Welcome. It is fantastic to have you joining
us today for a brand new deep dive. Yeah, thanks
so much for being here. We have a... a rather
unique source to explore with you today. We really
do. Because usually, you know, we find ourselves
digging through these sprawling investigative
articles or incredibly dense academic research
papers. Or sweeping historical biographies. Right,
exactly. But today, our source material is literally
just a single Wikipedia article. Just one page.
And the title is about as straightforward as
language allows. It's called List of United States
Senate Elections in Delaware. It is a document
that is entirely devoid of narrative flair. I
mean, we are looking at a plain table. Just rows
and columns. Exactly. Comprised of rows and columns
filled with dates, candidate names, and vote
counts. And I know what you might be thinking.
A giant table of election data. Right. A spreadsheet.
That sounds like the audio equivalent of a dry
textbook. It really does sound like that at first
glance. But I promise you, if you look closely
at this specific data set, it is secretly a century
-long drama. Oh, absolutely. It's packed with
family dynasties, stunning political upsets,
razor -thin margins, and some truly wild statistical
anomalies. Because stripping away the political
rhetoric and focusing strictly on the raw numbers
over a hundred -year period reveals a really
vivid story. It does. It shows how power is gained,
how it is held for decades, and how it is ultimately
lost. Okay, let's unpack this. Let's do it. But
before we jump into the numbers themselves, we
to set some ground rules for our deep dive today.
Very important. We are going to be looking at
over a century. political data featuring both
Democrats and Republicans going head -to -head
and I want to be incredibly clear with you our
goal today isn't to take a side exactly we are
not here to endorse any political viewpoints
platforms or parties not at all we are purely
here to impartially marvel at the fascinating
facts the historical milestones and the statistical
shifts contained right here in the original source
material Because by treating this data purely
as a historical artifact, we can step back from
the daily political noise and we can simply observe
the math of American democracy at work in one
specific state. So let's start at the very beginning
of the timeline in our source. The first thing
that jumps out from the text isn't actually about
an election. It's about a lack of elections.
Yes. It's about the distinct lack of them before
a certain date. Right. Because the data in our
table doesn't actually begin until 1916. Which
seems late. It does. But the text explains the
reasoning behind this clearly. Before 1914, the
everyday residents of Delaware didn't vote directly
for their United States senators. Those senators
were chosen behind closed doors by the Delaware
General Assembly. That is such a wild concept
to wrap your head around from a modern perspective.
It really is. You didn't get to check a box for
your senator. Your state legislature handled
the entire process for you. Right. Meaning the
candidates only had to woo a small handful of
local politicians rather than campaigning across
the entire state. And if we connect this to the
bigger picture, this data set captures a monumental
shift in American civic life. The text notes
that the 17th Amendment to the U .S. Constitution
went into effect providing for the popular election
of U .S. senators. Dawn of the popular vote.
Exactly. This table represents the exact historical
moment when the power to choose federal representatives
shifted directly into the hands of the voters.
And looking at the introductory text of this
article, there's another quirky detail about
how these elections were scheduled back in the
early 20th century. Oh, the calendar trivia.
Yes. The text tells us that elections are held
on the first Tuesday after November 1st. Which
we're all very familiar with. Right. That schedule
hasn't changed. And today, a senator's term officially
begins on January 3rd. But according to the source,
before 1935, terms didn't begin until March 4th.
That leaves a massive four -month gap between
the moment the votes are tallied and the moment
the newly elected official actually assumes their
duties. Think about the reality of that for a
second. You win your election in early November.
The people have spoken. Exactly. But you don't
actually take office until March 4th of the following
year. It's a long wait. It's like waiting four
entire months after the Super Bowl to actually
hand the winning team the championship trophy.
That is a great way to put it. And in the meantime,
the politician who just lost gets to keep making
decisions. Why on earth was there such a massive
delay? Well, it perfectly reflects the logistical
realities of the era. Consider communication
and travel in the early 20th century. Right.
No Internet. No Internet. No commercial flights.
Counting votes by hand across an entire state
took significant time. Yeah. Certifying those
results took... even longer. And after all of
that, the newly elected officials had to physically
travel often by early trains or horse -drawn
carriages in the dead of winter all the way to
Washington, D .C. Wow. It was just a fundamentally
slower world. That makes sense. By 1935, infrastructure
and communication technology had improved enough
that lawmakers could safely tighten that window
up to January 3rd. Just reading the fine print
at the top of a Wikipedia table gives you a hidden
history lesson in American transportation. It
really does. But let's dive into the actual elections.
The very first popular election on the board
happens in 1916. Right. And before we name the
winners, the table divides everything into Class
1 and Class 2 seats. Which is standard for the
Senate. Yeah, for anyone who needs a quick refresher,
the Senate staggers its elections so that only
about a third of the chamber is up for grabs
at any one time. Class 1 and Class 2 just designate
which cycle the seat belongs to. And... The inaugural
popular vote for the class one seat sets a dramatic
tone immediately. Right out of the gate, we have
a major upset. We do. Josiah O. Wolcott, the
Democratic candidate, defeats the Republican
incumbent, Henry Adypont. The name DuPont is
woven into the very fabric of Delaware history.
Oh, completely. They are a massive industrial
and family dynasty. So seeing Henry A. DuPont
lose this very first direct popular election,
taking roughly 23 ,000 votes, to Wolcott's 25
,000 signals how the new voting format immediately
disrupted established power structures. So Wolcott
takes the seat, seemingly settling the matter.
But if we scroll down the table just a few years
to 1922, the spreadsheet... suddenly gets incredibly
complicated. It really does. Here's where it
gets really interesting. Because 1922 was a uniquely
bizarre election day for the voters of Delaware.
It was a doubleheader. They didn't just hold
one Senate election. They held two Senate elections.
For the exact same seat. On the exact same day.
This is where the footnotes in our source become
absolutely essential reading. Love the footnotes.
According to footnote B, the winner of that 1916
election, Josiah O. Wolcott, resigned from his
post. That sudden vacancy triggered a special
election on November 7, 1922, simply to fill
the remaining months of his original term. Got
it. So the matchup for this special election
features Thomas F. Beyer Jr., the Democrat, running
against T. Coleman DuPont. Another Republican
from the DuPont dynasty. Right, who happened
to be serving as the appointed incumbent at that
exact moment. And the results of this special
election are staggering. They really are. Tom
Seth Baer Jr. received 36 ,954 votes. T. Coleman
DuPont received 36 ,894 votes. Meaning out of
roughly 73 ,000 total ballots cast. the margin
of victory was exactly 60 votes. 60 votes. 60
votes. You could easily fit the people who decided
the balance of power in that United States Senate
race onto a single school bus. It serves as the
ultimate mathematical testament to the idea that
single votes carry immense weight. Absolutely.
However, the voters in Delaware weren't quite
done for the day. No, they were not. Because
November 7, 1922, wasn't just the date of the
special election to finish the old term. It was
also the date of the regular 1922 election to
decide who would get the brand new full six -year
term. And the candidates facing off for the full
term were, predictably, Thomas F. Bayard Jr.
and T. Coleman DuPont. So you literally walk
into the polling place, vote in the special election
between these two guys. Right. And then move
further down the same ballot. to vote in the
regular election between the exact same two guys.
It's wild. And Bayard ended up winning the regular
election as well. This time, his margin of victory
expanded to a total of 325 votes. Now, while
325 votes is slightly more comfortable than 60,
it remains an incredibly fragile margin. Definitely.
But the true underlying narrative of the 1922
doubleheader lies buried at the bottom of the
page in footnotes C and D. The unsung statistical
variable of the 1922 Senate race. Exactly. Footnote
C &D introduces us to a third party candidate
named Frank Stevens. OK. The spreadsheet doesn't
give him his own dedicated column. His results
are just tucked away. In the special election,
Frank Stevens received 581 votes. Wow. In the
regular election, he received 688 votes. Let's
do the math on that and think about what it means
for the main candidate. Right. In a special election
decided by exactly 60 votes, a third -party candidate
walked away with 581 votes. That is massive.
In the regular election decided by 325 votes,
that same candidate took 608 votes. Wow. This
is the classic spoiler effect laid bare in raw
data. Because we cannot know for certain who
those Stevens voters would have chosen if forced
into a strict binary choice between Bayard and
DuPont. We can't know, but we do know that their
collective presence in the race mathematically
dwarfed the margin of victory. Those 581 people
possessed enough voting power to flip the election
nearly 10 times over. It makes you wonder what
the political conversations were like in Delaware
the morning of November 8th, 1922, when they
realized just how tight the margins were. I can
only imagine. But as we move further down the
timeline, the data shows a very distinct behavioral
shift. We transitioned away from these razor
-thin 60 -volt nail biters into what we can only
call the eras of ironclad incumbency. Yes. A
very clear pattern emerges in the mid to late
20th century. Once the voters of Delaware find
a senator they prefer, they tend to keep them
in office for a very long time. They really do.
The streaks are remarkable, appearing on both
sides of the political aisle. Looking at the
Republican streaks first, we find John J. Williams.
He wins his first election in 1946. He then successfully
defends that seat in 1952, 1958, and 1964. That
is four consecutive terms. Spanning 24 continuous
years. in the Senate. And shortly after Williams
leaves, we see William Roth, another Republican.
He wins his seat in 1970 and then goes on to
win again in 1976, 1982, 1988, and 1994. Five
consecutive terms. 30 straight years holding
that class one seat. A massive block of the 20th
century in Delaware is dominated by just two
Republican names. And the Democrats have their
own legendary streaks recorded in this table.
Moving over to the class two section, we find
Joe Biden. Right. His very first election in
1972 was surprisingly close. He defeated the
incumbent J. Caleb Boggs by roughly 3 ,000 votes
out of a total of about 228 ,000 cast. Surviving
that initial highly competitive race allowed
him to establish a formidable run of incumbency.
From that narrow 1972 win, Biden holds that seat
through 1978, 1984, 1990, 1996, 2002, and 2008.
Seven victories spanning nearly four decades.
And jumping back to class one, we have Tom Carper.
Right, the giant slayer. Exactly. In the year
2000, Carper goes up against William Roth, the
incumbent who had won five consecutive terms,
and Carper dethrones him. Winning by nearly 40
,000 votes. taking roughly 181 ,000 to Roth's
142 ,000. Carper then starts his own modern streak,
winning in 2006, 2012 and 2018. What's fascinating
here is how the data shows us the exact moments
when these multi -decade political reigns suddenly
end. You have these streaks that seem invincible,
like Roth dominating for 30 years or Boggs serving
as an established incumbent before encountering
Biden. And they conclude either by a sudden defeat
or, in one particular case in this table, an
entirely unrecorded departure. The 2010 mystery.
Yes. This is easily one of my favorite quirks
of relying solely on this specific Wikipedia
table as our primary text. It stands out as a
glaring anomaly in the spreadsheet. Because if
you look at the class two table, the data shows
Joe Biden winning his reelection in 2008 with
a massive total of over 257 ,000 votes. A decisive
victory. But then the very next row down on the
chart is a 2010 special election. And the winner
of that election is Chris Coons. And unlike the
1922 special election, where footnote B explicitly
informed us that Josiah O. Wolcott resigned,
the source text provides absolutely zero explanation
for this 2010 vacancy. Nothing. There is no footnote,
no parenthetical explanation. Joe Biden wins
in 2008, and just two years later, Chris Coons
is winning a special election for the exact same
seat. It's just a gap. The spreadsheet simply
leaves it as a curious blank spot in the narrative.
If this single table was the only surviving document
of American history, future researchers would
be scratching their heads wondering what on earth
happened to the candidate who won a quarter million
votes in 2008 and then vanished from the chart.
And this is a fundamental lesson in data literacy
for anyone doing research. A primary source table
like this will give you the what with absolute
mathematical precision. But it is completely
blind to the why. Without secondary context to
explain career shifts or higher political aspirations,
historical data is just a puzzle missing half
its pieces. Speaking of the pieces hidden in
the margins, I want to spend some time talking
about the footnotes. The footnotes at the bottom
of this table are where the unsung heroes and
the most uniquely persistent candidates live.
The fine print contains several fascinating subplots
of its own. Let's track one specific candidate's
name through the data. According to Footnote,
a candidate named Christine O'Donnell ran in
the 2006 Class 1 election against Tom Carper.
Okay. She secured just over 11 ,000 votes. In
a statewide Senate race, that is a fairly small
number. But her statistical footprint doesn't
stop in 2006. Unphased by the loss, she returns
two years later. In 2008, she makes it out of
the footnotes and into the main columns of the
table, running class two against Joe Biden. Right.
She loses that race as well, but she vastly improves
her numbers, winning over 140 ,000 votes. Demonstrating
a remarkable commitment to the process. And then
she runs a third time in that mysterious 2010
special election against Chris Coons, securing
over 123 ,000 votes. Over the course of four
short years, she mounts three separate statewide
Senate campaigns. You have to admire the sheer
persistence required to keep returning to the
ballot. It illustrates a clear trajectory of
building name recognition. Even when a campaign
doesn't culminate in a victory, the escalating
numbers strictly document the effort and the
growing infrastructure behind the candidate.
Then we have the micro vote getters. Oh, I love
these. These are the candidates whose numbers
make you pause and marvel at the sheer improbability
of their campaigns. The ultimate fixtures of
the footnotes. In 1934, footnote. documents a
candidate named John T. Ludkoski. Okay. In the
entire state of Delaware, Ludkoski received exactly
69 votes. 69 votes. Jumping ahead to 1964, Footnote
G introduces us to Joseph B. Holland. His grand
total for a seat in the United States Senate
was exactly 71 votes. In an electoral environment
where the primary candidates are pulling in tens
of thousands of votes, seeing a final tally in
the double digits provides quite a stark contrast.
I want you to picture the reality of this. Imagine
being John T. Lodkoski in 1934. You decide to
run for the United States Senate. That's a big
decision. You campaign. Perhaps you print up
some flyers. You talk to your neighbors. When
all the dust settles, you didn't even break 100
votes. You got exactly 69 people to endorse your
vision for the country. Yeah. But because of
the strict rules of record keeping. Your name
is permanently etched into the historical record
of the United States Senate elections. You are
forever part of the data, sitting right alongside
the legendary dynasties. It grants a specific
kind of immortality, tucked away neatly in footnote
E. It really does. And that brings us to the
end of our timeline. We started today by looking
at a source that initially seemed like nothing
more than a boring list of dates and numbers.
A dry spreadsheet. Right. But by unpacking it,
we found a vibrant tapestry. We found a 60 -vote
nail -biter in 1922 that had to be decided on
the exact same day as a regular election. We
tracked century -long family dynasties. We observed
legendary streaks of incumbency from John J.
Williams, William Roth, Joe Biden, and Tom Carper.
And we found the unsung heroes of the footnotes.
So what does this all mean? This raises an important
question about perspective and scale. When you
look at the entirety of this list from top to
bottom, the sheer scale of the numbers grows
exponentially alongside the population. We analyzed
Thomas F. Bayard Jr. and T. Coleman DuPont fighting
over margins of 60 votes and 300 votes back in
the 1920s. Scrolling all the way down to the
most recent entry in the table, you see Lisa
Blunt Rochester winning her 2024 election with
over 283 ,000 votes. The electorate has become
incredibly massive by comparison. It has. The
final thought I want to leave you with is this.
Think about those 60 people who decided the 1922
special election. Or think about the 69 people
who believed in John T. Budkoski in 1934 enough
to give him their vote. Today, we frequently
hear about massive sweeping mandates in modern
elections involving millions. That is a brilliant
thought to end on. A single vote can often feel
like a drop in the ocean. But sometimes, as the
historical data mathematically prove, it is the
exact drop that overflows the glass. Exactly.
Thank you so much for joining us on this deep
dive today. We hope we proved that even the driest
spreadsheet can hide an incredible story if you
just know where to look. Keep exploring, keep
questioning everything you read, and whatever
you do, never, ever ignore the footnotes. We
will catch you next time.