Aug. 14 is an important day in Minnesota: It is the day of the primary election. This may not mean much to you, but it is critical for the polis.
At my favorite women's lunch meeting last week, the talk turned to the elections. We all agreed that the need to vote was never greater. The two college presidents who were part of the conversation, from St. Catherine University and Hamline University, outlined for us the efforts they make to encourage and facilitate students' efforts to register and vote. Someone also mentioned the need to promote informed voting and educated citizenship.
The idea of informed voting brought me back to a near-disaster in my young life. It was early in my voting years. I was just married, had my first teaching job and was full of self-importance as a newly minted adult.
My husband, Mike, just out of law school, brought up the local St. Paul elections one night as we talked. "Whatever you do, don't vote for Bill Smith [not the actual name]," he warned. "Why not?" I asked. "Isn't he a lawyer?" "Yes," Mike replied. "But he's no good. He's a fraud and he's running for the bench. Just remember his name."
Those were the fatal words. A few days later, in the voting booth, I marked the statewide and congressional office candidate boxes with assurance. I knew who I supported there, and why. But then my eyes glazed over as I scanned the rest of the list. There were many names in a long list for local offices. I did not recognize any of them — that is, until my glance fell on one familiar name: Bill Smith.
Mike mentioned him, I thought. I think he said he's a lawyer. Finally, a name I recognized! I marked the ballot for Bill Smith and left, feeling some satisfaction.
At dinner that night, Mike had just come from voting on the way home from his office. We discussed the races for governor, Senate and House. Then I added: "I'm glad you told me about Bill Smith. His was the only name that rang a bell in the list of local office-seekers. At least I could vote for someone we know."
I cannot describe the look on my husband's face. Or I would rather not describe it. Nor do I want to repeat his response. I think it included the word "dummy." Suffice it to say, I never entered the ballot box again without doing more advance work than I did that first year. Although our marriage lasted another 47 years, it could easily have gone down the tubes that night.