VOTING IN KENTUCKY

It was sixty-four years ago.  Sixteen presidential elections ago.  At College High School, Charles English and I were the speakers for Gov. Adlai Stevenson in his 1952 run against Gov. Dwight Eisenhower.  Despite our eloquence on behalf of Governor Stevenson, College High voted for Ike.  Later on that year, when that year’s crop of politicians were swarming around making speeches everywhere, I decided to try my hand at campaign oratory again—for a more mature and thouightful audience.

With one of my classmates as my campaign chief, I set out on a Saturday’s barnstorming trip.  The old Louisville and Nashville Railroad ran through Bowling Green, and there were two fast trains and two slow trains between Bowling Green and Louisville every day except Sunday.  We caught the early fast train to Louisville, and then took the ten o’clock train back to Bowling Green.  The slow train stopped often enough that it took four hours to make the one hundred and twenty mile trip.

Freight trains still had red cabooses then, and on all the passenger trains there was a little sort of back porch on the last car, with a canopy and a railing.  Every time our train came into a town—Shepherdsville, Lebanon Junction, Elizabethtown, Sonora, Upton, Bonnieville, Munfordville, Horse Cave, Cave City, Park City, and then Bowling Green—I stood out there on that little porch and made a speech.

We both wore suits for the occasion, with white shirts and neckties.  My friend would introduce me—I’ve forgotten what my name was—and and announce what they all knew already, that I was running for office and wanted their votes.  There would be a few people standing around—in E-town there were maybe fifteen, counting small boys—and they would listen to me, or at least look at me.  Quit talking, look, listen, and maybe even come up sort of close to the back-end of the train.

I promised them a lot of prosperity, and honesty in government.  And I assured them that good times were coming for Kentucky, and that they would be glad they had voted for me.  And I thanked them from the bottom of my heart, and asked the Lord’s blessing on them and on all of us Kentuckians.

By then the train was probably already moving, so they might not have heard my asking God for his blessing upon us. Which was just as well.  Even in Kentucky, God doesn’t bless fraud—though I’m sure he must know about it.  And about the unChristian wickedness of people like Senator Mitch McConnell.

                                                             Bert Hornback