Peter Carlson: For the 2010 Census, Knocking on America's Doors
[Peter Carlson, a former reporter for The Washington Post, is a columnist for American History magazine. He is also the author of "K Blows Top: A Cold War Comic Interlude, Starring Nikita Khrushchev, America's Most Unlikely Tourist." He served as a temporary census worker this year.]
...I'm a retired newspaperman, and I enlisted as a temporary $18.50-an-hour census worker because I figured it would be interesting. As every reporter knows, it's always entertaining to meet the American people in all their wacky glory.
You learn a lot about your fellow human beings when you take a census -- and not just the answers to the official questions. I spent six weeks working in Montgomery County, and here's what I learned: The American people are quirky, cranky and a little paranoid. They're also a bit confused about race, especially the census's racial categories, but they're surprisingly good humored about it.
Of course, I saw a skewed sample of Americans. Here's why: Every 10 years, the Census Bureau mails questionnaires to every home in the nation. Roughly 70 percent of people promptly fill out the form and mail it back. Those folks are, well, the kind of people who promptly mail back census questionnaires.
The other 30 percent don't mail in the form because they forgot, or they lost it, or their dog ate it, or they didn't understand it, or they hate questionnaires, or they hate the government, or they just don't give a damn, or . . . whatever.
When the government asks Americans to stand up and be counted, these are the folks who remain seated. They're also the folks who got a personal visit from me -- or one of the other 600,000 temporary census workers. The Constitution requires that we count them whether they want to be counted or not.
Knocking on their doors is an adventure. You never know who'll answer. One man opened the door while brushing his teeth and responded to all my questions with a big blob of bubbly toothpaste bobbing up and down on his cheek. One young guy spent the entire interview tapping on his iPhone, updating his Facebook friends about his exciting census experience.
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A deaf and blind woman held out her hand and told me to ask my questions by slowly tracing each letter on her palm.
One woman invited me into her house and led me through her living room, which was piled high with papers, to her kitchen, which was also piled with papers. After the interview, she asked if I could help her with a writing project.
And then there was the old guy who protested when I called him "sir." He said he couldn't stand the officers he was forced to call "sir" back in World War II.
See? The American people really are entertaining. Unfortunately, the census form provides no place to capture their delightful quirkiness....
Read entire article at WaPo
...I'm a retired newspaperman, and I enlisted as a temporary $18.50-an-hour census worker because I figured it would be interesting. As every reporter knows, it's always entertaining to meet the American people in all their wacky glory.
You learn a lot about your fellow human beings when you take a census -- and not just the answers to the official questions. I spent six weeks working in Montgomery County, and here's what I learned: The American people are quirky, cranky and a little paranoid. They're also a bit confused about race, especially the census's racial categories, but they're surprisingly good humored about it.
Of course, I saw a skewed sample of Americans. Here's why: Every 10 years, the Census Bureau mails questionnaires to every home in the nation. Roughly 70 percent of people promptly fill out the form and mail it back. Those folks are, well, the kind of people who promptly mail back census questionnaires.
The other 30 percent don't mail in the form because they forgot, or they lost it, or their dog ate it, or they didn't understand it, or they hate questionnaires, or they hate the government, or they just don't give a damn, or . . . whatever.
When the government asks Americans to stand up and be counted, these are the folks who remain seated. They're also the folks who got a personal visit from me -- or one of the other 600,000 temporary census workers. The Constitution requires that we count them whether they want to be counted or not.
Knocking on their doors is an adventure. You never know who'll answer. One man opened the door while brushing his teeth and responded to all my questions with a big blob of bubbly toothpaste bobbing up and down on his cheek. One young guy spent the entire interview tapping on his iPhone, updating his Facebook friends about his exciting census experience.
ad_icon
A deaf and blind woman held out her hand and told me to ask my questions by slowly tracing each letter on her palm.
One woman invited me into her house and led me through her living room, which was piled high with papers, to her kitchen, which was also piled with papers. After the interview, she asked if I could help her with a writing project.
And then there was the old guy who protested when I called him "sir." He said he couldn't stand the officers he was forced to call "sir" back in World War II.
See? The American people really are entertaining. Unfortunately, the census form provides no place to capture their delightful quirkiness....