Someday Al Franken will thank me with a handshake and a grimacing smile and those warm eyes that gloss over you and say, “I became a senator in spite of being comedian.”  Because of Al Franken, I drove a pink beach comber bike to Macy’s in the Woodland Hills, California rainy season from December 2008 to February 2009 for my seasonal Christmas job.  Because of one opportunity, I chose to walk two miles to a store instead of drive. I will tell you why.  
Standing in a hot, blazing sun on a crispy driveway in Reseda, California, in August 2008 at 105 degrees, my feet curdled under the hot cement as I received “the phone call.”  The DFL called, that radical organization that bred Eugene McCarthy, Paul Wellstone, and a tradition I relished from childhood.  My grandma in Chisholm had a bobble-head donkey I used to play with every summer.  My mom would say, “That’s the DFL donkey.”  
The DFL called! Getting a master’s degree in political science paid off!  I got a two-month gig in Bemidji, Minnesota, as a paid field organizer for John Persell, Collin Peterson, Al Franken, and, more loosely, Barack Obama, even though he had his own organization.  I was as excited to leave the desert as I was to smell a whiff of pine-scented northern Minnesota forests.  I felt legitimate.  I had to leave my son for two months with my trusted neighbor, Gina.  He was 10 and a 5th grader.  She had a son, too, named Blake, who was like a brother.  
I was never so excited to be part of a political campaign.  I practiced talking Louisiana like James Carville and smoothed my hair over like Cokey Roberts while I boned up on talking points and did monologues in the mirror with a pen-like microphone, as Candy Crowley would.  I never wanted to be Dana Bash, however.  I hopped the plane and waved goodbye with the intent of George Stephanopoulos but truly sincere about who I was serving.
I got to Bemidji with a few missed highway turns around Lake Mille Lacs.  Northern Minnesota was a breath of fresh air as I planted myself in the home of Lorraine Cecil, a diehard Democrat who housed many Democrats throughout the years.  My hours would be 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. seven days a week for the next 60 days.  I rented a car at the MSP airport for about a month to start out with.  
I drove into the DFL office. There was one worker slouched over with leftover pizza who was pretty much working exclusively with the local campaign, John Persell for Minnesota House of Representatives.  In another area there was a local campaign coordinator named Pam who was hoarding Franken and Obama signs for donors.  She had dark red hair, was very attractive, and seemed to know everything about everything.  The Obama signs were the hot ticket and the supply ran out every two days.  
The first few weeks were a trial.  I did not have adequate computers.  I had to order a charger for my Dell laptop, and the only local computer shop could not fill an order for two weeks.  Pam brought in an older desktop.  Every couple of days we had an auto-dial system where we linked into on our laptop.  We basically got recurring seniors on a narrow call list who said they were called three times a day by the DFL and were damn pissed.  I got a myriad of reactions in Lake Wobegon tones: “I’m voting.  You already called me.  If you call me again, I am changing my vote.”  We got single-issue voters: “I am not voting for Obama because he his pro-life.”  One lady said, “What are we going to do if Obama gets elected?  What are we going to do?” with overtones of fear.  
After a while, I found out that Pam the local may have been the campaign coordinator in title, but she was really out to control the staff at Bemidji.  I compared Collin Peterson’s support for an agricultural bill to Al Franken’s position and she became livid.  “Just read what’s on the paper,” she would say.  This became frustrating, as I had a master’s. The Farm Bill was a big deal in 2008, with a lot of consequential provisions concerning food stamps attachments and community support.  Pam did not understand, so I hit the field.  I went door to door on busy streets, remote streets, indifferent streets.  One time, I found a man with half his teeth missing and a cold beer in his hand.  He said, “I am voting for Osama bin Laden no matter what.  I support that man.”  Funny thing—he didn’t even know the difference between the two but liked them both.  
There were a few who would question me.  I had a volunteer who canvassed solely for Obama but would not canvass for Franken because he made some sexist jokes as a comedian.  Pam got livid about that and tried to stuff some Franken bumper stickers in her hand.  I connected with a leader from the Upper Red Lake reservation who was one of the DFL local officers.  He would come in regularly and we would discuss Ojibwe ways.  He said I could visit Upper Red Lake with him but not fish in certain areas.  
Overall, it was a good experience, except when I found out that Collin Peterson had briefly dated Katherine Harris from Florida.  My stomach turned in knots.  The DFL office was on a side street that some people had a hard time finding.  The Republican office was on a main, commercial street very easy to find.  One time Todd Palin came to campaign and I was tempted to go watch.  
The one downside of the election was racism.  We had a few Obama signs torched on the side of the highway and replaced with Nazi signs.  Pam’s gigantic Franken sign in her yard was destroyed.  When the OFA (Obama for America) people showed up around September 30th, there was a lot more excitement in the office.  We also got to mentor college students who helped.   
Despite the lack of supplies, the controlling coordinator, and some lack of volunteer participation during the hottest election year in decades, I felt part of a patriotic fervor I had not experienced since I worked on the Clinton campaign in Wisconsin in 1992, where Ross Perot was a major threat.  I felt like something bigger was at hand.  I did feel kind of off-guard that co-workers drank beer and smoked during campaign hours, even storing beer in the fridge.  They were fighting for health care but smoked like chimneys.  I am by no means a square Southern Baptist—Lenin is my hero.  I just thought we had to be as pristine as the Republicans with our convictions and not expose any weaknesses.  
Another highlight was John Persell, who was running for the first time in 2008 and now is the majority whip in the MN Legislature. A recent widower and a biologist, he took me under his wing. He was a man of few words and had to up his game during speeches.  He made me feel welcome in Duluth.  I also felt blessed to stay at the house of Lorraine Cecil, who housed two DFL employees for free and never asked for a penny back.  She also gave rides from the airport to people like Collin Peterson and others and served the party for over 40 years.
In the heart of my soul was the privilege to serve the long-standing party that put Minnesota on the map.  The DFL is a tradition of endless conviction to uphold the Minnesota standard of living, which has made us one of the best states in education, natural resources, affordable housing, quality of life, and caring for others who are less fortunate.  I was born in that tradition, and my mercy for the poor and discriminated against was fostered in that pride, stemming from Eugene McCarthy and his stance on the Vietnam War, from the dialect of Hubert Humphrey, from my mom’s neighbor in Chisholm, Rudy Perpich, and from the passion of Paul Wellstone.  That is why I sold my car, left my child for over a month, and came to the great northern forest to serve Al Franken.  I wanted to hold fast to that tradition the Washington community would feel by sending another non-mainstream candidate to the Senate.  
I didn’t have to suffer the long process of the Franken-Coleman vote count, but I was there for the apex of the campaign.  The best part of working for Al Franken was Al Franken.  When I shook his hand and met him, he was as real as the veins in my hand and as true of the problems I faced every day as a single parent.  Partisan politics have created bipolar cleavage in this country, but no matter where one stands on the political spectrum, we must take a leap of faith to serve, even if it presents inconveniences and sacrifice.  It is the only way a participant can know the complexity of working together to get things done in Washington.