Yesterday was town meeting. I love town meeting. Yes, it's long and often tedious. It kills a whole Saturday in May, sometimes two. And with the weather finally warming nicely and the fresh buds starting to burst on every tree, spending the entire day inside the dreary high school gymnasium is hardly appealing.

But nothing restores your faith in America and American democracy like town meeting. Yesterday, the big issue was a huge development project proposed for our town center. A large corporate developer was behind the project and our elected town officials--the selectmen, the advisory board, and the planning commission--were all supporting it.

But the project would transform our small, residential town into a major commercial center. Many in the town were for the project. It would raise millions in new property taxes. And it would bring new jobs at a time when employment is dwindling across the state. But the project would also mean more traffic, more crowding, and the end of the quaint, quiet, still slightly rural community we love. And so many of us were against it.

For those not from New England, open town meeting is the common form of government for smaller and medium-sized communities here. Once a year, the citizens of the town assemble together to discuss the town's business and vote up or down every expenditure and every significant change in town policy.

About halfway through the meeting, the big issue came to the floor. The planning board was recommending a change to zoning laws that would allow the big development project to proceed. The developer made a slick presentation telling us about all the benefits of the project and emphasizing the tax revenues for our community and how the money would help the schools. Then the planning board, the advisory board, and the selectmen all spoke in support of the project.

But direct democracy is very different from the representative democracy we're used to at the state level and in Washington. In representative democracy, the slick corporate lobbyists meet in private with our representatives and present their arguments, all too often gilded with offers of campaign support. The ordinary citizen remains unheard. And only the representative gets to vote. But in town meeting the back room doors are swung open and the ordinary citizen not only peers in but stands up to speak. 

So one by one, they lined up before the microphone. Car mechanics, construction workers, engineers, housewives, school teachers, store owners, accountants, mid-level executives, farmers, and retirees. Always lots of retirees. And they had their say. Some argued for property tax relief. Some argued for more jobs. Many more argued for keeping the town the way it is: uncongested, clean, quiet, and a good place to live.

Two types of speaker always strike me the most at town meeting. The first is the ordinary man or woman--a farmer or a mechanic or an engineer--who walks to the microphone, notes in hand, and then proceeds to give a remarkably articulate, even eloquent, presentation filled with indisputable facts, impeccable logic, and moving rhetoric. Who knew there was such talent, such wisdom, such statesmanship among the ordinary middle class Joes and Jills you see everyday at the local grocery?

And then there's the second type of speaker. This one is unsophisticated, uneducated, not a good speaker, but still possessing the courage and the commitment to get before the microphone and speak honestly about what she believes. And I am almost moved to tears, when this speaker, stumbling, confused, mixing her words, makes a strong point and the whole town meeting rises to applaud. Where else could such heroism arise from such humility?

And so the town votes. Two-thirds are required to change the zoning laws. The debate has shown the room quite divided. But the proponents of the development sense the mood is against them. So they motion to postpone the vote. The motion fails. More debate ensues. Another motion to postpone. Three times the cycle is repeated. But finally, the moderator moves to the vote. Hands are raised. The tellers walk through the room. The tally is presented: 275 for, 345 against. The motion to change the zoning laws fails. The big-box development is stopped. (I emit a sigh of relief.)

So town meeting goes on. People begin to file out. The big issue has been addressed and the day is getting late. People have dinners to cook and children to care for. The crowd dwindles from 600 to 400 to 300 to maybe 100. It's now nearly an hour since the big vote. A hand is raised. One of the supporters of the development project--a burly bearded guy in shorts and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt--rises to present a motion. It's a motion to reconsider the earlier vote.

A parliamentary maneuver--from a biker guy! Yes, town bylaws allow any vote to be reconsidered as long as the motion to reconsider is raised within one hour after the vote. The petitioner knows the rules, and he's met the time limit.  The crowd is smaller, different. The outcome could be different too!

Debate ensues. Townspeople rise to object. We had a fair vote! The town has made it's decision! This isn't right! But the bylaws are the bylaws and the petitioner is within his rights. But before we can revote on the zoning laws, the motion to reconsider must pass. And that motion requires a two-thirds vote.

So we proceed to vote. "All those for" cries the moderator. Hands go up. The count begins.  I look around the room. A lot of hands are up. I'm nervous. "All those against." I look around--a sea of hands!  It's obvious--the motion fails. It's now an hour and a half past the original vote. The vote to end the development is final. It can't be changed. It's safe to leave.

But who wants to leave? There's more to vote on. And suddenly nothing in the world seems more important than raising my hand to approve the appropriation of $200 to repair the ballfield fence.