Precinct 79 Convention, Montgomery County, Texas

Strolling into the multi-hued cavern of a cafeteria at Glen Loch Elementary School on Tuesday night, I was overcome with as many emotions as there were colors of the rainbow on the wall -- and that wall itself was largely responsible for my outpouring. Twenty years ago, under that same rainbow, I ate little packs of pudding and traded my vegetables away to whichever fool would take them. Under that rainbow, I played the astronaut in the first grade play, sending reports on outer space back to an America that, through my radio connection with Mission Control, sounded strangely like a choir of tone deaf little kids. We played basketball on kid-sized hoops under that rainbow, hoops that gave us the hopeful impression that we'd all be able to dunk someday if we just kept reaching higher. And here I was, twenty years after I traded away that first bag of carrots, among 74 Democrats, all of whom were ready to reach higher.

This wasn't my first experience with precinct-level politics, but it might as well have been. Six years prior, I was elected chairman of Montgomery County's precinct 79 on the strength of three write-in ballots cast. In that election, I learned two important truths. First, the state of the Democratic Party in Texas, and particularly in this high-income enclave of suburban Houston, was pitiful. And second, if you're going to win an election, it's vital to have the support of your parents. In 2002, my three write-in votes, all from my household, earned me a letter from the county party declaring my victory and inviting me to serve as a delegate to the county convention. Once there, more or less all I had to do was raise my hand and I was elected as a delegate to the state convention. My, how times change.

I showed up to the precinct convention at 6:45 Tuesday night, worried that without a declared precinct chairman, the caucus process might fall into chaos. My presence, I figured, would give us at least one person who was familiar with caucus rules and could take care of the election process properly. I also harbored the fleeting belief that maybe the same three people who installed me as chair six years ago would be the only ones to show up this year. One quick look around the room thirty minutes before showtime was enough to prove otherwise.

Roughly a couple dozen people had already arrived and were sitting in cramped positions at six cafeteria tables designed for third graders, and more people were filtering in by the minute. Smiles spread from cheek to cheek across the faces of everyone who walked through the doors, and quite a few people could be heard exclaiming, "I never knew there were this many Democrats in my neighborhood before!"

To tell the truth, neither did I. Having done some quick estimations in the week before the caucus, I estimated that roughly 150 people in our precinct (out of maybe 1500) might have voted Democratic in previous elections. But since a caucus had never been publicized to the degree it was in this election, I had no way to accurately predict turnout. I decided that no number between three and 200 would surprise me. But as the people kept arriving, all of them smiling, I could only sit back in amazement at what was likely to be a turning point for the Democratic party in Texas. If this was happening here, imagine the turnout all over the state!

Showing up early was worth it. I sat with people who were all to eager to share their stories, and as is my nature, I was all too eager to listen. One man I met, Mark, had moved to this precinct just after Hurricane Rita hit his home in Beaumont, an experience which left him disillusioned with both the insurance industry and the government that regulates it. He had a child who was getting ready to start kindergarten at Glen Loch in the fall, and was presumably glad to see that the place hadn't screwed this former student up too much.

Another couple whose names I've forgotten -- this is why I will likely never go far in politics -- told me about moving to The Woodlands in the seventies, when it was brand new. They had spent time in their youth traveling the country, camping in tents and working as day laborers, and the idea of being surrounded by trees seemed ideal to them. They had a son who was six or seven years older than me, and so were able to see me more as a son than as a peer. I welcomed this dynamic, and after hearing their stories of traveling the country, I took the opportunity to tell them about my recent bike ride to Tennessee, during which I also spent my fair share of time tent-bound. They were thrilled to learn that my apple hadn't fallen very far from their tree.

Then my tree showed up. I was glad to see my parents at the caucus for the sake of democracy, but I knew that their attendance was counterproductive to my presidential preference. The title of this blog should make it clear that they would be voting for Hillary that night. This didn't keep me from introducing them to the people I had met, though, and they eagerly jumped into a conversation about, what else, politics.

People were still coming in at about 7:05 when the election judge announced that we would start the registration line for the caucus a little early (go time was set by party rules for 7:15.) The registration table was set up very close to where I was sitting, so I was lucky enough to be first in line. I had to sign in with my name, address, phone number, demographic information, and of course, presidential preference. This took me a little while and I write quickly, so when I finished and looked back at the growing line, I feared that it could take prohibitively long just to register the 50 or so people who were there by that point, not to mention anyone else who showed up later. Not one to miss an opportunity, though, I decided to take some pictures of the line and of the children of the people waiting in line. There were maybe ten kids in the audience playing around, and each one of them gave me hope that there will always be new faces involved in the political process.

After about 40 minutes of more talking with those who had already made it out of the line and assuming control of janitorial duties and opening up two more tables for the overflow crowd, the sign-up period finally ended. The precinct chair, acting as the temporary caucus chair, called the caucus to order and announced that 74 people had arrived to vote that night. This was more than anyone had predicted, and as such, it worked for a good applause line.

The next order of business was to elect a permanent chair. No one seemed eager to put up a nomination, and after a few seconds of silence, I heard my parents mumbling my name behind me. At this point, I had no desire to be the precinct chair for the caucus. It is a largely ceremonial position which involves keeping the caucus in order, and has virtually no prestige attached to it. Since I had already been down this road and the guy running the show seemed to be familiar with the rules, I spoke up and said, "How about you?" He smiled, someone seconded my nomination, and he was elected unanimously. A secretary was elected next, after which the meeting paused so that the votes could be counted.

Of the 74 people eligible to vote in our caucus, 39 chose Hillary Clinton and 35 chose Barack Obama. Our precinct was allotted nine delegates to the county convention, which meant our next order of business was to choose five delegates for Clinton and four for Obama. We split the cafeteria in half, with the Hillary people in the back and the Obamatrons up front, and on the Obama side, an older gentleman started combing the crowd for people interested in being delegates to the county convention. I got my name on that list, as did a guy sitting next to me named Philip. Philip had brought his adult son with him to the caucus, even though he had voted for Ron Paul in another state, so that he could see the process in action. Philip had been a delegate to the state convention in 2004, and like me, knew a bit about how the system worked.

The Obama side came up with eight delegate candidates, which was the perfect number for four delegates and four alternates. One lady who claimed to be until recently a Republican -- and probably still is one, judging from the way she talked -- decided she only wanted to be an alternate delegate for Obama, so that essentially left seven of us vying for four spots. No one else volunteered out of the race, so we had to persuade a bunch of Democrats we never knew even existed to vote for us, which meant it was time to come up with some speeches.

Philip spoke first, and talked about a litany of economic and social issues. I liked the guy, but he was far too verbose for someone running for a county delegate position, and as such, he put a large portion of the room to sleep.

Next up was a young guy named Chris. He came to the caucus wearing an Obama t-shirt and holding his young daughter's hand, and when it was his turn to speak, he talked about issues facing him as a student at the local college and about health care issues he had seen firsthand as an employee at a doctor's office. His tone seemed to ring true with the crowd, and he got a good round of applause.

I spoke third, and since things were starting to run long, I decided to run on the brevity platform. I said that I knew people had to go home and fix dinner and take care of their kids, so I wasn't going to talk long. Big applause line. Everyone ate that up. I mentioned my experience as a past precinct chair and delegate to the state convention, and added some perfunctory lines about Obama likely being effective at building interest in organizations like AmeriCorps and the Peace Corps. But soon, I decided it would be best to yield the stage quickly.

A young lady named LaQuisha spoke fourth. She was enrolled in education classes and was preparing to become a teacher, and as such, her entire speech was about education. By this point, most of the black people in our caucus had congregated at one table, and the excitement coming from that table as LaQuisha spoke was palpable. I stopped listening to her specifics after a while and just watched the smiles at that table. These were people who had probably never seen a local candidate for anything in this area whom they could get behind like LaQuisha, and seeing even more hope than what they already had in their eyes was amazing. The overwhelmingly positive feeling I got from that moment meant more to me than anything else that happened that night.

The next person to speak, a lady named Sue, mentioned her nine years of experience as a teacher. That would have been a powerful line, but she said it with a sneer and she had the misfortune of speaking right after LaQuisha, so a large portion of the crowd tuned her out right away. It was a shame, because I thought she made the strongest point of the night. She said she had switched her allegiance to Obama after one of her classes had done a good deal of research on propaganda and its role in elections. A passion of mine is breaking the stranglehold that corporate media has on the flow of information in America, and Sue's short speech touched upon many points I feel are vital to the tone of any election. Trouble was, the lady just wasn't very likable.

Then the Republican spoke for a minute. She talked about being inspired by Obama's way with words, and everyone hated her. Good thing she just wanted to be an alternate.

The funniest line of the night came from our seventh speaker, an older white lady who, when it was her turn to talk, stepped forward and said "I voted for Barack Obama because he is a Muslim." The room went silent for a second until I started laughing and let everyone know it was a joke, but once the silence was broken, it took about a minute for everyone to get over the hilarity. That lady said some more stuff about something, but frankly, I wasn't paying attention. That Muslim line was awesome.

Our eighth and final speaker, a lady in her fifties named Cindy, said something about how everyone deserves a doctor. Good work.

Each person on the Obama side then got four votes, which they could distribute however they chose. After it was all said and done, LaQuisha finished in first place with 27 votes. My brevity platform and general tallness appeared to have won the day, and I finished second with 23 votes. Chris and Cindy ended up being chosen in third and fourth place, Sue and the Republican got like two votes, and all of a sudden we had our delegate slate. LaQuisha, Joe, Chris, and Cindy. Everyone clapped.

The next order of business was to choose one of our elected delegates as our nominee for delegation chairman. This is the person who would head the entire delegation for the precinct at the county convention, and since the Hillary people had us outnumbered, we first assumed that we would lose this race on a candidate-line vote. That is, we believed that until my parents walked up and said the Hillary side was wrapping up their business and they were going to go home. I suggested that maybe if they stuck around, they could vote for me for delegation chairman. They liked the suggestion. I mentioned to the rest of the Obama crowd that this would swing the balance of power from 39-35 to 37-37, and since some of the Hillary people were already leaving, if we could just hold all of us in one place until that election, we'd win the position. I got nominated immediately.

The Hillary people finally finished up, and the full caucus was gathered to elect a delegation chairman. I walked up to the stage, and couldn't have been happier to see that the Hillary folks had chosen as their nominee the lady from The Simpsons who throws cats. Seriously. She was a little off.

I spoke first, again on the brevity platform, but this time I heavily emphasized my previous experience in local politics as a chairman and delegate. And from the same stage where I played astronaut Gator One-Niner twenty years before, in less than twenty seconds, I managed to derail everything the cat lady could possibly say. She seemed a little taken aback that the Obama guy was running on experience. She spoke after me and stumbled through a line about how she had never done all that other stuff before, but that she had caucused before. She stammered for another two or three minutes and positioned herself all over the place on issues. It was over.

We voted, and I picked up at least four additional crossover votes from some old Hillary guys in the back who were apparently averse to crazy. I found out later that the cat lady had run things poorly on the Hillary side and turned a lot of people off, which was why some of their people left early and others voted for me. The Obama side held solid, and I got elected delegation chairman. Again, it was a mostly meaningless figurehead position, but winning felt pretty great anyway.

A few obvious resolutions about abolishing the death penalty and impeaching Bush and Cheney later, our caucus adjourned. I spent a few minutes shaking hands with people I had met and thanked them for voting for me, and I was surprised to find out that my first crack at campaigning in a public election didn't make me feel as disingenuous as I thought it might. I just went in and acted like myself, and it was good enough to win. I tend to be a hair offensive, so this has never been true for me before; thus the surprise.

We Democrats multiplied our numbers by 25 on Tuesday night, by coming together in a caucus of people as diverse as the colors of the rainbow on the wall. We proved to ourselves that if we mobilize, maybe our county doesn't always have to vote Republican. If we overcome our malaise and keep reaching higher, maybe Texas can shade blue again someday soon. Our issues are the issues of the majority, and with our mobilization, maybe the entire country can rise to the occasion and elect someone we don't have to be embarrassed about.

I'll be posting periodically through the next few weeks and/or months about my experience as a presidential delegate in Texas. I hope you'll keep checking back.