Surrounded by a group of Irish-American immigrants, Niall arrived at the heart of Mannington's market square. The market was already bustling with people. As they saw the crowd pour out of the coffeehouse, many turned to look.
Some brought two wooden crates and helped Niall climb onto them. Standing on top, Niall, who was not particularly short, became the center of attention. Everyone stopped what they were doing and waited for Niall to speak.
"Did everyone get what they needed today?"
The Irish uncles on either side of Niall expected a profound speech, but instead, Niall asked such an irrelevant, trivial question.
"We have no money; what could we buy?" an elderly Irish woman, who had no real connection to Niall, put down her basket and responded with a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, we're all poor. What can we buy?" Simple words that everyone could relate to, and the crowd quickly joined in.
"I don't have any money either!" Niall said, pulling out his empty pockets. He hadn't even paid for his coffee yet.
"Hahahahaha..." Being poor, they laughed freely, all Irish with no ill intent, and the laughter quickly spread among the crowd.
"But the federal government ignores our poverty and offers us no relief!" Finally, Niall steered the conversation to its main point, pointing to the IRS, which represented the federal government.
"Why would the lords care about our lives?" "Yeah, yeah, they live the high life, while we can barely afford potatoes." "They're all vampires!"...
The crowd responded passionately to Niall, and in their tough lives, they finally found an outlet for their frustrations. People began expressing their discontent with the federal government.
"We need to make sure the politicians know how hard our lives are!"
"The midterm elections are coming soon. We need to use our votes to tell them we need federal aid!" Niall's passionate voice echoed throughout the square, and everyone could hear him clearly.
"Clap, clap, clap..." First, the older uncles who had come from the coffeehouse clapped, and soon, everyone in the square joined in.
The entire crowd had been stirred up by Niall. No, it wasn't just a stir-up; it was more of a sense of inspiration. Although not everyone would go to vote, at least Niall had planted the seed in their hearts that their vote could change their fate.
Thousands of farmers rushed to the local election commission to sign up as voters, a sight never before seen in the county's history. Local officials started asking who Niall was and how he had such tremendous influence, getting over a thousand people to follow his lead in such a short time.
Niall jumped down from the crates, basking in the crowd's cheers. News of Mannington's sudden surge in voters soon reached Charleston, the headquarters of the two main political parties, who had long been indifferent to the elections, thinking they could easily win by just placing a watermelon on the ballot.
What the politicians thought was none of Niall's concern, but Niall suddenly felt a surge of energy. He went back to the coffeehouse to pay, and then, along with Patrick, drove a Ford pickup, heading to another county founded by Irish immigrants.
It was already cold in West Virginia in the autumn, but Niall felt no chill. With his instantly approachable Irish accent, Niall spent the next two weeks riding his Indian motorcycle, traveling through more than a dozen counties in the northern part of West Virginia.
Some might not understand that sense of purpose that filled him, pushing him to work tirelessly without any reward or benefit. But that was Niall. No compensation, no personal gain, just a drive that kept him going.
At every farm he passed, by every fruit tree, Niall would enthusiastically talk to the farmers, gather their signatures, and encourage them to register, to become voters, to cast their crucial vote.
Many Irish immigrants, inspired by Niall, spread his message far and wide, through coal trains and wheat-hauling carts, passing on what Niall had said. Sometimes, Niall wouldn't even be there yet, but his message about voting for a representative who would petition the federal government for emergency aid had already reached the next county.
Throughout October, the image of the Irish youth riding his Indian motorcycle, with a grey wool scarf, became well known among Irish immigrants in northern West Virginia. People even gave him a nickname that reflected their affection.
Three-Leaved Clover Niall!
In Irish culture, Saint Patrick, when spreading Catholicism in Ireland, would often pluck a three-leaved clover from the roadside to explain the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. The Irish thus regarded the three-leaved clover as a symbol of good news or something sacred.
Without a doubt, Niall, who was fighting to get federal emergency aid for the Irish farmers, was seen as the saint who brought them the "three-leaved clover."
Niall accepted the nickname with grace, finding it quite satisfying. Alone, a person's strength might seem insignificant, but only when one takes action does one realize how powerful that force can be. Even local newspapers in West Virginia featured a full-page story, with a photo of Niall riding his motorcycle through the mountains.
After more than a month of effort, the number of voters in West Virginia, which originally had only about 200,000 voters, surged to 400,000. The additional 100,000 Irish farmers were spread across the northern counties of West Virginia, all encouraged to register by Niall.
Everyone's goal was the same: to elect a representative who would speak for the farmers and petition the federal government for emergency aid. The aim was to alleviate the hardships of farmers with no cash income and give them the means to survive these tough times.
The sudden surge in voters brought hope to the Democratic candidates. West Virginia had long had low voter turnout, with voters mostly concentrated in urban areas, making it difficult for the Democratic Party to gain traction.
This year, due to the economic crisis, the Democratic Party had gained some support from urban populations, and they hoped to win enough votes, but still lacked enough to secure seats.
The sudden rise of Niall became a possibility for an election upset. The Democrats realized that previously, they could win by just placing a watermelon on the ballot, but now, they needed the support of Irish immigrant farmers to secure victory.
What should they do?
Of course, they needed to find Niall and ask him to lead the Irish farmers to vote for the Democratic Party. But they didn't even know where Niall lived, let alone where he was.
At that moment, Niall, along with Patrick, was driving a Ford light truck, delivering the thousands of signatures and handprints he had collected to the state government in Charleston.
...
Why not run for office himself? Damn it, there's a rule that you have to be under thirty-five to run!