My Sandwich Board Walks

There was a presidential debate the other week (9/28/2020).  You might have noticed.  It was dreadful, and I’m not going to say anything more about it.  But it did stir me to action.  Actually, one of my granddogs, Ocho, got there first.  He posed for a photo:

It seems clear that – old as both of them are in human years – at least one of the candidates has the maturity of a five-year-old. (In dog years Ocho is three times older than that!)

My response has been to try to encourage the adults among us to vote in the national election, which in California has already started and will be concluded on November 3.  I don’t want to tell anyone whom to vote for; I just want to tell them all to vote for someone, and I hope that each of them will choose, as Ocho suggests, a “functioning adult.”

Jane and I live in Long Beach, California, the 7^th most populous city in California.  Geographically it’s a large one, with a land area of  50,293 square miles and 1,144 of water. (Figures from Wikipedia.)  Lots of space.  Now, I built a device that used to be big during the Great Depression:  a “sandwich board,” two signs with identical messages that hang from my shoulders, one for the front, one for the back.  The meat of the sandwich – which is I – walks around with the boards delivering their message from both front and back.  My plan is to parade around Long Beach for the month of October wearing the sandwich, although I know I can’t possibly hit all of the 50K sq. mi.  During the first week I’ve left our apartment in the morning and wandered different routes.  Each evening Jane and I stroll along the beach pedestrian path for a mile and go up the bluff to Ocean Boulevard for the mile back.  Lots of people take the beach walk and the adjacent bicycle path during late afternoons, and many of them respond to my signs.  According to my phone’s GPS I’ve done between 4 and 6 miles each day.

In Long Beach the mornings and evenings have usually been warm, but the days – which are invariably sunny – can get pretty hot, even in October.  I made the sign out of foam core and duct tape, lightweight materials, but long walks in the midday sun can get me pretty sweaty!  Not wanting to turn the sign into a polemic, and possibly turn the viewer into an opponent, I’ve been careful with the wording.  I did not mention the name of either candidate.  The sign’s first word is “Please.” I alternated the colors of the V-O-T-E letters, changing between red and blue.  Here’s what the sign looks like as I approach, walking along the beach, in the late afternoon:

The reactions of the people I meet have fallen into several categories.  With the passing cars I usually try to wave and catch the passengers’ eyes.  When they drive by me, they either ignore me or react in one of four ways:  wave, hold their thumbs up, honk, or once in a while shout.  I’ve heard “Good work,” “Thank you,” or the name of one or the other candidate.  Yesterday one car pulled over to the curb, and the couple asked if they could take my photograph.  About one car in four will respond to me, depending partly on how fast they are traveling.

The pedestrians will respond in some of the same ways to my “Good day.”  Well, they don’t honk.  But those who react will give me thumbs up, wave, say “Thank you,” “Good day to you,”  “I’m going to vote,” or “I already have voted.”   No one has given me a dismissive or mean-spirited reply. One young woman called after me, “You’re my aspiration!”

I’ve tried to keep up with the demographics of those who give me thumbs up.  It splits pretty evenly between men and women.  A good number of the raised thumbs are African-American or Hispanic.  And many, many of them are younger.  A couple of them said to me, “First time voter.”

It has not been a process completely free of pain, though my injury has been entirely self-inflicted.  One evening, after the beach walk with Jane, we were moving to our favorite restaurant for an outdoor dinner under a roof of red bougainvillea. In my defense I’ll say that the front sandwich board makes it harder to pick up my feet because the foam core ends just around my knee and it doesn’t swing free, for I have the boards clipped together so a sudden breeze won’t flip them around.  So as we were crossing Alamitos Avenue, I didn’t pick up my feet high enough and thus tripped over the slight curb.  I went ass over teakettle, winding up with a bloodied lip, a slightly blackened eye, and a sprained wrist.  None of these interfered with the dinner, which was excellent, and indeed nothing was serious enough for me to miss even the next day.

My plan is to keep up this discipline until November 3, voting day.  This morning I drove several miles from our apartment, parked, and walked through the Belmont Shores section of town.  There are other sections to visit, and thus I’ll be able to get through more of those 50 thousand square miles.  I expect to have walked more than 125 miles by voting day, turning myself into a sort of old-guy version of Forrest Gump.

Some pedestrians, like that couple in the car, stop me and ask if they may take my photograph.  I tell them yes, do, but please show the picture to other people.  This evening a fellow told me he wanted to send it to Europe, to show his friends over there that Americans aren’t as bad as the media makes us seem.  This morning a woman asked me my name as she took my photograph, and then asked if she could put both name and photo in a local Long Beach paper.  “Sure,” I said.  “Maybe more undecided people will get the message.”

Some folks ask me whom I’m voting for.  Sometimes I tell them, after some conversation, but often I do not. Remember, my sandwich board signs urge no specific candidate, only that everyone should vote, and that all should make their own decision.  That’s how we do it in America; we each make our own choice.

P.S.  Today, October 7, having consulted with an attorney friend about her views on the district attorney candidates and the candidates for three superior judge positions, I filled out my ballot, sealed it into the return envelope, signed and dated it, and took it to the main post office, where I mailed it.  Finally I pasted my “I VOTED” sticker onto one of my sandwich boards.  One woman said to me, “Done and done,” last week as I passed her by.  Me too.