David Farmer

Country song springs from the late night poetry of fundraising emails

David Farmer, Special to the Piscataquis Observer •July 5, 2019

If you’ve ever given money to a political candidate, then you know that we just ended the quarter – and started a new fiscal year – for campaigns ranging from town council and mayor right up to president of the United States.

The deadlines are arbitrary to most of the real world. There’s nothing magic about June 30 except that it’s the end of a reporting period for candidates, who want to show strong fundraising numbers as a way to demonstrate that their campaigns are successful.

In addition to the total amount of money raised, the candidates who have done well also release the number of donors they have. Everyone counts. From the well-heeled supporter who writes a check for the maximum amount to the person who pitches in a $1, the total number of people sending in money is one way candidates are judged.

And that’s why, if your email inbox is like mine, you’ve been bombarded with desperate, repetitive requests for contributions. Emails are cheap and easy. But they are also effective ways to raise low-dollar contributions – the fuel the modern campaign tries to run on.

The campaigns take a simple approach. You can’t get what you want if you don’t ask. So they ask and ask and ask and ask again.

As one of my friends put it, it’s enough to want to throw your phone – and everyone else’s – right into the lake.

But as I read the subject lines of email after email, in my head I started to hear the lonesome wail of throwback country song. The ding of my inbox setting the beat.

They’ve got all the great elements you need. They’re riding trains and pickup trucks. They’re up late, broke and desperate. They’re begging you to come back. They’re drinking beers. They’re loving their dogs. It’s all there.

So I dedicate this soon-to-be runaway chart-topping hit to all the finance directors and digital campaign staffers out there who actually wrote it, one subject line at a time. (It also works as an ’80s power ballad. Think White Snake.)

They don’t want you to read this.
They’re scared of what we can do.
Will you help?
I’m calling you.