Braving the chill and drizzle, a nearly 80-year-old woman in a wheelchair rolls into the Texas Department of Public Safety building on U.S. 290 on a recent morning, her stiff upper lip softened only by the presence of an oxygen tube.

She's got her favorite cartoon character, the resilient Tigger, on her sweatshirt, two daughters by her side, and a fat brown envelope that should settle things, once and for all.

They say the third time is the charm. For Laura Troth, it better be.

She doesn't know how many more times she can get her daughters to wheel her into the DPS office so she can get a state identification card that would allow her to comply with the newly implemented voter ID law.

Both times she tried, she was told there was something else, another document, another piece of proof she needed to convince the clerks that she's the woman pictured in her expired Texas driver's license.

"I just don't understand why they're trying to keep me from voting," says Troth, a former licensed vocational nurse who considers herself an independent. "To me, they're taking my rights away."

The feisty mother of seven - grandmother and great-grandmother to many more - doesn't take kindly to such things. Her ordeal started last year, when Troth says she was turned away from her voting precinct because she had only her voter registration card, not a photo ID.

Determined to vote, Troth says she had a friend of the family drive her to the DPS office that day to get a Texas ID. She presented the woman at the front desk with various forms of identification - her old driver license, her Social Security and Medicare cards - but was told she needed her birth certificate.

The woman was short and rude, Troth says: "I was old and she was disrespectful."

Barely existent fraud

The Texas Legislature, in its infinite wisdom, decided to protect the citizens of Texas from barely existent voter fraud by requiring everybody to show photo ID before voting. In 2006, Texas Attorney General Greg Abbott launched an investigation into the "epidemic" of voter fraud found little by 2008: 26 cases to prosecute, two-thirds involving technical violations, and none that would have been affected by voter ID requirements.

After a lengthy court battle, voter ID is now the law of the land. And Troth set out to comply.

She says she contacted the state of Nebraska to see about getting a birth certificate. But before she could complete the process, she came across the original document "by the grace of God" in January.

No good answer

Last week, Troth asked her daughter, Andrea DeLeon, to take her back to the DPS office.

Troth says the same "rude" woman was at the front desk and, this time, the woman told her the birth certificate wasn't good enough because the name on it differed from her married name.

"I told them I didn't get married out of the womb," Troth says.

The elderly widow was instructed to come back with her marriage license. And not only that. Because she lives with her other daughter, Alana Troth, that daughter would have to come in person to verify her mother's residency.

"I was mad as hell," Troth says. She got on the phone, calling DPS, Gov. Rick Perry, and finally, state Sen. John Whitmire, D-Houston. She gave him an earful about the wrongheadedness of a law that sets up roadblocks for older folks to vote. Once the veteran Democrat explained he'd voted against voter ID, he encouraged Troth to vote by mail. No photo ID is required for that form of voting. "Answer me this," Troth told me, "If you have to have all this proof to vote in person, why can anybody just vote by mail?" I didn't have a good answer.

She's got documents

She followed Whitmire's advice, begrudgingly. She likes voting in person, likes the experience. She meets nice people. It's a reason to go out.

So, she decided to try one more time for the state ID. Earlier this week, I tagged along.

Mid-morning, there is already an L-shaped line nearly out the door of people fiddling with phones or staring vacantly. Troth is able to bypass it because of her wheelchair.

At the front, Troth begins slapping documents and cards on counter: birth certificate, marriage license, voter registration, AARP card. She even brought a subscription Reader's Digest, still in the plastic.

This time, the woman at the counter is patient and helpful. She assures Troth that she's got everything she needs.

A look of pride

When her number is called, Troth's daughter wheels to the back. She finishes the paperwork and even manages a slight smile in the photo. Moments later, she hands me her temporary ID. There's a look of pride on her face, but also a hint of unfinished business.

The manager soon joins Troth and her daughters. They recount their story and the manager apologizes and promises an investigation.

Troth's tale ended well. But I have to wonder how many don't. How many Texans don't have the moxie or the piss-and-vinegar tenacity to keep coming back? How many don't have anyone to take them?

"This isn't just me," Troth says. "This is everybody. There's other people, I'm sure, other senior citizens, who are being denied the right to go vote or have to vote by mail. And it's not right."