The evolution of voting means no more uncooked salmon or white gloves

My father was a Texan. He believed in the American Dream, the sacred nature of the individual ballot, and John Wayne.

Consequently, he never voted in his life. In all his years Dad never found anyone worthy of his precious vote. He did his part by complaining colorfully and constantly. Sort of like a watchdog with a Fort Worth accent, pointing out the defects of elected officials, using expletives that can’t be found in this newspaper.

His views might have been dictated by a conflict in economic beliefs or other important issues, but more likely he just couldn’t stand the candidate. “There!” He’d shout. “You see why I didn’t vote for him?”

My mom never missed a chance to cast her ballot. She wasn’t old enough to vote until I was 4, so we’d make a day of it, carrying a picnic lunch to the one-room schoolhouse where the ballots were cast.

The 1940 census says 100 people lived in Warland, Montana in those days — and the whole town was there, except my father, of course, and old Tim Musgrave, the trapper who lived up in the mountains. It was a privilege to stand in line, confident that our vote made a difference — and that if you didn’t vote, you lost your right to complain. Franklin D. Roosevelt won a second term, of course.

So when the day in 1956 came for me to vote for the first time, I wanted it to be perfect. Newly stationed at the historic Presidio of San Francisco, I dressed in my very best pin check taffeta dress, topped with a small black hat and, of course, white gloves. Suitable for tea at the Colonel’s quarters, or a funeral. Or both.

Next, I struggled to get the children dressed. Somehow in a burst of enthusiasm for the process, my husband and I had managed to produce two children in less than 13 months. I loaded them into our heavy blue baby carriage and we started down the hill. There are a lot of hills in San Francisco.

We made our way into the huge building on the main post where the line of voters waited. (86.56% of registered voters turned out in the 1956 election.) The three parties on the ballot were Republican, Democrat, and Prohibition. My husband would also vote for the first time. A red letter day for our family! When at last it was my turn, I proudly voted for a second term for President Eisenhower. We all liked Ike.

To celebrate this red letter day, we had been given a whole salmon by my husband’s commanding officer. So naturally I invited the other young couples who lived in our quadruplex over for a celebratory dinner.

But there was a problem. See, I didn’t know how to cook. Under duress, I could just about heat Campbell’s Soup. So now, I had an entire salmon to cook. Growing up in Montana and Spokane, I had never even considered cooking a fish in my life. I left them alone and they left me alone. We were both satisfied with the arrangement.

At least the fish was dead. That was a good start. We had just arrived at this post. I had never cooked on a gas range before, and no one explained that it worked better if you turned on the gas — and lit it. So I didn’t. At the end of the hour, I peeked in and the salmon peeked back, ready to hop out.

We all went out for pizza, except the salmon. He had to fend for himself.

I’ll admit I miss those wonderful hectic days when we dressed in our best and spent the day together.

My ballot for the 2022 election is still on the dining room table. I’ll get to it in a minute. Or two. I’m thankful to finally be almost over the ills that come with COVID. The salmon are safe from me. Unless they’re running for office.

My Minnesota grandson reports he has already voted. This is his second election since turning 18. He volunteered with a “get out the vote” group going door to door to see that people had all of the needed information about getting to polling places.

“It went OK,” he said, “I only got four slammed doors and two ‘You’re what ‘s the matter with the world’s.”

His Uncle who does similar volunteer tasks here in the Northwest confirmed that was a very good response.

So there’s no reason to put off voting any longer. I’m going to fill out my ballot now and take it to the drop box. It’s time to turn up the gas.

Where to find Dorothy in November

Swimming upstream radio show, with a new show and topic each week, which is available until the end of time at https://pod.co/swimming-upstream-radio-show or anywhere you get podcasts.

• Nov. 5: Days to Celebrate
• Nov. 14: Generation Gap
• Nov. 21: Crafty Canadian
• Nov. 27: Finding Your Super Power

You also can contact Dorothy Wilhelm directly at Dorothy@itsnevertoolate.com, www.itsnevertoolate.com or 800-548-9264.