17 September 2016

It’s late in the day and I’d planned on writing about seeing Michelle Obama speak at George Mason University yesterday. But that will take actual writing and a bit more work than I can handle right now.

We’re half-way through a Weekend of Action for the Hillary Clinton campaign. Goals are raised – ring more voters, knock on more doors, register more voters. So I’ve spent the day entering data and answering questions.

In the gap between the last data from the door-knockers and the final round of voter registration cards to come back in I went for a jog along the Potomac River – the setting sun gleaming off the buildings in Maryland opposite, the Capitol Dome on the western horizon.

Now I’ve had a couple of beers and dinner with a fellow volunteer and our organiser at a local.

So, I’m spent – no time or energy today to yet write up yesterday’s rally.

Instead I offer you this story.

Canvassers, door-knocking volunteers – are asked to complete an end-of-shift form. One space asks: Tell us your favourite story from the day. A volunteer returned with this:

He was not on our list but we met him next to one of our stops, on the street.

[This gentleman], dressed in a dapper black suit with white paisley tie, had just come from the funeral of his childhood friend. At age 84, he was committed to vote for Hillary and to get his 18 siblings in North Carolina to do the same.

He said, “we need a woman in the White House! I surely will vote for Hillary. We need all the young people to vote for her too, she’s the right choice.”

When my husband said, “We are all one” he recalled that in the 1950s when he’d been told in a restaurant, “We don’t serve n****rs,” that he’d reply. “I don’t eat n****rs, I eat hamburgers!”

Thanks for the chance to meet [this gentleman].

Tomorrow we do it all again. And so on for the next 51 days.

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