There was cause for concern, but party disunity wasn’t the main problem. It was what came after the balloons popped: whether Obama could actually beat McCain. Some governors—notably Pennsylvania’s Ed Rendell, a staunch Hillary backer—openly expressed doubts about Obama. Some supporters were troubled because he still had not found an effective message for dealing with the worsening economic conditions. Despite overwhelming evidence that voters wanted change, as the convention began that Monday, August 25th, the daily Gallup presidential tracking poll showed Obama and McCain dead even. For the second day in a row, Gallup had them tied at 45 percent. Other polls showed them running neck and neck: McCain, up by four in Florida; Obama, up by seven in Pennsylvania; both even in Ohio, though one survey there had McCain ahead by one. For Democrats, all this was evidence that it was crucial to unite behind Obama—and for Obama to step up.
By 2008, the national political convention had become a charade, robbed of suspense, its outcome determined well in advance. Tedious, boring, too long. All these elements were present for the Democrats in Denver. But three dramas will be remembered in a convention that did create history.
The first came at the opening session when Senator Ted Kennedy haltingly mounted the podium that night to address the delegates.
Two months before, Kennedy was operated on at the Duke University Medical Center to remove a malignant glioma, a fast-growing tumor, in his brain. Home from the hospital, he let family and friends know that he wanted to address the Democrats in person, not by way of a videotaped tribute. Since his operation he received daily radiation therapy, followed by chemotherapy. For three weeks before the convention, despite his failing health, he rehearsed his speech. On the Sunday before the convention opened, he made a long flight by private jet to Denver. He arrived in excruciating pain. At first doctors feared the pain was connected to his cancer, then determined he was suffering from notoriously painful kidney stones.
Kennedy remained in a University of Colorado Hospital room, enduring a sleepless night and morning pain, until less than two hours before he was scheduled to speak. “There was nothing that was going to keep him away,” his niece Caroline Kennedy later told the Boston Globe. With a doctor, paramedics, his wife, Vicki, and Caroline, he left his hospital bed, was driven to the convention center, then transported by golf cart into the Pepsi Center. With Caroline and Vicki at his side, he walked laboriously, limping slightly, to the podium and faced the delegates. An intravenous tube, implanted to administer pain medication, could be seen sticking from an Ace bandage on his left hand.
The Ted Kennedy who stood before the delegates in Denver was seventy-six years old and in his forty-sixth year in the Senate. He was the last link to his assassinated brothers—and to the time when the Democratic Party stood supreme as the nation’s majority party. He was the unquestioned leader of the liberals, and of course the man whose endorsement gave Barack Obama his greatest boost with Democrats and helped him defeat Hillary Clinton.
As he began to speak, there were tears throughout the hall as the last of the Kennedy brothers—the “lion in winter,” he was now being called—delivered the speech that might well be his last hurrah. It wasn’t great oratory, but that didn’t matter. His familiar voice, if huskier and at times halting, struck deep chords. In calling for the election of Obama as a harbinger of “a season of hope,” he evoked the memory of his slain brothers. He was passing the torch, and everyone in the hall knew it. As John Lewis, the Georgia civil rights leader and congressman, who had been close to Robert Kennedy, said afterward, the speech was a signal that Obama was about to inherit the Kennedy family legacy. JFK’s daughter, Caroline, said later, “On many levels, it was a very difficult thing to do—logistically, medically, emotionally. It was really inspiring to all of us.” Whatever breach had existed among Democrats before Kennedy spoke was being closed as the convention began.
The next moment came on Tuesday when Hillary took the stage in prime time. From her opening words, she left no question about where she stood: “I am honored to be here tonight. A proud mother. A proud Democrat. A proud American. And a proud supporter of Barack Obama.” Applause and cheers. Speaking to both her supporters and Obama’s, she said, “Whether you voted for me or voted for Barack, the time is now to unite as a single party with a single purpose. We are on the same team, and none of us can sit on the sidelines.” More applause. She hadn’t spent thirty-five years in the trenches, fighting for children, for universal health care, for women’s rights, “to see another Republican in the White House squander the promise of our country and the hopes of our people.” Then, in a line that drew even louder applause, she said, “No way. No how. No McCain.”
Lest anyone listening fail to get her message, she added, “Barack Obama is my candidate. And he must be our president,” as the sound of cheering again echoed throughout the hall. She drove the point harder. “Before we can keep going, we have to get going by electing Barack Obama president. We don’t have a moment to lose or a vote to spare. Nothing less than the fate of our nation and the future of our children hang in the balance.”
Whatever resentment or recrimination remained from the long primary battles, however deep her supporters’ disappointment at her not being picked as Obama’s vice president, everyone watching had to know she was a team player. The reaction of a Hillary supporter, Kelly Friendly from Wellesley, Massachusetts, where Hillary attended college, summed up the new feeling of party harmony. Would she vote for Obama? Friendly was asked after Hillary’s speech. “Absolutely,” she told the New York Times. “She just told us to, didn’t she?” Mark Smith, a Texas delegate, told USA Today, “When Barack became her candidate, he became mine. He’s my No. 1 now.”
Hillary had one more dramatic role to play on Wednesday afternoon, during the roll call of the states when the delegations begin announcing their votes. Earlier, Hillary had wanted her name put in nomination in recognition of her historic candidacy, but two-thirds of the way through the roll call, an elaborately planned series of handoffs began to unfold. New Mexico yielded to Illinois, which yielded to New York. The cameras zeroed in on Hillary moving across the convention floor amid cheers from the delegates. Taking the microphone where her New York State delegation was seated, she said, “In the spirit of unity, with the goal of victory, let’s declare together in one voice, right here, right now, that Barack Obama is our candidate and he will be our president.” She moved that the convention stop the roll call and nominate Obama by acclamation. Thunderous applause. The motion quickly passed, setting off a jubilant floor demonstration. Delegates danced in the aisles to the strains of “Love Train,” then began chanting, Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Speaker Pelosi gaveled the roll call to an end. The long battle was over. Obama was the candidate.
That night it was Bill’s turn. He grabbed the stage and supplied the convention with its third memorable moment.
The applause that greeted him as he took the podium grew louder and louder, drowning out his repeated words of thanks and his imploring them to be seated. The ovation continued. Now they were shouting, Bill! Bill! Bill! “Please stop. Sit down. Sit down. Thank you,” Clinton repeated, to no avail. Bill! Bill! Bill! they shouted. “Please sit, please sit,” he repeated, with a smile and wave. “You know, I love this, and I thank you, but we have important work to do tonight. I am here first to support Barack Obama”—again his words were drowned by applause, even louder this time—“and second,” he continued, “I’m here to warm up the crowd for Joe Biden”—more applause—“though as you’ll soon see, he doesn’t need any help from me.”
The hall rang with laughter. He had them. “I love Joe Biden, and America will too.” He went on, “What a year we Democrats have had. The primary began with an all-star lineup. And it came down to two remarkable Americans locked in a hard-fought contest right to the very end. That campaign generated so much heat, it increased global warming.” More laughter. “Now, in the end, my candidate didn’t win. But I’m really proud of the campa
ign she ran.” Greater applause. “I am proud that she never quit on the people she stood up for . . . and I’m grateful for the chance Chelsea and I had to go all over America to tell people about the person we know and love.” A pause, a broad grin, then: “Now, I’m not so grateful for the chance to speak in the wake of Hillary’s magnificent speech night.” Laughter. “But I’ll do the best I can.” Applause. “Last night, Hillary told us in no uncertain terms that she is going to do everything she can to elect Barack Obama.” Even greater applause, eclipsed by his next words: “That makes two of us.” Another pause, another grin, then: “Actually that makes eighteen million of us”—referring to the number who voted for Hillary in the primaries—“because, like Hillary, I want all of you who supported her to vote for Barack Obama in November.”
Silence filled the hall; the Democrats listened intently: “Our nation is in trouble on two fronts. The American dream is under siege at home, and America’s leadership in the world has been weakened.” Then Clinton said the job of the next president was to rebuild the American dream and restore American leadership in the world. “And here’s what I have to say about that,” he continued. “Everything I learned in my eight years as president, and in the work I have done since in America and across the globe, has convinced me that Barack Obama is the man for this job.”
The Democrats went wild. From then on, they interrupted virtually every sentence with applause. Clinton praised Obama for his choice of Biden: “In his first presidential decision, the selection of a running mate, he hit it out of the park.” With that line, Clinton bound the Democrats together. “With Joe Biden’s experience and wisdom, supporting Barack Obama’s proven understanding instincts and insight, Americans have the national security leadership we need.” He paused dramatically, gazed out over the delegates, and, his voice rising, said, “And so, my fellow Democrats, I say to you Barack Obama is ready to lead America and to restore American leadership in the world.” Applause. “Barack Obama is ready to honor the oath to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.” Applause. “Barack Obama is ready to be president of the United States.”
They all knew readiness had been Hillary’s strongest attack on Obama: He was untested, she was ready to be president on “day one.” They all got it, and understood too that the Clintons had offered the strongest possible call for party unity. That was the message the Democrats hungered to hear.
Bill Clinton had been harmful to the party during the primaries, often negative and divisive, but on this night it was the old charming, teasing Comeback Kid who occupied the stage—and, speaking with the authority of a former president, issued a command for the party to come together. For the rest of his speech, he played with the audience. They responded with applause and shouts and with loud boos whenever he mentioned the name of Republicans and the Republican disasters from Iraq to Katrina to cronyism to the assault on science and the defense of torture. Then he said, “My fellow Democrats, America can do better than that, and Barack Obama will do better than . . .” His words were lost amid the sound of cheering delegates. When he tried to continue, they burst into the chant: Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Nine times, louder and louder, the chant rising until Clinton delivered his ultimate political challenge: “Yes, he can, but first, we have to elect him.”
The Clintons, following in Kennedy’s path, had set the stage for Obama. Together, they presented the gift of a unified Democratic Party. Now it was up to him to deliver.
Obama and his aides knew well how crucial his Thursday night acceptance speech would be. Their private focus group findings and the polls that showed a dead-even race spelled out the challenge: He had to reassure voters still harboring doubts about him, make them feel comfortable about him as commander in chief of a country in deep trouble, and deliver the strongest, most forceful case against George W. Bush and the Republicans who had controlled Washington for much of the past eight years—and particularly against John McCain.
They knew his speech had to take on McCain directly. Normally presidential nominees let others attack their opponent, but Obama had to show his toughness to members of his own party. He had another challenge: He would be speaking on the forty-fifth anniversary of Martin Luther King’s great “I Have a Dream” address from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial that paved the way for the achievements of the civil rights movement, of which Obama was an heir.
Obama arrived in Denver Wednesday afternoon and immediately began huddling with key aides about the next night’s speech. He had read other nomination acceptance speeches, and found three particularly memorable: John Kennedy’s, short but effective in 1960; Ronald Reagan’s, even tighter in 1980; Bill Clinton’s, too long but a speech that powerfully appealed to Americans with its theme of putting people first, in 1992.
Though there had been numerous discussions over many weeks about the speech, with drafts prepared and exchanged by Obama and others, not until eleven o’clock Thursday morning, after hours of labor over the address, did Obama say this draft is the one. I like it. Hours later, after Obama’s meetings ended, he, David Axelrod, and speechwriter Jon Favreau met late in the afternoon in a room at the Westin Hotel, for his first chance to rehearse his speech before them. They had only three or four hours until his address.
No sooner had Obama begun the tense speech rehearsal than a knock on the suite door interrupted them. Obama, closest to the door, opened it to find a room service waiter with a silver tray. He was delivering an order for a chicken Caesar salad. That would be mine, Axelrod said sheepishly. Obama took the tray, carried it to Axelrod, and said, Ax, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch for my speech prep for the convention speech tonight. That broke the tension and nervousness over the rehearsal. All three began laughing. The rehearsal continued.
It went smoothly until almost the end. Obama had reached the point when he was going to refer to King’s historic speech forty-five years ago that day. Suddenly, the ever-cool Barack Obama stopped, visibly choked up. Hang on a second, guys. I’m sorry, but this is hitting me. This is really a big deal. He paced the room, talking about how many people had suffered and sacrificed to enable him to give this speech that night. Then, still clearly moved, he asked them to give him a few minutes. “I started reading it and I got to the section right at the end when it talks about, you know, this young preacher from Georgia. And . . . I had to stop. I choked up,” Obama later told us. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. When he returned, it was the cool, composed Obama who resumed his speech rehearsal.
While he was rehearsing, workmen were putting the final touches on transforming Invesco Field, home of the Denver Broncos, into the setting for Obama’s acceptance speech.
Not since 1960, when Kennedy moved his acceptance speech outdoors to the Los Angeles Coliseum, had such a convention shift been made. In Denver, hundreds of crew members had been working around the clock. On the fifty-yard line they built a stage resembling a miniature Greek temple. Fake marble columns, painted off-white and looking like those of the U.S. Capitol or the White House, formed a backdrop for the temple. Two hundred spotlights would bathe the scene in a sea of soft light. And when Obama finished his address, confetti would rain down on him and fireworks would explode into the heavens.
This latest example of an age of excess, of mass Super Bowl and rock concert extravaganzas, was instantly mocked. McCain’s campaign described the massive neoclassical set as the “Barackopolis,” suggesting delegates should don togas as did the ancient Greeks. The conservative New York Post reported that Democrats would be kneeling before the “Temple of Obama” when he spoke, and added that a “Rocky Mountain coronation was not lofty enough. Obama will aim for Mount Olympus.” During the week, Axelrod, aware of criticism of the stage setting, asked media adviser Jim Margolis to make sure the site was not too over-the-top. The columns, he thought, were fine, but other features were not. It looked like a set from Deal or No Deal, he told the New Yorker’s Ryan Lizza.
Margolis ordered some of it toned down, but not the Greek columns.
For hours people stood in lines to witness this moment of political history, and by the time Obama spoke, more than eighty thousand had filled the stadium. Once again, he did not disappoint them.
First he saluted Hillary, “a champion for working Americans and an inspiration to my daughters and to yours,” then “President Clinton, who last night made the case for change as only he can do it,” and finally Ted Kennedy, “who embodies the spirit of service.” Then, as planned, he told his story: of “the brief union between a young man from Kenya and a young woman from Kansas who weren’t well-off or well-known but shared a belief that in America their son could achieve whatever he set his mind to. That promise has always set this country apart.”
Then he spoke of the challenge confronting the nation, telling the crowd that America stands at one of its “defining moments—a moment when our nation is at war, our economy is in turmoil, and the American promise has been threatened once more.”
These challenges, he continued, “are not all of government’s making. But the failure to respond is a direct result of a broken politics in Washington and the failed policies of George W. Bush. America, we are better than these last eight years. We are a better country than this.” He saluted John McCain’s heroism and military service, but said, “The record’s clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush ninety percent of the time. Senator McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than ninety percent of the time?” The problem was not that he “doesn’t care” about what was happening to ordinary American. The problem was he just “doesn’t get it.”
The Battle for America 2008 Page 39
