If you're not aware, I manage the breakfast shift, 5:30 am - 10:30 am, Monday - Friday at the restaurant Prima in the Hotel Teatro in downtown Denver. I'm home by 11:00 am and I paint from about 12:30 pm -4:00 pm each weekday. This week, I didn't get any painting done of course. I smeared paint around the board for about an hour on Monday, but beyond that, the last five days were all about Obama.
Fifty thousand.
The city was fifty thousand people busier than usual. At the hotel, the guest list included: various Kennedy's, Howard Dean and staff, governors, senators, millionaires & billionaires, members of congress, Italian consulate members, ambassadors from Barbados, occasional prime ministers, along with common Joes and Josephines, and lots of All-Americans wearing dark suits, sunglasses, and earpieces. Muhammad Ali and his family had rooms as well, though I didn't see the champ.
Denver SWAT officers sipped starbucks* on their way to the Pepsi Center each morning. Gaggles of twenty-somethings wearing issue promoting t-shirts moved through the city in a continual flow, followed by members of L. A. A. A. E. (League-of-Americans-Angry-About-Everything) and, of course, members of the press. Lots of press.
It was the most eclectic gathering of people I've been a part of. Highly inspiring and very optimistic.
In addition to it being Obama week in Denver, it was also, unofficially, bicycle week. Thousands of bicycles were available to borrow for free all over down town which helped out-of-towners and locals navigate the packed streets. Streets in the downtown area were essentially pedestrian malls with only the brave, the stupid, or the police escorted traveling by combustion engine.
There is a billboard in my neighborhood with a picture of Martin Luther King and the words "Martin Luther King was a Republican", sponsored by the Black Republican League. True enough, however, on my way home today, I saw that someone had very neatly covered up the word "Republi" with "Obama". Now the sign reads: "Martin Luther King was a Obamacan". Pity the soul who believes that any signage promoting the merits of being Republican will stand for long in our neighborhood. Truly, I haven't seen a single McCain sign in nearly 100 square blocks of our house.
Access to the Pepsi Center was exclusive. The one entrance that I witnessed from my bike was at least two blocks from the Pepsi Center itself. Bicycles aren't even allowed inside the convention grounds.
In the weeks and days leading up to the convention, somehow receiving credentials to attend the convention held at the Pepsi Center, was a dreamers game. The first in line to obtain passes to the show were, naturally, delegates and the well connected. The snarl of road closures, detours, and protesters was enough to keep most people from even traveling anywhere near downtown.
Obtaining official credentials to Obama's Thursday night speech at Mile High was considered impossible by any standard. After 50,000 passes were distributed to the delegates, VIPs and politiks, 35,000 passes were made available to the general public. To have a chance at receiving passes, it was required to submit an online application requesting the credential, and it was first come first served. Over 100,000 people requested passes.
Sharon and I received emails informing us that due to the overwhelming number of requests, we had been placed on a waiting list and would be informed if anyone should give up their passes. To expect someone to give up their passes would have required a powerful amount of imagination and we were both tired this week. So, we resigned our selves to watch the politics on tv.
However,
...luck favors children and drunks. We must fall somewhere in between.
As I mentioned above, I work weekday mornings at a very nice hotel. In the hotel is a very nice woman who is one of the concierges. Within the community of hotel concierges, professional favors flow like milk and honey. The nicer the hotel, the creamier the milk and sweeter the honey. The Hotel Teatro happens to be a four star hotel, so Creamy Milk and Sweet Honey floweth.
On Wednesday morning, my friend the concierge spoke to me in hushed tones about possibly obtaining a limited number of credentials for the convention on Wednesday night and asked if I'd be interested in attending. Eagerly, yet discreetly, I said yes. The problem was that the passes were located three blocks away at the Hyatt Regency Hotel and she would not have an opportunity to collect the passes herself. That's where I and my downtown cycling skills became invaluable. In return for my acting as messenger and courier, I was to receive two passes to the convention on Wednesday night. Home run.
Sharon and I attended the convention that night. As we walked to the convention hall and navigated through security, Sharon made the comment that she felt like a tourist in our own town, which was true. We were wide eyed and excited and inspired. Being as close as we were to such passionate people and actively participating in the democratic process, albeit as observers behind the stage, provoked unexpected emotions for me and was thoroughly engaging. We watched the delegates on the floor dancing and clapping. I was awestruck to see the state signs indicating the representatives from each state. I'd seen these tall signs on tv during past conventions and it is such and iconic image to me that it felt as if I were inside a moving photograph of conventions past. It was hard to believe I was actually there. Among other speakers, including Madeline Albright, we were honored to listen to President Clinton give his perfect endorsement of Senator Obama. President Clinton is one of the most powerful speakers I've had the chance to listen to. His voice and perspective gave me a powerful sense of purpose to my own insights. Listen here.
It had been a long week, so Sharon and I left right after the President's speech. The next morning's a.m. alarm would come all to soon. We fell asleep quickly, amazed at our fortunate evening.
Lucky strike 2.
Thursday morning, the day began with fervor. Obama was in town and everyone knew it. All minds were busy biding time until the doors at Mile High opened. Business at the restaurant never ended. My usual departure time of 10:30 am extended to 4:30 pm. In the late afternoon, I walked in to the upstairs office. My friend the concierge was there. She saw me and her eyes widened. "Dave!" she whispered urgently and walked to me. She showed me an envelope and then opened it. Inside were at least a dozen credentials for the Mile High speech that night. "You got some?!" I said. "They just came in!" she said, not offering to elaborating further on where they came in from. "So you're going tonight!" I congratulated. "Yep, me, my husband, and our daughter." "That is so great!" I continued. My friend the concierge pulled two passes out of the envelope and asked, "Do you want to go?" She handed the passes to me.
As I took the credentials, somewhere above me I began to hear music. Soft at first, then louder. The office disappeared slowly from my world and soon I found myself standing on a London street wearing little boys nickers, a tweedy brown coat over a wrinkled dirty buttoned down high collard white shirt, and a proper, if not nappy, stingy-brim hat just like Charlie worn in Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. In fact, I was Charlie! And I'd just found the last Golden Ticket! Two Golden Tickets even! In my heavy black schoolboy shoes, I began to skip down the cobblestone street, in the morning sunshine as the music from above rang louder in my ears and I began to sing, in a perfect cockney accent! "I've got a Golden Ticket! I've got a Golden Ticket! They said it couldn't be done! Couldn't be done! But good morning! Look at the sun, it's bright and gay! 'Cause I've got a Golden Ticket and with a Golden Ticket its a golden day!" Joy.
Gratefully, this musical experience was an inner monologue that remained private from my co-workers standing around me in the office. Regardless, the nearly impossible had been granted to me and I thanked my friend the concierge enthusiastically and ran-walked out of the office to call Sharon.
I've never experienced a night like last night.
We rode our bikes from our house to within a mile of the stadium. Beyond that it would have been more trouble than it was worth to manage our bike among the thousands of people moving down the streets. We locked up the bikes and joined the parade. Hundreds of police lined the way, smiling and directing. Free bottles of water were available every hundred feet or so. We walked along Federal Avenue, now closed off from traffic. Peddlers sold t shirts, buttons, hats, posters. No one really knew exactly if we were heading in the right direction, but the officers waved us on. At one point, we left the sidewalk and followed the crowd down the side of an embankment. It was dirty and dusty and a bit precarious for some of the elderly. Sharon noted, with a laugh, that it felt like we were sneaking across the southern boarder. It did feel like that for a bit. Finally we returned to the sidewalks and snaked back into the vast parking lot surrounding the stadium.
Another fifteen minutes in the snaking line led us to the security tent. We were screened, airport style, and then continued on to the stadium. We had no idea where our seats would be. With our credentials, we had numbers that indicated where our seats would be. We were directed to the club level. If you're not familiar with what club level is, it's a good thing. As we walked towards our seating area, Stevie Wonder sang on the stage below. Ultimately, we had unbelievable seats. We sat on the isle at the very top of our section and had a perfect, unobstructed view of the stage. As it turned out, Hillary Clinton sat about 30 feet away from us, in the glassed-off seating area above our row.
We heard Al Gore speak: excellent, intelligent, funny. Music played, flags waved, everyone clapped and stomped. We participated in the most successful wave that has ever been
executed in any football arena. The wave traveled around the stadium nine times. Nine times.
At one point, non-famous folks took turns standing on the stage and told their personal stories and why they were voting for Obama. Undoubtedly for me, the most memorable of these was a man named Barney Smith. Barney had lost his job after 31 years and his position had been relocated to workers in another country. Barney gave us the best laugh of the night with his quotable line, "We need a president that puts Barney Smith before Smith Barney!" Thunderous applause rewarded Barney's folksy insight and 85,000 people began to chant his name. "Barney! Barney! Barney! Barney! Barney!"
Just after eight o'clock, Senator Richard Durbin introduced a short film about Obama. As the film ended to applause, Senator Obama walked onto the stage bringing the house to it's feet and roaring applause from the rafters. His speech was everything it should have been, inspiring us to believe in what our country should and can be. He spoke with respect and reverence in regard to Senator McCain. He gave me the pragmatic reasons that I wanted to justify my supporting his presidency, and he gave me the inspirational vision that I must have to be influenced. But the idea that had the most impact on me was his insistence that "We are our brother's keeper, We are our sister's keeper". This is the ideological and moral foundation that motivates Senator Obama. I was moved, and I was reinforced in my decision to help elect this man as our president. If you didn't get a chance to watch his speech, listen to him speak. Listen hopefully and without bias and see if you agree with his intent and his ideas.
I was a part of something last night that I've hoped for, for as long as I can remember. Sharon and I were blessed to experience our country's continuing miracle of democracy and to share our never ending hope for human dignity and opportunity. It was just the best night.
Everybody have a good weekend, and Godspeed, Barney Smith,
Dave
