Being counted by the United States Census in 1980, Phoenix, Arizona


I can tell you the exact day that I was counted by the United States Census as "head of household" (because I lived alone) for the first time, it was April 23rd, 1980.

It was at the Saguaro Apartments, which was at 4205 N. 9th Street (9th Street near Lopers), and I had resided there since August of 1977. These dates stick in my mind clearly, as I had been out of high school for a year, and was idiot enough to move to Phoenix in August. If you know Phoenix, you know what I'm talking about. And the census-taker knocked on my door on my birthday.

That the United States would consider me important enough to count really impressed me, and I still think about it to this day. Whether I got something that I was supposed to mail back or not I don't recall, and maybe I didn't imagine that one little person in one tiny apartment in Phoenix mattered all that much. I do recall being excited when the phone books came out, and my name was in it. I may, or may not have, run around saying, "The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here!", but I was excited, and impressed, gaining a feeling of importance that I'd never had before.

I answered the door, eating a banana, because no one ever visited me there except some of the local yahoos who lived in the apartment complex. Seeing someone with a clipboard didn't startle me, it impressed me. I vaguely knew about the census, and since the subject of conversation was going to be all about me, I was able to converse. I'm still that way, you know!

When she asked me what my birthday was, I just said "today", and I could tell that she thought that I was being flippant, and she had to remind me that this was official Federal business. I produced my driver's license to prove my veracity.

The next part gets leering comments from people that I've told this story to, and so I rarely tell it. It was my birthday, and I was all alone, so I asked her if she would go to dinner with me that evening, and she said that she would. We went to Stuart Anderson's Black Angus, up by Metrocenter, which is still there. No great romance blossomed or anything, we were just two young people who ate dinner together. Turns out she lived just a few blocks away, and after pondering it I realized that she knew more about me than most girls do about the men who ask them out than is usual. After all, she had the story of my life, written down there, in the census. I suppose that she sized me up, and decided I was harmless, which I was. If, of course, a great romance had blossomed, this would have been one of those "how I met your mother" stories, but afterwards while we stayed in touch for a while, there was nothing there that evening but enjoying a wonderful steak (and baked potato!) together.

I have been counted in every census since then, and I have voted in every election. One person does matter!
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