again in November. There was no other way he could defeat Jennings. Jennings’ money machine had already begun to crank out television ads, at huge cost to his supporters, and his disciples had begun to take care of myriad details.
Alex was credulous. He began with no advisor, little money, and idealism that works for children but seldom for candidates running for political office in the United States. He got in his car and drove to the small communities in Putnam County. There he would quickly run into trouble.
His first day, 20 January, was a disaster. Alex realized that as a member of the U.S. Congress representing the third district of Florida, he would represent farmers. Farmers were pro–farmer, which meant that they were anti–farm worker rights, though not for the reasons one might presume. Not at all good for Alex. One farmer after another greeted by Alex made it clear to him that they opposed increased rights for farm workers. It wasn’t that they were opposed to rights for farm workers, they said again and again to him. It’s that they were independent and hard–working people who had been forced by the federal and state governments to complete form after form, read, understand and adhere to law after law, and regulation after regulation, to the point that neither the farmer nor the farm worker was any better off.
Day two had to be better, he believed, but it wasn’t. Doors were slammed in his face. Dogs attacked him. He was even chased by loose chickens. He was discouraged, humiliated, lost and wandering aimlessly. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t tell his story to his future constituents because cynicism was rampant. The people, quite simply, were sick of listening to politicians. His only hope was that many he talked to at least complimented him on his method of campaigning—going door to door to meet the people rather than going from TV studio to TV studio to meet talking heads.
Day three began the same, stayed the same, ended the same. Day four was more of the same. Day five was predictable.
By seven o’clock at night on day six, Alex was ready to give up completely. He had made a huge mistake, he feared, and it was time to pack it in. Jennings’ campaign had already taken off, in fact it was soaring, and Perez had nothing at all to show for his efforts, with no hope in sight. His parents told him about their new jobs — he could have definitely gone without knowing about that — and his once reliable car was no longer so reliable. It needed two thousand dollars worth of repairs. He chugged up US 17, headed back to his apartment in Alachua County, when he noticed a man in his yard, on the outskirts of Barberville, working in his garden. He stopped to say hello and introduce himself as the man’s next congressman.
“Good evening, sir,” Alex said.
“What in the hell is so good about it?” the man, an obvious southern cracker from the old days, replied.
“Well, for starters we live in a great country, and things are going to improve.”
“That’s not what I mean, son. I have no doubt that we’ll pull out of these economic messes. Not so sure about the political disasters, though.”
“Oh. Well. Then what’s on your mind? I’m your next congressman, maybe I can help.”
The man roared out a fake, sarcastic laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time, son.”
“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Alejandro Perez, Jr. I’m a democrat running for the congressional seat in this district.”
“The democratic candidate’s name is Jennings,” the man replied. “Do you have an identity problem? Don’t you know who you are?”
“No, sir; I don’t have an identity problem. Remember that the primary election has not been held. It’s in August. I plan to win the democratic primary election and then again in November.”
“Don’t lecture me about the political process, son. I’ve forgotten more about Florida politics than
Alex was credulous. He began with no advisor, little money, and idealism that works for children but seldom for candidates running for political office in the United States. He got in his car and drove to the small communities in Putnam County. There he would quickly run into trouble.
His first day, 20 January, was a disaster. Alex realized that as a member of the U.S. Congress representing the third district of Florida, he would represent farmers. Farmers were pro–farmer, which meant that they were anti–farm worker rights, though not for the reasons one might presume. Not at all good for Alex. One farmer after another greeted by Alex made it clear to him that they opposed increased rights for farm workers. It wasn’t that they were opposed to rights for farm workers, they said again and again to him. It’s that they were independent and hard–working people who had been forced by the federal and state governments to complete form after form, read, understand and adhere to law after law, and regulation after regulation, to the point that neither the farmer nor the farm worker was any better off.
Day two had to be better, he believed, but it wasn’t. Doors were slammed in his face. Dogs attacked him. He was even chased by loose chickens. He was discouraged, humiliated, lost and wandering aimlessly. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t tell his story to his future constituents because cynicism was rampant. The people, quite simply, were sick of listening to politicians. His only hope was that many he talked to at least complimented him on his method of campaigning—going door to door to meet the people rather than going from TV studio to TV studio to meet talking heads.
Day three began the same, stayed the same, ended the same. Day four was more of the same. Day five was predictable.
By seven o’clock at night on day six, Alex was ready to give up completely. He had made a huge mistake, he feared, and it was time to pack it in. Jennings’ campaign had already taken off, in fact it was soaring, and Perez had nothing at all to show for his efforts, with no hope in sight. His parents told him about their new jobs — he could have definitely gone without knowing about that — and his once reliable car was no longer so reliable. It needed two thousand dollars worth of repairs. He chugged up US 17, headed back to his apartment in Alachua County, when he noticed a man in his yard, on the outskirts of Barberville, working in his garden. He stopped to say hello and introduce himself as the man’s next congressman.
“Good evening, sir,” Alex said.
“What in the hell is so good about it?” the man, an obvious southern cracker from the old days, replied.
“Well, for starters we live in a great country, and things are going to improve.”
“That’s not what I mean, son. I have no doubt that we’ll pull out of these economic messes. Not so sure about the political disasters, though.”
“Oh. Well. Then what’s on your mind? I’m your next congressman, maybe I can help.”
The man roared out a fake, sarcastic laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time, son.”
“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Alejandro Perez, Jr. I’m a democrat running for the congressional seat in this district.”
“The democratic candidate’s name is Jennings,” the man replied. “Do you have an identity problem? Don’t you know who you are?”
“No, sir; I don’t have an identity problem. Remember that the primary election has not been held. It’s in August. I plan to win the democratic primary election and then again in November.”
“Don’t lecture me about the political process, son. I’ve forgotten more about Florida politics than
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