Poor ol' Bud Johnson. He's working in an egg-processing plant in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico, living in a trailer park in what appears to be the middle of a desert with his daughter Molly. He's got a drinking problem and loses his job. One night, Election Night as it happens, he passes out in his truck and his precocious daughter sneaks into a precinct office and tries to cast his vote. But there's a power failure, and the vote isn't counted.

Then, the presidential election ends in a tie, and it turns out that Bud Johnson, a not-so-lovable loser, cast that last, unrecorded vote. He'll get a chance to re-vote and will decide the election. Word gets out that Bud's the guy, and suddenly Air Force One (the stuffy Republican president is seeking re-election, guided by a crafty consultant with few if any scruples) is in town. Then the Democrat, the standard liberal idealist (also guided by a cynical consultant), comes a courtin'. The two big-shot candidates are reduced to having to seek one man's vote, getting down to the grass roots -- or in this case, sandy roots -- of politics, somewhere neither of them seems to have visited in a while. In the course of courtship, they sacrifice party platforms and their pride.

And there's the story in "Swing Vote," now showing, as they say, at your local movie house.

Ah, the grass roots. Fondly remembered, but not so trampled on these days. The grass grows high. Big-priced consultants typically fly in from Washington or New York, tell a candidate for Congress or statewide office he's pretty, hand him or her the basic price guideline, often a percentage of the "ad buys," and produce as many of those TV commercials as the aforementioned candidate can afford. Some undoubtedly even speculate that the candidate probably could sit home in the living room and save his shoeleather. It's all about advertising and message, don't you know.

Well, Bob Etheridge doesn't know that. Doesn't believe it. The 2nd District congressman, now seeking a 6th term, stopped by the office this week to ruminate on the issues and, in the course of a discussion, was asked how he might advise fellow Democrat Barack Obama to campaign in North Carolina. (The same guidelines, by the way, might apply as well to Republican John McCain.) He said, "I'd tell him to go out to the rural areas more. People want to see you. They want to know you're a real person." (Former President Clinton knows the lesson. He went so far into Eastern North Carolina campaigning for his wife, he may still be there for all we know.)

Etheridge has been elected a county commissioner, a legislator, the state schools superintendent and a congressman. That pretty much covers the political waterfront. A naturally affable sort, Etheridge has developed during his years in Congress a reputation for taking care of constituent services, not getting too far above his raising. (Being a naturally rather conservative Democrat helps, too, no doubt.)

The same might be said of Congressman Howard Coble of Greensboro (6th District), a Republican who has served since 1984. On the night Coble was elected to Congress, he was in the Guilford County Courthouse engaged in a long discussion with a reporter about banjo legend Earl Scruggs. "But Howard," the reporter said, "You've just been elected to Congress!" Coble kept talking about Scruggs and called the reporter excitedly when Scruggs responded to his fan letter with a signed picture. Coble's own signature on his official congressional Web site biography is just "Howard."

His constituents clearly approve. And have kept approving for over two decades.

There are probably more members of Congress like this than cynics would like to admit -- men and women who don't think of themselves as part of the ruling class. Etheridge is "still teaching my regular Sunday school class." When Congress is not in session, people such as Etheridge and Coble are covering their territory, going to ribbon-cuttings, pig-pickings, funerals. Etheridge is found somewhere between Gold Rock and Fishing Creek. He's been to meetings with 2,000 people -- and with two.

Of the tendency toward campaigns conducted exclusively, or almost, over the airwaves, he says, "I think it's changing. And that's good."

We can't tell you how ol' Bud Johnson went -- don't want to spoil it for you. Suffice to say, it was not the flash that won him (the Air Force One tour on the one hand, Willie Nelson on the other). He seemed to be leaning toward the guy he thought would do the best job.

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