Swing State Swing: Pennsylvania

We asked our chief political writer, David Paul Kuhn, to get in a car and drive from Portland, Maine to Portland, Ore., via all the Battleground States – those states expected to be the most hotly contested in the presidential election. Armed with a pen, laptop, camera and plenty of No Doz, Kuhn is sending back dispatches that will offer impressions and snapshots of a country making up its mind.

Scranton

"Right now my wife is going through cancer and has been going through cancer treatments for two-and-a-half years and if my health insurance runs out, what am I supposed to do?" Brain Thorsen asks rhetorically, high above Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Then, must he "drain what little savings I have," Brian asks, his mouth lost in his long dark beard and the shadow of his white hardhat. Brian gets health insurance for his family through his union. It got him on the crew of which he's currently a part. The crew is now working the five-story building's skeleton, with steel beams are being welded.

"But if my health insurance runs out because I can't get a job, the economy's bad, what am I supposed to do?" He asks, as if he is owed an answer.

Standing beside Brian, Jeff May leans on a beam, and adds that "all our raises go to health insurance."

Jeff and Brian are going to vote for Johns Kerry and Edwards, the Democratic ticket for president.

In 2000, Democrats won this powerful electoral state by 5 points (Bill Clinton carried it handedly four years before). As president, Mr. Bush has visited Pennsylvania more than any other state.

No doubt, Republicans believe they can win the state back. To do that, Mr. Bush will have to come to the cities. Of registered voters, 77 percent are in urban populations such as Scranton. The GOP dominates the suburbs, but that's not enough in this working class state.

Brian and Jeff are beyond wooing. "[Democrats] are pro-union and I'm a union man," Brian says bluntly, a third generation construction worker in eastern Pennsylvania, where coal and steel are no longer enough to sustain the cities.

Worried most about holding a job to have health coverage for his wife, Brian still has the war in Iraq on his mind.

"I was for it in the beginning at first too. But, I feel, I was lied to," he continues, speaking over his lunch break. "Once all the facts started coming, that there wasn't any weapons of mass destruction, sure the world is a better place without Saddam Hussein, but we could have contained him without going in and blowing him up. And now you've got a haven for terrorism over there."

Gettysburg

Far west of Scranton, down Route 30, is Gettysburg. On a clear Saturday, there were two tables set up at the central square. At one was a retired couple trying to register Democrats. At the other table, two Republican women were trying to draft voters to Mr. Bush's side.

There are red pins for Bush and blue stickers for Kerry. Only a bake stand separates the rivals.

For the Republicans: nurse Marie Schuller and MRI technician Ana Urgarte-Quinn. For the Democrats: retired professor John Freund and his wife of nearly 56 years, Barbara.

Once the place of bloodiest battle of the bloodiest American war, Gettysburg is green today, with farmland and stone walls dating from the days when Robert E. Lee marched his army here. All agreed that they were not as divided as the men who fought here in July of 1863.

"We just hope more people see it our way," says Marie, holding her clipboard close, a George Bush sticker on the back. Marie intends to win voters with her charm.

Back with the Democrats, John and Barbara say that in college, they could have fallen in love even if one was a Republican.

But Barbara, in fluffy blond hair, suddenly leans forward and whispers that back then, "We didn't realize how bad [Republicans] were," as she laughs.

What John can't believe, what utterly baffles the professor, is that people can be undecided on whom they will vote for, "at this point," he says in emphasis, adding that the "sky is falling."

"The economy, the war, the environment, you have to have an opinion of some kind on these issues," John laments.

But why are there undecided voters then?

He juts his head forward and answers: "They seem to be in a coma as far as I can tell."

Nurse Marie hands over a bumper sticker and explains that she was once a Democrat. Then she became a Reagan Democrat. Then she became a Republican. Marie says the party left her.

Ana, also a former Democrat, nods. Now she says, "if you are real radical then you're a Democrat and none of us are as radical as they are." And Ana adds, "I want a first lady that I can respect and not one that says shove it."

Marie nods and says, "Laura Bush has a lot of class, a lot of grace."

Not of a swing state, Richard Miller is up in Gettysburg from Virginia. Dressed in the tan uniform of the Confederacy, Richard is part of a regiment from Virginia that is up here to be part of the "living history."

"Obviously we were a lot more divided at the time. It came to physical blows," Richard says, his musket beside him. "I think in all reality we are not near as divided as we like to think we are. We want pretty much the same things. It's just the way we go about getting them that's different and who we think is going to do the best job."
By David Paul Kuhn