Small Town Politics

In the late 1970’s my Aunt and Uncle retired to their summer home on Vly Mountain in the Catskills. And there they both became involved in community service--my Uncle was elected  Town Justice and my Aunt worked on the assessment as well as the election board. Their friend and neighbor Ted, became the town Supervisor-- the equivalent of mayor.

And what I came to learn was how contentious small town politics is. Discordant matters of importance could whip people up into a frenzy. It was all consuming.

No national or state election was more important than any election in the tiny town of Halcott Center.

Elections in a small town are not business, they are personal.

Part of my Friday afternoon routine is to make myself a cup of coffee around 2:00 pm and read my Garden City News—our weekly village newspaper. After scanning the headlines on the first page, I  immediately go to the Letters to the Editor to inform myself on the hot bed issues around town. It’s the best part of the newspaper—aside from the real estate listings. There is always an assortment of writings—everything from a thank you note to a fireman to fiery attacks on public officials.

But this past week the letters to the editor revolved completely around 3 upcoming Garden City trustee elections—one in the estates, one in the east, and one in the west.

The letters were accusatory—each claiming the opposing candidates of nefarious intent---of having hidden agendas—of which they, the writers were happy to expose. There were also full page ads—which had to have cost a significant amount of money.

There was less political hoopla when the 2012 presidential debates were held at Hofstra—which is a mere mile away.

And I can remember my Uncle and his friend Ward telling tall stories about elections being so close in their tiny town that people would carry the drunks in from the bar in to get their vote. Because it was not unusual for candidates to win (or lose) by a single vote. Which is why there was hell to pay if it was discovered that a “counted-on” voter never found their way to the voting booth.

And from the sentiment I am getting from my village newspaper I wouldn’t doubt that on the day of the election here, town drunks might be dragged from the various imbibing establishments to the polls. There might even be lobbyists pouring alcohol so that certain other voters don’t make it to the booth.

It (perhaps) is that ugly.

And on Election Day I will remain holed up in my laundry room. I plan to stay clear of the political drama and resultant fall out. Not because I do not know enough to make an intelligent voting decision, but because I suspect, that no one is telling the whole truth and everyone has their own secret agenda. 

And drunk or sober, no one is carrying me to the polls.