Election Night Out on the Town in Santa Monica

By Jason Islas
Staff Writer

November 12, 2012 -- The room erupted into a chorus of moans and boos. I looked up from my glass and glanced around. Everyone was wearing a suit or a dress. Even the three kids -- I think they were the only kids -- running around the tables were wearing suits and ties.

It didn't take long to find the reason the crowd had suddenly gotten so upset. On a large television at the other side of the room there was a blue, red and gray map. The crowd was quiet now so I could hear the voices of news anchors talking about electoral votes and exit polls.

The silhouette of Ohio had just gone from gray to blue. Fox News announced that the state, which politicos had decided would predict the outcome of the entire national election, had just fallen to Obama.

As the map of the United States became increasingly blue, so did the mood in the backroom of the Daily Grill.

That is, except for the guy standing next to me. “I'm optimistic,” he said. It was incumbent Rent Control Board member Bob Kronovet, the only Republican on the board. Sometimes, I wondered if he was the only Republican in Santa Monica.

I wasn't sure if he was talking about the presidential election or his own campaign for reelection. Either way, Bob is usually optimistic.

“Are they out of appetizers?” he wondered aloud. I also had noticed that the steady stream of plates of chicken, vegetarian kebabs and sushi had slowed to a trickle.

That was my cue to move on to the next party, which, after the news about Ohio, promised to be more lively.

I turned left off of Broadway down a dark residential street. Like most of these side streets, this one had no lamps along the sidewalks. Fortunately, the light coming from the house behind me was bright enough that I could find my keys and lock my bike to the “No Parking” sign out front.

I've always wondered if those signs apply to bikes, but with no racks around, I figured I was exempt.

Inside the house, now that the work of campaigning had been done, it was time to play. Earlier in the day, this modestly-sized bungalow had been the war room for Santa Monicans for Renters' Rights. The tables had been covered in precinct maps, SMRR mailers and lists of their volunteers, many of whom were from the local hospitality workers' union.

By 8:30 p.m., the maps and other papers had been replaced by sandwiches and cookies.

“This is clearly the right party to be at,” I thought.

A small television in the corner of the room was announcing further gains by President Obama and cheers from the dozens of people who had gathered around went up each time another state turned blue.

It was when someone started chanting “Si se puede!” that I realized I was the only one at the sandwich table. The crowd had gathered to look at the tiny television. Romney, live from Boston, admitted defeat.

Then it was Obama's turn and the crowd went wild in this small house in mid-town Santa Monica when the president stepped into frame.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, the room, fell completely silent, except for the sound of my camera's shutter and Obama's victory speech.

The president had won and everyone breathed a sigh of collective relief as beer bottles clinked together. I wanted to join them but my work had barely even started. The polls had been closed for over two hours and for some reason, the L.A. County Registrar's Office hadn't updated the vote counts in any of the local races.

“I need a drink,” I mumbled aloud and, suddenly, a hand jutted out toward me holding a green bottle. Sometimes, it's hard not to believe in magic.

Still, there was more to do. The party of Santa Monica's mayor, who is running for State Assembly District 50, was just down the street, so I finished my beer and hoofed it over to Back on Broadway with the hope that I'd be able to find more food.

It was a nice restaurant and I noticed there was an equally nice spread. I became particularly interested in the mozzarella and tomato platter. And, since I was biking everywhere tonight, decided that I deserved one of the turkey sandwiches.

“I wish there were a T.V. here,” someone opined because he hadn't yet heard Obama's victory speech. I was just glad that one of the of the Council members had handed me two tickets, each redeemable for a drink. It was almost 11 p.m. and the County still hadn't updated their website.

Zero precincts reporting in all races meant that I had some waiting to do before I could sleep, so I killed some time with a couple glasses of sangria and another sandwich.

I figured I deserved it.

“Who do you think is going to win?” I asked around, about the Council race. Anyone who had been following all agreed that the top three spots would go to the incumbents and Planning Commissioner Ted Winterer.

But everyone had a different theory about who would take the fourth seat.

The mayor's party started winding down and the few remaining guests were refreshing the browsers on their iPads and smartphones every few minutes, hoping for an update from the County.

No such luck.

I had heard about another party going on and I figured I would swing by before going back to the office to catch a few hours of sleep.

When I arrived at the house, I managed to find another “No Parking” sign to tether my bike to and I walked in. Despite the fact that it was past midnight, the house was bright and the sound of excited chatter poured into the dark street from the open front door.

Inside, the televisions were playing Obama's victory speech over and over, and people still watched as intently as the first time he made it. Candidates and consultants all stood around discussing the past few months and, at this point, every one was clearly in need of some well-deserved rest, but with the County numbers still stuck at zero, they all waited intently.

This place had a cornucopia of pizzas and I figured at this point, I deserved a slice (or two). I had been working so hard, afterall.

“Hi, I'm Jason,” I introduced myself to a woman standing nearby. “I write for the Lookout News.”

“Oh, you're that Jason,” she said. I knew nothing good could follow that statement. And nothing good did. After being told that no one took my work seriously, I decided it was time for another drink.

Around 1:30 a.m., the County still hadn't updated the numbers on the local races and I decided it was time to get some sleep. After saying my thank-yous, I headed for the door and fiddled with my keys in the dark as I tried to unlock my bike.

The ride back to the office was mostly in the dark and the streets were ominously quiet. Santa Monica's a dense city with some 90,000 people in eight square miles, yet after midnight, the streets are silent.

Once back at the office, I checked the County's website again. There were no new numbers, which meant I'd have to get up early the next day.

“At least I'm getting paid,” I thought, poured myself a nightcap and lay down.