New Mexico Mercury

Author’s Note: Any resemblance to real get-out-the vote drives in the North Valley is purely coincidental.

Tomas Serna was something of a regular.  The 89-year old North-Valley resident called candidates, elected officials, ward heelers, volunteers who happened to come to his door whenever he had a thought—a thought about his benefits, his transportation problem, his health, his expired driver’s license or his daughter who was “no damn good.” He still believed politicians were there to help.  As a result, his telephone number was on every call list, and his doorbell regularly rung by campaign volunteers.  Now, in 2013, he was on the list of seniors who needed a ride to the polls to vote early in the local election.  The low turnout elections could teeter on two or three votes so Tomas was in high demand when a perky field worker knocked on his door.

Almost every political campaign has a field crew charged with knocking on doors, canvassing for candidates and, finally, getting out the vote during the early voting period before election day.

“Mr. Serna, are you ready?” she yelled, trying to be heard above the yapping dogs inside.   “I’m here with the Debbie O’Malley campaign to take you to vote.”   A disheveled, little old man opened the door. As he adjusted to the situation, his eyes squinted from the morning light hitting him squarely across the upper torso. 

“But Mr. Serna, you’re still in your pajamas?”  

Anita Novak was no stranger to North Valley campaigns.  “Field” was a specialty. She had raised funds, knocked on doors and made phone calls for her mother, who was a state senator from the area.  Although she had gone to private school, she knew lots of people from the neighborhood. But, at 23, she had to admit she didn’t have a lot of contact with the old timers of the area, the faithful parishioners of our Lady of Guadalupe, the regulars at the Sportsman’s Barber Shop and Furr’s Cafeteria.

“Oh I forgot,” said Serna his face dawning with recognition. “Don’t worry,” he said, sizing up the solid young woman with a clipboard standing at the door, and motioning her inside the living room, cluttered with dirty laundry, sweepstake entry forms, and out-of-date calendars from the Sanitary Tortilla Factory.

“I think I can go like this, no?  All I have to do is find my shoes.”

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad, Anita thought. The pajamas kind of looked like sweats anyway.  Just so long as I can get this over with and go on to the next person.

“OK, sure,” she said, “anything will do, we’re only going to the County Annex, it’s real close.”

“OK I’ll just get these then,” Mr. Serna said, slipping into his chopos.

The trip from Serna’s dilapidated adobe to Anita’s Subaru was slow.  A walker can only go so fast. And the glacial pace made Serna’s temporary new aide the perfect target for Serna’s two miniature Chihuahuas, let loose in the yard and now nipping at Anita’s platform heels.

“Oh I forgot to take the Sunday Journal—I use it to shoo away these rascals, and it has the list of candidates, mijita, can you get it for me?”

After a trip back to the house and a futile search for the right newspaper, Anita rejoined her prospective voter, eased him into the car and tossed the walker in the back.

“Have you decided who to vote for? “

“Oh don’t worry about that.” said Serna.  “I just vote for whoever they tell me to.”

“Who’s they?” asked Anita.  “Debbie, of course,” said Serna.  And Anita signed with relief. 

Serna talked non-stop on the way to the polling place—not about politics particularly, but about how his doctor left town, his high property taxes, the weeds along the ditch and how social security didn’t give a COLA last year.

“What’s a COLA?”  Abby asked. 

“It’s kind of like an enema, but in reverse,” Serna said “They give you more benefits because it costs more to take a shit. “

Good God, thought Anita, turning into the downtown parking lot.  He must be senile, I better get this over with fast.

But it wasn’t that simple.  When the poll worker asked Mr. Serna if he wanted to use a computer, which displayed the ballot in an extra large format, he declined, pointing to Anita.  “She’s here to read it to me, since I’m half blind,” he said, “but don’t worry-- no funny business.”

Guiding him to the booth, placing the pencil in his hand, Anita began to read the names of the candidates.  But suddenly, Mr. Serna seemed to lose interest, slumping forward into the seat and dropping the number 2 pencil Anita had so carefully put in his arthritic hand.

“Do you need any help?” the precinct judge called from her post at the door.

“No, no we’ll just be a minute,” Anita said, continuing to read and point out various candidates names. She had to speak loudly as Serna was hard of hearing.

“Oh look here’s Debbie O’Malley,” she said, beckoning Mr. Serna to make his mark.

“And here’s Michelle Lujan Grisham, you remember her.”

Finally Serna got the idea, and began checking the boxes. “Can’t I just vote for all the Democrats,” he asked?

“No, they stopped doing that last year,” Anita explained.

“Oh yeah, that bitch in the SOS’s office did that didn’t she?” Serna yelled, as Anita began to realize that Serna might not be as dim as he appeared.

Fearing that the poll workers might object to the foul language, Anita tried to shush Serna, who was now focused like a laser beam on the ballot. 

“Ok, I’m done, where do I sign?”

“You don’t,” said Anita, “but come over here and slide it into the vote counting machine.”

The task was not so simple for Serna, juggling a walker and gripping the cardboard ballot with weak fingers.  But even though it took an eternity, the young aide did not want to interfere in this final step.

Out in the parking lot, Mr. Serna turned to Anita urgently,” Can you take me to the bank, mijita,” he asked.  “I’ve got to deposit my check. “

Anita sighed.  She had a whole list of people to pick up.  And there might be even more, after she called headquarters.  “OK, where is it?

“It’s just up 4^th, near the senior center,” he said, smiling.”  It’s the Wells Fargo.

Well, it was on the way back anyway.  So, with Mr. Serna firmly ensconced in the front seat, Anita pointed the car north. 

“I can’t believe there was hardly anybody there, “said Serna, “these young people today, they are too busy fooling with their little TV screens, pendejos.”

“Well not all young people are stupid,” Anita replied, “they just don’t see how their vote really counts when the choices are so bad.” 

“Yeah like that movie, Dumb and Dumber,” said Serna fumbling with his pocket and smiling sweetly from across the front seat.

“Could you get my check out for me,” he asked. “It’s right here in my pocket.”

“I’m driving,” said Anita, a little worried about what Serna was intending, “I’m sure the teller will help you once we get in.”

Entering the lobby of bank, Anita noticed that the customer service representatives seemed to know Serna.  “Buenos Dias, Mr. Serna, Como estas? “ 

“Bien, Bien, but I gotta cash this cheque. My little friend here gotta go.”

“Oh, OK, no problem” said the bank’s greeter. “Go talk to Irene.”

As Serna stumbled to the counter, another teller rushed to help him get his papers together and the transaction was soon completed.

Whoa, thought Anita, no ID, no deposit slip, nothing… if I tried to cash a check here I would be required to do all sorts of things.

“Make sure he holds on to that money and doesn’t loose it on the way home,” one of the tellers whispered to Anita, as the duo exited the branch. 

“One more thing before you take me home, honey,” said Serna.  “Lonche!  We gotta eat, no?

“Look, Hooters is nearby, we could maybe go there, the girls know me. I’d even buy you a hamurgesa,” he added.

Anita shook her head.  Really? “Oh come on, Mr. Serna you can’t expect me to do that, can you?” She was beginning to loose her patience.  And Hooters?  It was basically a titty bar.

“No, I gotta get going,” said Anita.

But Serna was not getting into the car.  He was not going anywhere. And he was just beginning to make his pitch. 

“Mira, hija, I don’t get out much.  I have no transportation, see, and not too many people come by the house, except for the meter readers, the postman, and the trash men—and they don’t got no time to talk. Everybody’s so busy; there ain’t no time for fun like in the old days with dances, fiestas, and trips to the casino.

“You could even drop me there,” he said, as Anita rolled her eyes.

Anita saw herself as a professional campaigner and this did not fit in to the script. But Serna did have a point. And now she felt guilty that – unlike Mr. Serna – she went out for fun almost every night.

She had no abuelos in town and, apart from politics, she didn’t see too many people who were not her age.

“Oh, alright,” she sighed, checking her list, “but only for an hour.”

It was all part of the job, she rationalized, and maybe some good would come of it.  She could talk to the waitresses about voting, and tell them that an early voting station was right around the corner.  Maybe Debbie O’Malley would get a few extra votes. 

And she could just let Mr. Serna believe, for one hour, that he was a sexy senior citizen, and not a dirty old man.

When they arrived at Hooters, Anita began to catch on. 

“Mr. Serna how are you today? The regular table?”

“Bueno,” said Serna a twinkle in his eye, as the hostess sat him at a booth in the back and the waitress approached.  “The usual?  And for your guest today?”

“A salad,” said Anita, now noticing that the Hooters staff was not too busy for Serna.   Hmm…they might even be willing to take care of him for the afternoon. Maybe this had happened before.

“I don’t need a ride home,” said Serna, “Jolene will take me back to the North Valley at three o’clock when her shift ends. “

Jolene nodded.  “Yeah, it’s o.k.” she said, “You don’t need to stay if you don’t want to, this happens on a regular basis.  Gottcha covered. “

“And by the way,” she added, “don’t bother with the pitch, I’ve already voted.  Mr. Serna went over the ballot with me last week.”

(Photo by Erik Hersman / CC)