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Democracy is a verb! Abner Mikva, the late federal judge and Illinois congressman, declared this as he challenged youth across the nation to participate in the election process and use their voices to speak to elected officials.

In high school, before she was eligible to vote, my daughter participated in the Mikva Challenge by serving as a student election judge during the 2012 presidential election.

For my part, I was the key judge in the 44th Wards 9th Precinct for the April 4 Chicago mayoral runoff. It was the hardest day Ive worked in as long as I can remember. It was physically and mentally challenging, and by the end of the evening, I was practically in tears, from feeling exhausted and from witnessing democracy on the front lines.

Democracy is an action verb.

I submitted my application to be a judge in response to an email from the Board of Elections earlier this year. Five days before the runoff, I received an email from the board inviting me to serve. I received a link to a 15-hour online course to be completed by the Sunday before Election Day. The training was highly detailed and tedious, and I sailed through it thinking someone would just tell me what to do the day of.

[Letters: I was an election judge. It was a no-drama day.]

That someone would have been our key judge, but he informed the other judges that he had a last-minute emergency and couldnt work Election Day. The key judge receives a key to the election supply cabinet and signs off on all paperwork. When he asked in a group text if someone could pick up the key, I said yes, not realizing that this made me the key judge with all of its responsibilities (and some additional pay).

The night before the runoff, I slept in fits, afraid of missing my predawn alarm. I arrived at the polling place at 5 a.m. already tired. I met my fellow election judge, George, who had election experience, and Lawrence, who had never worked an election. The three of us had to set up the polling place before the polls opened at 6. That meant assembling the ballot box and voting booths, which was like building a room of Ikea furniture, sleep-deprived and on a tight deadline.

Sharing the school gymnasium polling site with us was another precinct made up of an experienced team of adults who set up their polling place by 5:30 a.m. At 6, when our precincts first eager voter arrived, wearing a Cubs hat and a broad grin, our ballet box was not even set up. George barked, Were not ready for you, sir!

Please give us a minute, I pleaded with my husband, who was voter No. 1 that morning and proud of his civic-minded spouse.

In the absence of the seasoned key judge, we quickly figured out our strengths: Lawrence and George were adept at putting together the equipment and managing the flow of traffic. I, with my keyboarding skills, navigated the electronic poll book and did troubleshooting, which, 99% of the time, meant summoning Colleen, the unflappable key judge from the other precinct to our table.

Colleens team seemed to work effortlessly. A man with low vision was placed at the ballot box to help people guide their ballots into the electronic slide, a brilliant move. Almost every voter in our precinct asked us, Does it matter which way it goes? summoning us to help them insert their ballot. It was hard for us not to see their vote, given there was only one question on the ballot that day. Another member of Colleens team had a mobility issue but a strong, welcoming voice and directed confused voters to the correct precinct table as if they were contestants on The Price is Right: Cmon down!

There were lulls and swarms of voters at predictable points during the day. By the end, the electronic tape showed we had almost 550 voters, or a voter every 90 seconds. The overwhelming majority of voters were patient, pleasant and even demonstrably grateful for the service of our team.

One of the highlights of my day was registering voters new to Chicago, including the ebullient group of recent college graduates who got jobs in the city and were sharing an apartment or new voters such as my neighbors son who just turned 18. I got choked up when I handed him his ballot and said, Now go vote for Da Mare!

At 7 p.m., we closed the polls, just as a group of three young men strolled in. The polls are closed, George announced, as he shot me a look knowing it pained me to turn anyone away. But he was right. The polls were closed, and we had to dismantle the machines, sign the envelopes and get the materials over to the supply station.

[Tom Wogan Sr.: What a last-minute voter taught me about our system in a time of election denial]

Once again, I had to summon Colleen. What do you need? she asked. Her precincts ballots were already signed, sealed and ready to be delivered. We were going to hold her up. Everything, I said, through tears I was trying to hold back.

Very patiently, Colleen showed us how to wrap things up. Colleen! I said. I want you to be my mayor!

I thought about her team of election judges, folks Ive probably passed on the street here in central Lakeview, not giving them a second thought. That day, they became my heroes.

Be a hero. Apply to be an election judge. Democracy needs you.

Judith Weinstein is a public health professional who has lived happily in Chicago for more than 25 years.

Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@chicagotribune.com.

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Judith Weinstein: Working as an election judge allowed me to ... - Chicago Tribune