Juan Registers Immigrants
September was the month that the high temperatures finally started to fall below 100 degrees in Phoenix. This morning was warm but pleasant as Juan set up his portable voter registration booth in a corner of the Ma-Ha Tuak Park parking lot.
The park was a lovely spot, situated next to the South Mountain trailhead. It had two playgrounds that Juan had taken his kids to many times when they were little. At this time of day, it was nearly deserted, which was why Juan was setting up now. He wanted to finish his business and be gone long before the families and kids started showing up.
“Hola, Juan! How’re you doing?” The man ambling towards him wasn’t one of Juan’s many friends. His clothes were shabby, and his hair unkempt. He pushed a stolen grocery cart ahead of him that overflowed with what looked like aluminum cans stuffed into large plastic garbage sacks.
“Good!” Juan replied cheerfully, “Not too hot yet.”
He approached until the two men could easily talk face-to-face. They made a show of exchanging a few pleasantries, but this wasn’t a social call. They soon got down to the real business at hand.
“Did my ballot come in?” The man asked.
“What’s your name again?” Juan asked, unzipping a nylon satchel and rifling through the contents. “Gutierrez, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the man eyeballed Juan’s satchel with a desperate, hungry look. “Enrique Gutierrez.”
Juan pulled out a distinctive envelope with the words "Official Ballot Enclosed Do Not Delay" boldly printed in red ink. “Yeah, I’ve got you right here.”
Juan opened the envelope and laid it and its contents on the table before Enrique. Involuntarily, he turned his head left and right, scanning the surrounding area to make sure no one was watching. He adjusted the "Register to Vote Here" cardboard signs to mask his activity further. "Can you write your name? I need two signatures, here and here." Juan pointed to the two spots, one on the blank ballot and the other on the outside of the ballot’s official envelope.
Enrique nodded once, picked up one of the pens on the table, and quickly signed his name in both places.
Once that was done, Juan pulled a large roll of cash from his pocket, skinned off five twenty-dollar bills and handed them over. “Go on, get going.” Juan pointed his chin towards some more men closing in on the booth. “I’ve got more customers coming.”
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