My First Election

When I was 9-years old I volunteered for McGovern’s presidential campaign, without mentioning it to my parents. Nothing major – just distributing campaign literature. A little civics loving, political nerd going door to door on a Huffy Stingray bike.

My bike wasn’t cool, but she got the job done.

Then a 10-speed revolution began, due in part to Richard Nixon’s trade agreement with China. I didn’t want a 10-speed bike. I needed a 10-speed bike. I needed it bad.

Then one day my dad came home with one.

Suddenly, I had a French Peugeot 10-speed racing bike. Totally unexpected and odd. It was built for someone two feet taller than me. I just figured my dad didn’t know how tall I was. I made the most of it.

That bike was a beauty. Perfectly engineered. Black, with a natural leather seat – just like my current car.

Sleek, like a whippet.

Just handed to me.

No one adjusted the seat height. No one showed me how French gears shifted. I was simply handed a world class racing bike and sent on my merry McGovern way. I fell over occasionally. So did George McGovern.

No matter. I was going to make this bike work.

Despite affordable bicycle imports, the choice for President was obvious to me. Nixon was shifty. Self-serving. Untrustworthy. Back then that felt unique. I asked our school librarian if there were books explaining Watergate to 5th graders. She smiled and said no.

I was confused by adults sanctioning behavior they wouldn’t accept from children.

I’m still confused by that.

I will always be confused by that.

  Bravado convinced me that despite newspaper predictions, McGovern was going to win in a Dewey defeats Truman repeat. Youthful optimism, always ready to kick you in the gut.

Election night, I was in front of the TV tracking votes in my Spiderman notebook. I made Jiffy Pop. I chilled a can of Hawaiian Punch. I was ready for the party. I invited my family come watch. They were confused.

Why would we do that?

To protect the free world? To participate in the greatest system of government ever. Maybe just to hold my 10-year-old hand during the first presidential election I was going to remember.

My dad looked bemused and said, “Greg, there’s no point. McGovern is going to lose,” and left the room.

Richard Nixon got 60.7% of the popular vote and carried 48 states.

I was devastated.

Election became inauguration. Spring became end of the school year.

That summer I did something to annoy the guy I'm pretty sure was the neighborhood weed dealer. Maybe I looked too happy on my bike. Whatever. Same as it ever was. Guys like that live to hurt other people.

He smirked and told me he had stolen the Peugeot before selling it to my dad.

Adding that my dad knew it was stolen when he gave it to me.

I’d let myself fall in love with that unlikely bike. I planned to grow into it, see the world on it, and ride off into the sunset, together.

I knew with all my whole heart that it would never be mine. The real owner loved the bike too. I felt presumptuous. Sad. And stupid. My dad had tricked me into believing I might be the kind of person who deserved to ride that bike, when I wasn’t.

I stashed the Peugeot in the garage under a tarp while I decided what to do. I just knew the cops were looking for it and that I’d miss 6th grade doing hard time as an accomplice.

Eventually I told my dad I knew the bike was stolen. I didn’t want it anymore.

He returned the bike to the thief.

I persevered.

Richard Nixon did not.

On Friday, August 9, 1974, my dad gave me $5 to go get a family bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken. I jumped on my always there for me Huffy and rushed to KFC before Nixon began his resignation speech. The streets were eerie. Totally empty. There were no other customers. Everyone was at home waiting for history be made.

His speech began. 16 minutes later, Richard Nixon was no longer President.

Our living room was silent.

My dad was somber. He had just discovered consequence was real.

I felt it too. In a good way. An empowering way.

I looked my dad in the eye and said, “I guess you should have voted for McGovern.”

A few weeks later, I was reading Ann Landers when I saw a newspaper ad for a sweepstakes contest sponsored by Coca-Cola.

I entered and won my very own 10-speed Schwinn.