Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
News coverage
Here’s some of my first ink in the Camden Herald.
Jane Andrews also wrote a quick blurb about Dr. Walker and me:
Walker, 48, a diagnostic radiologist at Waldo County General Hospital, has been serving his first term in the House, on the Committee on Health and Human Services. He proposes to cut the state’s 8.5 percent income tax back to 4 percent and says the highest income tax in the northeast is a damper on expansion of economic activity.
O’Brien, 29, a writer and certified education technician who has been working at several part-time jobs to make ends meet, has lived in Taiwan, England and Sweden and says he would like to see this nation adopt the universal health care those nations enjoy. He wants to raise minimum wage and create sustainable jobs and development.
I'd like to clarify that I am advocating for universal single payer health insurance. Everyone pays in, everyone is covered and most important, it is not-for-profit.
In a February 18 op-ed piece in the Camden Herald, Dr. Walker spoke of two health care bills, which he supports:
1.) LD 1760: An Act To Restore Competition to Maine's Health Insurance Market
2.) LD 1047: An Act To Lower the Cost of Health Insurance.
Basically, these bills attempt to establish versions of high-risk insurance pools, state-subsidized coverage for people insurance companies decide to exclude, usually due to pre-existing conditions or age. Insurance companies love high-risk pools because they shift the responsibility of caring for the sick onto taxpayers and the state, leaving them to cover the people least likely to need medical care and allowing the insurers to make even more excessive profits.
Speaking of excessive profits, here are some statistics of the yearly compensation health care insurance CEOs raked in 2005:
William McGuire, United Health Group (parent of United Healthcare) $124.8 million
Howard Phanstiel, PacifiCare, 3.38 million
Edward Hanway, Cigna, $13.3 million
John Rowe, Aetna, $22.2 million
Larry Glassrock, Wellpoint, $25.0 million
With skyrocketing insurance premiums and deductables sometimes hitting five-diget figures, is doling out subsidies to millionare executives really the best use of our tax money?
How I got here
In my last message I made light of the political divisions in my own family over the current race for the Democratic nomination. Even though the battle between these two strong Democratic candidates continues on the national stage, I think it’s time for us to take a step back from the fray and look at the amazing ground we’ve covered during this time of transition. All over Maine, ordinary people have been turning out in record numbers for legislative lobbying events, caucuses, peace demonstrations, and town meetings. All of them are expressing that they’ve had enough. They’ve had enough of a poorly regulated credit industry, which leaves so many of us with thousands of dollars in debts. They’ve had enough of the patch work, largely privatized health care system that has made health care unobtainable for one in five Mainers. They’ve had enough of struggling to make ends meet on a stagnant minimum wage that has not risen to cover the rising costs of living. They’ve had enough of an administration that has squandered billions of our money on foreign wars, corporate tax breaks and bailouts while our infrastructure is crumbling at home. Never before in my lifetime have I witnessed not only such a strong collective passion for change, but also an unyielding optimism. It fills me with (if you’ll forgive the hackneyed buzzword) hope.
It was eight years ago this November, on the eve of the 2000 election, when George W. Bush came to make one last speech at Drew University, my alma mater. I was a college senior with little idea of what I was going to do for a job after graduation. The towering stack of tens of thousands of dollars in college loans was not on my mind as I skateboarded past the throng of people gathered to hear the future president speak. The fact that I would soon be too old to be covered under my parents’ health care plan didn’t even cross my mind. A tiny crowd of students gathered to protest the president’s visit over issues such as the death penalty and abortion, but I don’t any of them knew what we were in for after we entered adulthood the following spring.
After a summer of painting houses on Islesboro, my friend Andrew and I packed up and set out to see the world. It was a few weeks after 911 and our travel vouchers had been cancelled by our airline as a security precaution, so we decided to take a train from Boston to San Francisco, where we would catch a plane to Taiwan. Having never travelled west of, well Massachusetts, I had never known how diverse our country really was. It seemed that everyone was on that train: National Guardsmen on leave from clearing the wreckage at Ground Zero, stockbrokers, immigrants, authors, college students, Mormon missionaries, boisterous Texans…
But all of the nervous conversations on that train touched on the same theme: “What would this new era mean for all of us?”
In a way, I left it all behind. During those next six years I taught English to young Taiwanese students, I was a political and music writer for a newspaper, I played in a band which toured all over Asia, I worked as an advocate for South East Asian migrant workers, and I spoke at and helped organize peace demonstrations made up of Taiwanese and foreign expatriots on the eve of the Iraq War. All of this time, my friends back home made fun of me for “avoiding the real world.” I was earning a good wage, I was covered by national health insurance, and I never had to deal with the humiliation of being unemployed or working a low wage job with a college degree. All of that changed when I decided to return.
After I came back to Taiwan from playing a tour of Japan, I started thinking about the future. I was getting serious with my Taiwanese girlfriend and I knew there was no way I was going to teach English for the rest of my life. But I had grown to love teaching and having grown up in a house full of teachers, I knew that there were few things more rewarding than working in education. In June of last year, I returned with my girlfriend to Maine. I started taking exams, filling out graduate school applications and I returned to painting houses on Islesboro until the changing seasons would no longer permit it. Before my girlfriend headed back to Taiwan last fall, we decided that she would get married the following summer so that we would finally legally be allowed to be together in Maine. I knew I would have to really hustle if I was going to be able to save up enough money to prepare for her arrival.
Facing a tight job market in the Midcoast, I moved to Portland in search of gainful employment. In retrospect, moving into a town with a seasonal economy in the winter, in the middle of recession, was probably not the best move. But then again, having been all over the world, there isn’t any other place that I’d rather be than Maine. After pounding the pavement for several weeks and sending countless resumes and tailored cover letters into the cyber space employer abyss, the best I could come up with was an awkwardly stitched together assortment of non-profit work, freelance writing gigs, and temporary manual labor positions. Over the following months, I worked the front desk of a homeless shelter, I interviewed local small business owners and artists for a magazine, I shoveled snow for seven dollars an hour after waiting in line from 5 in the morning for jobs to be announced and I worked several forty-hour weeks for eight dollars an hour doing temporary factory maintenance and assembly line production.
It was from these experiences that I met so many hard working Mainers who are in much worse positions than myself. While I’ve been struggling, but with the support of my family, many of these folks are struggling to actually support their own families. It astounded me to learn that they could pull this off while I had been complaining about the difficulty of supporting just myself on $250 a week after taxes. I learned that some of these workers have been able to sustain themselves only because they’ve been able to make over-time pay by working twelve hours a day, seventy-two hours a week on the production line with no benefits. Some of them can’t even make ends meet on their meager wages so they reluctantly accept state assistance. I began to think to myself, “we can do better.”
One night in February I had a painful conversation with my girlfriend in which I explained that the American health care system is not the same as the one she is used to in Taiwan. She has a number of medical problems and I decided to tell her in all honesty that without health insurance, we would be facing possibly thousands of dollars in medical debt over time. But I quickly assured her that we would figure it out. When I got off the phone, I started to wonder how America had ever gotten into this position. In every country I have ever lived, from Taiwan to the UK and Sweden, affordable health coverage is a guaranteed right. I knew from first-hand experience that we could do better.
That night I looked into the possibility of running for state legislature and ever since then, it’s been full steam ahead. I announced my candidacy at the school where I had spent the first eight years of my education in front of one hundred seventy people, the most voters who have turned out for a Lincolnville Democratic caucus ever. What impressed me most was the sheer diversity of this crowd. There were retirees, middle aged folks, many of my former classmates and others who I had only previously known as young children. I was floored when I saw that the little girl, who I had once babysat, had become a young woman, appointed to be a delegate for the state convention. Over the following weeks I learned of other people much younger than me who are currently running for seats in the state legislature. There’s twenty-two year old Monroe resident Seth Yentes, a volunteer fire fighter, carpenter and cello teacher, running for the State House in District 42. Twenty-four year old Adam Goode, a community organizer from Bangor is running in District 15. Alex Cornell du Houx, a twenty-four year old Iraq War veteran and Bowdoin student, has announced his candidacy for the legislature in District 66.
But it’s not just young people. A couple of weeks ago, a group of my friends piled into a car and headed up to Augusta for Maine People’s Alliance’s lobby day. Over a hundred people of all ages showed up to approach our state representatives over issues such as health care and affordable housing. It was the same kind of group that excited me so much at the caucuses. I met waitresses, nurses, teachers, small business owners, students, and trades people, all taking a day off from their work or classes to push for political change.
As I drove down toward Portland on Saturday afternoon, I started noticing groups of people standing on the street corners of the small Midcoast towns, holding placards with slogans of peace. They smiled and waved as cars sped by and it suddenly dawned on me that it was the anniversary of the Iraq invasion. It’s been five years since we had felt the strength of millions all over the world who had plead for a different path, but I knew the moment that I saw those folks standing in the falling snow that this power and momentum had not gone away. It was just dormant. Over the past few years, it’s been all too easy for many of us to feel cynicism and frustration when we think about how our leadership has strayed so far from our core beliefs. However, after witnessing the energy and passion from ordinary Mainers in the past few months, I sincerely believe that we are part of a movement that will bring a new era of peace, equality and responsibilty.
Former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neil once said that “all politics i local.” He was right and we’re going to make it happen. Change starts from the ground up.
It was eight years ago this November, on the eve of the 2000 election, when George W. Bush came to make one last speech at Drew University, my alma mater. I was a college senior with little idea of what I was going to do for a job after graduation. The towering stack of tens of thousands of dollars in college loans was not on my mind as I skateboarded past the throng of people gathered to hear the future president speak. The fact that I would soon be too old to be covered under my parents’ health care plan didn’t even cross my mind. A tiny crowd of students gathered to protest the president’s visit over issues such as the death penalty and abortion, but I don’t any of them knew what we were in for after we entered adulthood the following spring.
After a summer of painting houses on Islesboro, my friend Andrew and I packed up and set out to see the world. It was a few weeks after 911 and our travel vouchers had been cancelled by our airline as a security precaution, so we decided to take a train from Boston to San Francisco, where we would catch a plane to Taiwan. Having never travelled west of, well Massachusetts, I had never known how diverse our country really was. It seemed that everyone was on that train: National Guardsmen on leave from clearing the wreckage at Ground Zero, stockbrokers, immigrants, authors, college students, Mormon missionaries, boisterous Texans…
But all of the nervous conversations on that train touched on the same theme: “What would this new era mean for all of us?”
In a way, I left it all behind. During those next six years I taught English to young Taiwanese students, I was a political and music writer for a newspaper, I played in a band which toured all over Asia, I worked as an advocate for South East Asian migrant workers, and I spoke at and helped organize peace demonstrations made up of Taiwanese and foreign expatriots on the eve of the Iraq War. All of this time, my friends back home made fun of me for “avoiding the real world.” I was earning a good wage, I was covered by national health insurance, and I never had to deal with the humiliation of being unemployed or working a low wage job with a college degree. All of that changed when I decided to return.
After I came back to Taiwan from playing a tour of Japan, I started thinking about the future. I was getting serious with my Taiwanese girlfriend and I knew there was no way I was going to teach English for the rest of my life. But I had grown to love teaching and having grown up in a house full of teachers, I knew that there were few things more rewarding than working in education. In June of last year, I returned with my girlfriend to Maine. I started taking exams, filling out graduate school applications and I returned to painting houses on Islesboro until the changing seasons would no longer permit it. Before my girlfriend headed back to Taiwan last fall, we decided that she would get married the following summer so that we would finally legally be allowed to be together in Maine. I knew I would have to really hustle if I was going to be able to save up enough money to prepare for her arrival.
Facing a tight job market in the Midcoast, I moved to Portland in search of gainful employment. In retrospect, moving into a town with a seasonal economy in the winter, in the middle of recession, was probably not the best move. But then again, having been all over the world, there isn’t any other place that I’d rather be than Maine. After pounding the pavement for several weeks and sending countless resumes and tailored cover letters into the cyber space employer abyss, the best I could come up with was an awkwardly stitched together assortment of non-profit work, freelance writing gigs, and temporary manual labor positions. Over the following months, I worked the front desk of a homeless shelter, I interviewed local small business owners and artists for a magazine, I shoveled snow for seven dollars an hour after waiting in line from 5 in the morning for jobs to be announced and I worked several forty-hour weeks for eight dollars an hour doing temporary factory maintenance and assembly line production.
It was from these experiences that I met so many hard working Mainers who are in much worse positions than myself. While I’ve been struggling, but with the support of my family, many of these folks are struggling to actually support their own families. It astounded me to learn that they could pull this off while I had been complaining about the difficulty of supporting just myself on $250 a week after taxes. I learned that some of these workers have been able to sustain themselves only because they’ve been able to make over-time pay by working twelve hours a day, seventy-two hours a week on the production line with no benefits. Some of them can’t even make ends meet on their meager wages so they reluctantly accept state assistance. I began to think to myself, “we can do better.”
One night in February I had a painful conversation with my girlfriend in which I explained that the American health care system is not the same as the one she is used to in Taiwan. She has a number of medical problems and I decided to tell her in all honesty that without health insurance, we would be facing possibly thousands of dollars in medical debt over time. But I quickly assured her that we would figure it out. When I got off the phone, I started to wonder how America had ever gotten into this position. In every country I have ever lived, from Taiwan to the UK and Sweden, affordable health coverage is a guaranteed right. I knew from first-hand experience that we could do better.
That night I looked into the possibility of running for state legislature and ever since then, it’s been full steam ahead. I announced my candidacy at the school where I had spent the first eight years of my education in front of one hundred seventy people, the most voters who have turned out for a Lincolnville Democratic caucus ever. What impressed me most was the sheer diversity of this crowd. There were retirees, middle aged folks, many of my former classmates and others who I had only previously known as young children. I was floored when I saw that the little girl, who I had once babysat, had become a young woman, appointed to be a delegate for the state convention. Over the following weeks I learned of other people much younger than me who are currently running for seats in the state legislature. There’s twenty-two year old Monroe resident Seth Yentes, a volunteer fire fighter, carpenter and cello teacher, running for the State House in District 42. Twenty-four year old Adam Goode, a community organizer from Bangor is running in District 15. Alex Cornell du Houx, a twenty-four year old Iraq War veteran and Bowdoin student, has announced his candidacy for the legislature in District 66.
But it’s not just young people. A couple of weeks ago, a group of my friends piled into a car and headed up to Augusta for Maine People’s Alliance’s lobby day. Over a hundred people of all ages showed up to approach our state representatives over issues such as health care and affordable housing. It was the same kind of group that excited me so much at the caucuses. I met waitresses, nurses, teachers, small business owners, students, and trades people, all taking a day off from their work or classes to push for political change.
As I drove down toward Portland on Saturday afternoon, I started noticing groups of people standing on the street corners of the small Midcoast towns, holding placards with slogans of peace. They smiled and waved as cars sped by and it suddenly dawned on me that it was the anniversary of the Iraq invasion. It’s been five years since we had felt the strength of millions all over the world who had plead for a different path, but I knew the moment that I saw those folks standing in the falling snow that this power and momentum had not gone away. It was just dormant. Over the past few years, it’s been all too easy for many of us to feel cynicism and frustration when we think about how our leadership has strayed so far from our core beliefs. However, after witnessing the energy and passion from ordinary Mainers in the past few months, I sincerely believe that we are part of a movement that will bring a new era of peace, equality and responsibilty.
Former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neil once said that “all politics i local.” He was right and we’re going to make it happen. Change starts from the ground up.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
The Raucus Caucuses
"We are NOT going to let this caucus divide this family!" my mom shouted in exasperation as our family sat around the dinner table discussing the election.
Unfortunately it was more than clear that our family had already been split down gender lines. The men for Obama. The women for Clinton. My father had been a delegate for Kucinich in '04, but this time around he said, "I met him at the last convention and I just wanted to say, 'Geez, Dennis, grow a few inches. Forget the presidency, he should just concentrate on giving a progressive voice to the Senate."
We were both behind Edwards until he dropped out, so for us there was no other option but Obama. My mom was "on the fence," which was a codeword for "I'm going for Hillary, so I don't want to hear anymore crap about it." My father, my older brother Bill and I had all resolved never to support a candidate who had even initially supported the Iraq War. In 2002 we had all watched in frustration as Hillary had voted to give Bush the power to invade Iraq. Five years ago, all three of us had protested against the Iraq War - my father in Washington, Bill in Sydney, Australia and myself in Taipei.. My mom had attended several; weekly peace vigils with a group from church on Duck Trap bridge, but she was much more forgiving of Hillary than the rest of us. Of course I did nothing for the argument when I blurted out, "Oh c'mon! Vote for real change, not sisterhood!" For weeks, friends of the family had been calling and inserting little Obama pitches at the end of their conversations with my mother, but she remained staunchly "undecided." This year, the Lincolnville Democratic caucus had another importance for our family because I was announcing my candidacy for the state legislature.
So on a snowy afternoon, my brother Bill and I jumped into his car armed with my Democratic nomination petitions, the Clean Elections campaign sheets, and a winning smile. As the car jumped, jolted and skidded over the chunks of asphalt, potholes, gaps, and frost heaves in the road on the way to Hope, we filmed the trip, constantly bringing up the fact that "When Andy O'Brien is elected, as God as my witness, we're gonna fix these &%@# roads!"
As any rural Maine resident can tell you, our infrastructure is going to hell. Lincolnville probably doesn't have the worst roads in this state by far, but we've been the loudest about it. My brother Ed described hitting a bump on Slaughterhouse Hill that made his car get so much air that sparks shot off the asphalt when it finally came back to earth. My friend Sandy told me that she lost her muffler somewhere on Route 52. About a week ago, a group of angry residents circulated a petition at all of the local general stores and via email which stated that we resolved not to pay anymore funds to the state until they agree to fix those &%@# roads. In the past couple of weeks signs have appeared on Routes 235 and 52 with messages like Wagon Trail Ahead!, BUMP (next 10 miles) and Clean Fill Wanted, Next Two Miles.
We were the first ones to arrive at the Hope town office/library/police station/animal control center (you gotta love rural Maine). A short time later more cars began pulling in and the caucus official showed up to open the door. I asked him how many people he expected and he said, "Gosh, I'd say at least twenty. It's going to be a big day!"
Earlier that day, I had called the caucus director in Morrill, a tiny outlying town in my district. I could hardly hear the man on the other end of the line because it was drowned out by the roar of what sounded like a crowd of thousands.
"Hello?"
"Hello?" the voice said.
"Hello?!"
"Just a second, let me turn down the TV."
He told me they were expecting an excellent turn-out because they had been calling registered Dems all week.
"Gosh, I'd say at least ten or fifteen!" he said proudly.
The Hope caucus leader told me that they had expected at least twenty caucus goers, but it wasn't long before the tiny library filled up with almost a hundred people. Everyone was in high spirits. My former high school English teacher put up several homemade Obama banners on the walls. I held up my "Andrew O'Brien for State Rep" sign and I got several signatures for my nomination and a few contributions. However, I soon realized that my name recognition was going to be my biggest asset.
"Oh! Wally and Diane's son! Wonderful! We sat on the school board together!"
"You're Diane's son? Well, I bought a rug from her."
"Oh, you're the youngest O'Brien? You've got such lovely parents. They were so helpful in Longley's campaign for state senate."
"I attend church with your folks."
Of course most of them were unfamiliar with the youngest, derelict O'Brien son.
"Aren't you the O'Brien who was valedictorian at the high school?"
"Ahh...no, that would be Bill, my older brother."
"You're the DHS case worker right?"
"Actually that's Ed, my other brother."
"You're the teacher who lived in Australia and have three beautiful little girls."
"Oh, that's Bill, my older brother."
"Didn't you go to Williams College?"
"That would be Bill, my older brother."
"That was your daughter who was christened at the church last week?"
"Actually, she's my niece. She's my brother Ed's daughter."
But right before the caucus began, the official gave me the chance to speak and introduce myself. As soon as I finished, a woman stood up in the audience.
"I'd also like to add that Andy's older brother Bill, who is with us today, holds the record for most buckets of blueberries raked in a single day! How many was it?"
Bill blushed and smiled. "228."
Everyone cheered and the checks came rolling in.
We had to hustle back to Lincolnville to make the caucus in time. The parking lot of Lincolnville School was packed, but we found a parking space at the end. The line of people stretched way out of the gymnasium and we caught up with the rest of the family as well as many friends and neighbors who had no idea I was running, so I filled them in. After the official business was settled, the party leader called me down and I gave a quick speech.
Then the caucus was underway and practically the entire crowd swept over to the Obama side like the mouth of Ducktrap River at low tide. A few Clintonites were left holding their own, including my mom and Tracee, my sister-in-law. As predicted, the O'Brien clan had parted along gender lines.
All and all is was a good time and the caucus turned out over 170 people, the one of the biggest our little town’s history. I met all kinds of people of all ages who were really supportive and wanted to help out with the campaign however they could, which is really exciting.
When we arrived home, my mom defiantly put a Hillary sign up in our window, in spite of my dad's protests.
"Hey! I'm an Obama delegate!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"
"Well, I'm a Clinton alternate," she said. "Why don't you go talk to your Obama friends and get your own sign?"
My dad went right to the computer and emailed our most rabidly pro-Obama friends. For the sake of this household, it'll be nice when this whole thing is over.
Unfortunately it was more than clear that our family had already been split down gender lines. The men for Obama. The women for Clinton. My father had been a delegate for Kucinich in '04, but this time around he said, "I met him at the last convention and I just wanted to say, 'Geez, Dennis, grow a few inches. Forget the presidency, he should just concentrate on giving a progressive voice to the Senate."
We were both behind Edwards until he dropped out, so for us there was no other option but Obama. My mom was "on the fence," which was a codeword for "I'm going for Hillary, so I don't want to hear anymore crap about it." My father, my older brother Bill and I had all resolved never to support a candidate who had even initially supported the Iraq War. In 2002 we had all watched in frustration as Hillary had voted to give Bush the power to invade Iraq. Five years ago, all three of us had protested against the Iraq War - my father in Washington, Bill in Sydney, Australia and myself in Taipei.. My mom had attended several; weekly peace vigils with a group from church on Duck Trap bridge, but she was much more forgiving of Hillary than the rest of us. Of course I did nothing for the argument when I blurted out, "Oh c'mon! Vote for real change, not sisterhood!" For weeks, friends of the family had been calling and inserting little Obama pitches at the end of their conversations with my mother, but she remained staunchly "undecided." This year, the Lincolnville Democratic caucus had another importance for our family because I was announcing my candidacy for the state legislature.
So on a snowy afternoon, my brother Bill and I jumped into his car armed with my Democratic nomination petitions, the Clean Elections campaign sheets, and a winning smile. As the car jumped, jolted and skidded over the chunks of asphalt, potholes, gaps, and frost heaves in the road on the way to Hope, we filmed the trip, constantly bringing up the fact that "When Andy O'Brien is elected, as God as my witness, we're gonna fix these &%@# roads!"
As any rural Maine resident can tell you, our infrastructure is going to hell. Lincolnville probably doesn't have the worst roads in this state by far, but we've been the loudest about it. My brother Ed described hitting a bump on Slaughterhouse Hill that made his car get so much air that sparks shot off the asphalt when it finally came back to earth. My friend Sandy told me that she lost her muffler somewhere on Route 52. About a week ago, a group of angry residents circulated a petition at all of the local general stores and via email which stated that we resolved not to pay anymore funds to the state until they agree to fix those &%@# roads. In the past couple of weeks signs have appeared on Routes 235 and 52 with messages like Wagon Trail Ahead!, BUMP (next 10 miles) and Clean Fill Wanted, Next Two Miles.
We were the first ones to arrive at the Hope town office/library/police station/animal control center (you gotta love rural Maine). A short time later more cars began pulling in and the caucus official showed up to open the door. I asked him how many people he expected and he said, "Gosh, I'd say at least twenty. It's going to be a big day!"
Earlier that day, I had called the caucus director in Morrill, a tiny outlying town in my district. I could hardly hear the man on the other end of the line because it was drowned out by the roar of what sounded like a crowd of thousands.
"Hello?"
"Hello?" the voice said.
"Hello?!"
"Just a second, let me turn down the TV."
He told me they were expecting an excellent turn-out because they had been calling registered Dems all week.
"Gosh, I'd say at least ten or fifteen!" he said proudly.
The Hope caucus leader told me that they had expected at least twenty caucus goers, but it wasn't long before the tiny library filled up with almost a hundred people. Everyone was in high spirits. My former high school English teacher put up several homemade Obama banners on the walls. I held up my "Andrew O'Brien for State Rep" sign and I got several signatures for my nomination and a few contributions. However, I soon realized that my name recognition was going to be my biggest asset.
"Oh! Wally and Diane's son! Wonderful! We sat on the school board together!"
"You're Diane's son? Well, I bought a rug from her."
"Oh, you're the youngest O'Brien? You've got such lovely parents. They were so helpful in Longley's campaign for state senate."
"I attend church with your folks."
Of course most of them were unfamiliar with the youngest, derelict O'Brien son.
"Aren't you the O'Brien who was valedictorian at the high school?"
"Ahh...no, that would be Bill, my older brother."
"You're the DHS case worker right?"
"Actually that's Ed, my other brother."
"You're the teacher who lived in Australia and have three beautiful little girls."
"Oh, that's Bill, my older brother."
"Didn't you go to Williams College?"
"That would be Bill, my older brother."
"That was your daughter who was christened at the church last week?"
"Actually, she's my niece. She's my brother Ed's daughter."
But right before the caucus began, the official gave me the chance to speak and introduce myself. As soon as I finished, a woman stood up in the audience.
"I'd also like to add that Andy's older brother Bill, who is with us today, holds the record for most buckets of blueberries raked in a single day! How many was it?"
Bill blushed and smiled. "228."
Everyone cheered and the checks came rolling in.
We had to hustle back to Lincolnville to make the caucus in time. The parking lot of Lincolnville School was packed, but we found a parking space at the end. The line of people stretched way out of the gymnasium and we caught up with the rest of the family as well as many friends and neighbors who had no idea I was running, so I filled them in. After the official business was settled, the party leader called me down and I gave a quick speech.
Then the caucus was underway and practically the entire crowd swept over to the Obama side like the mouth of Ducktrap River at low tide. A few Clintonites were left holding their own, including my mom and Tracee, my sister-in-law. As predicted, the O'Brien clan had parted along gender lines.
All and all is was a good time and the caucus turned out over 170 people, the one of the biggest our little town’s history. I met all kinds of people of all ages who were really supportive and wanted to help out with the campaign however they could, which is really exciting.
When we arrived home, my mom defiantly put a Hillary sign up in our window, in spite of my dad's protests.
"Hey! I'm an Obama delegate!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"
"Well, I'm a Clinton alternate," she said. "Why don't you go talk to your Obama friends and get your own sign?"
My dad went right to the computer and emailed our most rabidly pro-Obama friends. For the sake of this household, it'll be nice when this whole thing is over.
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About Me
- Andrew O'Brien for District 44!
- My name is Andy O'Brien and I am the Democratic candidate for the Maine State House of Representatives in District 44, which includes Islesboro, Lincolnville, Hope, Appleton, Searsmont, Liberty and Morrill. I was born in Lincolnville, Maine and I attended local schools. From 2001 to 2007, I lived and worked in Taiwan as a teacher. In 2007, I returned to the US to pursue a degree in education. I was elected to the Maine House of Representatives in 2008. When I am not serving in the Legislature I work as a landscaper. I am currently in my second year of graduate school at the University of Southern Maine. These past two years have been rewarding and educational. Although our state continues to face hard times, I believe strongly that where there is hardship, there is opportunity. In my work, I have met countless local small business men and women who form the backbone of the Maine economy. As your representative in Augusta, I will continue to stand up for working Mainers and look for innovative ways to build a more sustainable local economy in which small businesses are supported and not hindered by state government.