The last lone inventor

Bill Rouverol's Votomatic machine was blamed for Florida's 2000 election fiasco. But the 86-year-old tinker is back, with an innovation that will ban "hanging chads" forever.

By Chris Bagley

Jun 23, 2004 | Visitors to Bill Rouverol's apartment may not immediately see, as he does, that the fate of American democracy depends on the gadget sitting by the window.

Rouverol, 86, a balding mechanical engineer given to frank words, brown slacks and circuitous journeys of all sorts, has spent much of the last three years designing and building a green plastic box called the VoteSure. With two patents pending, his creation is coming to life in the twilight of a career that has generated more than 100 patents.

The green box is Rouverol's baby, an obsession that has helped wreck his marriage and put him on the trail of elusive county registrars, machinists and patent attorneys. It has driven him to work 10-hour days long after most of his closest friends have passed on, all in a quest to save American elections from the twin dangers of wily hackers and tiny paper squares.

"The whole country is waiting for this machine," Rouverol said. "I think it'll save democracy."

The VoteSure may save Rouverol's pride, too, because Rouverol is the man who built the Votomatic, the voting machine that -- along with its imitators -- left lingering question marks over Florida's 2000 election results. Rouverol said the VoteSure will eliminate the earlier machine's flaws.

As large states such as California and Illinois cast skeptical eyes on touch-screen computer systems made by large and politically connected corporations such as Diebold, Rouverol hopes registrars and voters will end up using his new machine instead. Next year, California will begin requiring that touch-screen machines produce paper receipts. Nevada will require paper receipts this November. Illinois hasn't approved touch-screen -- or "direct recording electronic" -- systems, partly because citizens there have insisted on machines that produce paper receipts.

For a generation, the Votomatic booklets mounted in fold-up plastic booths were practically synonymous with Election Day. Using the machine and its paper ballots, baby boomers installed and removed aldermen, senators and presidents.

The Votomatic was a great and revered contribution to American public life. It saved some registrars thousands of dollars and let others mechanize the voting process for the first time. It replaced 1,000-pound machines that could wipe out a registrar's budget with one invoice. It took power out of the hands of local political bosses who could often persuade vote counters to toss out or overlook opponents' ballots.

But in dozens of elections over four decades, the Votomatic and similar systems were plagued by printing goofs, programming errors and counting malfunctions. Chaos and court battles often followed. And finally, in the 2000 elections, an acrimonious nationwide debate ruined the reputation of Rouverol's creation forever and gave mainstream America the term "hanging chad."

Bill Rouverol refuses to allow that disaster to be his legacy.

Next Page: How Bill Rouverol helped revolutionize the voting process

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