A Crucial Wisconsin Town Voted for Joe Biden by 19 Votes in 2020. People Here Have Thoughts About Kamala Harris.

Deb Dassow has Midwest Mom vibes par excellence: short, well-styled gray hair; colorful blousy dress; statement necklace. A retired high school teacher, Dassow now chairs the Ozaukee County, Wisconsin, Democratic Party. When I met her Monday morning in the party’s offices—they share a parking lot with the Ace Hardware—I asked her what she was going to do with all the Biden/Harris signs piled all over the office. “Oh, stop it!” she said, hitting me on the arm.

Ozaukee, north of Milwaukee, is one of the three heavily populated “WOW” counties that seem to tip every election in Wisconsin, along with Washington County and Waukesha County. These suburban enclaves have long been red, but they’re shifting purplish. A recent analysis in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel found that after decades of GOP blowouts made the WOW counties the most conservative places in Wisconsin, they have voted less Republican in the past four election cycles. That’s certainly true in Cedarburg, where Dassow lives, a picturesque town of 12,000 whose former mills on Cedar Creek have been transformed into antique shops and brewpubs. In 2020, Joe Biden won Cedarburg by 19 votes. The last time the village of Cedarburg voted for a Democrat? 1936.

My own Midwest mom also lives in Cedarburg, and on Monday I came to this bellwether town in a bellwether county in a bellwether state to ask local party chairs how they thought the race might change. And I walked the length of Washington Avenue, asking every Cedarburger I met (and also my mom) what they thought of the Democrats’ new hope.

The Democratic Party office hosted a watch party for the June 27 debate. How did it go? The next day, Dassow said, four scheduled teams of canvassers cancelled their shifts. “But now? I’m excited,” Dassow said. “We had one of our biggest sign-up days ever yesterday.”

“Look, Joe Biden is a great guy,” she continued. “But making the decision to pass the torch is patriotic. We’re the party where the leadership listens to us.” (One might argue that the GOP certainly has listened to the rank and file, which is why Trump runs everything. But let’s leave that aside.) She hopes the change will energize a county where Democrats have long been in the minority. For some time, she said, the tongue-in-cheek office slogan was “Ozaukee County Democrats: Losing By Less.” One guy made Christmas ornaments bearing the motto.

But, she said, the population is changing—“it’s not the same old German, Belgian, Luxembourg stock, which makes a difference”—and she thinks the 2020 Cedarburg win, narrow as it was, inspired the local left. “Victories lead to more victories,” she said. “I know it sounds kinda twinkly, but validating what’s in people’s hearts is the way the world should work.” Her motto for this election, in Cedarburg and, she hopes, a few other towns? “Winning By More in ’24.”

At a burger-and-custard joint down the street from my mom’s house, two leaders of the local Republican Party insisted that the change at the top of the opposing ticket wouldn’t change things for them. “Business as usual,” said Rick Sternhagen, the first vice chair and a retired cheese executive.

“It wouldn’t matter who it is. We have to work just as hard,” said Melissa Abramovich, third vice chair and a loan officer and personal trainer.

Where Dassow was goofy and chipper, the Republican chairs were steely and professional. “We want to connect these people to failing ideas and policies,” Sternhagen said. “It was already on track that way before, so I don’t see any drastic change we need to make.”

The pair agreed that the county was becoming less Republican. “Young families are moving here. College-educated, successful white-collar people from the city,” Sternhagen said resignedly. “That makes a difference.” To reach them, he said the party was trying to present itself as policy-oriented, not personality-oriented. Abramovich urged compromise on issues like abortion—“let’s not lose the whole race because of it!”—and Sternhagen said he was pushing to dispel the notion that Republicans are “against everything.” After I left, I realized that neither of them had uttered Donald Trump’s name once. On the other hand, in June, the county’s Republican Party chairman proclaimed, in a letter to the editor of the local paper, “I WILL VOTE FOR THE FELON!” (Caps his.)

Eating hash browns at a Cedarburg restaurant called Brunch It Up, my mom told me how she felt about the Kamala announcement. “I had really wanted it to be Joe Biden,” she said. “I was watching The View, and one of the women on there”—I later confirmed she meant Sunny Hostin—“said she was really worried Kamala Harris would have trouble getting elected, because she’s a woman and she’s Black. But now, I’m excited about her.” She shook her head. “She is gonna get a lot of crap, though.”

“Here’s how I feel about Biden stepping down: It’s about time,” said a woman at a nearby table.

“You like Kamala?” her friend asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I like the gal who does the impression of her on TV,” the women’s lunch companion said. “Maya Rudolph?” I asked. The guest agreed: “She’s great.”

Along Washington Avenue, Cedarburgers were surprisingly willing to talk politics with a guy carrying a notepad. (Or perhaps they were simply too polite to say no.) When I asked people to tell me, in one sentence, how they felt about Harris, Republicans were mostly dismissive. “She’s done nothing as VP,” one man said. Others: “She has no leadership experience.” “She’s stupid.” “I could be a better vice president than her.” One woman, impeccably clad in what looked like Vineyard Vines, thought for a long moment and then said, tartly, “I wish Kamala Harris the best.” Her friends all burst into laughter.

Only one person admitted any nervousness. “Put it this way,” said a woman in workout wear sitting on a bench. “We were hoping that he wasn’t going to drop out.” (“Can I add one more sentence?” she said. “Go Trump.”)

Among Democrats, the mood was one of relief and cautious optimism. “I’m not exactly thrilled, but she is better than Biden,” said a woman holding a clutch of shopping bags. “I feel like a lot of her perspective is unknown, but I am hopeful,” said a guy stepping out of a Volkswagen. When I asked an Indian American woman browsing a sidewalk clearance rack for one sentence about Kamala, she said, “Wow, you pronounced her name correctly.” (She added a second sentence: “She seems like a great candidate, and she’s not a convicted felon.”)

Several people admitted they knew almost nothing about her. “I need to read up, I guess,” said a mom sitting with her teenager by Cedarburg Town Hall. “She needs to prove herself,” said a jogger.

Two young women were unlocking their bikes from a pole when I approached them. They glanced at each other when they heard the question, then answered cautiously. “I don’t know enough about her,” one said. “I don’t watch the TV anymore.”

“I feel neutral,” the other said.

After conferring a moment, though, they rode after me and asked, “Wait, we’ve been camping off the grid. Is she the candidate now?” I told them that yes, Biden had withdrawn, and it looked like Harris would replace him.

“Can I change my sentence?” the first biker said.

“Yeah, I’m a bit more hopeful now,” said her partner.

“Here’s my new sentence,” said the first. “Fuckin’ awesome.”