After some investigation, the candidates from both parties finally arrived at Neal's house. They could hardly believe it—how could a guy who rallied hundreds of thousands of farmers come from such a shabby little rural shack?
In the Republican Party, where seniority and hierarchy were taken very seriously, it was nearly impossible for a political rising star to just appear out of nowhere. Even within the Democratic Party, such a phenomenon was rare. Though elections often bring surprises, for someone to emerge so abruptly just before voting day was still quite extraordinary.
Nevertheless, the candidates put on their best smiles and knocked on the door, asking if Mr. Neal—the man hailed by Irish farmers as a shamrock blown in by the wind—lived there.
Aunt Gingie answered the door, undisturbed by the crowd of over a dozen political elites. Carrying a large wooden basin, she stepped out to do the laundry. Neal and Patrick had been running around nonstop these days, working up a sweat daily. Their shirts needed washing, even with winter approaching—they couldn't be left overnight.
The candidates were visibly irritated by the lack of decorum from this rural auntie, but politicians are known to abandon all pride when it comes to votes. The Republican candidate immediately had his aide help fetch water, even offering to do the laundry himself. The Democratic candidate pulled out a bar of soap from his bag and handed it to Aunt Gingie.
Technically, candidates aren't allowed to give gifts to voters during elections. But there's a loophole—small promotional items with slogans and campaign messages don't count. If you managed to write "Vote for Me" on a lobster, technically, you could hand out lobsters too.
In the modern day, it's common for politicians to distribute tissues or fans with campaign slogans and their face on them. If your soap comes in a box with your slogan, that's promotional material—not bribery.
Aunt Gingie peeled off the campaign wrapping, sniffed the soap, and found it pleasantly fragrant. Her sister-in-law, Campbell, handed her a small stool, and she began scrubbing clothes briskly.
"I don't know where Neal is. Please leave." Aunt Gingie finally spoke, irritated by the crowd of men blocking her sunlight.
So, they came all this way for nothing!
"Then where does Mr. Neal usually go?" one of the more impatient aides asked.
"I don't know."
Like many Irish immigrants, Aunt Gingie had little faith in government institutions or social organizations. She believed only in her hardworking hands.
As for why Neal wasn't home, the reason was simple. When he delivered the signed petitions to the state government, an office clerk raised a serious concern:The illiteracy rate among Irish immigrants was alarmingly high.
This was one reason for their historically low political participation. Many couldn't even read the candidates' names—let alone understand their platforms. Some couldn't write their own names and had to ask priests or literate neighbors to sign for them, then apply their fingerprint.
The issue was most severe among Irish immigrants in their 30s and 40s or older, who had little to no formal education. Only younger folks like Neal, around 20 years old, had likely received basic elementary schooling. As for secondary education, it wasn't free. If the family had no extra money, it simply wasn't an option.
During the Great Depression, over 4.5 million American high school students dropped out. Don't be fooled into thinking education was cheap even in the 20th century.
Because of this, Neal had no choice but to ride from county to county with Patrick, explaining things directly to the farmers. He told them that on the ballot, candidates starting with the letter "S" belonged to the Republicans, and those with a "D" were Democrats. He didn't ask them to recognize full names—just the first letter.
Fortunately, voting didn't require a signature. If it did, these hundreds of thousands of Irish voters would be useless—most of them were illiterate.
Even teaching people to distinguish between "S" and "D" was a massive task for Neal. He tried to inform every farmer in northern West Virginia before election day.
This also made Neal realize that under current circumstances, universal suffrage might not be such a great idea. With so many illiterate citizens lacking clear political understanding, the masses could be easily manipulated.
In fact, Neal himself was doing just that—mobilizing undereducated farmers for political purposes.So... what can one say?
In the end, it would all come down to which candidate promised, in front of the farmers, to motion in Congress and request emergency agricultural relief funds from the President after being elected.
Neal had done almost everything he could. Honestly, he wasn't very confident. But in life, what's ever guaranteed? Any unexpected twist could change everything.
After another long day on the road, covering every last rural corner, Neal and Patrick finally returned home before dark. Traveling at night was unsafe, especially during this tense period. Though Neal was popular among Irish immigrants, that didn't guarantee safety from roaming threats.
But when they got home, they saw several cars parked outside and lights blazing from within. Laughter echoed through the house—it sounded like a full-blown dinner party.
They opened the door to find a group of unfamiliar men sitting at the dining table, surrounded by dishes and even bottles of red wine. Everyone was merrily drinking.
Turns out, the two stubborn candidates had decided to wait at Neal's house. As dinner approached and he still hadn't returned, they simply paid Aunt Gingie to prepare a feast and waited in the warmth while they ate.
Cash is rare among farmers, so Aunt Gingie wasn't about to pass up the chance to earn some. She didn't care much for these men personally, but money was money. As long as they paid, she'd even butcher a cow for them if needed.
"Haha... Welcome back! These gentlemen said they were looking for you." Aunt Gingie brought out a tray of homemade cheese and called to Neal and Patrick from the door.
The two candidates, who had just been toasting, immediately put down their wine glasses and stared at Neal like starving wolves spotting a lamb.