My Dad the Flagrant Lawbreaker...NOT

I am feeling sentimental on this Election Day Eve. I just read Elizabeth Crook’s story of her dad and the dress code fiasco in San Marcos back in the 1970’s. If you have not read it, stop reading this and go here: http://www.texasmonthly.com/content/dad-vs-dress-code  Her account is not to miss if you have interest in San Marcos Texas, local politics, and citizens past and present...or even if not! She's a great writer! The story made me think of my life growing up in a family closely tied to San Marcos politics back in the 1960’s and the feelings I had when my own dad came under fire by someone trying to garner political points. My dad, Zeb Fitzgerald, served as Democratic Party County Chairman for all my childhood years. This position is really a thankless job that he did because he did have an interest in politics and because people urged him to take the position. One thing it involved back then was driving around to all the Hays County communities and posting election notices with voting information before an election. I would invariably be relegated to the back seat with Mom and Dad up front. My brother was deemed old enough to stay home by himself. Our trip would take all afternoon, usually a Sunday after church. We’d stop in Wimberley, Fisher Store, Driftwood, Dripping Springs, Kyle, etc. and Dad would get out and nail up a notice in the appointed place. I can remember feeling bored and put upon but also a little proud that WE were the ones getting people out to vote. We also ran the elections, with Dad and Mom both working all day at the main polling location, which was the little white frame library next to the First Baptist Church. Bill and I would be there to run errands or help out in any way we could. Also, of course, there was the huge treat of spending a whole day in the library. Then when the polls closed we would gather up Grandmother Fitzgerald and a picnic supper and head for the courthouse where the returns would be posted when each box came in. We got to watch the pollsters walk in with their important looking metal ballot boxes. When someone came out and updated results on the big chalkboard, people would cheer for their favored candidates. I loved election days from start to finish! And it seems to me that we were always happy with the results. Of course back then the Democrats were virtually the only party in San Marcos and we did not pay much attention to the Republicans. I don’t even know where they posted their results. Probably at the same board but they were, in our minds anyway, insignificant.

Politics were always supper table conversation at our house. I was interested in who was running for what office, starting at the local level and going on up. Mom and Dad would talk about the relative merits of candidates and whom they liked. In the days leading up to the election I would be given an official job to do. I was the person who sharpened the pencils that would be used for voting. We always used boxes of pencils provided by one of the companies Dad did business with. They came in cardboard boxes, one gross per box. Dad would give me a serious talk about my responsibility. “Remember,” he would say, “These pencils will be used for VOTING. It’s important that every point is nice and sharp.” I would sit on a stool and turn the crank of our pencil sharpener, which was just like those we used in school. My hands would grow black from the graphite. I would get tired. But I always kept going; feeling like my job was terribly vital. Dad paid me a dollar a box, but I would have done it for free.  On Election Day I would have a little thrill when I saw people pick up MY pencils and go to the booths to vote.

One afternoon when I was in my early teens, my mother pulled me and my brother aside for a serious talk. I think I was in 5^th grade. She said she needed for us to read something and produced a printed sheet of paper, half of a letter size piece. It was a notice criticizing my father. It said that Dad was trying to take control of San Marcos politics with a possible eye to seeking a higher office. The notice stated that the fact that he was serving on a state water board and also holding the Democratic Chair position proved he was grasping greedily for power. It went on to say he was “flagrantly” breaking the law. These flyers had been put on car windshields all around the square including the cars in front of Dad’s office at Hays County Title Company. They were all over the place and the same notice was in the San Marcos Record that week. Mom said she wanted us to hear about this notice from her and not from someone at school. She said kids might make fun of us. I was incensed! These things were not true! I wanted Dad to publicly speak out and clear his name. At supper that night he made light of the situation, saying he did not realize he smelled bad. My brother had looked up FLAGRANT and quickly told him the meaning, to which Dad said well, I thought it was like FRAGRANT. He told us to forget about the whole thing, and that he was dropping out of the race.

What? No more pencil sharpening? How would people vote? They would probably have to use dull pencils. I was the best pencil sharpener in county history, Dad assured me. Frankly I still believe that is true! I sharpened those pencils with love…love of my country and of Texas. Dad wanted to keep his other position, which was a membership on the GBRA, Guadalupe Blanco River Authority, and he did not want a hint of impropriety. He had accepted this appointment from his friend Governor Price Daniel, and it meant a lot to him because of his lifelong concern about water conservation. “But if you quit people will think you are guilty of something!” Bill and I protested Predictably Dad said he didn’t care what people thought and we shouldn’t either. I actually did get a couple of remarks from kids at school about my dad, to which I directed a tirade that was probably more than they bargained for. The whole thing was over in a few days except that I had sad and angry feelings about it for years. The man who had circulated the flyers was running for county chairman himself. It was the first time Dad had ever been opposed. The truth of the matter was that this man, not Dad, wanted a future in local politics and wanted to get his name out. I don’t remember if he succeeded or not. We still went down to the courthouse on election nights, and Mom and Dad still went to precinct meetings, taking me with them when I got older. I got to cast my first vote, for Adlai Stevenson, in that little white frame library which was torn down soon after that to make way for the town library. Now it’s a commercial property. There’s no trace of the little green shuttered house or of the mysterious grave covered with shells that was right on the corner next to it.

What is my takeaway from all this? Well, I learned that politics can be mean and dirty, and that this has always been true. Dad’s reaction showed me that a sense of humor is a valuable quality when times are tough. But my biggest lessons go all the way back to the years Mom and Dad served. Voting is important, even sacred. Everyone should be treated with honor and respect when voting. We should care about our government from the local level on up to the highest office in the land. We should respect our leaders, and especially our President, whether we like him or not. When Eisenhower was elected, Dad was the first to say he was a good man and brave soldier and that he would be a good president. I never heard him say a bad word about any candidate, not even the man who wanted and won his thankless job as county chairman. So thanks Dad, and you too Mom, for showing us how real patriots act. I miss you and I miss those days.