There are a lot of shirtless men in Hawaii Kai. They have to negotiate a stand-down with their packs of high-strung house dogs before they can answer the knock at the door. There are garages with more sports equipment than the YMCA and well-dressed women with dogs as big as ponies. And it is hot, hot, hot.
Political candidates have been canvassing neighborhoods all summer, ringing doorbells, catching people at rest, asking them for their vote just seconds after meeting them.
Stanley Chang, candidate for state Senate, has developed a reputation as a marathon canvasser, having knocked on approximately 10,000 doors so far this campaign cycle and at least 30,000 doors over the course of his career. He is on the street almost every day.
What’s that like?
On Friday afternoon, Chang let me follow along for a couple of hours as he made his rounds in Hahaione.
If ever there was a blending of new technology and old-fashioned politicking, this is it.
Chang carries his smartphone with him. He uses an app called MiniVAN from software designer VoteBuilder. He can see a map of the neighborhood on his screen with the names and addresses of all registered voters. When he visits a house and talks with a voter, he enters that into the app and the address is then coded blue. If he hasn’t been to a house yet, it’s coded orange. He can also enter information on people who agree to put up his campaign sign in their yard and take a picture of the house to show his campaign workers what the front lawn looks like. If a voter brings up a specific issue, he notes that into his phone immediately.
Chang has it down to a smooth routine. He can visit 25 houses in an hour. He carries his campaign fliers in a metal file box like the ones doctors use. If no one is home, he writes a quick personalized note to the family, slips a rubber band from a stash on his left wrist into a hole punched in the corner of the flier and attaches it onto the doorknob or the gate. The whole process takes about 45 seconds.
He starts by calling, “Aloha!” when he crosses the border from the public sidewalk into a private driveway. This is not a rule, just something I noticed him doing over and over again. The aloha is resonant — a real Danny Kaleikini kind of aloha — though he switches to more of an indoor voice during conversations.
If there’s a doorbell, he rings, but if there isn’t he knocks — the same five-knock rhythm every time. I ask if he studied the science of rhythms when he chose his knock. He didn’t seem aware he had a signature knock. In any case, it seemed like a friendly pattern.
Most people weren’t home. Those who did answer were polite, though sometimes guarded.
“Yes … ?”
Chang dives into his spiel.
“Oh, hi! I’m Stanley Chang. I’m running for state Senate from this district.”
Some already recognize him. One guy says he went to high school with Chang’s brother. People try to place him by asking who he’s running against. Chang always answers the same way: “A gentleman named Sam Slom.”
Several want to know how old he is. Chang, who is 33 but still could pass for a member of the high school debate team, makes light of the question. “How old do I look?”
He’s dressed in a blue button-down, brown slacks, brown ECCO shoes, which he says he loves because they’re comfortable and reasonably priced. He has slathered sunscreen on his face. After awhile, he goes back to his car to get an extra battery for his phone. He keeps walking, keeps knocking.
You can’t be afraid of dogs if you’re going to do this. Almost every house has an army of avid watchdogs that bark and bay at full volume. Chang’s tactic is to compliment the cacophony. “You have some great watchdogs there,” he says to the owner, who usually smiles at the optimistic assessment of his pets, all the while yelling, “Stop it! Stop it!” at the snarling pack.
One house has a sign taped to the front door:
“Don’t forget the snake is out!”
I back to the edge of the driveway, but Chang knocks anyway. No one answers. It’s not the oddest sign he’s seen on his travels. He once went to a house that bore the note: “Nudists home. If you knock, make sure you have the right house.”
Did he knock, I ask?
He did, but no one answered there, either.
The app on his phone offers all sorts of analytics: How many people were home, how many said they would vote for him, who said maybe. Of course, people can say anything just to make someone leave their doorstep. The real test seems to be whether they’ll allow him to put a campaign sign in their yard.
After two hours, I’m melting, but Chang plans to keep going until 5 p.m. “By about 6 o’clock, people are having their dinner,” he says. He doesn’t want to interrupt that.
“I think it’s a form of respect to make the effort to come to a person’s door and ask what their concerns are,” Chang says, and then he checks the map on his phone and keeps walking.
Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@ staradvertiser.com.
