ST. PAUL, Minn. — The party that postponed its party on account of another region’s bad weather got back to the business of celebrating itself Tuesday. Politics finally broke out on the floor of the Republican National Convention, and for many delegates it was high time.
After a daylong pause for Hurricane Gustav and its human toll, the party of Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan was rested and ready. And with former Sen. Fred Thompson as the night’s attack dog, joined by President Bush for an assist on video, it was clear that the American hats were off and the Republican ones back on.
“We’re in the midst of a fight, and we’re going to prevail,” said Dorothy Olmos, 49, an alternate delegate and candidate for state representative from Houston. “We’ve got our boots on.”
The whole affair, though, felt quieter and more reserved than it might have. The storm cooled some of the anticipation, and many A-list news anchors are gone: Retiree Tom Brokaw was presiding over NBC’s booth on the floor as Brian Williams grappled with the storm in the Gulf.
Musician Al Williams opened the session, and his stylings fit the mood perfectly: mellow, cheerful, with a quiet hunger to jazz things up. A few delegates danced in the aisles, but never too raucously.
“I’m hoping the speakers will get the crowd revved back up so we’re all enthusiastic like we were before the storm hit,” said Tony Culver, 60, a delegate from Angola, Ind. “Everything got kind of scrambled.”
McCain’s main message, “Country First,” was everywhere Tuesday, and folksy was most certainly the order of the day. Plastic hats dotted the landscape; stars were outnumbered only by stripes.
“Welcome to Pig’s Eye, Minn.,” Republican Sen. Norm Coleman said, using St. Paul’s original name.
Republicans who criticized Democrats for holding an excessively glitzy convention last week put their production design where their mouth was. The GOP stage is far simpler and much lower, a decision its architects say was designed to bring speakers down among the people.
A convention is always a pageant, and this one is delivering. Gaudy patriotism prevailed, interrupted by intermittent episodes of pure political schmaltz. Walking the floor and watching the proceedings offers up some weird, wonderful slices of Americana — with a generous slathering of partisan frosting, of course.
You get to see a two-minute video gently eulogizing the late President Gerald Ford that praises his “straightforward manner” and how he “shouldered our nation’s burdens and put America back together in his quiet, steady way” — without once mentioning the word “Nixon.”
You get to see the Republican House minority leader, John Boehner of Ohio, exhort delegates to hold still for a mass panoramic photograph, and you get to see them paste on smiles as if posing for a Rotary Club brochure. Then you get to hear the House’s most powerful Republican say those politically inspiring words, “The photograph may be ordered online through the official convention Web site.”
You get to see a giant electronic flag, displayed on a three-story screen that any armchair quarterback would die for, undulate unceasingly. The effect is reminiscent of the videos sold in the 1990s that displayed a roaring fireplace for those who didn’t have one in their home.
You get to hear Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” played at top volume as delegates wave “Country First” signs.
And you get to see Alaskan delegates — highly popular with journalists since their governor was named McCain’s running mate — wearing hard hats that say, “Drill Here.” It’s a reference to — what else? — oil.
GOP leaders say that, despite Gustav’s unmannerly intervention in the convention script, holding their convention after the Democrats’ meeting is helpful. “I think that fact that we’re second gives us a great advantage,” RNC Chairman Mike Duncan was telling C-SPAN on the floor.
In the highest rafters of the Xcel Energy Center, hundreds of balloons are tethered by nets, awaiting release in the ultimate Republican celebration after McCain speaks Thursday. Just before Tuesday’s session began, a single balloon cascaded down on the floor near the U.S. Virgin Islands delegation.
A convention staffer walked over, picked it up and scurried off into the wings. Just one balloon, after all, would have been extremely off message.
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