‘92 SAN GABRIEL VALLEY ELECTIONS : A Day at the Races : Ordinary People Plunge into the Political Process With Extraordinary Gusto

In an outpouring of voting fervor that exceeded the usual quadrennial march to the polls, thousands of San Gabriel Valley voters got involved on Election Day.

They electioneered, they partied, they compared notes and, according to some polling inspectors, they voted--in greater than usual numbers.

There was widespread Clinton-mania in the region, a dab or two of Perot-noia and some sorrowful breast-beating by Bush supporters.

And as the moment of truth neared, the political process in the region seemed to be taken over by ordinary people. Flashy political consultants and handlers were hard to find in the San Gabriel Valley on Tuesday.

“This year we have had more volunteers than we’ve had in 20 years,” said Bill Christensen, aide to State Sen. Newton Russell (R-Glendale). And, like those in other campaigns, many of them are new to politics, Christensen added.

Though the turnout of Los Angeles County’s registered voters lagged slightly behind that of 1988, key polling places in the San Gabriel Valley were absorbing waves of highly motivated voters on Tuesday, inspectors said.

There were even lines of waiting voters at some polling places, especially in the early morning and in the evening. First-time voters, some of them well into middle-age, were requesting assistance from inspectors, and veterans waited patiently for their turn.

Many of the San Gabriel Valley voters were driven by what they perceived as hard times.

“We feel it,” said Nadine Carter, emerging from a voting booth in the Jackie Robinson Center in Northwest Pasadena. “Do we ever. Even working people. Rents are going up. It’s hellacious out there.”

As the first projections of a Clinton victory were televised, volunteers spilled out of the Democratic Headquarters in Old Pasadena onto Raymond Avenue and staged something akin to a New Year’s party.

They hugged each other, waved at passing cars and a few of them danced the “electric slide”--a slow, twirling dance, to the beat of a rap record. Then they returned to the storefront headquarters to laugh raucously at a television broadcast of Bush’s and Quayle’s concession speeches, singing: Nah-nah-NAH-nah . Nah-nah-NAH-nah. Hey hey hey , goodby.

For Clinton supporters, it was the perfect cap to a day which had begun in uncertainty hours before. For the losers, it was a time to search for silver linings.

Election Day had started the night before for Dee Dee Joe.

The Democratic headquarters in Old Town Pasadena was buzzing, and people turned to Joe, the volunteer coordinator, for guidance: What about this precinct? What about this voter? What about that coffee?

Joe, a youthful-looking 41-year-old, put out fires all night, always with smiles and hugs. She stumbled home about 1:30 a.m., caught a late-night election special and woke up about 6 a.m.

“This is a good day for voting,” she told herself, when she saw the sunshine outside.

There was no time for breakfast or the morning news. Joe threw on a sweater and some jeans and ran next door.

“You guys remember to vote?” she asked her neighbors.

Then it was her turn, so Joe hopped into her ’76 Honda Civic (“Zippy, the Wonder Honda”) and drove to her polling place at a Pasadena church. It was 7:15 a.m., and there was a 45-minute wait.

“I think we’re gonna kick butt today,” she thought.

It’s only early afternoon, and already the message board at the Democratic headquarters reads: “Bill’s new address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Polls close at 8 o’clock--we’ll be partying in the streets at 8:05,” volunteer coordinator Joe says.

“Either that or mass suicide,” another volunteer joked.

Spirits are high. Phones are ringing, dozens of volunteers and curiosity seekers are milling about the office, and the din is so loud that people shout to be heard. Volunteers haul five cases of soft drinks into the office, call voters to make sure they went to the polls and attach rubber bands to last-minute door fliers.

Volunteers at the Democratic headquarters were selling 17 different Clinton-Gore buttons. The most popular: a rectangular-shaped button with a color picture of a saxophone-blowing, sunglasses-wearing Clinton that says, “Blow, Bill, blow.” That pin sold out early in the morning.

At 1:30 p.m. Mary Westerlund, 46, was making her second trip to the headquarters. She went earlier in the day and picked up four buttons, including the “Blow, Bill, blow” one. She pinned all four buttons on her cable knit sweater and went into work at the public affairs office of Kaiser Permanente in Pasadena.

Her co-workers bugged her so much that she returned, with a shopping list with their requests for more buttons.

“This is the first election I’ve been excited about since Kennedy,” Westerlund said.

At 1 p.m., the Green Party headquarters and the Perot headquarters in Old Town Pasadena were empty.

An hour later, a woman in a Perot T-shirt appeared outside the Perot headquarters on North Raymond Avenue with two small boys.

“I’m a Perot supporter,” she said. “I’m just here.”

But when pressed about why the office was closed and why she was the only one there, she turned hostile.

“What are you going to write?” she demanded, peering at a reporter’s notebook. “That no one is at Perot headquarters?”

When asked whether other people were expected, she said, tight-lipped, “I have no data. I have no information.”

The woman refused to identify herself.

“I’m nobody,” she said in shrill tones. “You may not write that. YOU MAY NOT WRITE THAT!”

The Green Party Headquarters in Old Town Pasadena were empty until about 2:30 p.m., when Jesse Moorman, the party’s candidate for Congress, showed up in khakis, a forest-green work shirt and floppy hat.

“We’re not in any frantic mood of getting out the last few votes,” said Moorman, who spoke in slow, measured tones.

The office included a table full of brochures and a desk. The floor is concrete, and the ceiling is exposed, with wooden beams and pipes above, and fluorescent lights dangling from above with wires.

Moorman said he was out all day, talking to voters and handing out pamphlets. Voters told him they voted for him or intend to vote for him, Moorman said.

“I have no polling data,” said Moorman, 45. “I don’t know what percentage of the vote I’m gong to get, but it’s been very encouraging.”

At the Alhambra headquarters of Republican 49th Assembly district candidate Sophie Wong, a tiny woman who would only identify herself as Dora left to drive an elderly Chinese woman to the polls. Dora said she is not yet a citizen, but is eager to participate in the political process. She says she knew Wong’s father in Hong Kong.

As she drives her Subaru station wagon through the suburbs of Alhambra, she is barely visible over the dashboard. Arriving at a Mrs. Tam’s home, Dora introduces herself with a burst of Cantonese.

Mrs. Tam is a first time voter and speaks little English, so Dora encourages her and translates as Charlotte Phelps whose living room has become the polling place for the neighborhood, explains the how to fill out the ballot. As Mrs. Tam heads to vote, Dora calls out in Cantonese, reminding her to vote for Bush.

Less than a minute later, Tam emerges from the booth and smiles when Phelps hands her the stub from her ballot.

It’s a little after 1:30 p.m. and there’s a lull at the Democratic campaign office in Pico Rivera. The hour is still too early for election returns, so half of the ten volunteers listlessly tune into talk show host Sally Jesse Raphael as she interviews brides with horror wedding tales.

“If I had a little sofa, I’d lie down,” says Louvenia Ortega, who sits at a desk behind portable partitions in the back of the office.

Ortega, 50, a bankruptcy attorney, is wears a Clinton-Gore T-shirt, sweat pants and running shoes. She has been at campaign headquarters since 7:30 a.m. to answer calls and field legal questions about polling places and voting procedures. She will stay until after the polls close at 8 p.m.

The night before, she worked on the Clinton-Gore campaign until 10 p.m. in her City of Industry law office--converted temporarily into a Democratic phone bank--and then watched televised Democratic presidential rallies until 2 a.m.

Ortega’s first-time political fervor was initially sparked by independent presidential candidate Ross Perot.

“I got hundreds of supporters for that jug-eared little weasel,” Ortega says regretfully. But when the Texas billionaire deserted his campaign in July, Ortega switched to the Democrats.

“Without Perot, Clinton wouldn’t have had that many volunteers,” Ortega says. “Perot brought out the indifferent, like myself. I’m grateful for that.”

The phone rings and Ortega leans forward to answer it.

“OK, the polls are open until eight at night,” she says. “Yes, today’s the only day.”

Manuel Maldonado, one of phone workers in a small room in La Puente, switches smoothly between Spanish and English as he works the phones for state assembly candidate Hilda Solis at 3 p.m.

“Buenos tardes, “ he begins one call. Then, realizing his caller speaks English, he changes gears and launches into the English version of his get-out-the-vote pitch.

A grocery store manager with five children, Maldonado, 39, took the day off to remind voters in the mainly Latino assembly district to cast their ballots for the neighborhood politician, Solis.

“We come from the same high school, La Puente,” Maldonado says proudly of Rio Hondo school board member Solis.

A community activist and past unsuccessful school board candidate himself, Maldonado knows how to work the phones. But he says he’s surprised this time by the response he’s getting.

“This is the first time I’ve had more Spanish speakers say they’re going to vote,” he said. “People who speak broken English are saying they already voted or they voted on their lunch time or they’re going to vote later.

“It makes me feel very proud,” he added. “We’re getting more representation from Latinos.”

There was a sense of retribution among many of the black voters in Pasadena. “Most people saw the President as the big white man sitting in a chair deciding who gets what,” said Patrick Williams, a partner in a landscaping business. “It was like, ‘You get this much, he gets that much and that much goes to China.’ That’s the way people look at it.”

Black voters are tired of that, he added. “People like us run out of food at the end of the month,” he said. “George Bush . . . I bet he doesn’t miss a meal in all 31 days of the month.”

This year is different, Williams said. “The majority (of voters) are getting out because we’re tired of being oppressed,” he said. “They want their voices to be heard in the system.”

On Tuesday afternoon Ron Gonzales, 44, a long-time Democrat, found himself doing something he never would have imagined.

“Never. Not in a million years,” he said.

The self-employed educational consultant was walking precincts in Pasadena, urging Republican voters to go to the polls.

Gonzales, a San Marino resident, said he believes in the Democratic platform and the ideals of the party. But he said he just could not bring himself to support Bill Clinton.

“I took a real good look at Clinton and the whole situation with his wife and his mistress,” Gonzales said. “For me, the bottom line was the character issue. I think we need a leader with character.”

Gonzales said he would have voted for Perot, but he was convinced that the maverick independent had virtually no chance of winning. So, on the last day of the long contest for the Oval Office, Gonzales hung fliers on doors of GOP voters to remind them to vote for Bush.

“I feel like I betrayed the (Democratic) party to a certain extent,” he said. “But I feel I’ve been true to my conscience. Clinton bothered my conscience.”

Twilight is starting and state Assembly candidate Hilda Solis is getting antsy.

She’s been up since 6:30 a.m. holding what she calls “human signs” near freeway on-ramps. Since 9 a.m., she’s been at her La Puente headquarters making phone calls. Now, at 4:30 p.m. she’s waiting to be interviewed on a live Spanish-language station news broadcast.

But what she’d rather be doing is caravaning in the back of a convertible to her mother’s nearby house in a mini candidate parade.

Finally, the interview over, Solis is free. Wearing jeans and white athletic shoes, she climbs eagerly into the back of a convertible beside 18-year-old Andre Aparicio.

The car, adorned with green-and-yellow Solis campaign signs and balloons, takes off with four others, equally adorned and horns honking.

On the sidewalk in front of her house on Hutchcroft Street in La Puente, Ana Medina blows a whistle in support as the Solis caravan drives past at 5 p.m.

A Mexican immigrant from Etzatlan, a small town near Guadalajara, Medina, 40, can’t vote. After more than 20 years in the United States, she and her husband Rodolfo, need to take the immigration exam before they can become citizens.

“When you’re from Mexico and you’re proud of where you’re from, you don’t want to let go of your heritage,” Rodolfo explains.

“But when the kids get older and you realize you’re not going back to Mexico, you think, you might as well go vote,” Ana Medina says. “A lot of people in our generation are like that. They’re becoming citizens after 20 years here.”

Right now, only their oldest daughter, Ana, can vote. But next year, when her twin daughter and son turn 18, and she and her husband become citizens, the Medina household will have five voters.

“I don’t want to miss another election,” Ana Medina said. “I’m very excited with all the things going on here.”

Ramiro Wong, 42, dressed in shorts and flip-flops, is washing his truck as the Solis caravan passes his house on Temple Avenue in La Puente.

“It’s cute. Good initiative on their part,” says the federal investigator for the division of alcohol, tobacco and firearms.

But the effort won’t affect Wong. He hasn’t voted since he moved from Texas four years ago.

“I’m not a registered voter. I just never have been inspired,” Wong says.

Then, as an afterthought, he admits, “To be honest, I think it’s because I don’t want to be on jury duty.”

Although he calls his wife “a religious voter,” Wong said she never chastises him for failing to vote.

He ambles back inside his house and says he will probably watch the night’s election results “out of curiosity.”

Volunteers at Pasadena’s Republican Headquarters on Lake Avenue briefly suspended their duties to persuade last-minute voter Frank Alongi, that he should vote for President Bush.

“I’m on my way to the polls,” Alongi, a resident of Sylmar, said. “I still haven’t decided on which presidential candidate to vote for. I came in here to see if these ladies could convince me to make a decision.”

Ann Edmonston, the headquarter’s volunteer coordinator, quickly spotted the opening and jumped in:

“Bush is the only option,” she told Alongi.

“I know I have to pick one,” Alongi said. “If I vote for Bush, the main reason will be that he can handle a flare-up in the world. But as far as the economy, I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you can blame Bush for the economy,” Patti Husk, of Pasadena resident who joined the circle around the undecided voter, piped up. “The recession is happening all over the world.”

“If Bush gets in for another four years,” Alongi said, “I want to know what’s going to give him incentive to improve things? He knows he can’t run again.”

After finally convincing their mid-morning visitor to vote for Bush, Stone--who said she has supported conservative causes for 30 years--went back to answering phones and connecting volunteer drivers with people needing rides to the polls.

Husk said this was the first time she had gotten involved in a political campaign.

“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have any right to complain if you’re not involved,” she said. “I love Bush. I want to see our country grow out of this problem (the recession) and I don’t think Clinton is capable of bringing us out.”

“People have a lot of questions,” Husk added. “They’re even calling up to find out some basic information about voting. It feels good to be able to help them.”

A gaggle of Clinton supporters hugged the bar at the Old Towne Pub in Pasadena, merrily watching the televised returns. Bush had forgotten about working people, they all agreed. “The man never finished a sentence,” said Lynne Finnell, the assistant manager of an Old Town gift store. “All he put out were buzz words.”

Mark Claussen, a furniture company representative, shushed his friends. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he said. “Ross Perot is getting ready to make an announcement. He’s just bought the country.”

“He’s paid off the national debt,” said Beryl Druker, a high school teacher.

Perot appeared on the television screen with a spirited concession speech. “I don’t know,” said Druker, a tall, slender woman. “I couldn’t vote for anybody half my size.”

“Aw, his ears are wider than your shoulders,” said musician Scott Finnell.

For an election night, the pace is surprisingly slow at 6 p.m. in the South El Monte studios of North American Television Center.

The Chinese language station, which boasts an audience of 1 million nationwide, is broadcasting Chinese music videos, while station reporters monitor election results from the East Coast.

Occasionally, reporter Ann Hu positions herself in front of the camera. She carefully places her hands to disguise the Teleprompter controls and reads off the Chinese characters as she broadcasts an update.

When Democratic party worker Allan Chou, 29, drops by in his jeans and black Clinton T-shirt, he is promptly ushered in front of a camera for an impromptu interview.

Chou, a Diamond Bar native, speaks fluent Mandarin. His interviewer, Shirley Lin, speaks both Mandarin and Cantonese. She is well known in the Chinese American community as the “Cantonese Queen” for her skill in Chinese dancing.

“When you talk about global communications, this is it,” Chou enthuses. “The interview you do here goes back to Taiwan.”

The Democrats used the station to air seven Clinton commercials and broadcast a 30-minute “infomercial,” that was translated into Chinese by the station staff.

“The Republicans didn’t even think of it,” Chou says, before he heads off to a Monterey Park victory party.

Late Tuesday, phones were still ringing at Republican Assembly candidate Bill Hoge’s headquarters in Pasadena. Cecil Dougherty, a Pasadena conservative, sat dialing numbers from a list of registered voters who hadn’t made it to the polls by mid-afternoon.

Dougherty said her effort in this year’s 44th Assembly race was part of a long-time commitment to political activism.

In past local and state elections, Dougherty said she has managed phone banks and gone door-to-door leafleting voters for the GOP cause. She also supervised 200 volunteers in one local assembly race.

“It takes determination,” Dougherty said. “We have a good number of college students and other young people involved in this race and that warms my heart.”

The formula she uses to keep an office of volunteers keen about their work, Dougherty said, is simple: “You have to keep in mind that these people aren’t paid,” she said. “It takes patience, but you just make it sound as important to them as it is to you.

Dougherty said she doesn’t believe it is enough in any election to simply cast a vote.

“I feel very strongly about my children’s heritage,” she said. “My generation has to leave things as great as possible for them. If we don’t participate in politics, who will?”

Times Staff Writers Timothy Chou, Denise Hamilton, Christopher Heredia, Amy Kazmin, Alicia Di Rado, Renee Tawa and Vicki Torres contributed to this story.