Census and Sensibility

The first U.S. Census began on August 2, 1790.

Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson had marshals take the census in the original 13 States, plus the districts of Kentucky, Maine, and Vermont, and the Southwest Territory, now known as Tennessee.

Nearly 200 years later, in 1970, my parents decided to make a little extra money by becoming census takers.

I was 13 years old at the time, and, while it’s all pretty vague now, I do recall my mom and dad had these plastic shoulder bags that bore the image of the American flag and the words “1970 Census.”

They called people at night and went to their homes to interview the more reluctant ones, and they’d bring home stacks of completed census forms.

Both my parents were in sales and they enjoyed connecting with people, so this was a good gig for them.

I hadn’t thought about that little bit of family history until last week when my doorbell rang just as I was signing off from work.

I rarely get visitors, even before the coronavirus shutdown, so my first impulse whenever I hear the bell ring is to snarl “who the hell is that?”, which is quickly followed by “what the hell do they want?”

Gosh, I’d make a great maitre d’, wouldn’t I?

I live in a third-floor walk-up so I always make a point of shouting “I’ll be right down!” down the stairwell before making my descent to the ground floor.

When I opened the door, I saw a masked woman with some kind of ID tag hanging around her neck. I hadn’t thought to put my mask on, so I used the outer door as a shield.

“Hi, I’m with the Census Bureau,” she said.

What is Person’s No. 1 name?

Oh, yeah. I recalled that a census worker—presumably this woman—had left note on the door a few days earlier saying she had stopped by and would return.

“Okay,” I said. “I just mailed in the form, but we can do this now if you want.”

“Yes, please…”

I learned that her name was Rosanna, she was originally from Brazil and now lives in my neighborhood.

She ran through a handful of questions, taking to time to compliment me on how young I looked for my age, so obviously she is now my new best friend.

Rosanna told me that a man had cursed at her and chased her away when she came to his house to interview him.

Sadly, this kind of behavior is not surprising in this demented day and age, when self-centered imbeciles refuse to wear masks in the middle of a pandemic because it somehow violates their rights.

I can attest to the fact that none of the questions she asked are challenging or revealing. It’s just a headcount, people. No one’s going to inject a microchip into your neck.

I’m almost certain my parents didn’t go through this kind of aggravation when they were census takers, but then that was a different time in America.

Of course, the census has always sparked controversy, even going back to 1790, when both Jefferson and President George Washington both expressed skepticism over the final count.

“Our real numbers will exceed, greatly, the official returns of them,” Washington said, pointing the finger at negligent census takers, “the religious scruples of some…and the fears of others that it was intended as the foundation of a tax.”

After the interview was over, I thank Rosanna for her time and told her to take care.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have given this encounter a second thought, but it means so much now that we’re locked away in our homes, wrapped in masks, and forced to keep our distance from others.

Now it really counts for a lot.