Inconclusive blog.

Election night, and I think back to watching black-and-white numbers on mechanical drums on TV rotating a little like they used to do at gas pumps (but slower), tallying the state totals in the 1968 election. At seven, I had only the vaguest notion of what was going on, something like Lilly now. Later, I got the distinct impression that Mrs. Vest, one of my teachers, wasn’t too happy when she said that we would soon be saying “President Nixon” instead of “President Johnson.”

There have been breathless reports of long voting lines around the country, but here in suburban Cook County, at least my corner of it, I only had to wait about a minute to use the voting machine, this morning at about 7:30. A fair number of people were there, but not a teeming multitude eager to exercise their franchise. No one had bothered to put up campaign signs just outside x number of feet from the polling place, either. There was only a temporary sign hanging on the school door designating it a polling place.

Bedtime and still no conclusion, just like 2000, and like the elections before when – 1968? – when the nation had to wait till the next morning at least in really close races. It’s better that way, except for those that have to fill in the airtime from now till morning,