Kathi Kinnear Hill - But I Just Might

 

It was Kansas City, Kansas, the year 2012. It was the reelection campaign for President Barack Obama. I was working it. One wonderful day, I walked into the office and, I'm not going to lie, I was thrilled to find out that were going to Skype with the president [audience laughter] He popped up on that screen and he gave us a pep talk, you know that Obama kind of pep talk. He thanked us for all of our hard work, and then he said, “Get out of Kansas. We're wasting our time. For those of you who could do this, take this campaign to Council Bluffs, Iowa. Take this campaign to Iowa. I'm asking you to please deliver Iowa to me, to us.” “Well, yeah, I'll do that.” [audience laughter] 

 

I'd already worked his election campaign a few years before. When you're campaigning and volunteering, you have duties like putting signs, yard signs up and pamphlets here and there and having conversations, because the president always would say, “Just have conversations. Conversations after conversations, don't stop.” And also, we are registering the people to vote. I will never forget looking into the faces of my African-American elders. And they say to me, “I've never voted. I've never registered, but I'm registering now, because I have a reason.” So, not only do I have a personal reason to be working these campaigns, after reading a little bit about Senator Obama back in the day, I realized that he and I had a couple of things in common. 

 

One, we are biracial in America and identified as black, and we grew up in an era of turmoil where we had to and determine who we were and where we were going. No one could help us and tell us that we had to go on that journey. Another thing we had in common and do have in common, is that we were raised by loving white families. So, I'm heading from the suburbs and cities of the Kansas City area to campaign in the cities and suburbs of Iowa. I got in my little Honda every weekend for about a year, and drove four hours there and four hours back and did the same types of things. Hundreds and hundreds of phone calls, knocking on doors and registering people to vote. 

 

And towards the end of that campaign in 2012, I got a phone call and I was asked to be a canvas captain, which is basically just taking a leadership role and doing the same duties that I'd already been doing. But they asked me to do this in rural Iowa. [audience laughter] So, being that committed person that I am, I said yes. I dropped off me, a middle-aged African-American woman and another campaign worker, a little bit older African-American woman in rural farmland, Iowa. 

 

So, we walked into this little teeny campaign office and we got our little clipboards and our pens and all of our papers and put our little buttons on our little Obama hat and we're going to go register people to vote. So, we did and we walked out of that door. Rita, my partner in campaigning, is one of the strongest and most amazing women I've ever met, a retired school teacher. So, I looked up to her, and I looked over at her and I said, “You know, we don't. Are we going to. We're going to do this right?” [audience laughter] And she said, “I am fired up and ready to go. Aren't you? I'm fired up and ready to go. Let's go.” And I said, “Well, then, “Yes, I'm fired up and ready to go too.” 

 

So, we're walking down the farm road, and our first stop was a trailer park. As we’re approaching the gate to open it, we looked up and there was a man, a big old man with a big old rifle. And before we could open that gate, he looked at us and he said, “I didn't vote for your nigger last time and I ain't voting for your nigger this time. Now, you girls better turn around and get--” And we did. Again, I looked at Rita and said, “You know, we don't have to do this.” And she said, “Oh, I'm more fired up and ready to go. Let's go.” So, we did. 

 

We knocked on doors and we knocked on doors and we rang doorbells. Nobody on that day was ever that horrible to us. We had people, of course, closing the door in our faces, just saying, “No, thank you.” And then, of course, you've got the ones that you knock on their door and you can see the curtain open and then close. And we're like, “Yes, we know you're there.” But we didn't stop us. We kept walking and we kept having conversations. 

 

And then, we get to a farm and we're walking down this long gravel driveway. And approaching us is the farmer who owns that land. He looks at us and he says, “No, I see what you're selling and I'm not buying.” I remembered our president asking us to have conversations. And I said, “Could we just have a minute?” And before he could answer, his wife opened the front door and she said, “Ladies, if you're going to be at my house, you better come in here, supper's on the table.” And we were scared and hungry. [audience laughter] 

 

But I'm thinking, in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, “but do I really want.” It was a get out moment. “Do I really want to go into this home, farmhouse, in the middle of nowhere? I don't know these people.” And then, the door closes. But before my thought was finished, Rita says, “Yes, ma' am, we are hungry.” [audience laughter] So, we went in and we sat down. Oh, that food, I could make you drool if I went into detail about it. It was meatloaf that was melting in our mouths, mashed potatoes and gravy greens, cornbread and sweet tea. It was soul food. 

 

Our conversations with Cecil and Wilma, it was a beautiful time. We talked about a lot of things. They asked us a few questions about the campaign and we talked a little bit about that. But mostly, we asked them questions about their lives. And they told us about their kids and their grandchildren. They literally breathed for those grandbabies. They lived for those grandbabies. And then, they told us about the church down the way where they got married. Before we knew it, it was time to go. 

 

So, we head to the front door, we thank them for this lovely meal. And Wilma gives us a hug and hands us some food to go. As we're walking back down that gravel drive, Cecil is walking with us to get us to the road. When we get to the road, he takes both of our hands, “Rita and Kathi, thank you. Thank you for coming in and sharing this time with us. And thank you for talking to us. But most of all, thank you for listening to us. Now, I probably won't vote for your guy.” We waved, and turned around and walked away. And a few steps up, we hear this. “But hey, Kathi, I just might.” Thank you.