EST PALM BEACH, Fla. - Those in need of proof that American democracy is a messy affair have had ample evidence in Florida this week. But just in case any doubt remains, we give you Saturday night's events in Palm Beach County.
That county's manual recount of votes from four precincts, which dragged into the early hours of yesterday morning, teetered on the edge of chaos at times, a circus of improvisation, arcana, and testiness on all sides.
It took dozens of officials and party observers 10 grueling hours to reexamine just 1 percent of the county's votes, poring over the butter-colored ballot cards, the fate of the future president hanging on minuscule squares of paper called chads.
And in the wee hours of yesterday morning, they voted to do it all again. Ninety-nine times. The rest of the county was to be manually recounted, too.
Outside the Governmental Center in West Palm Beach a few dozen protesters carried signs that read ''Jeb Crow,'' ''Honk for a Revote,'' ''Give Us Democracy or Give Us Bush,'' and ''Cry Baby Al Gore.'' Some of them hashed out election issues all over again, shouting about health care and the minimum wage through megaphones held just inches from one another's faces.
But the real action was inside.
In a large, fluorescent-lighted room with enormous windows, 17 elections clerks worked through neat pile after pile of ballots, watched by a dozen observers from both parties. They placed obvious votes in the columns for each candidate, and sent questionable ballots to the three-member canvassing board for perusal.
Outside the windows, scores of reporters, cameras, and interested locals peered in, smudging the glass with their fingerprints, knocking it with their cameras. The whole scene was eerily similar to a zoo exhibit, or something smaller.
''It's like we're in a fishbowl,'' said the commission chairman, Palm Beach County Judge Charles Burton, a man who would be in no mood for mirth at night's end.
The canvassers turned all 500 questionable ballots over and over in the light. They looked at the front of them. They looked at the back of them. They turned them at all angles to divine voters' intentions.
At first, they used the sunshine method: Even a pinpoint of light coming through a partially punched hole near a candidate's name counted as a vote. The vice president was picking up a lot of votes that way.
But just before 6 p.m., the board realized the sunshine method was too sloppy, unworkable. They decided instead to focus on the chads.
Chads - tiny squares of paper that cover the ballot holes until voters punch them out, thereby indicating their preference - held the key to last night's proceedings. If the chads were hanging, it was a vote. If not, no cigar. For either candidate.
The new, more conservative policy hadn't really been decided upon. It was more organic than that.
''It's not something they did on purpose,'' county spokesman Bob Nichols said. ''It was just something they did.''
But the chad examination method was entirely consistent with county guidelines, so they decided to adopt it formally, and to go back over the questionable ballots from the first precinct again using the method.
''Some of you probably never even heard of a chad before this started,'' Nichols said, to some laughter. It was all new to him, too, until recently.
He obliged reporters and locals with a detailed explanation of various chad categories. First, you have your ''hanging door'' chad, which is attached to the ballot card by just one corner. Your ''swinging-door'' chad hangs by two corners. Your ''tri-chad'' has three corners attached. These are all valid, with the tri-chad being the bare minimum that counts as an actual vote.
Now, your ''dimpled'' chad, where the square has clearly been pushed, but only bulges, doesn't count. Nor, for that matter, does the ''pregnant'' chad, which has all four corners of the little square attached but not the sides. Those votes might cut the mustard under the sunshine rule, but under the hanging chad rule, they don't.
Bush spokesman Tucker Eskew seized on the confusion, saying it is ''troubling, and raises questions about that process.''
In a written statement, Bush spokesman Ari Fleischer said ''the changing standard used to judge ballots, the inability of officials in charge to explain their procedures, and the secretive fashion in which decisions were made, risk undermining people's confidence in the results, whatever they may be.''
The officials scrutinized away regardless, squinting at the cards, passing them around, as lawyers for both parties craned over their shoulders to check up on them (the lawyers weren't to touch the cards, they were constantly reminded).
''He's a chad connoisseur,'' said Scott Connally, a Jupiter resident who was watching Burton turn a card over and over in the air. Connally voted for Bush, but had had some sleepless nights since then wondering if the Republican's win was really the will of the people.
The lawyers objected to many of the board's decisions, and the disputed ballots were then placed in special objection envelopes. That pile grew higher than any other. Participants frequently got snippy, particularly Democratic lawyer Ben Kuehne and Republican lawyer Mark Wallace.
''It's not right for the canvassing board to deny that vote,'' Kuehne said at one point.
''What party are you representing, Ben?'' Wallace asked. ''The Free The Chad party?''
''The people of Florida,'' Kuehne replied.
''I think it's an arbitrary process you're using,'' Kuehne said later.
''The voter has to have some responsibility,'' Wallace replied.
Well after 2 a.m., County Commissioner Carol Roberts dropped her bombshell, before a dozen TV cameras and scores of reporters. At a news conference to announce the results of the recount (Gore had picked up 33 votes, Bush 14), she demanded a vote on extending the manual count to all of Palm Beach County. Embattled Supervisor of Elections Theresa LePore voted with her. Burton, blindsided, argued for more measured consideration, to no avail.
Republicans objected. Democrats rejoiced. Barring an injunction, the circus opens again today.
