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Hunker Down with Kes

What’s Fair For The Goose…

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Martha Sanborn was one of the first people I met when I moved to Port St. Joe in 1969. I coached her two sons. I had both of them in my history class. Her husband was a bit more country than I was…and that is quite a statement! I appointed her daughter the first bat girl ever in the history of Port St. Joe High School baseball.


I ate most of my meals at their house. I’d go over and watch football games on Saturday afternoon with Mr. Cliff. We’d talk mules and vaccinating heifers and stuff…


They became my family away from home.


The 26th Amendment to the Constitution lowered the voting age from 21 to 18. It was ratified by the required “three fourths of the states” in 1971. It was too late to help me. I had turned 23 six months before it became law.


But I was all set to do my patriotic duty in the fall of that year. It was like carrying on an old family tradition. My parents were big on voting. They felt it a privilege, responsibility, duty and honor all rolled into one.


I was young but I remember them debating the merits of Dwight Eisenhower versus Adlai Stevenson, John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, Barry Goldwater against Lyndon Johnson. I can’t for the life of me remember where they voted in our little town. But I would guess city hall. I don’t know if they wrote down a name on a piece of paper, pulled a lever or shaded in a little circle. But I guarantee you, they were there!


They taught us from birth that in our democracy it was of tantamount importance that every citizen participate in the voting process.


Not long after I arrived in Port St. Joe I went to the courthouse to get a Florida driver’s license and a Florida tag on my old Buick. While I was there I walked down to the Supervisor of Elections and Miss Cora Sue Robinson signed me up to vote.


I had my card in hand when I purposefully strode into the Centennial Building to cast my first vote ever for a President of the United States. Now, I wasn’t overwhelmed by either choice but I had done some research. Weighed, like I had seen my parents do, the relative merits and shortcomings of each candidate. I definitely wanted to pick the right person to lead our nation.


Miss Martha was sitting at a table checking everyone’s Voter Registration Card. I had no clue she was a poll worker. And I really didn’t know what they were there for anyway. I got in line and waited my turn.

“Hi Miss Martha.” I always lit up when I saw her. She was that kind of person.


“Good afternoon Coach,” She took my card and looked it over carefully, “do you have your Voter ID?”


“Ma’am?”


“I need something with your picture on it so I can verify you are the person who is voting. Can I see your driver’s license?”


My billfold was in the car. “Miss Martha, it’s me, Kesley! I ate supper at your house last night!”


“Sorry Coach, I still have to see a picture ID. It is the law.”


“You have my registration! This is precinct five. My voter number is on the card. It says Democrat big as life across the top. It’s all correct. I don’t see why—”


Her beautiful smile stopped me in mid-sentence. “Kes, go out to your old Buick and get your license and come back in.”


Miss Martha grew up in Salem, Alabama. Listen, you’d have to know those North Alabama folks to understand what I was up against. Most all of them are immoveable objects. Miss Martha’s roots were sunk deeeeeeep into that red clay.


The worst part was when I “came back in” as instructed, I had to get in the back of the line, again!


It was the same every time I voted. I have pulled levers. I have pushed buttons. I have shaded in those little circles. I have changed voting places. I have voted early. I have voted for winners. And losers. I have voted for some that worked out great. And some that embarrassed me after I helped “get them in.”


There has been one constant over all the years and all the elections I have been privileged to participate in. I had to produce and present a picture ID BEFORE I was allowed to vote.


Every single time!


We live in a world today that screams equality on every hand. On every level. In every situation.


I’m one hundred per cent for that.


So, if I have had to show my Voter ID…


Respectfully,
Kes