Me? Favor low tech over high?

I can be a real snob when I

hear people say they can't be bothered with learning to use a computer.

Good grief, when they find out how computers can enrich their lives, they'll

wonder how they could have remained a troglodyte so long.

But on Election Day, I was

ready to take technology and ... Never mind.

First let me tell you, I work

with a great team of poll workers. Because we were going to be using the

touch-screen computers for the first time, nearly every one of them took

more training than the county required. We were trained well and comprehensively,

logging as much as six hours to become completely comfortable with the

new machines.

We all came to work 45 minutes

earlier than we usually do to be absolutely sure we had each machine started

up and ready for the voters. By 7 a.m., we had about a dozen people in

line. The first voter verified that each machine read zero votes, and

we were off, feeling smug and confident that everything was going to go

well.

And twice, early in the day,

technicians from the county office dropped by to see if we had any problems.

Of course not, I dismissed them breezily. Computerized voting was a snap,

and I had a competent crew of poll workers.

We were busy all day. The voters

loved the machines. I asked most of them as they exited: "Well, what

did you think?" To a person, they answered affirmatively.

Until about 4:30. At about

4:30, a school teacher had started the process of bringing up her ballot

on the screen when the screen froze. Within seconds, the man next to her

turned around and said, "Mine, too."

The "insufficient memory"

message on the screen was like nothing we had encountered during training,

and a quick flip through the manual revealed no such scenario.

Oh well, I thought, we can

get along with three machines, but headed for the telephone to ask the

county to send a tech around now that I had something for him to do. Their

telephone lines were overwhelmed, and I held, and held, and held. Except

for other poll workers coming to tell me the remaining three machines

had crashed like dominoes, I had plenty of time to think.

When your PC acts up, often

just rebooting will fix the problem, although at the expense of data not

saved. But I could remember no assurance that the votes already in the

computer would be saved if we rebooted them.

And believe me, I was committed

to do nothing that would delete ballots already cast by approximately

520 voters who had entrusted their most precious right to those machines.

Meanwhile, of course, homeward-bound

voters, many wet from the day's rain, all tired and hungry, were flooding

into our polling place. They were incredibly patient and understanding

with us. My workers borrowed chairs from an adjacent room, and we seated

as many as we could.

Little did we know that a similar

scene was being played out all over the county. When the 101st to 105th

voter in every precinct was bringing up his ballot, machines locked up

from lack of RAM. Many of them already had a tech in the room, some had

got in the telephone queue before I did, and a few had the guts I lacked:

They shut down the machines and restarted them without losing a single

vote.

Finally, one of my assistant

managers who is a master gardener thought there would still be someone

in the Extension Office next door to the Elections Office. He called them,

explained our predicament, and asked them to walk next door to tell our

tale of woe.

Within 15 minutes, a technician

appeared, assured me we wouldn't lose a ballot if we rebooted, and we

were back in business.

Most of the 80 to 90 people

waiting were understanding about it, but there were, of course, a few

who left indignantly. Whereas with the old system we rarely had a voter

still in line at 7 p.m., closing time, this time it took until 7:20 to

get everyone in and out.

And whereas I usually had things

wrapped up and delivered