By Peter F. Stevens

As the race for Ninth Congressional District roars toward the special election, people have been working the phones and pounding the proverbial pavement for their man or woman. In Dorchester, rallying behind one's candidate has long proven part of the political landscape. The very word "rally" once played a powerful role in the town's life, and some might argue that what passes for political rallies today is a wan reflection of political rallies past.

In the late 18th century to the days of James Michael Curley, local and national elections in Dorchester and cities and towns throughout the nation, the actual process of casting a vote serving as the last step in a long and vibrant process in which citizens chose up sides and went to great lengths to outshout and outdo each other on behalf of this or that candidate for every elected post from mayor to president. Political campaigns in Dorchester offered a whirl of open-air mass rallies at which candidates delivered long speeches punctuated by the booming strains of brass bands and raucous cheers from the crowds or colorful tents. If rain loomed, candidates' supporters would hold similar events beneath colorful tents.

Voter turnout, which was exclusively male until women won the right to mark a ballot, in 19th-century Dor-chester averaged between 80 and 90 percent, a far cry from the statistics in present-day America.

Despite the fact that only men could cast a vote, political rallies in Dorchester were often family affair, women and children in their "Sunday best" turning out with the men of the family for the events. Supporters and opponents alike would turn out at many rallies, everyone trying to shout one another down. Picnics, speeches, parades &emdash; all of these and more marked political rallies in Dorchester for much of the town's history, and, in many ways, politics offered locals a prime form of entertainment in the pre-radio and television eras.

Typical of the give-and-take surrounding sabotage local political rallies was that of Dorchester's Whigs and Democrats in 1840. Dorchester native Samuel Swan recalled: "The Whigs spent the day rigging up a vessel in front of the hall [Lyceum], to be drawn in procession the next day. All night the young Whigs kept lively watch at the reading-room to prevent the [Democrats] from destroying the vessel before she should start on her first voyage. The Democrats, in the old gun house nearby, also held vigil that the Whigs should not be able to spike the cannon" with which the Democrats would announce their own rally.

The rallies of Dorchester Yankees in the days before the Irish began to make their political muscle felt in the town could get spirited, too. William Codman wrote: "We...the Whigs of Dorchester were accustomed...to march to the number of some hundreds [through Dorchester's streets] to a barn....On reaching Meeting House Hill, we were jeered at by a number of Democrats, and not very complimentary allusions were made....In front of Captain Ebenezer Eaton's store, suspended to an old elm, was hung out...a red flannel petticoat, typifying our candidate as an 'old Granny.' We had been obliged during the day to pass through a great many of these petticoats, particularly on the Neck....This was more exasperating than the jeers; but we had an heroic sea captain among us. Rushing out from the ranksat a full gallop, he tore the petticoat from the branches, and, amid the anathemas and howls of the Locofocos [Democrats] bore it in triumph back to...the Town Hall..."

At the turn of the 20th Century, Boston Irish politicians turned the political rally into something of a boisterous art form. John F. Fitzgerald, "Honey Fitz," during his days as a resident of Welles Avenue, made outdoor events in Dorchester and many of Boston's other neighborhoods a staple of his campaigns for mayor and his successful 1894 run for the Ninth Congressional District. Torchlight rallies wound their way along Dorchester's streets, capped off by fireworks; political parades with horse-drawn wagons teeming with musicians, Irish step dancers, and bull-horn wielding operatives who bellowed out campaign slogans turned the town's roads into scenes of politcal street carnival.

In the opening decades of the 20th Century, Curley also proved a master of high-spirited rallies that drew dense crowds. However, with the advent of radio, he recognized that the tried-and-true rallies of yesteryear were becoming obsolete, the stale stuff of "vaudeville and the hurdy-gurdy man."

While politicians would and still do term various campaign events "rallies," the days when old-time rallies &emdash; torchlight parades, community picnics, fireworks, and open-air events clotting Meeting House Hill with people &emdash; have long passed.

(Journalist Peter F. Stevens is the author of The Rogue's March: John Riley and the St. Patrick's Battalion, 1846-48, Brassey's, and Notorious and Notable New Englanders, Down East Books.)