AMERICAN SCENE
For Plains, Ga., a normally placid farming community of 683 citizens, there would never be another day like this one: Election Day, 1976—family reunion and carnival and the world's front page all rolled into one. TIME Correspondent Bonnie Angela was in Plains for the occasion and sent this report:
Plains is customarily a pretty serious workaday kind of world, but for this day the town was roped off from reality. The townsfolk, who believed in Carter back when the rest of the country laughed, had been preparing for the historic event for days. Bank Manager Marvin Nation was tacking up bunting on his building. Billy Carter was leaning on a red pickup truck, giving an interview to a reporter from Rio de Janeiro. The ladies of Plains, in best Southern tradition, had baked up a storm. Rosalynn Carter's mother produced her choice butternut cake a day early for fear she'd be too excited on Election Day. Contractor Robert Abbett was sawing and hammering the stand on which the favorite son would speak.
Main Street—all two blocks of it —was like a Hollywood movie set. Plains residents weary of hearing visitors make that comparison, but the turn-of-the-century roofed sidewalks and flat-facade buildings seem oddly two-dimensional. One suspects that Carter's Worm Farm, the Peanut Museum and the half-dozen other establishments are folded away after a day's shooting. At the end of the street is the crowning bit of make-believe, the period-piece depot that does not deal with trains at all but is Carter's headquarters, festooned with peanut wreaths and campaign paraphernalia. On the freight platform is the rocking chair where Miss Lillian, Carter's already legendary mother, gives her thousandth interview.
Around the corner from Mam Street is the one-room cement block community center with its two blue-curtained voting booths. Not a building anyone would notice, except that it was where Jimmy Carter cast his vote. The man seeking the presidency was not moved ahead of the others; the first man in line was his lifelong friend, Billy Wise, who was waiting when the doors opened.
Behind Carter in line was Jimmy Wallace, a sturdy black man who will turn 64 on Christmas Day. Outside, Wallace lingered, enjoying the scene. "I've known him all his life," he said proudly. "Me and him used to plow the mule together, back when I worked for his Daddy. I told him he'd come a long way, with the help of the Lord." A black nurse's aide smiled and said, "When I was voting I felt good about it. I've known Mr. Carter. He was always nice—a Christian gentleman. And I believe he'll do good." Both of them had helped put into the White House a man they knew personally, whose life had touched theirs, a shining illustration of what Election Day is about.
Plains on this day was swollen with tourists—from Los Angeles, Akron, Germany—all eager to be part of this first page of a new chapter in history. They trailed along as Carter strolled two blocks to the peanut house. They explored Billy Carter's service station. They snapped happily as Miss Lillian rolled by in a Georgia state police car.