Two views from the real America

James, a 78 year old phone company retiree, is a pretty funny guy. I am canvassing on Reveley Avenue, a nice street in Lakewood. I walk up as he’s getting out of his car.
“Hi, I’m Francis Moss, and I’m a volunteer for the Obama campaign. Are you James _______?”
James, with exquisite comic timing, pulls out his wallet and checks his driver’s license. “Yep.”
But he sees nothing funny about this election. “I’m a lifetime member of the NRA and those Democrats want to take away my guns.”
I tell him that Obama has said he does not want to do that, but James has read the articles in the NRA magazine, and they say different. He allows that they might be lying, but he’s just not sure. He’s no fan of McCain either, and thinks he just might not vote at all.
I am torn. We canvassers aren’t supposed to spend time trying to change minds at this late stage. We motivate the Obama supporters to vote early and get them to volunteer to help get out the vote. The Obama leaners we try to persuade to commit. I take the plunge.
I ask if his guns are more important than health care for his grandchildren, or ending this endless war. James says no, but he’s not even persuaded that our Congress has the will to do anything, especially if it threatens the corporations who donate so generously to those congressmen.
Unfortunately, I agree with him, and say so. But I argue that if we give up on voting just because things aren’t going the way we think they ought, than we might as well hand our country over to the corporations right now. I thank him for his time.
Over on Elmwood Avenue, Rosalie is also 78, but she lives in a different world from James. She pokes her head out the screen door, spots my Obama button, and says:
“You workin’ fer Obama?”
I tell her I am, and ask if she plans to vote for him. Rosalie waves her hand dismissively, “Ahh, I voted fer him a week ago.” She winks at me: “And I made sure my kids voted fer him, too.” She pauses a moment: “That man is gonna do good, I think.”
Rosalie looks around conspiratorially and tells me with a sly grin: “My next door neighbor is a Republican, so don’t tell him.”
Promising not to breathe a word, I thank her for her vote and move on.