In signs that development challenges are occurring in the
world outside of Howard County, Maryland (“perish the thought and pass the tax
abatements!”), they (an evil cabal, bien sûr) recently demolished the
building that housed the polling firm where I spent, and occasionally misspent,
many a fine hour in 1990, and again from 1992 to 1996.
I suppose the passing of Pat Caddell, former wunderkind and one-time
pollster to McGovern, Carter, and yes America’s Uncle Joe got me thinking about
that era again. Of course, it doesn’t
take much to fire up the Reminiscence Machine. I was thinking back to the
people I met there and some of the hijinks that transpired in and around those
premises. For those reading this who may
have Been There, and whose jaws are presently tightening out of disclosure
trepidation, don’t worry, your secrets remain safe with me.
So many moments populate the mind, even small, ephemeral
ones. There was the telephone
interviewer who once informed a respondent that their “apathy disgusted” his
sensibilities. I had to take him off the
phones for a while. There was another interviewer who decided to add his own
probe to the “Most important problem facing Michigan” question – whenever a
respondent said “crime,” he would follow-up with, “would that be white collar
or blue collar crime?” One day, two
unmistakably plain-clothes cops were waiting in our downstairs lobby to speak
with one of our employees. I didn’t ask
why.
There was the structured insanity of Election Day Exit
Polling. We would have interviewers
stationed at polling places throughout the state. Then, when they completed a few interviews,
they would call into our offices (using pay phones), where an interviewer
would, using pen and paper, essentially re-create the questionnaire responses
one by one, on fresh survey documents.
These would be collected by our data entry people, who punched the
numbers into an early, bootleg, DOS-based form of SPSS. I would run the numbers
and report the findings, as they rolled in, to the Company President…who would
spend the day in Detroit doing on-air commentary based on our tabulations. We did this in the 1992 presidential election
cycle and the 1994 gubernatorial election cycle. We had to rent several hulking machines
(maybe 486 model desk-tops) to handle our data entry needs in ’94. I recall running from computer to computer with
floppy disks, saving files, and aggregating the data to keep everything
together; with the chatter of 24 interviewers in close quarters bouncing off
the walls and narrow wooden partitions that separated the calling stations. It
was exhilarating chaos but our finger wasn’t just on the pulse, in those
moments, we were the pulse. And we had
precious Insights on the electorate.
Special knowledge that made us, or at least my boss, an
oracle-for-a-day.
Fueled by apple cider, Quality Dairy doughnuts, and by the
vitality of youth itself, General Election Days were heart-pounding. Of course, for some of the interviewers, it
was just another day, 1/14th of their check. For those who cared, it was a sorting day –
winners from losers, and exit polling for the media gave us an early look into
who would fall into which category. For
someone in their early 20s who aspired to a career in political polling, it was
Christmas in November.
Yet the center, as it inevitably does, fails to hold. It started to crack after
Ronna Romney lost her primary in 1994, and after the GOP Revolution of that
fall (that would have assuredly propelled Ronna to the U.S. Senate, if she
defeated Spence Abraham, which would have perhaps saved the world from his most
notorious aide, Ann Coulter, well, who knows how such things would work
out). According to the multiverse
theory, all of these events, and an infinite number of Ronnas won and lost and
never ran for anything and were never even born.
Suffice to say, 1995 was a quieter year. That building was still a home, of
sorts. But our lives were growing
detached from it. I had just earned my
Bachelors and was newly married, to my first wife, who I hired to work at that
polling firm back in ’92. She was
finishing up her undergraduate work and was looking for employment in the PR
realm. I was focused on finding a way to
get to DC, where the Action was. And
yet, “high above the Subway sub shop,” as my then-boss was wont to say, the
building stood.
When I would go back to visit East Lansing, which I did
every year or so for a while, I would go into that edifice and chat with my
former colleagues for a bit, always seeing new hires roaming the hall. Shortly after the Wars began, the office
moved, less than 200 yards away, but they vacated the spot where I spent so
many hours, printing off crosstabs on a dot matrix printer until the early
morning hours, coaxing our interviewers to “keep those dials up,” pulling
together telephone samples using pages I copied from a Bresser’s Telephone
Directory, and once, falling in love.
The funny thing is that, years after I stopped working
there, sometimes, the office door remained unlocked. Once, perhaps 10 years ago, I was able to
walk inside the long-empty office, now clearly hurtling past Condition: Ramshackle. There were some odds and ends scattered about,
a VCR box cover of Pulp Fiction was resting on the floor in the main office,
which once offered one of the best vantage points for observing the activity at
the corner of Grand River and Evergreen, a short walk away from the MSU Union. Time and the wrecking ball ended that cozy
perch.
And now, the building is gone, living only in the memories
of those who trooped up and sauntered down its steps. I believe a hotel is going to be built in the
space it occupied. I suppose we all have
such a place that stands out in our recollection, a place that fills us with a
sense of warmth, even when not all of the times experienced there were
joyous. But when we think of it, we default
to a smile.
In solidarity.