The impetuous for this column came from a bunch of people who were staffing the polling place during the recent election.
Having not much to do, they kept insisting that I write about my voting experience because "no one has ever done it before."
Being the "gutsy" type (in more ways than one,) I thought I'd give it a try.
Once upon a time (I can almost see you smiling because if the column starts with that opening line you just know that this is going to be a good story), my father took me down the street so he could vote.
I remember it so well because it was the very first time I had ever seen a voting booth, and I was suitably impressed. Holding my father's hand, we entered an enclosed area whereupon my father tugged on a lever and, lo and behold, a curtain isolated us from prying eyes.
I thought to myself "this must be the first act."
I thought this was great, because when a curtain "went up" normally the show would start right after. Instead we were confronted by a massive hunk of metal with levers all over the place.
My father made his selections one by one (he never voted straight party) and when he had completed the "vote" he pulled the curtain open and, clickety, clank, clunk, all the levers he had depressed returned to their original positions.
For a young boy it was awesome.
The word "democracy" took on new meaning that day because my freedom was guaranteed by a massive chunk of metal that sounded, when the vote was cast, like it really knew what it was doing. Better yet, nobody could steal the ballot box by putting it under their arm _ it simply was too massive and heavy. Let freedom ring!
After the fiasco of the hanging "chads" in the Bush-Gore race, someone decided that it was time to have a new voting system.
The metal monster machines were starting to break down with impunity because they were cast during the era of flintlock rifles and Indian raids on settlements. It was time for a clean sweep.
When I arrived at our voting place on Nov. 3, I was told to walk to the end of the table and after "signing in" worked my way back up _ against the normal flow of traffic. Apparently this was a test of my agility and strength _ it works for salmon, why not people? (At least with salmon the papa salmon gets to fertilize the eggs where in my case I got to do nothing, which presupposes that I could have done anything at all if I had been called upon. If you understand all that, you are capable of voting.)
I was handed a "paper ballot," and was told that if I wanted to make sure that my ballot was counted I had to color in a little box with a jet black ink pen, and that I must color the whole box area and not to go outside the lines, or the "machine," would refuse my ballot. (Apparently the "machine" did not tolerate "free thinkers" or visionaries.) I started to think that perhaps I was hasty to laugh at the people down in Florida.
I was directed to a "little cubby," where I was told I could mark my ballot. At this point I realized that my "little cubby" had no pen. I was getting ready to prick my finger with a pin so I could vote in blood (I take voting seriously) when someone handed me a pen from some other place.
I had to choke down the "giggles" because filling the little squares was what I learned in kindergarten. I carefully considered each of the proposals and completed filling in all the desired spaces.
The insertion of my marked paper ballot into something that resembled a Xerox machine came next. I was confused as to which end to insert until I was told that it didn't matter. I put my paper ballot near the slot and just like a giant vacuum cleaner my ballot was drawn in to be "tallied."
I waited. Somewhere in the bowels of this machine my ballot was being read. If I had marked everything correctly the machine would proudly announce on a screen that I had been successful. I was. I turned to leave and I received a sticker to place on my jacket that read "I VOTED."
My daughter, Kathleen, marked her ballot, but when she inserted it to be "tallied," it spit it back out. We checked all her boxes. She had stayed in all the lines and we couldn't figure why it was being rejected. We were told to "try by putting the paper ballot the other way in" _ and after a pause it was accepted.
Hurrah for the Geerken team!
I could figure out a bunch of ways to beat the system, but this is America and we don't do that here. My disappointment lies in the fact that for all our sophistication, a paper ballot just doesn't seem like we have arrived in the 21st century.
I would have really been impressed if all I had to do was to think of who I wanted to vote for and the machine could read my thoughts.
I think I miss the "clunk" and "clank," of the old voting machine. If we continue this method of casting a ballot, we could end with the system we used in the first grade. We would all sit at our desks and put our heads in the crook of our arms. Without "peeking," we would vote for the class president and other dignitaries by simply raising our hands.
As time goes by, it was so simple then.
Henry Geerken is a three-time NYSUT award-winner writing humorous articles addressing retiree and senior citizen concerns. Geerken also writes for Sail-World, World Cruising Newsletter, regarding his many humorous sailing episodes through the years. He can be reached by e-mail at hgeerken@stny.rr.com.
