Knocking on the doors of Hampton villagers, we urged a seventy something lady to vote. She stood behind a glass storm door in an upscale house on Great Boar's Head peninsula.
My trusty sidekick dealt with her guard dog, who managed to wriggle through the half open door, a five pound, 16 year old lap dog of some indeterminant breed no bigger than a New York City subway rat.
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| Great Boar's Head |
"I already voted," she told us. She was maybe 90 pounds, soaking wet and looked at us through watery blue eyes warily, a faint smile.
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| She's working hard |
"Okay," I said, turning to go, but for some reason I turned back and I asked her what the big issue for her was in this year's election.
"The border," she said.
"Which one?" I asked.
"The Mexican one."
"Oh."
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| They worked hard |
"And the economy," she added when I looked like I did not quite understand why that border should concern her.
And then she added the reveal:
"I worked hard for what I got," she said.
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| They Worked Hard |
There it was. I worked hard, and you want to give all my money to welfare queens, illegal darkies who sneak across the border, and are now living in plush hotels on taxpayer money, raping people, eating cats and pet dogs like mine, and I've had a hard life.
The thing is: she hadn't.
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| Hard times |
Those women Dorothea Lange captured on her photographs during the Great Depression, those ladies had a hard life. But they would vote for Franklin Roosevelt, not for Trump.
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| Not Hard Working |
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