I'm not racist, I just don't like him because he's black... WAIT A MINUTE!
In western Pennsylvania, Obama's race is an issue
By Michael Powell
Published: October 27, 2008
ALIQUIPPA, Pennsylvania: Voting for the black man does not come easy to Nick Piroli; he is the first to admit that.
This retired steelworker wrestles with this election and his choice. A couple of friends, he says, will not vote for Barack Obama.
"I'm no racist, but I'm not crazy about him either," he says. "I don't know, maybe 'cause he's black."
Piroli, 77, winces at himself. "We was raised and worked with the black, the Serb," he said. "It was a regular league of nations. And the economy now, it's terrible."
Him? "The Democrat, Obama," Piroli replies. "I can't be stupid."
Obama's Republican rival, John McCain, has placed a sizable electoral bet that he can sweep predominantly white, working-class Beaver County, and a dozen more Pennsylvania counties like it. Last week, McCain spoke before thousands in Moon Township; two days later, his running mate, Sarah Palin, drew more than 2,000 fans to a chilly evening rally in Beaver.
But to walk the back streets of the Beaver River mill cities - the biggest mills were long ago shuttered - is to hear more than a few Democrats saying they intend, however reluctantly, to support their party's standard bearer, particularly as the world economy cracks and heaves. Many Democrats, and a few independents, wonder if McCain is too old and Palin too unsophisticated to take his place.
Such sentiments could bode ill for McCain, who hopes for a surprise victory in Pennsylvania to rescue his presidential bid. And they dovetail with poll findings showing a gravitation of white voters, female and male, toward Obama's camp. To try to stanch that flow and tap into doubts about Obama, McCain was to return to the state on Monday for the second time in a week, and then appear Tuesday with Palin as they try to sway voters like Piroli.
McCain may have an opening: 35 interviews over three days also offer up a conversation about race and presidential choices, and that is where the greatest uncertainty lies for Obama. Sometimes race talk runs like a subterranean river; sometimes it floats on the surface.
In Ambridge, a Beaver River factory town named after the company that gave it fame - American Bridge - Olga Permon, a 71-year-old steelworker's widow and a lifelong Democrat, climbs the stoop of her yellow-brick home. She considers the field: McCain? A grouchy old man. Palin? Please. No way. What about Obama?
Permon's pause goes on and on. "He scares me," she says. "The coloreds are excited, but my friends and I plan to write in Hillary's name."
These are not gentle lands for Obama. A visit here in August found even deeper suspicions of him in the county, where Hillary Rodham Clinton beat him by 40 percentage points in the Democratic primary. Democrats outnumber Republicans, but voters here tilt either way in presidential elections.
Still, a worsening economy has worked to the Democrats' advantage.
Obama and his running mate, Joseph Biden Jr., drew 8,000 to a rally in Beaver a month ago; John Sweeney, the AFL-CIO president, stumped on Saturday in Beaver; and dozens of union members go door to door each weekend, rummaging up votes. They remind their fellow workers that McCain had supported privatization of Social Security, a move they say could have left worker retirement accounts trapped in a plummeting stock market.
"This is McCain's Hail Mary; they looked at the huge margin here for Hillary Clinton in the primary and figured, 'Hmm, we have a shot,"' said Professor G. Terry Madonna, director of the Center for Politics and Public Affairs at Franklin & Marshall College. "But it's going to be very difficult here for him to get the margins needed to offset the cities and the eastern suburbs."
In Ambridge, Vince Pisano, 47, a union plumber, reflects that challenge. As he sits on his porch, he considers collapses - of the economy and of his retirement account. He is firm for Obama, but he is in a small club.
"Close friends, real close, tell me they can't get past his race," said Pisano, flashing a give-me-a-break look. "If Obama were white, this would be a landslide around here."
By Michael Powell
Published: October 27, 2008
ALIQUIPPA, Pennsylvania: Voting for the black man does not come easy to Nick Piroli; he is the first to admit that.
This retired steelworker wrestles with this election and his choice. A couple of friends, he says, will not vote for Barack Obama.
"I'm no racist, but I'm not crazy about him either," he says. "I don't know, maybe 'cause he's black."
Piroli, 77, winces at himself. "We was raised and worked with the black, the Serb," he said. "It was a regular league of nations. And the economy now, it's terrible."
Him? "The Democrat, Obama," Piroli replies. "I can't be stupid."
Obama's Republican rival, John McCain, has placed a sizable electoral bet that he can sweep predominantly white, working-class Beaver County, and a dozen more Pennsylvania counties like it. Last week, McCain spoke before thousands in Moon Township; two days later, his running mate, Sarah Palin, drew more than 2,000 fans to a chilly evening rally in Beaver.
But to walk the back streets of the Beaver River mill cities - the biggest mills were long ago shuttered - is to hear more than a few Democrats saying they intend, however reluctantly, to support their party's standard bearer, particularly as the world economy cracks and heaves. Many Democrats, and a few independents, wonder if McCain is too old and Palin too unsophisticated to take his place.
Such sentiments could bode ill for McCain, who hopes for a surprise victory in Pennsylvania to rescue his presidential bid. And they dovetail with poll findings showing a gravitation of white voters, female and male, toward Obama's camp. To try to stanch that flow and tap into doubts about Obama, McCain was to return to the state on Monday for the second time in a week, and then appear Tuesday with Palin as they try to sway voters like Piroli.
McCain may have an opening: 35 interviews over three days also offer up a conversation about race and presidential choices, and that is where the greatest uncertainty lies for Obama. Sometimes race talk runs like a subterranean river; sometimes it floats on the surface.
In Ambridge, a Beaver River factory town named after the company that gave it fame - American Bridge - Olga Permon, a 71-year-old steelworker's widow and a lifelong Democrat, climbs the stoop of her yellow-brick home. She considers the field: McCain? A grouchy old man. Palin? Please. No way. What about Obama?
Permon's pause goes on and on. "He scares me," she says. "The coloreds are excited, but my friends and I plan to write in Hillary's name."
These are not gentle lands for Obama. A visit here in August found even deeper suspicions of him in the county, where Hillary Rodham Clinton beat him by 40 percentage points in the Democratic primary. Democrats outnumber Republicans, but voters here tilt either way in presidential elections.
Still, a worsening economy has worked to the Democrats' advantage.
Obama and his running mate, Joseph Biden Jr., drew 8,000 to a rally in Beaver a month ago; John Sweeney, the AFL-CIO president, stumped on Saturday in Beaver; and dozens of union members go door to door each weekend, rummaging up votes. They remind their fellow workers that McCain had supported privatization of Social Security, a move they say could have left worker retirement accounts trapped in a plummeting stock market.
"This is McCain's Hail Mary; they looked at the huge margin here for Hillary Clinton in the primary and figured, 'Hmm, we have a shot,"' said Professor G. Terry Madonna, director of the Center for Politics and Public Affairs at Franklin & Marshall College. "But it's going to be very difficult here for him to get the margins needed to offset the cities and the eastern suburbs."
In Ambridge, Vince Pisano, 47, a union plumber, reflects that challenge. As he sits on his porch, he considers collapses - of the economy and of his retirement account. He is firm for Obama, but he is in a small club.
"Close friends, real close, tell me they can't get past his race," said Pisano, flashing a give-me-a-break look. "If Obama were white, this would be a landslide around here."