Plan for festivities gives way to reality

By Anne E. Kornblut, Globe Staff, 12/14/2000

USTIN - The night of George W. Bush's victory was once planned as grand spectacle. Seven-story risers would be set up across the city's main thoroughfare; live bands would fill the air with music before he spoke.

A stage had been built for his appearance against the dramatic backdrop of the Texas Capitol. Hundreds of supporters would flood the Austin streets, waving blue Bush-Cheney signs as the Texas governor declared his triumph.

But more than a month after Nov. 7, all Bush got yesterday were a few protesters outside the governor's mansion, even as he prepared to deliver his victory speech.

''I thought there'd be more people,'' said one of the protesters, Pam Bonavita, 40, looking almost lonesome as she carried a sign that read, ''President by Ambush.''

To be sure, the campaign sought to convey a subdued attitude last night, discouraging supporters from gloating at the end of the most hotly contested presidential race in recent history.

Every detail of the victory speech, down to the chamber where he delivered it, had been designed to aid Bush's effort to begin bridging the partisan divide that had widened in the postelection dispute.

Instead of supporters from around the country - indeed, instead of his family members, who had gathered here 36 nights before - Bush was flanked by Democrats, an overt visual promise to work with his opponents when he arrives in Washington next month.

In the center of the chamber sat a giant Christmas tree with a sign that read: ''Peace, Hope, Joy.''

Bush's bipartisan tone was matched by nonpolitical talk on the city streets, where supporters were replaced by residents on their way to and from local restaurants along the bustling 6th Street strip.

Blocks away from the State House, the streets were almost silent by late afternoon, except for a single Salvation Army volunteer ringing a Christmas bell.

No signs adorned the campaign headquarters, just a huge Christmas wreath over the entrance.

No Bush-Cheney posters remained along Congress Avenue, now decorated with gold trimmings for the holiday season. There was only one salute to the campaign, a giant billboard overlooking Town Lake that read: ''Congratulations! President-elect Bush, Vice President-elect Cheney. From the Reagans.''

Even the local radio stations were preoccupied with other topics, playing holiday tunes and warning drivers about icy roads from the freezing rain that had shut down the city the night before.

There was one burst of activity at the Texas Capitol earlier in the day, when a transition team was announced by another Republican, Lieutenant Governor Rick Perry, who will assume the governorship once Bush formally resigns.

Perry held a press conference, answering questions from 35 or so reporters, far more than the number of journalists allowed near Bush.

The Bush team, instead, limited access to a small pool of reporters, who then shared the information with the rest of the media.

But Bush did not give the pool much to share. During the day, he stuck to what had become his post-election routine, driving two blocks to the State House before leaving to exercise at the University of Texas gym.

The most noticeable difference yesterday was the presence of the communications director, Karen Hughes, and a media consultant, Mark McKinnon, who had joined him to help prepare the speech for last night.

Inside campaign headquarters, the mood was equally subdued, although aides were relieved that the ordeal had reached its end. Governor John Engler of Michigan, a supporter who had phoned Bush to wish him well, described the mood inside the Bush camp as dominated by a ''jumbled set of emotions.''

''There's just such a general weariness,'' Engler said. ''I don't know that they're in any shape to celebrate much. There's a lot of excitement and anticipation ... and then there's a sobering realization that Jan. 20 will be here before we know it.''