When I was a kid, candidates would visit our home in rural Franklin, and my parents would invite them in and have coffee with them. I remember one of them was Edith Prague. She would stop by consistently every two years when she was up for re-election for state senate. I would spot her on our living room couch, where she seemed engaged in a pleasant conversation for an hour or so.
I remember when my parents organized neighbors ahead of referendum votes. Franklin had maybe 1200 registered voters. There was a town meeting each year where all those voters gathered at the elementary school to vote on the budget and other things. Sometimes there would be a petition for a ballot-box vote. I remember there was one to determine if the town should build a gym and an addition to the elementary school. My parents wanted it to pass. The first time it came up for a vote, it didn't; but later the campaign proved successful. The gym opened the year after I graduated and matriculated to high school at Norwich Free Academy.
In a town with 1200 votes, every vote does matter. I would drive with my parents-- usually my mom-- to the town hall on election day. And sometimes we would go back at night to hear the results. A common result was a couple hundred votes for someone, and a couple hundred votes for someone else.
But the result of the election of my family's member of Congress in 1994 came down to four votes.
At the time, I was a freshman at Boston University, and I voted that year by absentee ballot. My mom called me a few days before the election. We chatted about a bunch of things. I think I talked about how I was eager to come home for Thanksgiving because I missed seeing fall foliage. I was still adjusting to being in a big city. Then we talked about the election. The election wasn't incredibly top of mind for me, but yes, I told her, I did vote and my absentee ballot was already in the mail.
"And of course, you voted for Sam, right?" She said.
Sam Gejdenson was my family's Congressman. I don't particularly remember what policies he stood for, but I remember that he was a very personable guy. He would campaign by showing up at high school football games, surrounded by a throng of supporters wearing bright yellow t-shirts. I met him when my family went to Washington while I was in junior high. I had no idea one could go to to Capitol Hill and have lunch with their Congressman. That's what we did.
Then again, it helped that Sam and my mom knew each other. They went to high school together-- the same high school attended by me, my brothers, and even my grandparents. Southeastern Connecticut is not a very big place.
I did indeed vote for Sam Gejdenson that year, and I am sure my brothers did as well. Well, at least the two of them that could vote (my brother Brett is seven years my junior). I envisioned
Mark and Scott had the same conversation with my mom that I did.
So the Levanto family delivered five votes for Sam Gejdenson. My parents, two of my brothers, and me.
Sam Gejdenson won the election by four votes.
I tell this story a lot this time of year when people ask whether their votes actually matter. The story's lesson is reinforced by more recent experiences, when I was organizing often for candidates and causes in Massachusetts. The beauty of our system is you do, in fact, get what you vote for. And the process is simple-- whoever gets more votes wins.
Please, please. Please. Vote on November 6.
(Note: Story pictured is from New York Times, November 16, 1994. Page B1.)
