The rain hits me like bullets. As I walk up a labyrinth of stairs to the house perched up on top of a hill, I look down at my papers to make sure that I haven’t mistaken the address. The door opens. “Good evening, Mr. Howell. I’m a fellow with the Obama campaign, and I wanted to make sure you’re registered to vote in the next election.” Mr. Howell, an elderly man with cloudy eyes, might decide...