A Political Adventure: Wherein the Author Learns about Local Party Politics and Eats Donuts

I woke at 8 a.m., which mixed my brain up for a few moments, as it was under the impression that it was a Saturday. As everybody knows, alarms don’t go off on Saturdays. No, sir. For the nine-to-five, forty-hours-a-week Joes and Joans - those who still go out late and drink hard, but whose bodies can no longer bounce back without 10 hours of sleep and a multivitamin - Saturday morning serves primarily as a brief buffer between party o’clock and brunch.

After shutting off the Barenaked Ladies/static of my radio alarm, I shook out my cobwebs and remembered I’d done this to myself on purpose. I’d promised myself I’d try new things, hadn’t I? I’d just moved to a new neighborhood in Boston, and was now registered in a new Ward. Today was caucus day for Ward 20, and I’d decided to go, to meet some of my neighbors, and if possible, to be elected a delegate for the 2012 Democratic State Convention in Springfield.

Given my location in Roslindale, I’d been under the impression that I was in Ward 19. That would’ve been better, as Ward 19’s caucus was later in the morning and about a mile and a half closer to where I was standing in my boxers. Alas, from the state that brought you gerrymandering, I’d have to go to West Roxbury.

The Ward 20 caucus was scheduled at 9 a.m. at a place called the West Roxbury Pub. It was a bit early to be in a bar, and in fact, it was statistically early to be at a caucus. Of Boston’s 22 wards, only two others had their caucuses at 9 a.m., both of which are in South Boston.

The time of this caucus, to me, seemed designed to discourage young people from becoming involved. The reputation of West Roxbury (and South Boston), deserved or not, as an insular community that doesn’t welcome outsiders didn’t allay my suspicions.

I put on some pants, I tied a tie, and I went out the door at about 8:15. I was peddling my way to West Roxbury, and though it wasn’t far, I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I also needed some coffee.

By 8:30, I was on Centre St. in West Roxbury, locking up in front of an almost comically Irish-style bar, fully equipped with a shamrock-laden green and white sign in Celtic font and virtually no windows. Union guys were standing at the door asking for signatures to get incumbents on the ballot, allowing most of them to run unopposed.
I was surprised as I walked by that they didn’t ask me to sign them. With a half hour to kill, I walked up Centre looking for sustenance. I found it in a little donut shop called Anna’s.