A woman in her mid-30s, Claiborne Fogelman, stands at the foot of Pelham Road in the Hickory Ridge subdivision outside Earlysville, a camera in hand, taking a picture of Buck Mountain framed by the Blue Ridge and the colors of sunset on a brilliantly clear day. She has come home from work and is struck by the beauty.
Click.
Up strolls David Wyant. He has never met this woman before, but he talks to her in the familiar way he has with people. They briefly debate whether it’s Buck Mountain, discuss smoke that Wyant had seen the day before, talk about the drought. As soon as Wyant hears that Fogelman was born and raised in Albemarle, he starts playing the name game.
David Wyant
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“You probably went to Albemarle,” says Wyant.
“I actually graduated from Western. Class of ’89.”
“You might have been in there with my daughter, then.”
Wyant goes through his list of children and relatives to see if she knows any. Finally he makes a match, and Wyant gets back to putting up a campaign sign on the lawn of a willing supporter.
Wyant never makes a direct pitch to Fogelman, or thrusts any fliers in her hand. He does not say, as he says two dozen times this evening, “Appreciate your support in November.”
Instead, he does what he clearly enjoys more than engaging in drawn-out debates on policy: He finds a connection, through his past or through his work. When he gets people to the door, he’s more likely to talk about the pool in the backyard he’s worked on instead of positions and issues.
Such is life on the campaign trail for Wyant, who’s running for re-election to the Board of Supervisors.
Much of rural politics seems to be about your constituent services—what you can do for a fella when the bridge is out or he’s having problems with an ordinance. Success is as much about following through on the little promises as the big ones.
Two supporters are out with Wyant today—they split up the doors to knock on—and one of them has found a couple that wants to meet David.
“Remember when we were watching that football game, and I told you our supervisor was the ref?” the woman asks her husband.
“Did you make that bad call the other night?” the husband asks. They’re from Buffalo, and are Bills fans.
“Uh uh. I haven’t made one yet,” answers Wyant with a smile. A store owner and retired civil engineer for the Virginia Department of Transportation, Wyant is also an NFL referee. His vanity plate reads “NFL#16,” which is his number as a ref.
“I’ll give you my vote right now if you do one thing: Pave Bleak House [Road],” says the man. “It would knock off 10, 15 minutes. Such an inconvenience.”
“You’re running on the Republican ticket?” asks the woman.
“Yeah, but I pretty much consider myself an independent conservative,” answers Wyant.
As Wyant’s walking off, the man calls out one more request: “I want one favorable call for Buffalo.”
Most people who come to the door just take Wyant’s materials, force a smile, say thanks and retreat into their homes. It’s not until the very last house of the night, just as dusk is becoming night, that Wyant gets someone who challenges him. A thin man who works at the National Ground Intelligence Center comes to the door and almost immediately starts attacking Wyant for approving so much recent county growth. If fully built out, approved rezonings for Biscuit Run and Hollymead’s next phase could bring up to 4,300 new units to Albemarle.
“I just don’t see any planning,” says the man. “I moved here when I was 2, and the road network’s the same that I remember when I was 6. And you look at the influx of people. It’s just silly.”
They go back and forth on sewer issues, affordable housing, and the rate of local growth until the man relents and says good night.
It’s almost completely dark, and Wyant gets back into the car his wife, Gail, is driving. “I don’t mind his questions,” says Wyant. “Everybody has to have a place at the table.”
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