November 6, 2012

Election Memories

Someone asked me today about election memories and I thought back to my first election, which was actually in 1973.  It wasn't a presidential election, a simple off-year day at the polls, but it was my first time to vote and that was very special.

My dad was the Republican Committeeman and I was helping him at the polls.  We voted in the basement of the Democratic Committeeman's house and it was the friendliest adversary I had ever met.  It was a cold, cloudy, November day in Philadelphia and my job was to answer questions about the candidates and just be a runner for my Dad and his Democrat counterpart.  I knocked on some doors and went with my Dad to pick up some of the older citizens to bring them to the polls. Republicans and Democrats rode in the back of my Dad's car for the short drive to the polling place.  At one point I did not accompany my Dad on the ride as he needed the additional room in the car.  It was really cold at this point and I learned from the Democrat how to survive these long election days as he brought a bottle of Wild Turkey down from his living room to help keep us warm.  I was only 18, and while it was not my first drink, it was my first shot of good whiskey. It did the trick and warmed me enough to keep a smile on my face until the polls closed at 8:00.

I long for the days when the two parties can enjoy an election day together.  I'm not sure that it can ever happen....

Election Season

Some humor for the election season:

They were friendly enemies. Both were pub keepers. And they never missed a chance to put something over on one another. Came election time and Mike was trying to get Pat to vote for him for alderman. "I wouldn't vote for you if you were St. Peter himself," 

Pat announced. Mike said, "If I were St. Peter you wouldn't be in my ward!"


The Garda, a disagreeable sort, stops a local farmer on a minor infraction and proceeds to berate the poor man this way and that, dressing him down most unfairly. After the lecture, which the farmer takes well, the constable starts writing the poor man up. While he's writing, he keeps swattin' at flies circling his head.
"The circle flies botherin' ya, are they?" says the farmer.
"Why do ya call 'em circle flies, old man?"
"We call 'em that on the farm 'cause we find 'em flying around and around the harses' behinds." says the farmer.
"Are you callin' me a harse's arse?" snarls the Garda.
"Oh saints, no," protests the farmer. "T'wouldn't think of such a thing." And the Garda goes back to writing.
"...kinda hard to fool the flies, though."


An Irishman takes his goldfish to the vet and says 'I think my goldfish is epileptic.'

The vet looks and says 'He looks fine to me.'

The Irishman replies 'Hang on, I haven't taken him out of the bowl yet!!'