HomeFREE again - My pilgrimage to the far rockaway polls.

I am not sure what compelled me to take the nearly three-hour pilgrimage back to the Rockaways to cast my ballot today. This election day, I dressed in my casual corporate uniform: charcoal gray pin-striped suit, white spread collar French-cuffed shirt, no tie, and polished Mezlan black lace-ups w/well-defined French ticking. I eschewed Governor Cuomo's 11th hour executive order providing a reprieve for those displaced by Sandy's wicked visit to the Rockaway peninsula. The order allows residents from devastated areas, like me, to cast provisional ballots at any polling center in NY State. So why not take the easy way out? Why not walk the two short blocks in these polished shoes, just around to the south side of Washington Square park and cast my provisional ballot while chatting with the special woman who affords me the opportunity to call the Greenwich Village my temporary home? Maybe my commitment isn’t provisional. Maybe because my presence there, living in comfort, contrasts too sharply against the conditions that exist in and around my Rockaway Beach home. Or maybe it’s simply that I continue to vote, in person, no matter the conditions. I vote in part because of my desire to pay homage to those who died for this privilege, this right, this responsibility. Maybe because I wanted to feel the excitement of 2008 all over again, standing on a long line, listening to stories how this president is going to make a difference.

I commenced this pilgrimage with a book, banana, and apple in hand; heading back to an area that is more than a week without power, cell, or network services. The eastbound A train is eerily empty – had I made the right decision? Where is everybody? Lefferts Bvld, Far Rockaway, Rockaway Beach shuttle; Rockaway Parkway is major stop for the eastbound A trains. After the 10-mile trip, I wondered where are all the service change signs with the MTA trademarks were posted? Transit workers? All the confusion that service changes brings? Where are the rest of "us" making our way to the consolidated polling center in Far Rockaway? Was the MTA expecting any of the Rockaways evacuees to use the subway as a conduit to return today to vote? Yeah, I saw the Rockaway portion of the MTA recovery map; it was grayed out and grim, but still, I expected something more from the MTA on election day.

Google maps filled in what the MTA lack and helped me find my connecting bus back to the peninsula – Q53. A large group of volunteers made up half the commuters, chatting about everything but what lay ahead of them. The rest of the bus was filled with those making their way to the Rockaways to check on their home, family, and friends. The slow procession through Broad Channel offered an up-close examination and a healthy dose of speculation of how the devastation played out on the narrow strip of land. How the water vessels tried to be strangely amphibious but failed, and died on land, becoming an obstacle to terrestrial vehicles navigating the roadway. Cars abandoned and pushed aside to make room for the dump trucks and excavators dressed in sanitation skin to remove the mounds and mounds of street, beach, and household debris. Upon reaching the peninsula, the Q53 took an unexpected right turn, away from my intended destination.

My pilgrimage started in earnest as I dismounted the off-course Q53 and headed east on Beach Channel Drive towards Mott Ave some 6 miles away. Mounds of sand and debris coated the sidewalks and streets. My shiny shoes were clear evidence of my lack of preparation for this pilgrimage. I thought this might be a good time to consume half of my rations, and the banana was the first to go. Amongst all of the debris, how ironic was it for me to hold on to the skin of my consumed banana for 4 blocks until I saw an upright garbage can. I laugh at myself for at least 8 blocks until a very sobering moment when I heard a rumble behind me. I stepped far away from the street, so not to interfere with the oncoming convoy. National Guard hummers and service vehicles carrying much needed supplies to areas in and around the Rockaways. A few blocks ahead, on 95th street, I passed a relief station where hundreds of people waited in line to receive water, pb&j sandwiches, coffee, tea, and blankets. I reminded myself of the location and thought that if my apple wasn't enough, I would surely circle back for some hot tea. A few blocks farther, the formula for "handling" the residents becomes evident as it is repeated at each city-run housing complex. Heavy National Guard presence that includes food truck, water supply, charging station, clothes and blanket distribution. As I walk by this reoccurring scene, I notice a bus ahead. I kick up lots of sand running for that bus.

When I reached the bus, I realized there was no need to run. The bus was scheduled to depart in the next two minutes. I asked the driver for the route number of the bus, thinking maybe I can catch it on my way back; you often hear of the pilgrimage but seldom of the return... I planned on returning. To my absolute surprise, I had just caught the Voting Shuttle, taking residents to and from the consolidated voting center. The MTA may not have planned for displaced voters to return to the peninsula, but at least it planned for the collective participation of those who remained. At several stops, the bus paused long enough to pick up groups of enthusiastic voters, mostly elderly and mostly people of color. The conversations on the bus ranged from light and joyous to heavy-hearted. Some voters made a decision that it was important to vote first, then return to stand on the relief food line. One gentleman commented, “It’s about the long game, not the short game. Obama is here, not like Bush, we can feel his help reaching us.” Another reminded his group, “I got a full charge on my phone at the charging station." Some folks were skeptical of the services being provided by FEMA, but all seem to have the same since of prioritization summed up best by a woman who said, “I only get to do this [vote] once in every four years and I am not going to miss voting.”

We arrived at the consolidated polling station, energized and ready to vote. Surprisingly, the polling station was well staffed and I easily found my district’s check-in. While it took me nearly 3 hours to travel from the Greenwich Village to Far Rockaway Queens, it took a total of 10 minutes to pay homage to my ancestors by exercising my right to vote. My shoes are completely soiled but my soul is beyond clean.







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