Democrat Electoral Corruption - A Child’s Recollection

My grandfather was a giant of a man. Kind and caring. He taught me to fish and to clean and cook what I caught. Though our side of the family were fishermen only, he was the official camp cook for every hunting trip the extended family went on. He worked in blue-collar, factory jobs his entire life. He was a fierce (behind his back he was known as ‘The Mad Russian’) union man and Democrat loyalist. The sun rose and set on the sainted memory of FDR. He was very active in local — heavily Democratic — Pennsylvania politics.

As a child, I was part of his election-day routine. Every Election Day, after school, he’d swing by our house and tell Mom that he was taking me for a walk. I’d hold his hand as we’d walk the mile or so to the union hall. In my memory, they are golden autumn afternoons listening to his tales of fishing and politicking. I recall eating butterscotch candies from a bowl on the union rep’s desk while he and my Grandpa, wreathed in clouds of cigarette smoke, talked business. He’d leave with two envelopes — one fat with greenbacks, the other with a list of registered Democrats in his voting precinct.

After dinner, he and I would go out again. First stop was the polling place. Ours was a small precinct, and though the polling location varied from year to year, it was never more than a couple of blocks away. There, he’d powwow with party poll watchers and mark up his list of registered Dems with their list of which Democrats from the neighborhood had already been in to vote. And more importantly, who had not. The watchers would get a taste of the greenback envelope for their hard work. Then we were off. We’d stop at every house where one of the negligent lived. He’d gladhand, cajole, and, if needed, use the envelope to convince his mark that their vote was needed. The world might not be watching … but The Mad Russian was. He would be sorely disappointed if he had less than 100% turnout.

When I got older, I was volunteered to be one of the poll watchers (I think the term is “voluntold”), and he’d do his rounds alone. Maybe he was a bit more direct without his helper. Once, one of his marks came in to vote and on his way out drifted over and whispered that he wished my Grandpa would be more diplomatic. I passed that along. Grandpa guffawed. Diplomacy?! This is local politics, kid. Diplomacy is a two-by-four or a ten-dollar bill.

He passed away a long while back. He’d be very upset to know I’m a Republican. He loved me lots, but I’m not sure how “diplomatic” he’d be about that. I’m sure I’d have my hands full. So … today, if you tell me that Democrats play outside the rules to impact an election, I’d say of course … it’s more or less a family tradition.