SUNDAY: As I gather my things for my trip to San Diego, I see two
possible outcomes of the Republican National Convention. Either it could
be a disaster for the party, with delegates splintering into several factions,
destroying our chances of electing Bob Dole president. Or it could air
out the differences within the party and unify it with one purpose: to
put Bob Dole in the White House.
MONDAY: Stepping off the GOPass Shuttle bus in the mid-morning sunshine,
I look up at the enormous San Diego Convention Center and then down at
the lines waiting to pass through the metal detectors, X-ray machines,
bag searches, and credential checks. After my bag is checked and rechecked,
I'm allowed to enter the building. Once inside, I'm greeted by yet another
credential check. Good thing we wear the creds around our necks. Passing
through several hallways and doors-and seemingly hundreds more credential
checks-I make it to the convention floor. l Now to find Massachusetts's
site. I spot a seating chart. Who are we next to? American Samoa!? How's
that for clout. Taking my seat, I'm thankful for the wide-screen television
monitors. We haven't quite been exiled to the sidewalk, but it's close.
"You have the wrong color hat," a voice says in my ear. I turn
around to see a man in a purple hat. He informs me that I should be wearing
an orange hat instead of the green one given me. I am a deputy floor whip.
Whips and deputy whips wear orange hats, state political directors wear
green, and regional political directors wear purple. I have committed a
chapeau faux pas. After a lengthy discussion, I am issued an orange hat
and given permission to keep, but not wear, the green hat. l As one of
two deputy whips for the Massachusetts delegation, I am in the thick of
things. I am responsible for keeping our group informed about issues and
the convention agenda. With a possible floor fight a concern, I also have
the role of mediator and frontline soldier. The chief whip instructs me
that "a good whip doesn't win confrontations, he avoids them."
With that advice, and the proper colored hat, I am ready to carry out my
orders.
Colin Powell's speech is the first of what will be many important junctures
in the convention. I don't know how he will be received. I'm not sure he
knows, either. People cheer as Powell highlights the Republican positions
of lower taxes, less government, and individual responsibility. But the
crowd quiets as he states his support of abortion rights and affirmative
action. Even Massachusetts, not known as a bastion of conservatism, is
nearly split in half over the abortion issue. Then Powell shouts that the
Republican Party is big enough to encompass differing beliefs on different
issues. A roar erupts-masking sighs of relief.
The hall darkens, the crowd stills, a face appears on the giant video screens:
President Ronald Reagan. The applause and cheering build for the man whom
many in the room view as the greatest president and Republican. As this
video tribute to Reagan ends, I feel that the emotion in the hall could
not be greater. People all around me-old, young, male, female-are crying.
Then Nancy Reagan appears. She recounts the life and times of her husband,
whose last public appearance-probably ever, now that his Alzheimer's disease
is worsening-was his speech at the 1992 convention. When she concludes,
the hall is awash in waves of joy, sorrow, pride, and hope.
TUESDAY: In the midst of the mayhem, the media are at work. I have
been interviewed by four newspapers, one television station, and a radio
station. In order to help us speak the party line, the Dole campaign committee
issues daily or even hourly talking points. These are great for questions
about Bob Dole and Jack Kemp, but not for the interrogation that the Massachusetts
delegates constantly receive on Governor Bill Weld. Governor Weld's decision
to forgo speaking at the convention was the main topic of discussion, not
only from the local and national media but also within our delegation.
I believe that, although they might disagree with Weld's actions, people
should respect his decision to not speak and to leave the convention early.
Weld's actions may not sit well with some in San Diego, but according to
a poll taken at the start of the convention, they are popular back in Massachusetts.
WEDNESDAY: Except for the acceptance addresses, the roll call of
the states is the most exciting part of the convention. Each state receives
a scripted speech, but rarely do they stick with it. They also rarely stay
within their allotted times. The speech from Alaska is so long that it
gets booed off the floor. The roll call nears Massachusetts. Joe Malone,
who as chairman of the delegation will cast our votes, wipes the sweat
from his face and practices his speech one last time. Maine . . . Maryland
. . . and finally Massachusetts, with its 37 votes. The spotlight shifts
to us. People jockey for position next to and behind Malone to get in the
television picture-I among them. It's just a coincidence, I'm sure, that
the man next to Joe wears a "Malone 1998" T-shirt, a reference
to the upcoming contest for the governorship. Malone's probable primary
opponent, Paul Cellucci, is seated on the other side of the delegation,
away from the camera. As our votes are cast, excitement and relief spread
over the Massachusetts contingent. Joe turns and high-fives the people
around him. Our formal job as delegates is finished.
THURSDAY: Having long been a big fan of Jack Kemp, I can't wait
to hear his speech. It seems many in the crowd like Kemp more than Dole.
His speech touches on vintage Kemp themes: freedom, entrepreneurialism,
free market capitalism, and personal responsibility. But I sense that he
is holding back, so as not to overshadow Dole. It looks like Kemp got the
message: You're number two.
The moment for which Bob Dole has waited his entire life has arrived. He
strides out to receive a hero's welcome. Signs are waving, people are clapping
and cheering, flash bulbs are going off. Dole breaks out the acceptance
speech he has wanted to give for so long. Cheers of approval and chants
of "Dole-Kemp!" interrupt him constantly. As his speech ends,
pandemonium breaks out. Fireworks go off and 50,000 balloons fall as the
band plays "Stars and Stripes Forever" and the crowd cheers wildly.
People are standing on their chairs. This goes on for a half hour, then
. . . it's over. The hall begins to empty. People rush about looking for
convention mementos: balloons, Dole/Kemp signs, even the large state delegation
signs. We leave the hall to attend one last night of parties-and to take
the Dole/Kemp message back to our communities.
The convention has been a success. The party of Lincoln has learned its
lesson and truly believes in unity through inclusiveness.
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