When I used to complain about the divisions in American politics, my son Henry often suggested that I do something about it. Henry had been a poll worker during the 2020 election, when he was 17 years old. It was his first official job and he loved the experience. He even wrote about it in his college essays.
After Henry tragically died in an accident on August 29, 2022, I followed his example and signed up to work on that year's midterm exams. It might have been a mistake to commit to something so important when I was struggling with my grief. Instead, I became fully involved in the work and learned, through my son's example, how we can all find nonpartisan ways to improve our political process and overcome the fragmentation of our country.
Until November 2022, I never thought about the mild-mannered poll workers I had encountered and the Herculean effort required to run an election.
Assigned by Los Angeles County as an “election coordinator,” I was responsible for auditing five voting sites in the week leading up to and on Election Day. I attended a one-day training session where instructors explained voting procedures, demonstrated the electronic poll book system, gave me a county-issued phone, and helped me fill my trunk with boxes of supplies. I was ready to go.
That first morning, I arrived at Westminster Avenue Elementary School in Venice at 7 a.m., nervously clutching my clipboard, as the voting center opened. At 8 p.m., he was available to help the Venice Boys & Girls Club site complete its closing procedures. During the intervening 13 hours, I audited each of the five assigned voting stations, creating a constant circuit between Venice and Santa Monica.
Was the official table prepared with the required forms, brochures and guides? Was. Were the printers working? Check. Was curbside voting available? Yes. Did anyone need additional temporary envelopes, signs, registration forms, “I voted” stickers, or scissors? If so, I had extras in my car.
Everything about work surprised me. The entire process had been digitized and procedures had been implemented to keep voting data secure. Each night, the team printed voting reports, counted all ballots (voted, provisional, conditional, curbside, write-in), packed the machines, printers and supplies into carts, and then closed them with scanned zip ties to ensure “chain of custody.” Finally, two people were required to carry the ballots to a central location. By then, it was usually around 10 p.m.
I guess the other poll workers had strong political opinions, as did I. But we don't argue about the candidates or the endless proposals on the ballot. Everyone was calm and professional.
We were a mismatched bunch, ranging in age from 16 to 70, and we came from all corners of Los Angeles. Most of us were paid a stipend, but no one was there to receive the money. It was not picture-book patriotism. There were no lofty speeches. I never heard the Pledge of Allegiance. But we were all on Team Democracy. I was proud to be a part of this.
My experience continues with data which concluded that “among the possible motivations for serving, the most important were a sense of civic duty and commitment to the electoral process. Showing support for one's political party was a rarely stated motivation” among poll workers.
In short, there is nothing political about being a poll worker.
Most of us worked consecutive 14-15 hour days and things didn't always go as planned. We had to redirect the crowd after a power outage during a storm. The county dispatched an electrician within hours to restore power. However, a woman screamed that we were preventing her from voting and threatened to call her lawyer.
Poll workers attempted to stop several attempts at “electoralism.” That is campaigning or soliciting votes within 100 feet of a polling place. Local school board candidates were the problem. One attempted to hold up his campaign sign in the parking lot in front of the polls. They were asked to move. Another handed out balloons to children in the park next to the ballot boxes: balloons printed with the candidate's name.
There were several highlights for me. I took a 94 year old woman home the night she voted. One night, a group of Western European election observers watched as we closed. They didn't ask any questions, they just watched calmly as everything went smoothly. I thought, “We must be doing something right.” An Iranian-American man began to cry as he cast his vote. He talked about women in Iran. Being killed defending their human rights.
On election day I arrived home exhausted, but satisfied, around midnight. I found a small way to support our democratic process and it felt good. I also honored my son and created a new shared experience for the two of us. I knew Henry was proud of me. Maybe he hadn't stopped complaining about politics. But he had done something to help. For both of us. I will be working the polls again this November.
Elizabeth Kopple works in content marketing and lives with her husband in Santa Monica. She is working on a memoir focused on the loss of her son.
