had made national headlines for her role in conspiracy charges for wrongly influencing member of Congress and had gained a reputation for making draconian statements in regard to homosexuality. She was both a figurehead and a mouthpiece of the old Republican guard (a la Tom DeLay). We believed her policies to be absolutely backwards to what our country represented and were delighted in the opportunity to unseat her.
We also had the opportunity to help Mark Udall in his bid for the United States Senate. Earlier in the year he was slated to be in one of the closest races nationally, but in recent weeks his lead had widened. We had the opportunity to hear him speak in person on Monday evening – along with Michelle Obama – at a high school in Jefferson County.
After being debriefed in Greeley, we were told that our services were most needed in the western half of the district. We were asked to ship out to a precinct headquarters in Johnstown located twenty-three miles west from Greeley. We were warned the place we were going to was “Pretty far out – kind of in the middle of nowhere.” We wondered what could be more “far out” and more in the “middle of nowhere” than Greeley. We were about to find out.
The precinct headquarters in Johnstown was actually the home of an Obama volunteer. After a long journey the genuine welcome and thanks we received upon our arrival was most heartening indeed. We were fed, caffeinated and debriefed.
A couple of things stood out to us during our quick living room training seminar. First, was the dedication of our organizers. The homeowners who ran the precinct had their doors open all hours of the day and their kitchen filled with food, water and fresh coffee. Many of the volunteers who operated the precinct had travelled from far as well. The young woman who debriefed us had travelled all the way from Montana (In 2004 she left a Japanese Abroad program to work for John Kerry. It blew my mind to see her and my colleague rapping in Japanese in the middle of Weld County, Colorado). One volunteer I spoke with in the kitchen was a proud Republican from Texas – who despised George W. Bush – and had travelled to volunteer with her daughter. She gave me a sandwich. Another was a young man who had travelled from London just to knock on doors. One lady was a local, who had been working on the campaign for months. She downed three Mountain Dews with breakfast and was clearly very excited to welcome all these liberals to her otherwise very conservative town. The teenager who organized and distributed our precinct lists took a week off from high school to volunteer. You may find irony in three teachers complimenting a student in cutting school, but we agreed that this was a life experience that surpassed anything any of us could ever teach in a classroom.
Above all was the spirit. There was never a shortage of effort, high-fives or hugs. Here we were in Johnstown, Colorado – a global assembly – all working for the same thing.
It’s easy to get caught up in the emotional gravity of the moment, but if there was not structure, if there was not organization, the whole thing would have fizzled. And these people were incredibly efficient. Here we were in the middle of Johnstown, Colorado and we were part an incredible team that was operating like a well-oiled machine. The doors we needed to knock on were targeted. Each door we knocked on needed to be accounted for on a list and marked with a specific code so headquarters knew whether or not these people could be reached. Each day it was a different list of houses to hit. Each day we had different pieces of literature that ranged from colorful and vibrant “HOPE” advertisements to specific directions on how to get to the polls. Our scripts were specific, however, once we actually engaged a voter, each of us improvised.
“Hello, my name is Dan and I’m a Civics Teacher. I travelled 1,300 miles to knock on your door today and to let you know your vote is more important than mine this year. Do you have a minute to talk?”
We didn’t say we were from California unless they asked. There’s a perception out in the rest of America, surely perpetrated by the Right Wing, that the nation is sloped downward to the west and all the fruits and nuts roll into California. In the split seconds we had, we didn’t want to lose credibility on a false perception.
Many of the precincts we were sent to were in a small town east of Johnstown called Milliken. In Milliken there was one post office, one firehouse, one grocery store, one fast food stop, less than a handful of stoplights and what appeared to be and endless number of home foreclosures.
I struggled to remember the last time I had seen a foreclosed home - the thick, punch-coded padlock on the doorknob, the large county “Order to Vacate” pasted on the once welcoming front door. With each, I got an overwhelming feeling of stillness and defeat. With each, I imagined a story of a family whose livelihood and hopes were tied to that structure. They must have tried very hard to make it work, but in the end they were ultimately unable to overcome factors that may or may not have been in their control. How did they try? What had they gone through? Where were they now? It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. All of us were struck by how silent the streets were.
Next door to the home with a foreclosure sign, often times we saw McCain/Palin signs firmly planted into the ground.
On one level it was shocking and horrific: the neighborhoods – the people – that needed some sort of change the most, seemed to be the ones most opposed to the progress they needed. On another level it was personally assuring: we were exactly where we needed to be to stir the pot and cast some seeds of change.
Far and away the highlight of the trip was the people we talked to. Even the ones who didn’t agree with us. People who had already voted for Obama but were just so darn excited they wanted to talk. People who had voted for Bush twice, but were now going to vote for Obama. People who liked Obama, but couldn’t bring themselves to vote for him because they thought it would break with their religion. People who didn’t care and didn’t want us there. I had a door slammed in my face by a fellow (when I knocked on it again, and politely asked to speak to his wife, I thought for one second that I might get shot). Single mothers playing with their kids on a playground who were glad to see us. People who just didn’t think their vote mattered. People who were trying to get their roof repaired before the winter because a freak tornado had ravaged their town over the summer and their insurance reimbursement had lagged. People of all ages who said they had voted for the first time in their life. People who practiced two religions on Sundays: Christianity and Broncos Football. People who worked three jobs just to pay their mortgage. People who were getting tattoos. (“Is Leon available?” “No, I’m sorry, he’s downstairs getting a tattoo.”) People who had just gotten home from work, who were unloading groceries with their two children but wanted to know where to go vote so their kids could see them do it. Just people. Americans. All of them different. All of them collectively beautiful.
The nights were interesting as well. Some of my former students who were original members of Dan’s Delegation made the trip to Denver and wanted to meet up. They were working at campaign headquarters – a place I had been cautioned to avoid. At this point in the game, I didn’t care. These were my students. I wanted to see them and I knew I could help phone bank.
After an exhausting day, seeing these former teenagers who now reappeared to me as young adults having the time of their life brought a second wind. But my colleagues were gassed. They needed food and they needed to relax. I was disappointed when they opted to go to the Chevy’s across the road instead of taking the final two hours of the night to phone bank.
Talking to a person on the phone is different form talking to a person face to face. Hanging up on a person takes less gravitas than slamming a door in his face. They are less reserved with their commentary if they are unhappy with your invasion of their home. If you get berated you have to be ready for the next call immediately. Few find enjoyment in phone banking. Thick skin is a prerequisite.
In an effort to improve voter turnout, the Colorado State Legislature had recently implemented a vote by mail program. Our job was to make sure, on Sunday and Monday night, voters who had not mailed their ballots yet knew to drop them off directly at the precinct instead of in the mailbox. It was a good thing for us to do, even if some of the people we called didn’t want to hear it from us. Part of the script required that I find out that who they are voting for before I directed them where to drop off their ballot. I soon found out that leading with a political question rarely elicited a welcome response. Again, I strayed from the script:
“Hello, I’m so sorry to call and interrupt your evening, but I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important… Have you dropped your ballot in the mail yet?... OK, don’t. If you drop it in the mail tomorrow, it won’t arrive by Election Day and it will not be counted. Let me tell you where you can go drop it off…”
This worked great until I got though giving one person directions on where to cast their ballot and she told me she was actually a Democrat who had already filled out her ballot for McCain. “Oh man… well good luck to you.” I tried to sign off politely, but she came back, “Wait, how do I know this isn’t some liberal trick?”
A liberal trick?
Instead of jumping into a tirade about how the last eight years had been the greatest, most horrific trick ever played on the American people, I bit my tongue and assured her that she would be able to drop off her ballot at the address I had given her. She didn’t believe me and she hung up. After that I went back to the script.
I met back up with my colleagues shortly after 9pm. I remember feeling at the end of the night that I had great success, but I was more than a little bitter with my friends. They asked me how many votes I had got. I told them that I had made over forty phone calls and twelve confirmed votes that otherwise would not have been cast. They laughed and told me they got twenty. “What the heck do you mean?” I inquired. “Well, there were two waitresses who didn’t know who they were going to vote for. We got them. There was a table of five fellas watching Sunday Night Football, we bought them a pitcher and got them. There were the two couples that were on a double date….”
This would be an important observation for the following night. After another long day of work in Johnstown, we returned to “Mission Control” in Denver to work the phones. As it was the all important eve of election night, I made the guys promise to phone bank with me for two hours, up until the 9pm deadline. They agreed. However, when we arrived, the system that automatically targeted and called voters was malfunctioning. We waited for a half an hour, then we decided to take matters into our own hands.
We drove directly to 16th Street Mall where the largest crowds could be found, parked the car and moved into the closest bar. The plan was simple: shamelessly get as many votes as possible.
But there were rules: As the next day was to be a big day, we had to be back in by midnight. We made it a point not to be rude or press when people didn’t want to talk, but we threw out leads to EVERYONE - waitresses, bartenders, patrons, people we passed on the street while we were between establishments. I am a fairly social person, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more social than this. I was with the right people, too. We bought everyone a drink who we thought would listen and ran up some mighty bar tabs. But we didn’t just stop at bars. Some of the greatest numbers of votes we got were with the workers we engaged at Quiznos, Subway, Starbucks – even Fedex Kinkos.
Me: “Hello, we’re three teachers who travelled 1,300 miles just to be here tonight…”
Worker: “Whoa. But we’ve got Kinkos all over the country.”
Me laughing: “That’s not why we’re here, you’ve got a minute to talk?”
My partner had an iPhone. I had a Blackberry. If they needed to know where to go vote, we looked it up, mapped it out and showed them. Our goal by the end of the night was thirty new and confirmed Obama votes. We hit thirty-four and we had a mighty good time doing it.
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. Milliken 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 heck 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.
9. Flying Home
Everyone did the best they could to settle into their seats on the plane.
Eventually all of us would find seats, but none of us would be settled.
As it was a Southwest flight, folks got to pick where they could sit. As we were some of the last ones to board, we had to sit in the front.
Laptop open, I hurried to check the results from my seat before our plane departed from the gate – and was promptly scolded by an unsavory flight attendant for not paying attention to the presentation on how to administer the Heimlich Maneuver in the event of a emergency water landing over the Rocky Mountains. The guy sitting behind me tapped my shoulder and asked me what I saw. There was no update. He asked me if I was a volunteer for Obama, I told him I was. He was, too. He was stationed in Jefferson County, south of Denver. Another person chimed in. She and her friend were stationed in Denver proper. Did I have the results in Arapahoe County? How about Denver County? People on the plane began to shout out the counties they had worked in. Douglas? Elbert? Adams? The whole plane cheered as I snuck in one final minute with my laptop, and one by one I announced the results from each county. There was no formal announcement yet, but Colorado would most certainly be blue. The flight attendant did not appear pleased. I could not tell if it was because of the results or because I still had not properly turned off and safely stored my electronic device.
I soon realized there were conversations of exciting tone and tenor taking place all over the plane. It was buzzing. Ninety percent of the plane had to be volunteers. All of us were from the Bay Area. Two middle-aged women from Piedmont. A married couple from Alameda, both of whom were social workers. A couple who had been married for forty years from San Francisco. A team of Internet co-workers from San Jose. A father and his college-aged son…. And we were just one plane, coming from one state. None of us had ever met or even seen each other before, but together on this night, we would share a piece of history that we had worked for and achieved collectively.
I asked the friendlier looking of the two flight attendants for a cranberry vodka. She had picked up on the energy on the plane and the content of our conversations. She was as excited as we were and enjoyed listening in. Although I only remember ordering one, my glass was never empty and I don’t think I was ever asked to pay. I asked if the pilot could radio the ground and get an update. She said she couldn’t promise anything but she would try.
Still buzzing, still glowing, together we waited, and continued to share stories.
At some point over Utah our friendly flight attendant returned from the cockpit, smiled, leaned over and said one all important sentence.
In an instant I was on my feet.
I faced the entire plane, cupped my hands in front of my mouth so as to amplify my announcement for all on board to hear:
“John McCain just conceded!”
An eruption – cheers, applause, excitement, joy – reverberated back to me.
The flight had two parts, two acts, two different energies. The first was anticipation, excitement, exhaustion and eagerness to find out how it all had panned out. The second was sheer jubilation, excitement, amazement, shock, some disbelief and a lot of euphoria. People seemed to be breathing deeply, smiling uncontrollably, crying without realization or care. The fasten seatbelts light was most definitely off. People were hugging people they had never met before as if it was an involuntary motor response.
“President Barack Obama.”
People kept saying this to each other – as if in greeting – as if in an effort to make it tangible. Shaking their head. Smiling. Laughing. Crying. Breathing. We were 30,000 feet off the ground. Had this really just happened down on earth below us?
We landed safely, walking through the same gate my friends and I had entered just four days earlier. The place we returned to was somehow different form the one we had departed from.
We all gathered for a picture.
…I believed if I did everything I could, if I dedicated every inch I had to give to this all important cause, there would be other people – people who I never met and would never meet, people just like the ones who filled the streets of Denver – making the same commitment and dedicating themselves to the same cause, and we would win.
It didn’t happen like I had envisioned. But I do believe that on that night, on my return flight home, I was given a gift I never expected. I had long believed that I was not alone in my efforts and commitment. On this flight, on this historic night, I had the opportunity to meet and embrace some of the very people who confirmed this belief.
It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.
10. A Lifetime Ago
In August, Dan’s Delegation did not exist. In September, we had forty confirmed volunteers. In October we had six hundred and eighty four. Organizers, with whom I would later reestablish contact, told me that on November 4th, 2008 there were over one hundred and seventy people who travelled to battleground states who were at one point members of Dan’s Delegation. I do not have the hard numbers because I was no longer leading them.
Over twenty members of Dan’s Delegation went to Colorado. For the first time since 1964, the state would go blue for a presidential candidate. It wouldn’t be as close as pundits speculated back in September. Barack Obama would defeat John McCain 54% (1,216,793) to 45% (1,020,135). Mark Udall would win in a landslide and gain a new seat for the Democrats in the United States Senate. Democrat Betsy Markey 56% (178,893) would unseat (crush) Republican incumbent Marilyn Musgrave 44% (140,235) and win the right to represent the 4th Congressional District of Colorado.
A group of twenty students from the University of Oklahoma who were originally slated to go to Georgia instead jumped in buses and made their way to Missouri. The state which had served as the “bellwether state” (voted for the winning candidate) for every election over the last one hundred years except for one, lost its title when it voted for John McCain by the most narrow of margins: 3,732 votes. Obama had won 49% of the vote (1,442,180). McCain had won 50% of the vote (1,445,812). The stories I heard back from the volunteers on the ground in Missouri were both inspiring and reflective of energy that was sweeping the nation.
A small group of six students from USC who were originally slated to go to Indiana, paid their own way and flew into Indianapolis the Friday before the election. They would be repaid in full for their efforts twice. First, Indiana became the surprise of the night. Except in 1964, when Lyndon Johnson won in a landslide over Barry Goldwater, Indiana had voted Republican in every Presidential Election since 1940. It was the one state that was predicted by almost every network and every poll to be red – that actually went blue. Obama won Indiana 50% (1,367,503) to 49% (1,341,667). Second, on Tuesday evening, when their work was done, they jumped in a car and made a small drive west to Illinois to Grant Field in Chicago. They watched Barack Obama deliver his acceptance speech in person.
Rather than flying to Georgia and North Carolina as we had planned, the huge Harvard / Tufts “machine” jumped in buses and descended into New Hampshire. New Hampshire was also slated to be one of the closest elections in the county. Pundits were surprised there as well when Barack Obama won New Hampshire 54% (384,581) to 45% (316,937).
Over one hundred student volunteers from all across the state of California who were originally Dan’s Delegation volunteers travelled by bus to the largest city in the largest county in Nevada: Las Vegas, Clark County. Nevada was slated to be one of the closest elections in the country. Pundits were surprised when Obama won Nevada by a 55% (531,884) to 43% (411,988) margin. In 2004 John Kerry won Clark County by roughly 36,500. In 2008 Barack Obama won Clark County by 123,000 votes. This is in a state where Barack Obama lost the primary caucus just seven months earlier.
I received emails from many who were once part of the Delegation who found a way to board planes on their own to Georgia, New Mexico, Ohio and Florida.
I also received emails from people thanking me for my efforts, pledging their involvement and the involvement of their family and friends in local elections. Many told me that they would have never got involved if they had not met me. They said I had inspired them. They were wrong. I was inspired by them.
Days after the election, I continued to click on CNN to try to get results: my eye and heart was on North Carolina. There was a particular graduate student leader from Berkeley I had come to trust while we were in the throes of October. She was smart, strong and was originally from North Carolina. She was perfect for the position of State Director of that all-important battleground that not only held fifteen Presidential Electoral Votes in the balance but a Senate seat as well. I put her in charge of what was to be a team of over one hundred and fifty volunteers. When the students broke ties from me, she was the first person I spoke with. The conversation ended with me putting her in tears. I have not spoken to her since.
I would hear from student leaders that she decided to lead a group of nearly thirty of her original volunteers back to North Carolina anyway. It was her connection, her group, who found the discount flights in the late hour. Determined and undeterred, she and her team landed in North Carolina on the Friday before the election and remained there for over five days.
The first piece of good news I would hear on Election Night was that Democratic challenger Kay Hagan had defeated Republican Incumbent Elizabeth Dole to become the next Senator from North Carolina. The last piece of good news I would hear on Election Night would also come out of North Carolina. But it wouldn’t come on Election Night. It would come long after.
On November 6th, a full two days after the election, the New York Times predicted that Senator Barack Obama would win North Carolina. But on CNN’s interactive map, it would remain gray and undecided much longer than that. The election was over. Barack Obama had already given his historic acceptance speech in Chicago. The world had already changed. I must have been one of a very small fraction of Americans who remained glued to the Internet and television set every chance I had in the hope of seeing a final outcome from the Tar Heel state. Then, one day, in the later weeks of November, without pomp and circumstance, without noise and controversy North Carolina quietly and officially went Blue. 49% (2,109,698) of voters in that state had voted for John McCain. 50% (2,123,390) had voted for Barack Obama. In a state election in which 4,233,088 voted, a margin of 13,692 votes determined the winner. Nationally, if this election had been close, North Carolina could have easily been the ball game. In my mind it was.
Our volunteers were passionate, efficient, independently well lead and, after a certain point, they no longer needed me. I was thankful they went somewhere and made an impact. It wasn’t a direct path, for many of them it wasn’t the original target, but ultimately they reached the same destination.
In breaking from my leadership they proved the hierarchy we had worked so hard to establish was in fact a success.
Any sense of pride I may feel now or down the road is only because of their efforts and dedication.
In October, at the highest point of organization and anticipation, I would hope that the people closest to me would say that I did my damnedest to stay focused and humble. But in my subconscious, I couldn’t help but believe that my efforts in this campaign might serve to direct my own path. I didn’t know if I and my family had it within us to run for political office, but it was discussed and it seemed very tangible and exciting. Maybe I would make some contacts and be able to land a lower level position in the U.S. Department of Education. Riveted and thrilled by the story that was building in front of our eyes and from our own hands, we said that someday Aaron Sorkin and/or Stephen Soderbergh would make a movie about us. It had that sort of feeling to it. Nothing seemed impossible.
I had three days after the election to spend with my family, relax and reflect before I flew to the frozen Midwest for a week of training with my new sales job. It wasn’t enough time. It was extremely difficult to transition back into corporate discipline and equilibrium. It was even harder to leave my family again. Nothing I could do could make up for the time I had lost with them.
One of the problems of visualizing and achieving success is that in the heat of commitment, one can lose himself to the dream. As a person moves farther along and closer to the goal, things around him begin to change. A new challenge emerges: determining whether or not this is the cost of growth – the shedding of skin – he seeks, or merely a loss of balance. Even if the vision is achieved, and the goal is actualized, the individual will inevitably measure the cost and be forced to answer the question: Was it worth it? Excitement, friendship, progress, achievement and victory are large units of assessment, but they can be quickly offset by a great many more factors that remain unseen until they make themselves all too apparent.
Those closest to me have realized it is better not to raise this question. Despite the stress and toll extracted, despite the fact I cannot fully see or equate the impact of my actions, in my heart, in my soul, I am certain it was worth it.
They are not so sure. How could they be?
None of them knew everything that happened, but they saw what I was going through, saw what my family was going through, read my name in the local paper, and they made their conclusion based on that. I have done some things in my life that I look back upon with regret, but this is the first time in my adult life that I have ever had to rationalize my actions to those who love me. Some are proud of me. Some think I was a fool. Everyone believes my wife deserves sainthood for her understanding and her efforts. Everyone is glad it is over.
Since Election Day, November 7th, 2000, I have married a beautiful and wonderful woman and embraced both a son and a daughter into this world. I am a lucky man whose life is filled with love. But with every audacious act by this Administration – with every brushed over scandal, with every deception, and with every lie – part of me grew enraged. And I didn’t want to be enraged, so I withered. I was gone for a week when I was at the Convention. After that, I was gone for a month even though I was at home. Upon departing for my second trip to Denver, I hoped to return home with more than a victory for humanity and progress; I hoped to return home with my self.
The night of November 4th, 2008 brought with it an awesome and emotionally sweeping moment.
I would see footage of people storming the streets in jubilation in countries all over the world. I continue to hear stories of people crying that evening– not the type of tears that leak out that you try in vain to hold back, but huge, purging tears that you remember leaving your body for a long, long time.
For hundreds of millions of people around the world to reach this happy ending, thousands of volunteers had to dedicate countless hours, days, weeks and months behind the scenes, on the streets and in the trenches doing the work that needed to be done. They did this at tremendous cost and tremendous personal sacrifice. I was one of these volunteers.
I have yet to arrive at a place in which a wave of emotion can swell, crest and break upon me – crashing in with a sense of awakening and fulfillment, carrying out self scrutiny, the sacrifice I put upon my family and eight years of catastrophic ignorance, deception and shame put upon our country.
I think I would have liked that closure, but perhaps I wasn’t ready for it.
Perhaps the last eight years have been filled with such a despicable tragedy that one victory is not enough.
In January of 2001, twenty seven Electors from the State of Florida and five Justices from the Supreme Court were able to deliver the world the worst presidency in the history of the United States. Perhaps one citizen living out the opportunity to serve as a delegate almost eight years after the fact was not enough to fix, validate, balance or otherwise offset a failed and broken method of determining the most powerful person on the planet.
Perhaps the tremendous and historic moment presented to us when Senator Barack Obama gave his acceptance speech on Election Night was abated in my guts by a bigger and still pressing civic issue many still fail to see. The Constitution is a living document. In framing it, the Founding Fathers were smart enough to allow for change. It is not carved in stone like the Ten Commandments. Perhaps we need to change our system of determining how we select our Commander-in-Chief even more so than we needed to change our Commander-in-Chief.
Perhaps I was horrified that Proposition 8 passed.
Perhaps the depth of time and energy given to this effort is too deep to be overcome by one moment.
Perhaps I felt an urgency to return to the practicality of work and family.
For a short time I felt as if I was both a lightening rod and conduit for progress. Perhaps, once it was all over, I simply felt fried.
Or maybe, for the first time in a long time, it’s the feeling of simplicity: We only did exactly what we were supposed to do. The good guys won. Progress won. In a world that is complicated and confused and all too often filled with cruelty and pain – it is still correct to expect this. But expectations are never realized from the sidelines.
I feel as if my actions over the last eight months have merely been a natural reaction and a correct extension to make my own life, my children’s future, our country and this planet run the way it should.
There was no open field on election night, but perhaps the serenity and closure I seek lies therein.
Anyone can and should be willing to do what we did.
