48 Hours, One District, Many Stories

By Luke Del Castillo

I started Friday morning at 6:45 a.m.

And I’m not going to lie - I woke up late.

The night before, I didn’t get to bed until around 4:00 a.m. I was following up on questions from earlier in the week, getting ready for the day ahead, and trying to make sure I was prepared. I knew Friday was going to be long.

Thankfully, I had Jake.

If this campaign were a song, Jake would be the one keeping rhythm. He makes sure we get where we need to go, that we get there on time, and that I don’t forget anything important along the way. I’m blessed to have him on staff, and even luckier to call him my friend.

I startled awake to a call from him and quickly realized I was going to be late. I rushed through the morning, got myself together, and headed downstairs.

It was embarrassing. But honestly, it happens.

That morning, we were also welcoming someone new to the team. Madisyn was joining us as our Director of Digital Communications. So the three of us piled into the vehicle and headed out early for a breakfast meeting with locals in Ithaca.

The breakfast was great. The coffee was even better, which was important because I needed a lot of it.

The conversation around the table was good, but one moment stuck with me the most.

A young man nearby had overheard that I was running for the 92nd House District. At first, he seemed hesitant. I don’t blame him. I understand why people feel that way about politics and politicians today. There’s still a part of me that cringes a little when I’m introduced as a politician.

But there I was, on the campaign trail, answering questions.

He asked me about the economy. About building homes. About how decisions in Lansing actually affect people like him. As I listened, I learned that he was a builder and a project manager for a construction company.

And that mattered.

Because the questions he was asking weren’t theoretical. They were tied to his work, his future, and the people he builds for.

By the end of the conversation, he seemed less hesitant. I met with a few other gentlemen who came to breakfast, and also talked briefly with a waitress who very clearly did not want to talk politics - and honestly, I don’t blame her. Lol.

After I finished my last cup of coffee, paid my bill, and walked out with my team, a couple of locals were going to join us in my vehicle and give us a tour of the area.

But before we left, we ran into that young man again.

My team and I talked with him for a few more minutes. He introduced us to one of his employees. He shook my hand. I gave him my contact information.

And then he smiled.

I keep thinking about that smile.

Because in that moment, I felt like I had accomplished the one thing I came there to do: listen.

I didn’t know what party he belonged to, and I didn’t care. What mattered was that he had concerns. He had questions. He had a perspective I needed to hear.

And I’ll carry that with me.

After that, my team and a couple of local folks piled into my car and we began a tour of the farmland surrounding Ithaca. We drove past a dairy farm, soy fields, feed corn fields, and the places that make up the life of that community.

One of the local farmers told stories as we drove. Another woman who had grown up there pointed out places that used to be one thing, and now had found a new life as something else.

That’s one of the things I love about small towns. Every road has a memory. Every building has a story. Every field has someone who knows what it took to keep it going.

We stopped at the farmer’s place, walked around, and visited his pig.

And let me tell you - this was a big pig.

While we were there, he told me he wanted to host a bonfire and invite some friends and neighbors. Not as a fundraiser. Not as a political event in the usual sense. Just a chance for people to meet me, ask questions, and talk.

That is exactly the spirit behind our “Bonfires, Board Games and Brews” program that we’ll be launching soon. It’s about meeting people where they are. Around fires, around tables, over coffee, in backyards, and in the places where real conversations happen.

After the pig petting and bonfire planning, we headed into downtown Ithaca.

I got to hear more personal history, more memories, more stories connected to the town. Eventually Jake reminded me that we had other appointments to get to, so we started walking back toward the car.

Then one of our guests suggested we take pictures at the veterans memorial.

I told my team, “We have time.”

So we walked over.

As we stood there, they pointed to names engraved in the stone. Names of people they knew. Friends. Family members. People they grew up with. People who served our country across generations of wars and conflicts.

Those names were not just names to them.

They were people.

And there they were, engraved in granite in the center of town, in front of the courthouse, so their community would not forget them.

That moment stayed with me too.

After that, we got back in the car and headed to Mount Pleasant. One of our meetings had been pushed back about 40 minutes, so we had a little time to walk around downtown. I decided to introduce Madisyn to a few of the business owners in our downtown Mount Pleasant community.

Then we went to meet with Bryan Mielke, who I call “The Professor.”

He ran for this same seat in 2014 and 2016, though the district looked different then, before redistricting. I call him “The Professor” because every time I sit down with him, I learn something. Fundraising, call time, campaign strategy, tools, structure - he has so much knowledge, and he shares it generously.

But the clock kept moving, and I had to get to the next thing.

That evening, I went to volunteer at the Special Olympics dance. I had friends in town coaching and competing, and I had told them I would help.

I used to be a Special Olympics coach and chaperone, and coming back into that space meant a lot to me.

The dance was outside near the CMU stadium, and it was just pure joy. Watching the athletes dance, laugh, sing, and completely enjoy themselves was one of the best parts of the entire day.

I also ran into an old friend of mine who was competing on the swim team. I mostly caught up with his parents, and we updated each other on our lives. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I had missed them. They were such a regular part of my life back when I helped look after their son, and seeing them again brought back a lot of memories.

After the dance, I walked over to one of the dorms and caught up with an old co-worker and boss, who was there coaching volleyball. We talked about old times, about life, and about what I’m doing now. It was one of those unexpected conversations that reminds you how many people become part of your story over the years.

By the time I got home, it was around 10:30 p.m.

Earlier that night, I received a text that volunteers were needed the next morning for Paint the Town, the amazing Art Reach program where community members paint the intersections on Broadway, downtown.

I said I would be there.

The next morning, I had to get up early to run an errand for a friend. I was picking up a few video discs - yes, giant CDs with movies on them from the late 1980s and early 1990s. One of my friends in town wants to start a mini video rental section in his business, which is honestly one of the coolest little ideas I’ve heard in a while.

After that, I headed back downtown to help paint intersections.

When I arrived, some of my friends - the people I often refer to as my kitchen cabinet - were already there painting with their kids. There were young artists with booths, people selling crafts, volunteers with paint brushes, families, neighbors, and community members all working together.

It was a full community effort.

And it was beautiful.

By mid-afternoon, the event wrapped up. I went home, did some desk work for the campaign, and now I find myself sitting in front of the TV, watching The West Wing, writing this all down.

It was a busy 48 hours.

A messy, full, beautiful, exhausting, meaningful 48 hours.

But this is what community is.

It’s breakfast conversations with people who have real questions.

It’s a farmer offering to host neighbors around a fire.

It’s names carved into stone so a town remembers who served.

It’s athletes dancing with complete joy in a parking lot.

It’s friends showing up with their kids to paint the streets.

It’s old relationships, new team members, downtown businesses, rural roads, coffee refills, late nights, early mornings, and the quiet reminder that every person has a story worth hearing.

That’s why I’m running.

Not because I think I have all the answers.

Because I believe the answers start by showing up, listening, and caring enough to carry people’s stories with you.

And after these last 48 hours, I feel even more honored to be part of this place.