Delegate floor stages a grand, old party

By Yvonne Abraham, Globe Staff, 8/4/2000

HILADELPHIA - There was no getting around the hats.

At the very center of the huge delegate floor, the butter-colored cowboy hats of the Texas delegation were hard to miss. Held aloft to show approval for the many ordinary struggling folks who stepped onto the stage to tell their stories, waved about wildly when vice presidential nominee Dick Cheney gave his combative ''It's time for them to go'' speech, and bowed in prayer to protest the presence of openly gay Arizona congressman Jim Kolbe, those hats were the convention's barometer, and everybody watched them. Later in the week, the craze for ten-dollar blue cowbells started to catch on, and though noisy, they didn't stand a chance against the hats.

And judging by those made-in-Houston hats, this GOP convention was a smashing success with delegates.

Nobody could remember one quite like it.

''I have never seen this much dancing at a Republican convention,'' said Texas delegate Cathy McConn Wednesday night, just before Cheney brought the house down. ''This is probably the most fun convention we've had for a long time.''

For four days, these 25,000 Republicans spent mornings buying rhinestone elephant brooches and marveling at the Liberty Bell. Then they dressed up and happily crammed onto special buses headed for the convention center. Once here, they got their fill of patriotism and optimism, from the kinds of people they're not used to seeing at the podium: a struggling single mother, and black small-business owners. There were few of the white men over 40 who compose 80 percent of Congress.

And they got all kinds of entertainment - much more variety than they're used to. There was plenty of rock music this time, and so much Latin music that you'd think the Hispanic delegates, just 3.3 percent of those present, had succeeded in putting a plank in the platform making Spanish the official second language of the Republic.

Indeed, when Cheney, that milk-white son of Wyoming, was officially nominated by unanimous acclamation, delegates celebrated to the strains of a Ricky Martin hit: ''Here we go! Ale! Ale! Ale! '' Bush got the same treatment last night.

Delegates could get down to the business of partying here because all of the usual convention to-do had been taken care of long before these 25,000 Republican activists set foot in the City of Brotherly Love. There were no tugs of war over the platform. Not a sliver of doubt about who would get the nomination. Even Senator John S. McCain fell into line, and hard.

''We're united, there's no infighting, no behind-the-scenes stuff going on,'' McConn, the Texas delegate, said.

That lack of conflict allowed organizers to concentrate on delivering the party message as entertainingly as possible, and to the kind of audiences they haven't tried to attract before. Hence the Hispanic themes. On Wednesday night, Latin pop singer John Secada appeared, even singing one verse of his song in Spanish.

Organizers worked hard to project the sense that the convention, and nominee Texas Governor George W. Bush, marked a new, more inclusive Republican Party.

''This convention represents the style of campaign that Governor Bush has run,'' said Tim Fitzpatrick, the convention's press secretary. ''It's an inclusive, positive campaign.''

And it started with the stage. Such a set has never been used before at a Republican Convention, Fitzpatrick said.

For a backdrop, speakers had the usual video screens, which were set in a giant brown and mustard, wood-paneled, round-edged set that looked like it had been resurrected from the Reagan era. Every so often, it belched smoke, to make the beams of light from the spotlights visible, bathing the whole stage in a sort of heavenly glow.

''The podium was designed more like a stage,'' Fitzpatrick said. `It's reflective of the performance we're putting on. It's not a high, unapproachable podium.''

Speakers were closer to the delegates than ever before - just 11 steps and 71/2 feet above those cowboy hats.

They had steps at the GOP convention in San Diego in 1996, but a wall divided the party officials from the party faithful. Here, only a slender velvet rope marked the boundary. Speakers stood behind a simpler, friendlier lectern rather than the usual daunting podium.

And there were plenty of ordinary people at that lectern: Hector Barreto, a California small-business owner in favor of providing opportunity in every community, and Leilani Durate, a former welfare mother who spoke in favor of welfare reform, and Kim Jennings, a single mother from Arkansas who advocated tax relief.

''One of the biggest differences between this convention and the previous one is that this is focused on telling the story rather than the storyteller,'' Fitzpatrick said. ''There are a lot of people here to represent mainstream America, not only the people who make the policies.''

Fitzpatrick said this time around, everybody was being very careful to be positive. ''We've eliminated the traditional Tuesday night tradition of whacking the other team as much as possible,'' he said.

The whacking of the other team began Wednesday, with Cheney's speech. The delegates, who seemed starved for combat, were all over it, chanting ''It's time for them to go'' every time Cheney said it. They waved those hats, clanged cowbells, and beat together giant red, white and blue inflatable plastic sausages.

By last night, there were little elephants eveywhere among the women in the delegations: hanging from ears, pinned to hats, sewn onto jackets. The souvenirs had gone down to half price in some places, and the faithful had bought up big.

Many of them had dressed up in their extra special Republican clothes for the convention's climactic night. The Texas delegation favored Lone Star flag sequined vests and shirts. They had gone all out.

By the time their governor's biographical video came on, the floor was so crowded that even the camera crews were stuck. Delegates looked up adoringly at the video screens, laughing at all of Bush's jokes, letting out a huge cheer at the first mention of Ronald Reagan.

They brought plenty of props and a sea of signs. The signs read: ''Our Final Answer'' and ''Giddyup'' and ''un nuevo dia.'' They gave the place a homey, grass-rootsy feel. But they weren't really homemade.

Each afternoon, convention workers came by and dropped the hand-painted placards on the seats. They were all made in the same place and, judging by the lettering, by the same small group of people.

Spontaneity, too, must be meticulously planned.