Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

It was part of my duty as leader to make the round of the election precincts. The streets grew very dark and lonely before we reached the outermost edge of the “gas-house” district on our tour of inspection. Evidently this locality, with rare altruism, gives all its light to others and keeps none for itself!

Driving through the deserted streets, we remembered grim stories of this part of the city and rejoiced in the protection of the taxicab. The bright colors of our national flag cheerfully illuminated the window of the polling-place, reminding us of our citizenship in the greatest country of the world!

With a bearing intended to show great confidence I passed through the little knot of men gathered at the door and entered the barber’s shop. Was not one of my lambs clothed with due authority from the Empire State there as watcher? It was “up to the leader” to see that all was going well with her. At the end of the long table farthest from the door sat Mrs. V——. (To prevent hysterics on the part of the “antis” it should be said that she was a grandmother and that the duties of her home were attended to by her grown daughter.)

“Everything going all right?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ve been treated with every courtesy. Let me introduce you to the chairman of the board, Mr. ——.”

I looked about for the filthy pool of politics, but could not discover any. Several men were busily writing in enormous books, in regular Alice in Wonderland style. A policeman clothed with all the majesty of the law sat at the other end of the long table. Several candidates for registration stood in line, awaiting their turn, while the man at the head of it struggled through the third degree. The floating population of New York sometimes finds difficulty in recalling where it lived and voted from a year ago!

Everything in and about the place was as quiet and orderly as possible. Gentlemen seemed to find it more convenient to smoke outside! Yet our women have made no objection to tobacco.

At another election district I found that the watcher in charge was on such good terms with her election board that they had regaled her with the strains of the victrola and a cup of tea!

On the great day itself we were “on the job” before the opening of the polls at six o’clock. I started on my round of the twenty-one districts in the cold dusk of the winter morning, finding all the watchers in their places. We visited them a second and a third time in the course of the day. At only one polling-place had the men in charge made any trouble for us. There they did not want the watcher to go behind the bar, but as this was her undoubted right they eventually yielded. The day was clear, but raw and windy. The political atmosphere was also less balmy on this day of the struggle. The Tammany leaders were less cordial than earlier in the campaign, and on some faces a suspicion of a frown lurked. We were treated with all courtesy, however, and some of the gentlemen were so gallant as to help me in and out of the automobile.

This was the first Election Day when women were given the authority to visit the polls and watch the count in the metropolis. We had not yet won the vote, but we were the advance-guard of victory! It was a most interesting experience and I greatly enjoyed it. Our Twelfth Assembly District had been thoroughly canvassed. Every registered voter had been called upon and duplicate lists of those in our favor had been compiled. One copy was given each watcher, that she might check off the names as the men came into the polls. The other copy was reserved for those who were later in the day, to “get out the vote.” It would seem that there are always indolent or tardy freemen who have to be reminded of their privilege of casting a ballot, before the day draws to a close.