The New Yorker
Early this morning, the Obama family had voted at the Beulah Shoesmith Elementary School, in Hyde Park. Long after they had gone, the lawn out in front of the school was filled with reporters, mostly Europeans, filming voters. While I was doing my duty, talking to an eight-year-old kid dressed as George Washington, my colleague Peter Slevin of the Washington Post was across the street knocking on the door of someone else who had voted at the Shoesmith School this morning: William Ayers.
Ayers has avoided reporters since he became an election talking-point, scratch-pole, and general sensation. But now he answered the door of his three-story rowhouse, and I came to join the discussion. Ayers is sixty-four and has earrings in both ears. He wore jeans and Riley t-shirt—Riley the kid from “Doonesbury.” The day was fall-bright and 50th Street was filled with fallen gold leaves. Ayers waved to neighbors and kids as they went by on the sidewalk. He was, for the first time in a long time, in an expansive mood, making clear that in all the months his name has been at the forefront of the campaign, he and his wife, Bernardine Dohrn—ex-leaders of the Weather Underground and longtime educators and activists in the community—have been watching a lot of cable television, not least Fox.
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