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Porch Politics
Going door to door with Araminta Hawkins.
Story and photos by Nate Puckett

It's a bright, crisp Sunday afternoon in north Eugene, and Araminta Hawkins has on her walking shoes. The Democratic Party candidate for state representative is tracking down registered voters, one front door at a time.

"I usually remember to bring a bag of dog biscuits," says Hawkins as she bounds up some front porch steps with practiced ease. "To some people, those are their children."

Yes, she has all the angles covered. Hoping to represent the newly created House District 14 — which encompasses the Bethel area, Junction City, and parts of north and west Eugene — Hawkins exudes the grounded confidence of the valedictorian who studied for the art final, just in case.

She has knocked on a lot of doors lately.

"I don't know how often people have asked me if I'm a Jehovah's Witness," she laughs in between houses. "There's really no graceful way to answer that."

Going door-to-door may seem archaic in this impersonal age of tinted windows and mass media conglomerates, an act better suited to Fuller Brush salesmen in straw hats or earnest Mormons.1 But Hawkins believes it's the best way to garner support.

So she is cheerfully optimistic as she works her way down the street, shaking hands with whoever happens to be home and leaving a note for anyone who isn't. A string of no-shows leaves her unfazed.

Earlier, she had parked her white minivan in front of a house with a sign prominently mounted in the front window:

NO SOLICITORS
SALESMEN
OR
RELIGIOUS ADVOCATES

Omens be damned; this is a good place to park.

The candidate gathers her stack of pro-Araminta literature, makes sure she has her backup pen and hits the asphalt. The sign-sporting house doesn't shelter any registered voters; Hawkins knows this because she is armed with a detailed list of names and addresses provided by the Democratic Party. The list rests in her clipboard like a sacred text: referred to often, adhered to faithfully.

The list says the sign-sporting house doesn't exist. For the purposes of getting elected, it doesn't — and even though Hawkins insists her walks are designed to gather feedback, not just votes, from potential constituents, she also knows there are plenty of doors with voters behind them. In her experience, most of them have something they'll want to talk about. There's feedback, and then there's Feedback.

"I do get wonderful surprises, all the time," she says. "Meeting so many people around here, you really learn what their concerns are … but you can never assume you know where someone stands. They'll surprise you."

Regardless of whether or not a registered voter surprises Hawkins, she notes what their concerns are, using a personal shorthand she's developed since she began canvassing the district in April. When she gets home, she often writes follow-up notes to residents, outlining her approach to the issues they mentioned. She even has a rating system, on a scale of one to five ("Four means they're getting a little cranky"), indicating how supportive each person seems to be. It all adds up to about 40 hours of work during "slow weeks" and as many as 80 in the crunch.

And, yes, she has a day job.2

"You have to earn the right to represent the community," says Hawkins. "You can never assume you're entitled to such an important job. You have to earn it, and that's what I'm doing."

Journalists, however, are another story — they can spend a few hours following a candidate around and then, with a straight face, submit the Complete Profile. And readers have it even easier, because instead of an exhaustive breakdown that faithfully conveys the hard-labor, toil-and-drudgery aspect of any serious campaign, they get the game show treatment: three illustrative accounts of Araminta Hawkins' thousands-of-doors odyssey.

Let's play!

TRAINSONG NEIGHBORHOOD BLACKSMITH CONRAD HODSON MANS HIS RETIREMENT PROJECT.

 

Door Number One
The Trainsong neighborhood near Highway 99 seems to specialize in front-yard clutter. Half-fixed machinery abounds, although the cumulative result is one of personality rather than trashiness. A faceless suburb this ain't, and Hawkins appears to relish finding a path to each front door.

One house has what nautical experts refer to as a "big-ass boat" occupying most of the front yard. A smaller vehicle with four wheels and a "Thank You For Not Breeding" bumper sticker completes the ensemble. Hawkins locates the entrance, knocks, and a bearded man with a "Squash the State" T-shirt opens the door.

This, it turns out, is Conrad Hodson, a local blacksmith (true) who professes his admiration for Hawkins' endurance.

"Going door-to-door, man, that's a bitch of a job," he says before agreeing to pose for a picture in his someday-to-be-complete boat. His wife chats with Hawkins as he surveys the neighborhood from his deck.

Hawkins' signature question, the one she makes sure to ask every voter she comes across, is: What one issue would you like to see me concentrate on if I'm elected? When she asks Hodson, he grins at her like a man who knows he's got something unexpected up his sleeve.

"I would like to see a substantial tax increase," he says. They both break into laughter; even though Hodson is serious, both voter and candidate recognize the singularity of such an interaction.

"I don't hear that one very often," says Hawkins. She departs a few minutes later, having heard the skipper-to-be's spiel on tax whiners and budget shortfalls. No promise of a tax hike was made, but hey, you can't please everybody.

 

Door Number Two
This porch is capital-R Ramshackle. Part of it is covered; Hawkins knocks on the outermost door. Immediately, a dog starts barking. It sounds like a big, mean dog, and combined with the house's peeling paint, blackberry-bushed front yard, and general aforementioned capital-R-ness, the scene is not one of harmonious reception.

After a long lapse, the door swings open and a tall, grizzled man walks out.

The dog is on his heels; he picks it up. It is not a big dog; it is actually kind of cute, in a very loud sort of way. Hawkins introduces herself; if she felt any reservations about this address she gives no indication. There is, after all, a lot of work to be done, and this house is a tiny portion of that work, and she's going to do it right now.

Yes, those were her fliers she sent earlier. Yes, she will be at the upcoming neighborhood meeting. Yes, yes, yes.

ARAMINTA HAWKINS, CAMPAIGN MANAGER SHAKTI HAWKINS (NO RELATION), AND OREGON NURSES ASSOCIATION REPRESENTATIVE MARTIN TAYLOR.

Then the signature question: What one issue would you …

Immediately, the man launches into a detailed and convoluted tale involving a run-in with the police. He carries a pistol all the time, you see, but he has a concealed weapons permit, but they don't care if he does, and his friend got pepper-sprayed. This continues for some while.

Hawkins can't get in much of a response; this registered voter has hit his narrative stride — when he tried to file an official complaint, you see, they wouldn't take one — so she just listens and makes sympathetic murmuring sounds. Eventually, they agree that what the man wants is some sort of citizen oversight of the Sheriff's Department.

But Hawkins is in no hurry to make an escape. "I think I know your daughter," she says, looking at her list, and indeed she does. The man is pleased. The dog has finally grown quiet. The candidate, unfazed to the core, departs amiably, making sure not to step on any of the junk surrounding the house.

 

Door Number Three
… is answered by a little boy who can't be older than four years. A television blares in the background. More residents cluster around the front door.

A slightly older, more solemn child watches Hawkins introduce herself; she takes care to say hello to the kids as well. One of the adults takes a flier.

Not all members of the household appear to speak English fluently, but Hawkins is content to smile and offer fliers and watch the children, who are fun to watch — they are not the brand of screechy spawn a candidate has to pretend s/he finds adorable. Inside, the house seems a little harried, even chaotic, and it's a while before Hawkins can find someone to spring the What one issue question on.

When she asks a middle-aged woman, a profoundly depressing result occurs. The woman can't come up with anything. She doesn't know what she wants, but her general demeanor suggests she is far from content with the current state of affairs.

"Mom," she calls into the other room, "what do you want 'em to work on? Up in Salem?"

"I want those," the smaller child burbles, smiling, toddling toward some cigarette butts off to the side of the porch. No one notices. He doesn't care if, as some members of the press insist on informing him, the butts are icky. He grins. He'll wait for some other chance.

Eventually, a consensus emerges from within: health care.3 This house wants Araminta Hawkins, candidate for state representative, House District 14, to focus on health care. She says no problem.

 

Final Round
Nov. 5 will mark the end of Hawkins' walk-a-thon, one way or another. It's a true fire vs. frying-pan scenario: She'll either lose to Republican Pat Farr in a hard-fought race, or be put to work on a budget crunch that has grown both contentious and unwieldly.

Not that she sees it that way. Although she's never run for public office, Hawkins has led campaigns for five different school funding measures out of her own home. She is determined to make a difference in her neighborhood; she's looking forward to increasing her impact.

"I have this hopefulness," she says. "I'm used to dealing with big budgets, with spending other people's money … fiscally, I'm really conservative. I'll do just fine."

Then she takes a look at her clipboard, scans a few houses ahead and picks up the pace just a little.    


1 And, yes, the Jehovah's Witnesses. Wouldn't want to lump all our religious marketeers together. [BACK]

2 Administrator at Sacred Heart Medical Center, the same hospital in which she was born. [BACK]

3 This issue and "education" are the two most common responses Hawkins has received. [BACK]

 

 

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