My Montana Moment
I first visited Montana when I was around eleven, on a legendary (in our family, at least) cross-country car trip. My dad, a physician from New Jersey, was at the helm of our Chrysler wagon and my mom was the fairly willing co-pilot. My three sisters and I spread out over the remainder of our vast vehicle with our books, comics, snacks, and souvenirs as we traveled from one vista to another – my father frequently uttering his trademark phrase “the open road” as he gazed through the windshield with pure and utter satisfaction. From Glacier National Park to Butte to Kalispell (where we attended, yes, our first rodeo complete with towering cotton candy), we piled in and out of the car endlessly so we could relish the varied historical and cultural sites as well as the unending beauty of the huge and seemingly empty state.
About a decade later, I headed back to Big Sky Country with several college classmates to attend a month-long summer session at the Yellowstone Bighorn Research Association, aka geology field camp, in Red Lodge, Montana. There was a lot more getting in and out of big vehicles, this time to examine, map, and understand the geologic history on vivid display – Montana is pure heaven for geologists and paleontologists. We worked hard but had a lot of fun too. The kind of fun I don’t want to tell my kids about since one is in college and the other two may be there soon.
When the kids were younger my husband and I put Montana on the itinerary for our version of an epic Western trip – though we cheated a bit by flying from Boston to Salt Lake City and driving the balance. We went to the same rodeo in Kalispell, stomped on July snow near Beartooth Pass, and sat through an utterly chilling depiction of the Battle of Little Bighorn on the Crow Reservation in the southeastern section of the state – we were all pretty certain that the National Park Service ranger who rendered it (with props) had actually been present during the confrontation. He sure made it sound that way.
So, does any of this qualify me to canvas for votes in Montana during the midterm elections of 2018? Certainly not.
My connection to the state is limited, tenuous, and of the fair-weather, mostly touristic variety. But sitting helplessly in California, miles away from any real concentration of voters in need of being swayed or motivated, I felt the need to do something concrete. The more I read about two of the candidates, I knew I had to pitch in. Democrat Jon Tester, the only farmer in Senate, who is short on fingers (due to a farming accident) but long on earthbound charm. And Kathleen Williams, challenging Greg Gianforte (the representative who was convicted for body-slamming a Guardian reporter during an interview), deserved support.
Did I mention that my oldest had just started college in Montana? This was the crucial link, as I was planning to attend Family Weekend at UM in Missoula in late October. Campaign canvassing is not in my husband’s wheelhouse, so I enlisted the support of my fellow California resident sister, who was game for the adventure. Channeling our dad’s epic road trip mentality, I drove my Prius (with California plates and Vote Blue sticker) through California, Oregon, and briefly through Washington State to Missoula for the university festivities, and then to Bozeman, where I met my sister. Fortunately, she has a friend who offered her second home there as a base.
My sister had made a connection via email to an organizer, Arthur, in Tester’s Bozeman office, who assured us there was plenty to do. In person, we found Arthur to be extremely earnest and young – a college student taking time off from his studies. After a quick briefing and a dip into the donated snacks, we took our packet of addresses and clipboards and headed out to knock on doors. Within moments, it was hailing, and then snowing – a minor but still surprising deterrent for two California girls, though we kept going. As instructed by headquarters, we identified ourselves as part of “the Montana victory team” eliciting some quizzical faces. Were we Democrats or Republicans, residents seemed to want to ask. Yet we somehow got around to our point – could they please consider re-electing the “real” Montanan Jon Tester (over the newly-landed Matt Rosendale,) and also vote for Kathleen Williams (with her good record in the Montana statehouse and surely possessing better character than the aggressive Greg Gianforte?) Mostly we were just glad they didn’t ask us where we were from – the California Prius was safely parked out of sight.
The majority of Montanans were friendly and welcoming. Many had already voted (Montana had robust early voting), though not always in “our” column. Only one person asked us in to escape the weather, many dogs barked at us, and we learned to knock even when houses were dark– Montanans do not use their outside lights much. Our last prospect of that first night, male, opened the door in a tight sleeveless t-shirt that showed off his ample tattoos – we each silently pegged him as a Rosendale/Gianforte supporter and he confirmed it. So we giggled as we stabbed a Tester campaign sign into the snow-dusted grass on the public greenway just across from his house – we knew he’d see it in the morning light. (Sorry Arthur, it was just one sign.)
In the nights that followed, we made our way through a trailer park, a rural neighborhood, a middle-class family neighborhood, and a retirement community. We figured out that mailboxes for odd and even numbers were sometimes on the same side of the street, probably so the postman could deliver mail more easily in the snow. Three MSU students answered one door, and my sister and I went into mom mode, urging them to cast their first-ever votes. On Halloween, we graciously accepted candy on the off-chance that we’d get a vote or two – in addition to sweets. One woman slammed the door in our faces (“what the hell is going on here?” she demanded), several people chatted at great length, and one person started asking us a lot of questions about some down-ballot candidates. We nervously moved on, our cover never blown.
When we were done, we meandered along some back roads on the return trip to California, marveling at the beauty of Montana, then neighboring Idaho and Nevada, but mostly hoping that we’d made some tiny difference. If not, we reasoned, we’d gained some experience for the next go ‘round and explored lots of open roads. Dad would have been proud.
Back in the Golden State, election night was tense. My sister and I traded texts and she filled me in on the intelligence she was getting from Arthur at the Tester campaign. I went to bed close to midnight when Rosendale was leading. I had been studying the big square Montana on the New York Times' election map until my eyes were bleary, trying to tally the number and location of unreported precincts. It was reading pretty red at that point, and sadly, Kathleen Williams seemed to have already succumbed to Gianforte.
Donald Trump visited Montana four times during his campaign – no president had ever paid Montana so much mind because its population is tiny. He had wanted Tester out, not because the senator was a proud “dirt farmer” or because of his legislative record but mostly because Tester had challenged the appointment of Ronny Jackson, Trump’s own physician to head up the Veterans Administration. (A job for which Jackson was completely unqualified – Tester is active in veterans’ affairs.) Yet the people of Montana, a handful of whom my sister and I had just met, saw things differently and returned Tester to the Senate. Word of the final count came mid-morning on Wednesday. Of all the midterm victories, this one felt both personal and rewarding, despite my outsider status. My sister and I couldn’t possibly have helped that much – but along with many other volunteers, we may have won a few votes.
On my drive from Missoula to Bozeman just prior to canvassing I had detoured to Helena to see the statehouse, a majestic and imposing structure that commands a sweeping view of the Helena Valley. On the second floor, I came across a bronze statue of Jeannette Rankin, a peace activist, suffragist – a Montanan and the first woman elected to Congress - in 1916! I had missed this detail of political history on my previous visits to the state and felt heartened by the newfound knowledge. There is much more to learn about the Treasure State, I realized, and election or no, the open road would surely bring me back.
