The true makings of a good Democrat

The other evening I was slowly navigating my way around those irritating construction sawhorses that have suddenly infected Roselle Road.

I was on my way to a political meeting and since I had plenty of time, my mind began to wander a bit.

I asked myself, "What makes a good Democrat?"

I had a few ready-made answers, but none seemed to stand up. I said, "Well, you're 85 years old. Surely that stands for something?" But then I realized that didn't mean very much.

Well, I was one of only two Hoffman Estate pioneer originals, but that didn't seem to mean anything either.

Well, I said, "You are a veteran and belong to a veteran's organization," but there are millions of guys like that and most of them aren't Democrats anyway.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me.

The year was 1944 - 64 years ago almost to the day. I was lying in a rain forest swamp at the foot of the Owen Stanley Mountains in New Guinea.

Then, suddenly a lone gaunt, ragged trooper staggered into our midst carrying a bag. Of food, we all hoped.

But no, not this day. It was a bag of mail from home. I never got many letters over there, but I did get this one.

It was from my pop. Now Pop never wrote very much. He was too busy on the farm doing the chores that his two Army sons had helped him with before.

Pop wrote a short note explaining he was sending me an overseas ballot for the upcoming presidential election. I had just turned 21 and now I could vote. I think one of the candidates was a guy named Tom Dewey.

There were tears in my eyes as I carefully filled out the ballot, for as we all knew, I was asking a dying man to continue to lead us.

I don't know whether the mail ever got back through. I don't know if my vote counted, but as I finally parked my car that night, I though to myself, "Yeah man, that makes real Democrat.

Joseph Russell Vannier

Hoffman Estates