by Connie

Maybe you saw me. Maybe I even came to your door. Maybe you just watched me through a window walking up and down the streets here in Cameron’s Mobile Estates with my Census bag hanging on my hip, my clipboard in my right hand, an iPhone in my left hand, and wearing a look of concentration as I searched for a particular door I was supposed to knock on.

Each day I was given a list of addresses to visit—the central goal of the job: Go to the address and find out who lives there. Although 60 percent of Americans responded to the Census survey on or about April 1—Census Day—about 40 percent didn’t, and they were the ones I was commissioned to follow up with.

Mostly, I found no one at home. I suppose there were some houses where the residents chose not to answer, and there were a number of places where the person answering the door told me that they had already responded online or by mail. Where there was no answer to my knock, I was able to leave a Notice of Visit, a form on which I wrote their unique Census ID and asked them to respond either online or by phone to get their data registered. I left these in an inconspicuous place near the front door so no casual observer could make assumptions about who was at home and who wasn’t.

In addition to the addresses I was given here in the park, I went to several other neighborhoods in Santee—along Prospect, up Magnolia, on Woodside, over on Graves—and discovered housing that I had been totally unaware existed. I probably conducted fewer than 10 complete interviews during the four weeks I worked, each one such an insight into people’s lives. With the exception of only two refusals, I found everyone to be quite friendly, cooperative, and eager to do their part to be counted for our community. With the high temperatures and oppressive humidity in September, it was a bit of a challenge at times, but I knew it was important, and I’m glad I did it.