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Blame the threat of terrorism, credit the economy or chalk it all up to the culture war, but something was different this year on Election Day. The size of the turnout had everyone talking, last-minute lawsuits surrounded voting with an air of menace and everyone in the state knew the rest of the country was watching to see whom Ohio picked for president.
This is how the final hours of the campaign and Election Day itself looked in Cincinnati.
Great American Ball Park, All Hallows Eve
A few hours before President Bush arrives to deliver his final pre-election address, silent protesters wander in front of Great American Ball Park wearing white sheets and signs designating them as “Innocent Iraqi Civilian: Over 20,000 of us and growing.”
Near the entrance, a young man wore an “I’ll Mess With Texas” T-shirt. Protesters trade timelines with Bushites.
“Two more days! Get used to it,” chant the protesters.
“Four more years!” Bush supporters respond.
The rally draws tens of thousands, but not the hoped-for full house. A hint of desperation hangs in the air, prompted by the last-minute decision to revisit the Republican stronghold of Hamilton County — and on Halloween, no less.
Most youngsters aren’t in costume. Even those who are complain.
“There’s going to be a lot of disappointed trick-or-treaters,” says one father as he watches a yellow chick breaking out of eggshell drawers swing an empty plastic pumpkin. “All these people aren’t handing out candy.”
A line of state and local Republican politicians speak before Bush appears. State Auditor Betty Montgomery says the United States is in more danger now than in the time of Pearl Harbor, Normandy or Yorktown. The many, many references to 9/11 are only rivaled by ponderous sports metaphors. Second to those are invocations of God and Ronald Reagan. Montgomery reminds the crowd that detractors called Reagan stupid, ill-informed and stubborn.
“Does that sound familiar?” she asks.
About 8 p.m., Hall of Fame catcher Johnny Bench takes the field, followed closely by George W. and Laura Bush, who are serenaded by triumphant drums and synthesizer right out of the ’80s. Bush cuts right to the point.
“I am here to ask for your vote and I am here to ask for your help,” he says hoarsely. “I understand how crucial it is for an American President to lead with clarity and purpose. The role of the President is not to follow the path of the latest polls.”
His last-minute campaign reappearance in Cincinnati, however, begs otherwise.
Bush is often characterized as a non-intellectual. But he’s not without self-awareness.
“Sometimes I’m a little too blunt,” he says. “I get that from my mother. Sometimes I mangle the English language. I get that from my Dad.”
Rock the Vote at Beluga, Election Eve
Models float through a crowd in “Will Work for Democracy” T-shirts.
“The whole point of the event is to celebrate and elevate the spirit of the vote,” says co-host Beth Anne Osborn.
A registered Republican, Osborn says she’ll vote for Kerry because the $1 billion per day spent on the war in Iraq could pay the yearly salaries of 8 million public school teachers.
Jason Reinhold has nothing but scorn for the Democrat.
“John Kerry and especially his wife, I think, are fucking weasels,” he says.
Asked to elaborate, he says, “That’s it. I don’t let politics rule my life. I don’t make time for it. I have to work.”
But he has time to support the war in Iraq.
“You gotta spill blood to protect a country this size,” Reinhold says.
Evanston Recreation Center, 12:30 p.m. Election Day
With polls for three precincts inside this facility, the number of provisional ballots cast are relatively low and most are due to address changes, according to David Mann, a former Cincinnati mayor acting as a Democratic monitor.
Despite the smooth operation, the mood is very tense. The poll judge yells at a photographer for taking pictures. Asked what their roles were, Republican challengers and monitors refuse to speak to a reporter.
Cincinnati Church of Christ, 1:30 p.m.
Two people holding signs opposing Issue 3 say they are paid employees of the anti-gay campaign, not volunteers. Elaine Blair says she and her co-worker, Martel Quarles, are to be paid $125-$150 to hold signs for a couple of hours.
Bond Hill Recreation Center, 2:15 p.m.
City Councilman Christopher Smitherman and an opponent of Issue 3 are embroiled in a heated debate. Smitherman, campaigning simultaneously for repeal of the anti-gay clause in the city charter and for prosecutor candidate Fanon Rucker, asks Terry Dukes to speak with a reporter about her position. She declines.
“I don’t have to talk to none of y’all,” she says. “I’ll do what I do and you do what you do. Plus, what I’m doing is in the Bible.”
As a reporter and photographer leave, Dukes yells, “That’s not my real name that I gave you!”
Well, what is it?
“I don’t have to tell you,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.” ©
This article appears in Nov 3-9, 2004.
