It’s a Clean Sweep Before the Polls Even Open

For Dick Mahlke, it was a typical election Tuesday at home.

This time, he invited 591 of his closest neighbors. By midafternoon, more than 125 had dropped by his garage, punching their way through ballot forms A to E, inclusive.

A few were solemn I’m-here-to-exercise-my-franchise types, but most were more genial than that--just the kind of people you’d enjoy passing a few minutes with after they’ve done the heavy lifting democracy requires.

“There’s a problem with this ballot,” said retired aerospace technician Jerry Thompson as he emerged from one of four booths and handed in his forms.

What’s that?

“It’s full of holes.”

That’s how it’s gone for 34 years, ever since folks started casting their votes at the Mahlke residence on North Dwight Avenue in Camarillo. In those days, more homes were used as polling places, but now Ventura County has just two--Mahlke’s and another in Simi Valley.

“That was before there was much out here,” Mahlke said. “Someone from the county approached Rhoda [my wife] about it. They needed a polling place and we were it.”

Before long, subdivisions, schools and public libraries sprang up on the orchards around them. The Mahlkes could have slammed their garage door shut and forced the county to find another polling place, but they liked their neighbors and they liked being neighborly.

So, for just about every election since Ronald Reagan swept the governorship from Pat Brown, the door has stayed open and the Mahlkes’ fellow citizens have trooped in.

In those days, Rhoda--as highly organized as the librarian she was--ran the show. Dick worked for the Pleasant Valley schools, eventually retiring as principal of Los Nogales Elementary School just down the road.

“On election day, I get former students in here,” he said, still marveling that the tykes who devoured “Green Eggs and Ham” are now knitting their eyebrows over impenetrable bond measures and new ways to apply the death penalty.

Lynne Schmidt, a teacher at Oxnard High School, could barely conceive of voting anywhere else. Mahlke was principal of Los Nogales when her kids, now attending college, went there. He also volunteers in the church her husband attends. And they’ve been neighbors for three decades.

“This is the only place I’ve voted for most of my adult life,”she said. “We don’t even look up where we have to go. We just assume this is it.”

Voters on Tuesday chatted with Mahlke and the three other poll workers in his garage about all kinds of things: kids, schools, who’s moving where. Occasionally, someone would wax political.

“Dave and I have decided that I’ll vote for his Democrat and he’ll vote for my Republican,” one woman volunteered cryptically. “That’s how we’ll get around this open-primary thing.”

Mahlke and his fellow workers--Janice Alvarado, Linda Atrops and Abas Zadeh--kept their own counsel, alert to rules against saying or doing anything that could influence voters.

Earlier, a small plane had flown by with a banner that said: “Vote for Mike Morgan!” What’s it say? someone asked.

“Vote for Mike Morgan,” Mahlke said as he gazed up at the sky.

Immediately, he felt compelled to pitch Morgan’s opponent for county supervisor in exactly the same volume, pitch and level of perceptible enthusiasm: “Vote for Kathy Long . . . “

Since the cul-de-sac polling place opened for business in 1966, only one problem voter has come along.

“He wanted his ballot back after he’d handed it in,” Mahlke said. “He said he’d made a mistake. He insisted. He was raising his voice. But Rhoda held her ground, just the way she was trained.”

Four years ago, Rhoda died during a kidney transplant.

Still, Mahlke keeps going.

Three times a week, he meets old pals for coffee.

“It’s a kind of support group,” he said. “They know where the deals are for Tide.” He does his volunteer work, travels, putters. In his garage, wrenches hang on a wall, just so. There are dozens of jars for nails, screws, nuts and what-nots. Rolled-up rugs, plastic jugs of lawn-mower oil, dozens of labeled cardboard boxes all have their place on crammed wooden shelves.

Mahlke gets $25 for the use of his house each election day. The day is tedious, long, and, on Tuesday, cold.

But when the four booths are filled you can hear a sound something like a couple of cats thumping around in a tin pail. It’s the glorious dissonance of democracy in action, but Mahlke says that’s not the best part of his election duty.

“The best part is that the county actually pays me to clean my garage,” he said.

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Steve Chawkins can be reached at 653-7