Illinois Review: Little Pavel Goes to the Back of the Bus

Thursday, August 05, 2010

Little Pavel Goes to the Back of the Bus

by John F. Di Leo
Pockets stumbled into headquarters one morning holding his briefcase in one hand, holding his head in the other. “Paully, gimme a lemon-lime, willya?”
Pavel Syerov Jr. (Paul to his friends) arose from the table where he had been collating literature and headed back to the refrigerator for a can of soda for the deputy committeeman. Gently, he asked “Rough night last night, Pockets?” He had never seen Pockets hung over before; beer was mother’s milk to the old pol. But Pockets and the Boss had been entertaining a couple of politicians from Louisiana the night before at the corner bar; old pros swapping stories and learning tricks of the trade.
“Never mix your drinks, Paully” he told his young charge, in his most fatherly tone. “It’s those guys from New Orleans. They take perfectly good fish and burn the flavor out of it, and then they drink the sweetest, fruitiest concoctions you’ve ever seen. Boy, do you feel it in the morning…” Pockets collapsed in his chair and shut his eyes before beginning the day’s lecture.

“Do you have your driver’s license yet, Paully?” Pockets asked.
“Not yet, Pockets… I’m only 17, remember? Just finished Driver’s Ed in June.”
“Okay, then you’ll have it by the election; that’s what counts. Make sure you get the kind that lets you drive a bus. We might… just might… hafta send you south for the election; they’re short on bus drivers in New Orleans ever since Katrina hit, and who knows; they just might be looking for some help from their friends.”
“A bus, Pockets? That’s a different test! And a much more complicated one! I can barely drive a car, and you want me driving a bus by November?” Honestly, thought Pavel, there are times to question the old man’s judgment.
“We don’t think big enough in Chicago, Paully. Those New Orleans boys told us about what they call ‘the Morial method.’ I don’t think we can do it here, mind you, but they’ve sure got a slick operation down in the delta!”
Pavel offered Pockets a bagel and asked him to slow down. “I think you’re getting ahead of me, Pockets. How exactly does this New Orleans technique work?”
Pockets smiled. “You’re gonna like this, Paully. They tell me it was mastered by the old mayor of New Orleans, though it kinda sounds like it already an old established practice by his day. Let’s say you only have 45 workers.

Read it all here.

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Has A Senior Moment

MONDAY, JULY 26, 2010

LITTLE PAVEL HAS A SENIOR MOMENT

Reflections on facilitating vote fraud

By John F. Di Leo

Left alone at a work table at party headquarters, young Pavel Syerov Jr. (Paul to his friends) had been collating literature and listening to country music on his radio for an hour, while Pockets, the deputy committeeman, was on the phone in the back office.  When he heard Pockets emerge at last, Pavel quickly changed the station back to NPR and asked “So what’s up, Pockets?”

“Gotta deliver a floppy disk to a nursing home.  Ya got another hour or two to join me, Paully?”

“A floppy disk?  Do you mean maybe a CD, Pockets?”  Pavel knew that the old pol’s jargon was a mixture of several eras, so interpreting his speech was sometimes a bit touch-and-go.

“Yeah, right.  CD.  Whatever.  So can ya join me?  It couldn’t hurt to show a little young blood when we make this call." Pockets dropped his voice before continuing.  “It’s a new guy, who just took over management of one of the nursing homes in the 5th precinct.   Gotta deliver the format we need their voting info on.”

Pavel looked at him quizzically.  “Um, Pockets, you know you can just email the format, right?  Whatever you want from him, you can just email him the blank Excel file and tell him to populate it.  No need to hand-deliver anything.”  Pockets just didn’t want to get with the 21st century.  Pavel began to elucidate on the ease of transferring data in the information age. 

“It’s not like twenty years ago, when you’d reach 750 kb of data and have to insert a new diskette, Pockets.  With high speed internet connections and modern computers, you can transfer all that stuff back and forth by email now.  You never have to leave headquarters if you don’t want to!”

Pockets chuckled, as it was now his chance to explain the ways of the world to his young charge.  “I know I could email it, Paully.  In fact, I emailed it last week.  The thing is, I can’t be sure he’ll do what we need until we pay our little visit in person.  He’s new, see?  So it would be helpful if you’d accompany me.  Just stay in the back and don’t say anything.  Or if you do, speak in Russian.” 

This was unusual.  “I didn’t know you spoke Russian, Pockets!”

“I don’t.  I’m just sayin’, if you say anything, say it in Russian.”

“Oh… so, does the nursing home owner speak Russian?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” chuckled Pockets.   “The Russian language, when spoken, just conveys a certain somethin’ that I’d like to convey right now, that’s all.”

Not normally so slow on the uptake, Pavel was beginning to catch on.   This was no ordinary delivery.  He was being asked to help deliver a threat.  His parents had told him that volunteering at party headquarters this summer would be more educational than summer school; they just hadn’t told him how, so every day was doubly enlightening.

“Level with me, Pockets.  What are we doing today?”

Pockets sat down and opened a beer as he began the day’s lecture.  “Nursing homes, senior citizen apartments, assisted living centers, whatever you want to call them (I’m sure there are subtle differences between them, Paully, but I don’t really care), are an important part of our operation.  Put as simply as possible… they have voters, and we have carrots and sticks.”

“Sorry, Pockets, I don’t get it.  Are they wealthy donors?”

“Well, son, yes, they’re not wealthy, but a nursing home owner is always good for some bucks, but that’s just a side benefit.  The important thing is the votes they deliver.  Say there are 200 people in a nursing home.  Maybe fifty would vote intelligently on their own – for the purposes of this discussion, let’s call it 25 GOP, and 25 Dem.  What does that mean?”

“It means a 25% turnout, with no net benefit to us.  Unacceptable, right, Pockets?”  read the whole story here

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Has A Senior Moment

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Takes a Break

SATURDAY, JULY 17, 2010

LITTLE PAVEL TAKES A BREAK

by John F. Di Leo

Tired and bored from a morning collating literature at party headquarters, Pavel Syerov Jr. (Paul to his friends) pushed back his chair from the table and said, “I need a soda.  Can I get you anything, Pockets?”

Pockets, the old pol who ran the office when the Boss was out, straightened out the stacks of brochures and direct mail.  “Sure, Paully, gimme a grenade.  Thanks.”

Pavel went back to the refrigerator and collected a diet cola for himself and a longneck bottle for Pockets, and promptly returned.  With adult unemployment at ten percent, there was no chance for a summer job for a 17-year-old, so he had been helping out at the local party HQ all summer.  He knew the refrigerator and storeroom as well as any volunteer, and he and Pockets had become fast friends.  The young man was getting a better education this summer than any summer school class could have taught.

They kicked back and looked out the window to the sweltering hot day beyond, so they could enjoy their ice cold drinks even better, in this well-deserved break.  “So, Pockets, how long do you think Holder can keep his job, before he has to get canned?”

Pockets looked up from his beer.  “Canned?  Why would Holder be canned?   As a good union boy, surely you know we believe in solid job security in this party.  A job for a party man is a job for life, I always say!”

“Come on, Pockets,” Pavel said, with a chuckle.  “The firestorm about the New Black Panthers in Philadelphia.  He didn’t just drop a prosecution before conviction; they already had a judgment.  He dropped it between judgment and sentencing!  I don’t know much about the law (though my folks want me to go to law school someday), but I know you can’t keep a job as the country’s chief prosecutor if you let convicted criminals go, setting ‘em free when you’ve got them dead to rights!”

“Holder’s doing just fine, Paully,”  Pockets told the boy.  He was glad he didn’t need to be guarded with this kid.  You need to be so careful what you say with most volunteers, with reporters and bloggers always sniffing around… with both of Pavel’s parents being shop stewards in the local unions, Pockets had no reason to question this one, and he liked being in the position of tutor.  Maybe someday Pavel would rise to state rep, or state senator, or even alderman, and would fondly remember Pockets as the mentor of his youth.  A nice legacy to leave behind when you’re gone.

“Your first duty as an elected official is to reward those who got you elected, right?”

Pavel hesitated a moment before responding.  “Umm… right?”

“Of course right!” said Pockets, with a snort for emphasis.  “You give jobs to ACORN, you appoint your fellow lecturers and teachers and lawyers and professors to top jobs in the administration, you reward the party bosses who endorsed you, and you shut out the ones who endorsed your opponents.” read the whole story here

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Takes a Break

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Has a Bratwurst

By John F. Di Leo   on 7/14/10

Join us today, as our young campaign volunteer learns how votes are stolen in Wisconsin.

“Hello, Pockets!” shouted an exuberant Pavel Syerov Jr. (Paul to his friends), as he bounded into 51st ward headquarters after school.  “Got anything new today, or same as usual?”

Pockets, the longtime deputy committeeman and day-to-day office manager, chuckled at has favorite volunteer’s lively arrival.  “Wish we had some precincts to walk, to use up some of that energy, son.  But no, just a mailing to collate.  Pull up a seat, Paully, and gimme a hand, eh?”

Pavel stopped at the refrigerator and brought back a diet cola for himself and a beer for the old man, and took his spot on the opposite side of the collating table, then sat down to work on the week’s mailing.

“So how’s it going with your new girlfriend, Paully?  Taking her out again this weekend?  Another show?”

“Fraid not, Pockets.  She’s going up to Wisconsin with her folks this weekend.  Guess I may as well hang out here as long as you have something for me to do.”

“Wisconsin, eh?”  Pockets took a long draw off his beer.  “Big election in Wisconsin today.  Late primary.  Crazy-late.  Total incumbency-protection-plan late.  Have we ever talked about Wisconsin?”

“Not specifically, Pockets.”  Pavel could see a lesson ahead, so he opened up a bag of honey wheat braid pretzels and restocked Pockets’ snack bowl.  “I wouldn’t think there was much to tell about Wisconsin.  Fighting Bob LaFollette, all those good government rules – campaign finance limits, old Senator Proxmire’s famous dirt-cheap campaigns – squeaky clean, right?”

At this, Pockets nearly fell off his seat laughing.  “Dunno where ya got your information, son, but it’s dated!  The LaFollettes were a century ago, and Proxmire over a generation ago.  Wisconsin’s wide open for us, Paully, wide open.”

Pavel opened up the notebook he kept in his head, and asked the old pro to tell him all about it.

“Well, it all starts with registration.  In Wisconsin, they want to make it easy for everyone to vote, so they allow onsite registration.  There’s no deadline; you can just show up at the polls ready to vote, not on the list, give ‘em your name and address, and they sign you up right there and then, and hand you a ballot!”

“How does that help us, Pockets?” asked the boy.  “I’m sure both Republicans and Democrats alike use this feature, right?”

“Not really, son.  Republicans tend to be more organized than our folks; they register to vote well in advance of the deadline.  We have a lot more Democrat voters who forget about it until the last minute, so it’s really just in there for our side.”

“Okay, so that’s still not anything sneaky, just us doing what the law was set out to do – enabling everybody to vote who’s entitled.  I suppose they show a driver’s license, or a utility bill, or something like that, to prove who they are and where they live, right?”

Pockets smiled and had another swig of beer.  “Nope!  They don’t hafta show anything at all in Wisconsin.  All they really need is a friend or neighbor who lives in the same city to vouch for them.  So for example, what we’ve done in the past is, we’ll get some pros sent in from Washington or New York to help us out on an election, and they walk in with our regulars on election day.  The regulars say ‘yup, he’s my roommate’ or ‘yup, he lives across the hall from me,’ and the judges hafta let ‘em vote!  What a system, huh?”  read the whole story

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Has a Bratwurst

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Helps Out

By John F. Di Leo  on 7/11/10

At 10:00am Monday, a new face knocked on the door at party headquarters.  A pleasant face, young, male, and clean-shaven, maybe about 16 or 17.  You always welcome new volunteers, of course, but you don’t necessarily like them to just show up, unannounced and unintroduced, when they’re this young.  You like… references.  A lot goes on at party headquarters – a lot of private conversations, a lot of secret dealings.  You don’t want spies in the place.

So it was, understandably, with a bit less than total exuberance that the committeeman, Bill Marcy, sent his associate, Pockets, to get the door and welcome in the new kid.

“What kin we do for ya?” asked Pockets, as cheerfully as he could fake.

“I’m here to help out.  My parents said I was old enough to make myself useful to the party.  Stuff fundraising letters, address envelopes, fold and collate… whatever you need!”

“Do we, uh, know your parents?” Bill asked.

“Probably,” replied the lad.  “I’m Paul Syerov.  Pavel, actually, after my dad, but I just go by Paul.  My folks are Pavel and Sonia Syerov.”

Pockets whispered to his Boss, “I remember them… big in one of the local unions… they were both shop stewards, I think.” 

Bill Marcy brightened as it clicked.  “Then we can trust him.  All is well, Pockets, all is well.”  To the boy he asked “So whaddaya wanna do today?  We got precincts to walk, if you’re up to a little exercise.”

“Sure, if it’s close enough that I won’t get lost.” 

“Don’t worry, son, we’ve got maps, marked pollsheets, everything we need.  We know every resident, who’s registered and who’s not, and why… we know who votes early and who votes late…. And we need to know even more. That’s the current project.”

Little Pavel was confused.  “I figured you’d just have me do stuff envelopes in the office when I was starting out.  You’ll trust me to walk precincts?  You don’t even know me!”

“Don’t need to.  You’re a son of Pavel and Sonia Syerov?  You may as well be the offspring of George Meany and Gloria Steinem.  You come from good stock, son.  We trust you.”

Pockets approached, carrying a bag of brochures (with the catchy headline “Raising Taxes and Raising Hopes”) along with a hefty clipboard.  “Go to every door, noting the exact time and day of the week you hit that door.  Hand them this brochure, and ask them a few questions.  Easy.  It’s all on your script here.  And just mark the answers in this checklist… see, there’s one checklist for every resident.”

“So much for saving trees, huh?” chuckled Pavel.

“Look here,” grumbled the boss, “if we could afford to pass out laptops or iPads to our volunteers to save trees like the rich Republicans can, we would.  But we’re the people’s party; we don’t have that kinda money.  It’s just old-fashioned, tried-and-true questionnaires for us.  It’s worked for a hundred years; there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Pavel grinned.  “Hey, I was just kidding.  I love paper.  It keeps Wisconsin paper mills in business.”  Almost forgetting himself, he quickly added “And they’re union, too, after all!” read the whole piece

Illinois Review: Little Pavel Helps Out