RALEIGH, N.C. - There we were. Sixth row back, right hand side. The screen suddenly went blue, flickered and then the credits began to roll: A&E Biography, The Life of Eleanor Roosevelt.
"Check out that dumb broad," an inebriated freshman yelled from the back of the bus.
And so began our five-hour bus trip to Raleigh, N.C., to campaign for Erskine Bowles, who's running for the senatorial seat vacated by John Edwards.
We volunteered to make the trek down south to campaign for a Democratic senate candidate we hardly knew. The promise of a two-night stay in a hotel and a completely free weekend trip was all we needed to lure us from campus. Sixty students turned out from area colleges, including 19 from AU.
With visions of a sophisticated, politically charged and intellectually stimulating adventure dancing in our heads, we were stunned when bus driver Lonnie careened into the Hotel Europa parking lot as empty cans of The Champagne of Beers rolled down the center aisle.
We were herded into the "Mordecai" conference room of our fine hotel, to be de-briefed by Derek. Derek was a Southern gentleman in all respects, drawling on about our schedule for the weekend with an accent so thick it might have belonged to Forrest Gump himself. We gathered our things and trucked upstairs to check out the accommodations, and could hardly fall asleep for all the excitement of fun to come.
How 60 half-hungover college students made it onto a bus by 8:30 a.m. the next day will remain a mystery.
After a short ride to the Erskine Bowles for Senate headquarters, we received rapid-fire training in canvassing instructions and etiquette. Armed with walk lists of targeted voters, those identified with sporadic voting records, it was our job to go out into the neighborhoods and establish their vote for Bowles. Or as the case sometimes was, to be assured they most certainly wouldn't be giving their support on Election Day.
We were broken into groups of three or four and dispatched local volunteers to our assigned neighborhoods. While some groups had cars, ours worked on foot. We walked up and down the hills of residential Raleigh, knocking on doors, ready with our scripted speech on why Erskine was working to put North Carolina first. Most of the homes were scattered over a vast 15-block area, and rarely were any two next to each other.
Our first doorbell yielded a committed Bowles voter. We eagerly marked her as a one on our scale of one to five (a one was surely voting for Bowles and a five was surely voting for his opponent). Unfortunately, as the morning progressed, we found ourselves marking "NH," for not home, more often than any other category.
One friendly neighbor gladly opened his door and actually invited us inside to debate Bowles' platform. We were as disappointed as he was that we couldn't answer the questions after our limited introduction to the candidate's policy proposals.
Lunch was served back at headquarters after three hours of block walking. We regrouped and received new walk lists in new neighborhoods. Our team now consisted of ourselves, two George Washington University freshmen (who inquired as to whether or not we had ever visited an area known as "Dupont Circle") and, of course, our driver, Tom. We didn't know then that our campaign trip savior had come in the form of a 17-year-old high school senior in a Volvo. Tom drove us to the very western border of Raleigh, to an area of housing developments so new that the streets were still unmapped.
This community was nothing like we'd ever seen, even as far as sprawling suburban neighborhoods go. Hundreds of houses lined block after block, with little distinction between each of them, other than the street numbers on the front. Pristine landscaping lined pristine yards in front of pristine homes. The homes themselves seemed almost as if they were built on a miniature scale, somewhere in between dollhouses and actual-sized homes. The entire area was surreal. No cars passed in the street, no kids played in yards, and no one seemed to be home.
We dropped the GW team off in "The Park," a section of homes whose entry sign designated them as "Homes from the 120s." Tom drove us to "The Preserve," clearly the more upscale area, as its sign proudly proclaimed the houses as "Homes from the 220s."
As we walked up and down the tiny streets, each one no different than the one before, we started to wonder if a community like this was a manifestation of the American dream. Our trek became a depressing one with the realization that none of the homeowners would even be home to hear about how Erskine Bowles would work for them, so they could go on living out their dreams. But Tom saved the day. His sense of humor and stark honesty about the situation reminded us why we were lucky to have an opportunity to work on such an important election at all, and any contribution was valued.
As the afternoon dwindled on, we occupied ourselves by leaving personalized notes on campaign literature, signed by "Erskine" himself. At one of our first homes with actual people, a small child with no pants raced his exasperated mother to the door so he could ask each of us, "What's your name?"
At another house, we were too scared to even approach the doorbell, as the porch was guarded by a dog of massive proportions. Cujo the Second began his ferocious growl, as we screamed at Tom, "Back out! HE'S NOT ON A LEASH!"
Our day ended at 7 p.m., and the campaign staff fed us pizza as the sun set in the picturesque North Carolina sky. Later that night, we reflected on a job well done, over cups of chai and giant platters of sushi in downtown Raleigh. We weren't sure if we had really swung any voters, but it was an experience like no other. Most college weekends are spent at some state of intoxication or slumber, but we spent ours working like the diligent political activist we know is hidden somewhere in ourselves. We encourage anyone to join a campaign, whether it is city-level or national, Democratic or Republican. The benefits are rewarding, and the fun is indescribable.
The drive home was quiet and reflective. Neglected homework surfaced, and missed hours of sleep were recovered. The trip started on a high of excitement and newfound respect for Eleanor Roosevelt, and ended with a busload of weary but satisfied campaigners.
Sorry you missed it - Love, Erskine.
