The Army at Dawn II

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The ancient Shoup voting machines that New York City uses record each voter's choices.

Into the booth walks a middle aged black man with his 10 year old son.
Ka-CHUNK-the big red handle is pulled to the right.
Snik-snik-snik-snik- as the small lever next to each candidate's name is pulled down.
Ka-CHUNK and the big red handle is pulled back to the left and the vote is recorded.
The man and his son walk out, smiles on their faces big enough to reflect history.

Into the booth walks a young black woman.
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She backs out of the machine, looks a bit puzzled, turns around and smiles. It was her first vote.

Into the booth walks an elderly white woman.
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Mere seconds pass and she exits. She has done this many times.

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The six voting machines for six election districts in this part of the Bronx, New York are singing.

At 8:00am, I stand on line in the basement of a large apartment building. I am voter number 115 and there is a long line behind me for my district. The poll workers says that the polls were open at 6:00am and the lines were more than 100 feet long.

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An elderly man shuffles out from behind the machine's curtains and I walk in. I have never missed voting in an election. I have been accused of being an idealist. I plead guilty.

Ka-CHUNK-snik-snik-snik-snik-Ka-CHUNK.

I have made my choices. I know I am now a part of history. Yes, a minuscule part of history, but a part of it nonetheless.

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Sometimes democracy sounds funny.

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I smile.