Word: ward
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...Quarter, we browsed souvenir shops, sampled pralines, and listened to a jazz band perform in an outdoor cafe. But after delighting in the bustle of the French Quarter, we saw another part of New Orleans that didn’t look like America at all—the Ninth Ward. Gabe Unger ’11’s friend from New Orleans, Kimble Wright, and his mom led us around the Ninth Ward by car, where we encountered dozens of deserted stores and shopping malls. As the closed roller coasters of Six Flags rose over the highway, ghostly...
This April it's going to be hard finding that kind of November unity in the Philadelphia Democratic organization. Michael Nutter, the city's impressive new mayor, is backing Clinton, and a few white liberals are backing Obama, but the ward leaders must answer to their people. Local politics is still neighborhood politics...
With the city split roughly between white and black, the chairman of the party, U.S. Congressman Bob Brady, is not going to shove a candidate down a ward leader's throat. Even after Clinton and Obama make their pitches at the J-J dinner, Brady won't insist that the city committee endorse one or the other. The party needs to avoid a winner-take-all fight among the ward leaders...
...wards that make up the political machine thrive on delivering the vote come Election Day. But they also exist for the patronage and other help that ward leaders and committee persons can offer their people. Like all dreamers, Grandpop was a walker of the neighborhood. He took us on evening walks through Hunting Park, his Phillies cigar a regular part of the ritual. On the way home, he'd stop at the corner next to the subway stop, get the bulldog edition of the Inquirer and chat with the guy selling the papers. That corner, one of my brothers recalled...
Grandpop's reward was nothing so grand as getting elected U.S. Congressman. His highest position was ward secretary in the 43rd. But when he retired from the plant, Grandpop got a job working at the election commission down at City Hall. In his mind, it was a due reward for his years of service to the party, payment for his loyalty; it was a reminder, too, of those countless days in the 1930s when he was unemployed and walked each morning the 12 miles (20 km) down Broad Street to City Hall in hopes of getting work. That...