Imagine you are staring at a computer screen
right now. Just picture it open in front of you
is this massive, seemingly endless scrolling
spreadsheet. Oh, yeah. A real wall of text. Exactly.
You are looking at rows upon rows of names, dates,
vote counts, percentages. all neatly organized
into these perfectly gray and white grid lines.
And at first glance, it is literally just a Wikipedia
article titled List of United States Senate Elections
in Delaware. Honestly, it sounds, well, it sounds
incredibly dry, right? It does. It certainly
presents that way on the surface. When you first
scroll through, it is just raw data, just a ledger
of political history, logging who won, who lost,
and the margins between them. Right, just a digital
filing cabinet. But today's deep dive is all
about doing what we absolutely love to do, which
is taking that raw, unassuming data and finding
the hidden human drama pulsing right beneath
the surface. Because there is always drama. always
because when you actually stop and look closely
at these numbers you realize this isn't just
a spreadsheet we're going to extract the shifting
eras, the epic rivalries, and the razor -thin
margins hidden inside over a century of Delaware's
political history. And just to give you a sense
of the scope of our source material today, we
are looking at the comprehensive election results
for both Class I and Class II United States Senate
seats in Delaware. We are starting from the dawn
of the popular vote in 1916 and tracking the
numbers all the way through the 2024 election.
It is a massive sweep of time. It really is.
OK, let's unpack this for a second, because the
terms class one and class to pop up immediately
in the text for anyone who doesn't, you know,
spend their weekends reading constitutional procedure.
How does the document actually define those categories?
Yeah, that's a crucial structural point for understanding
the entire spreadsheet. So the U .S. Senate is
divided into three classes. The terms are staggered
so that only one third of the Senate is up for
reelection every two years. It is designed to
ensure institutional stability. So you never.
have a situation where the entire Senate turns
over at once. Delaware, like every state, has
two senators. And in this case, they hold a class
one seat and a class two seat. Meaning they are
never on the regular ballot in the exact same
year. Precisely. That makes the timeline much
clearer. But you might be wondering why you should
care about Delaware's election table specifically.
I mean, why this state? It's a fair question.
The answer is that this single state's data acts
as a perfect microcosm. Delaware is a small state,
which means the data isn't diluted by millions
and millions of transient votes. By tracking
these numbers, you get a pristine, mathematically
undeniable look at how incumbency works. You
see the sheer power of name recognition in a
confined geographic area. And you see absolute
mathematical proof that every single vote truly
matters. The trends are sharp. They are clear,
and they tell a remarkable story about how American
voting behavior has evolved over a century. I
want to pull your attention to the very top of
this Wikipedia table, the starting line. The
year is 1916. And here's where it gets really
interesting. Oh, this is one of my favorite parts
of the data. Right. You see, the table starts
in 1916 for a very specific reason. Before 1914,
U .S. senators from Delaware weren't elected
by the public at all. Which is wild to think
about today. It is. If you lived in Delaware
before then, you didn't go to a ballot box to
pick your senator. They were chosen entirely
by the Delaware General Assembly. What's fascinating
here is the massive structural shift that represents.
The source text notes the 17th Amendment. to
the U .S. Constitution, which finally provided
for the popular election of U .S. senators. So
1916 is a monumental data point. It's a huge
milestone. It marks the very first time that
everyday citizens in Delaware got to cast a ballot
for their class one senator. Do we have the breakdown
of how that very first public vote actually played
out? We do. If you look at the results for that
inaugural popular vote, it was won by Democrat
Josiah O. Wolcott. He took the seat with precisely
50 percent of the vote, defeating Republican
Henry A. DuPont, who had 45 percent. 50 to 45.
Yeah. And to put the population size of the era
into perspective, Wolcott received just over
25 ,000 votes. That was the very first popular
mandate for a class one senator in the state's
history. Just over 25 ,000 votes securing a U
.S. Senate seat. It really grounds you in the
reality of the early 20th century. It's a totally
different scale. It really is. But while we were
looking at the procedural notes at the top of
the document, there is another absolute gem of
trivia hidden in the text. It's a calendar quirk.
Oh, the start dates. Yes. The text points out
that before 1935, a senator's term didn't start
until March 4th. But after 1935, that start date
moved up to January 3rd. The practical implications
of that are staggering when you think about it.
If we connect this to the bigger picture. Elections
are held in early November. Before the rules
changed in 1935, there used to be a massive four
-month gap between the November election and
the winner actually taking office in March. Meaning
if an incumbent lost, they still sat in the Senate
for a third of a year. Exactly. That procedural
footnote alone hints at a completely different
rhythm to American governance. It does. It meant
the lame duck period was a significant portion
of the legislative calendar. But returning to
the data itself, there is a distinct pattern
that jumps out in the early 20th century rows.
I think I know what you're going to say. As you
scroll through the early decades, you start to
see a very famous name in American industry appearing
repeatedly. DuPont. I noticed that. You just
mentioned Henry A. DuPont, the Republican who
lost that very first popular election in 1916
to Wolcott. But the family name certainly doesn't
disappear from the tables after that loss. Far
from it. In 1922, and again in 1924, a Republican
named T. Coleman DuPont is right there on the
ballot. Jump ahead a few decades, and in 1952,
the data shows Alexis I. DuPont Bayard running
as a Democrat. So the name just keeps popping
up. It clearly reflects the localized power dynamics
of early 20th century Delaware. When you have
a single family with that much economic and social
influence in a relatively small population pool,
their name naturally dominates the political
data as well. Which brings us to the data points
from the early 1920s. Let me set the scene based
on the tables because the numbers here are, they're
just staggering. They really are. Remember Josiah
O. Wolcott, the Democrat who won the first popular
vote in 1916? Well, footnote B in the text tells
us he resigned. That triggered a special election
on November 7th. 1922. And this is where the
spreadsheet delivers an astonishing statistical
anomaly. For that special election, we have Democrat
Thomas F. Bayard Jr. facing off against the Republican
T. Coleman DuPont. OK, I am looking at the vote
totals for that specific race right now. Democrat
Thomas F. Bayard Jr. received 36 ,954 votes.
Republican T. Coleman DuPont received 36 ,894
votes. I want you to really visualize the math
here. That's crazy. Both men are listed in the
table as receiving essentially 50 % of the vote.
Out of over 73 ,000 total votes cast in that
special election, the difference between the
winner and the loser was exactly 60 votes. 6
-0. 60 people in the entire state decided who
went to the United States Senate. 60 votes. Just
imagine the sheer tension. of counting those
physical paper ballots by hand in 1922, making
piles on a desk and at the end of the night realizing
the state is split literally down the middle.
It's the definition of a nail biter. But the
data shows this wasn't even the end of the story
for these two men that year. Not at all, because
that was just the special election to fill the
vacancy. And the regular election held that exact
same year for the full term. The data shows the
exact same two guys facing off again. Bayard
versus DuPont. How does a state even process
that kind of division? twice in the same cycle.
What were the numbers for the regular election?
Bayard received 37 ,304 votes. DuPont received
36 ,979 votes. Bayard won again, but this time
by just 325 votes. Wow. In two separate Senate
elections held in the same year between the same
two men, the combined margin of victory was less
than 400 votes. It is the ultimate mathematical
validation of the phrase, every vote counts.
You literally cannot get closer than that without
triggering a tie. But as we scroll down the table,
leaving the volatility of the 1920s behind, the
narrative thread seems to shift. The margins
widen, the names stop bouncing back and forth,
and Delaware develops a very distinct taste for
stability. The power of incumbency becomes the
defining feature of the spreadsheet from the
mid -20th century onward. The state starts keeping
people in office for a very, very long time.
If the 1920s showed us absolute gridlock, the
mid -century data introduces us to the era of
the Delaware Giants. Let's trace the class one
seats first. Starting in 1946, Republican John
J. Williams wins the seat. And then he wins it
again in 1952. And again in 1958. And a fourth
time in 1964. Four straight elections. And the
baton pass is equally stable. In 1970, another
Republican named William Roth takes that same
seat. Roth goes on to win five consecutive elections,
1970, 1976, 1982, 1988 and 1994. He serves until
2000. And when Roth is finally defeated in 2000,
it is by Democrat Tom Carper, who proceeds to
win four elections of his own, 2000, 2006, 2012
and 2018, holding the seat until the 2024 election
cycle. That means three men controlled that single
class one Senate seat for nearly 80 years. 80
years. And if class one showed us a dynasty,
class two introduces us to the ultimate. incumbent
in the data, Joe Biden. Yes. He wins his first
election for the seat in 1972, and then he just
keeps winning. He secures seven consecutive elections,
1972, 1978, 1984, 1990, 1996, 2002, and finally
2008. Seven straight victories spanning decades.
This raises an important question. Why do voters
do this? The spreadsheet mathematically proves
that these Senate seats act less like recurring
job interviews and more like lifetime appointments
that are only occasionally revoked. The baseline
is retention. Does the source text give us clues
as to why that happens mathematically? Because
when you look at the raw numbers, the margins
of victory for these incumbents often expand
massively over time. They go from squeakers to
landslides. When you analyze incumbency advantage,
especially in a geographically small state, the
sheer mathematics of it become overwhelming.
These senators aren't just names on a ballot.
They become deeply entrenched fixtures of the
community infrastructure. Yeah, it makes sense.
You're talking about decades of constituent services,
decades of localized media presence. The data
clearly suggests that once you win that first
time and you solidify your base, you possess
a massive structural advantage over any challenger.
The inertia is entirely on the side of the incumbent.
Wait, if incumbency is that powerful and the
inertia is that... strong, how does someone like
William Roth actually lose after 30 years? Does
the data show a sudden shift in the electorate
or was it a gradual decline over several cycles?
That is the crucial counter narrative in the
data because incumbents usually win and win comfortably.
The inflection points where they actually lose
are monumental. They prove that no seat is ever
truly safe, regardless of how long a name has
been on the door. Take us through the 2000 upset
for class one. Roth had been comfortably in power
for three decades. His vote counts in the 80s
and 90s were massive. And then Tom Carper challenges
him. And the result isn't a 60 -vote squeaker
like the 1920s. Carper manages a decisive victory.
He pulls in over 180 ,000 votes, beating Roth
by nearly 40 ,000. That's a huge gap. It is.
That is a 56 % to 44 % victory. It is a vital
lesson hidden in the spreadsheet. A shifting
electorate or a sufficiently compelling challenger
can completely upend decades of the status quo
in a single Tuesday in November. We see a similar
shockwave in the Class II data in 1972. Before
that election, the incumbent was Republican J.
Caleb Boggs. He had comfortably won the seat
in 1960 and again in 1966. A 12 -year run. He
is the incumbent giant. And then a challenger
named Joe Biden steps up. And if you look at
the numbers for that 1972 race, it is incredibly
tight, harkening back to those earlier nail biters.
Biden received roughly 116 ,000 votes, which
the table rounds to 50%. Boggs received nearly
113 ,000 votes or 49%. A margin of barely over
3 ,000 votes ended a 12 -year Republican run.
It shows how a seemingly minor shift in the electorate
can completely rewrite the state's political
trajectory. Speaking of shifting trajectories,
let's zoom out for a second. If you blur your
eyes and look at the party column as a macro
trend, you see a massive, undeniable shift in
Delaware's political identity over the century.
You really do. In the early and mid -1900s, the
seats are highly competitive. You see a bounce
back and forth between Republicans and Democrats.
A Republican wins in 1928, a Democrat in 36,
a Republican in 42, a Democrat in 48. It's fluid.
But if you trace the data into the modern era,
that fluidity vanishes. So what does this all
mean for the modern voter? Just look at the recent
numbers from Tom Carper's victory in 2000 all
the way down to the class one column. It is a
solid block of Democratic control. We just saw
Lisa Blunt Rochester win the class one seat in
2024 with a commanding 57 percent of the vote
over Republican Eric Hansen, who took 39 percent.
And you see the exact same consolidation in class
two ever since the 2010 special election where
Democrat Chris Coons won with 57 percent of the
vote against Republican Christine O'Donnell.
Coons has dominated that seat. The margins just
stay wide. They do. In his 2020 reelection, Coons
pulled in over 290 ,000 votes to his challengers,
roughly 186 ,000. The data paints a picture of
a solid structural shift to democratic control
in recent decades. It is a remarkable consolidation
of voting behavior when you compare it to the
fractured 60 vote margins of the 1920s. The state's
political baseline has fundamentally moved. But
before we finish up, I want to pivot away from
the giants and the modern sweeps and look at
the tiny print at the bottom of the page. The
footnotes and asterisks. Yes. If you really want
to understand the texture of a democracy, look
at the bizarre, highly persistent third -party
runs hidden in the footnotes of a Wikipedia table.
For instance, in 1970, the main event was William
Roth versus Jacob W. Zimmerman. But if you check
Footnote H, you see a gentleman named Donald
G. Guise. He managed to secure 1 ,720 votes.
And he clearly felt he had more to say. Oh, definitely.
Because if you look at the 1972 election, that
famous Biden Boggs upset footnote T shows Donald
G. Geese pops right back up again on the ballot,
this time securing one thousand six hundred and
sixty three votes. You also see footnotes C and
D from the 1920s, where a candidate named Frank
Stevens pulled around 600 votes in both the special
election and the regular election. Just hanging
in there on the margins. What's fascinating here
is that while these minor candidates virtually
never swing the modern elections, they are a
vital part of the data ecosystem. They represent
the persistent, quirky. stubborn nature of local
democracy. That's a great way to put it. They
are a reminder that behind every single one of
those digits is a citizen making a very specific,
deliberate choice, even if it defies the major
party binary. It's just brilliant. Let's summarize
the journey we've just been on through this single
web page. We've traced the timeline from an area
where state legislatures pick senators and closed
-door General Assembly meetings all the way to
the dawn of the public vote through the 17th
Amendment. A massive shift in power. And then
we've seen an entire United States Senate seat
decided by a margin of just 60 people out of
73 ,000 cast ballots. We've watched political
giants build absolute dynasties holding onto
power for decades at a time. only to be suddenly
unseated by challengers who rewrite the rules.
And hopefully this deep dive reminds you that
a simple table of data is never just a table.
It is the numerical footprint of a society's
changing mind. Every single row represents millions
of collective decisions made over a century.
Exactly. Every single vote you cast is a tiny
piece of data that future generations will look
back on trying to analyze and understand our
era, just like we are doing right now with 1922
and 1972. It really makes you look at a spreadsheet
differently. It does. And as we wrap up, I want
to leave you with a final thought to mull over,
drawing back on one of the chronological rules
we discussed earlier. Think back to that rule
change we mentioned, the fact that before 1935,
terms started on March 4th instead of January
3rd. Right. The lame duck period. I want you
to just imagine the reality of that lame duck
period. Imagine four full months passing between
an incumbent senator losing their election in
early November and the victorious challenger
finally taking over in March. That is a long
time to just be sitting there. What kind of frantic
political maneuvering, what kind of quiet deals
or total. grinding gridlock happened in those
dark winter months before the Constitution was
changed to tighten that window. It makes you
wonder how much unrecorded history was written
in the agonizing gap between the vote and the
inauguration. A fascinating mystery to end on.
Thank you so much for joining us for this deep
dive. Until next time, keep looking past the
numbers.