October 16, 2008--The Ladies of Forest Trace: The Obama Effect

“Did you hear what John King said?” Indeed I had but before I could get a word in edgewise, she excitedly raced on, “That after last night’s debate it’s all over. That no one any more cares about that William Ayers.”

It was my 100 year-old mother calling from Forest Trace, her retirement community in south Florida. Usually she’s the one who can be cautious and pessimistic so I was surprised to hear her quoting CNN’s John King. She was born in Poland and with her family had to flee to save themselves from the endless pogroms and later lived through the Great Depression and the Holocaust where she lost everyone from her family who couldn’t escape to America. This left her, understandably, skeptical about any scenario that seemed too rosy. She had seen too much suffering and evil to be taken in by anything resembling optimism.

But here I was being the cautious one, “It’s a little early, mom, to be taking a victory lap. I agree that Barack Obama did very well last night. He . . .”

“I’ll tell you how he did, he, how did someone put it, ‘smashed’ McCain.”

I had never heard her use such violent language but was feeling a version of that way myself. “What I was trying to say was that Obama, yes, won the debate. That’s true. And John King was referring to CNN’s post-debate poll. The numbers looked very
good.”

“Yes, from my notes here, 54 percent said he did better. And only 30 percent said McCain won. That I call smashed.”

“I agree but there’s still four weeks to go before Election Day and . . .”

“Four weeks minus one day,” she corrected me.

“True, but remember how long four weeks can be. How much can happen in that time. We didn’t know Sarah Palin four weeks ago. We didn’t have the financial crises then. John McCain didn’t step all over himself with suspending his campaign and saying he wasn’t coming to the first debate. Think about all that can happen, I mean will happen between now and November 4th.”

“I know. Who said in politics a few days can be an eternity? I’ve seen that before. How many days before Election Day was it that they did their Swiftboating?” I couldn’t remember. “I think it was only two weeks. And what about an October Surprise? But,” she chuckled, “I think it may already have happened what with the stock market; and, though I hate what it’s doing to everyone, especially the girls here who are living on fixed incomes, maybe this time the surprise will be on the Republicans.”
I too had been thinking that. “So I agree with John King.” I was hoping he and she were right. In my euphoria about the debate results I had begun to allow myself to think he could actually win. That once in a while the right person comes along just when needed and may, maybe this was one of those times.

“But,” her voice darkened, “still I worry.” That was the mother I knew and loved. “You remember Bertha? You met her the last time you were here. One of my ladies who was a school principal. So smart. So elegant. But she’s beginning to get all mixed up. I have to help her with her checkbook. Bertha, who was the residents’ organization treasurer for so many years no longer can balance her own checkbook. But that’s not my point. Poor thing. She has a daughter who lives in Pennsylvania. One of the toss-up states. And her daughter, who is an internist, is very concerned. All she hears about from her patients Bertha says is that they are not going to vote for him. These are people, many who have seen jobs lost in their community and even before what is now happening to the stock market have seen their life savings disappear. So you would think that they might vote for Obama.” I knew where this was headed. “But Sylvia, the doctor, tells her mother they are still voting for McCain.”

“But, mom, didn’t CNN last night also show poll results that had Obama leading even in Pennsylvania? By I forgot how many points. But more than the margin of error?”

“Yes I saw that too. But not by enough. You read everything . . .”

“Not really.”

“Enough I’m sure that you’ve heard of the Bradley Effect.” I knew about that but she couldn’t resist reminding me. “How people, actually white people, lie to pollsters when it comes to black candidates. Like with Tom Bradley, who was black and ran for mayor in California . . .”

“Actually, he was mayor of Los Angeles and ran for governor in 1982.”

“I stand corrected. But my point is that he was leading in the polls right before Election Day by about 5 points, I think, but then lost the election to a white man.”

“Duekmejian.”

“What?” It was early in the morning and even with her hearing aides she often had trouble on the telephone.”

“Who won the election. George Deukmejian. He beat Bradley.”

“Yes, I remember him. A weasel. But the point is, Bertha’s daughter reminded her, though living down here in the South who needs reminding, that with the Bradley Effect no lead in the polls is enough for a black man. Look what that Sarah Palin is up to. Here in Florida over the weekend with her insinuations she almost started a race riot. People in the crowd were yelling ‘Kill him.’ The FBI I heard is investigating.”

I too had heard that and it made me shiver. That fear, as well as the Bradley Effect, were my greatest worries.

But just as I was sadly about to agree with her, my mother was buoyant again. “Here’s what the girls think. Over breakfast this morning it was Esther who said that maybe this time there will be another kind of effect.”

“I’m not following you.”

“If you can sit still a moment and let me finish you’ll see what we think.”

“Sorry.”

“This time things might be different. Esther said that maybe in Sylvia’s community . . .”

“Sylvia?”

“Sylvia, Bertha’s daughter. The doctor. Are you paying attention? You did eat something for breakfast? You know how you get when you don’t eat. What with your sugar.”

“I did. I did. I had toast and . . .”

Ignoring me she resumed her train of thought, “That this time in places like Pennsylvania where there is so much hardship, but also a lot of prejudice, that some of the people there, white people, who actually want to vote for change, for Obama, will once they are behind the curtain in the voting booth, they will hold pull the lever for him. Then when they are back with their friends they will pretend that they voted for McCain. Bertha called it the Obama Effect. She’s so clever, poor thing.”
I wasn’t so sure, but it was an intriguing hypothesis. So much this election cycle didn’t fit the conventional wisdom. Starting with Obama being the Democrats’ nominee. Maybe, just maybe . . .

As I considered the possibilities, my mother quickly changed the subject. “And one more thing. If Bertha is wrong there’s always Cindy.”

“What?” Now it was my turn to be heard of hearing.

“McCain. Cindy McCain, that scarecrow.”

“Now, ma, I thought we agreed that the candidates’ wives are off limits. We don’t want to go back to Michelle Obama fist-bumping with Barack.”

“That was a lot of silliness. As I told you at the time, the ones who said it was what terrorists do never watched a baseball or basketball game. Definitely the lowest sort of McCain’s supporters. What I mean about Cindy McCain now is how she behaved last night. Did you notice how she refused to greet Michelle, who by the way looked lovely? She so reminds me of Jackie. But that’s neither here nor there. What I mean is that when voters look at her, Cindy, they will see what she and her husband are really all about. They don’t care about average people. In spite of all his ‘My friends.” They are like typical rich people and it comes through loud and clear.

“Like again last night. Not only did she walk away from Michelle, they couldn’t wait to get off the stage. Did you see that?” I had. Actually it stunned me more than McCain’s referring to Obama disrespectfully as “That one,” the fact that the McCain’s rushed away while the Obamas stayed there until they had spoken individually to every one.

“More important than rushing away, maybe John McCain needed to get to the bathroom—he is after all 72—did you see how Cindy while she followed after McCain for the brief time he greeted the voters who asked the questions, how she stayed behind him not shaking anyone’s hand, with her own hands clasped behind her back?”

I had noticed that. “Who did that remind you of?” Someone, but I couldn’t remember just who. But then it came to me. “Queen Elizabeth! You’re right, her! How when she greets commoners she walks down the rope line with her hands behind her back. Wow.”

“You’re only half right,” my mother chided me.

“Half right? No, you’re right—Cindy is the Queen.”

“Actually Prince Phillip, that Nazi. He’s the one with the hands behind the back.”

She was right. That’s who avoids greeting people by doing that. As if he doesn’t want to touch common flesh. The Queen at least wears gloves. “True, true. He’s the one who . . .”

“So, sweetie, what does that tell you?”

“That Phillip and by comparison Cindy are . . .?”

“That too.” She was reading my mind again. “But in this case she’s the one wearing the pants.” Before I could interject, sensing what I might be thinking, she hurried on to acknowledge, “I know this is an old fashioned notion, but if the girls here are thinking this—and how he is hiding behind Sarah Palin’s skirts by having her do his dirty work, another old-fashioned idea—you can only imagine what many of those Joe-Sixpacks must be thinking. I’m sure you young people have an expression for it. A politically-incorrect one I’m sure.” She laughed again.

I’m not that young but I did know what she was referring to—another old-fashioned expression. But if it can help Obama get elected, I’ll take it. Let’s call it the Mother’s Effect.