STANDING quietly before the voting booth, Eileen Butler gazed at a photograph of her brother, Tom, dead three years and 52 days.
“This one’s for you,” Eileen whispered.
Four years ago, Tom, a firefighter with Squad 1, had noodged and prodded his little sister until she gave in and got up to vote, for the first time.
“He pushed me!” said Eileen, 31.
“He said, ‘If you wanna make a difference, you can’t just sit back!’ ” But yesterday, Eileen didn’t need any nagging. She had to vote for President Bush. For both of them.
Three years after the World Trade Center fell, America got up and voted for president. For many of us, the enormity of this choice we take for granted became real only in the privacy of the voting booth.
Peggy Butler used to talk politics with her son. And yesterday was no different. She walked nervously into the booth in a middle school in Kings Park, L.I., shut the curtain and heard Tom’s voice.
“What’s the matter with these people?” Peggy said her son would exclaim whenever their political choices listed left of what he believed were the country’s best interests.
“What’s the matter with these people?” Peggy repeated, as she fingered the gold medallion she always wears around her neck, decorated with the image of her lost son, and pushed the lever for the president.
Peggy Butler and her husband, Bill, a retired firefighter, have good reason to fear the future. Bill spent seven months after 9/11 down at Ground Zero, digging his knuckles raw hoping to find any evidence that the boy he raised into manhood had existed. He found none.
Their other son, Steve, a sergeant with the Emergency Service Unit, who happened to be off-duty on 9/11, dug by night.
Should there be another attack, “Steve will be the first one down there,” said Bill. “I don’t want to lose another son.”
Late yesterday, at the kitchen table, Bill grew grave. “If Kerry wins, I’m not gonna be a happy camper, but I’ll still call him president.”
Peggy shot back, “I’m not as nice as you are.”
“It would be President Kerry,” Bill persisted. “You’re right,” his wife gave in.
Suddenly, my cellphone rang. It was a friend. “Don’t tell anyone,” he made me promise. “I tried to vote for Kerry, but I just couldn’t do it. I voted for Bush.” Another call. Another friend. “I couldn’t vote for Kerry.” The Butlers looked relieved.
“Not too many things scare me,” said Bill, still a strapping figure at age 63. “But I just feel my vote is so important this year. For the whole country.”