Conventional people

Lesson one:
Republicans have hairstyles;
Democrats have empathy

by Barry Crimmins

On an evening more emotionally manipulative than a month of reruns of The Waltons, the Democratic Party kicked off its quadrennial presidential nominating convention Monday night in Chicago.

Wheelchairs and widows were the Democratic theme on a night that must have had Bob Dole kicking himself for missing the chance to roll up his right sleeve during his acceptance speech at the Republican Convention in San Diego. But even if Dole had slapped his war-withered arm on the podium, he wouldn't have been able to outdo the Democrats at cornering the sympathy vote. Human weakness is a Democratic strength. The compassion and sentimentality on display throughout the evening permitted the Dems to let their better selves shine through. On Monday night they served notice that they are as comfortable with infirmity as the GOP is with luxury.

In my estimation, the convention got off to a good start. But then, I like The Waltons.

The proceedings began with a series of speech by Democratic officials from around the country. And I do mean "speech." They all said the same things: it does take a village to raise a child, and by the way, Mr. Dole, nobody ever said families aren't the most important components of any village. The economy is good and crime is bad. Bill Clinton is good for the economy and bad for crime. And guns are bad. Very, very bad.

The only thing worse than guns is Bob Dole's running mate, Newt Gingrich. (Jack Kemp apparently got lost somewhere on the trip from California.) In the first hour of the Chicago gathering, Newt received more attention than he did in a week in San Diego.

And speaker after speaker belittled the GOP for its recent attempts to package itself as diverse and inclusive. They pointed out that a wide array of people have always been welcomed in the Democratic Party. (True enough. Even Strom Thurmond was once a member.) This point was reiterated time and again with cutaway shots of an extremely diverse group of delegates. Moments into the Chicago get-together, the San Diego "Republican Rainbow" already seemed a ridiculous memory; unlike the GOP, the Dems have no fear of running out of persons of color during a four-day gathering.

An abundance of working-class people were in attendance at Chicago's United Center. As the proceedings began, the mere presence of these Americans put a much more human face on the event than was seen at the Dole coronation. This wasn't a Versace or Gucci crowd, but then it didn't look like it had just been gang-hairdressed by a hit squad of Republican stylists from Nashville, either. The delegates in Chicago aren't beautiful or gaudy. Just presentable. And unlike their counterparts in San Diego, this cross-section of citizens appears to be in possession of something that no amount of money can buy: lucidity. There is something likable and human about people wearing mixed-and-matched outfits from T.J. Maxx and Wal-Mart, people who have stretched their budgets to the limit to participate in democracy. Although it wouldn't be a gathering of Democrats without some slick, old-fashioned ward heelers scattered throughout the assemblage, most didn't appear to be veteran politicos.

No, they seemed regular -- and, as such, flawed. They looked like they had all seen worse days and were clearly enjoying their moment in the big time. Even during the most emotional moments of various speeches, they smiled and waved excitedly when they spotted themselves on the Jumbotron. Wholly inappropriate. Completely unsophisticated. But not bad.

Especially as the studio audience for an evening meant to kick off Bill Clinton's re-election. The failings of our incumbent leader are easily overlooked by people who have had their lives ordered by the grim reality of everyday existence. People who must scrape to assemble four days' worth of outfits probably can't afford the luxury of voting against their vital interests because somebody has had some marital problems or was involved in a cheesy land deal that he lost money on. They all have uncles and brothers or husbands who've done worse. And most of those are still welcome at the holidays. They're family, for God's sake. The Democratic Convention seems full of people who have some real disagreements with Bill Clinton, and given the opportunity they might tell the president just how they feel. But only after insisting that he eat the last piece of pie.

So these people were a perfect audience for Monday's show: a few hours of drudgery, followed by theatrics and sentiment to dazzle the rank and file. Hollywood actor Edward James Olmos, dressed like a baseball umpire with a bad tie on, stood and delivered the angriest speech about compassion in modern political history. Then Alma Brown, widow of recent plane-crash victim and former Clinton Commerce Secretary Ron Brown, graciously spoke of her husband's fidelity to all things Democrat. (Unhappily, she was then serenaded by yuppie-jazz puke Kenny G, who played so long I found myself thinking that maybe the Macarena isn't so bad.)

Next came an impassioned speech by Sarah and (former Reagan press secretary) James Brady, whose namesake gun-control bill was finally signed into law by President Clinton. Sarah did most of the talking, but James ably filled in a few blanks despite his continued struggles with the brain damage he suffered when he caught a bullet with the Gipper's name on it. They had high praise for Clinton, and the symbolism of the inclusion of even these once powerful Republicans was hard to miss. Perhaps we were witnessing the birth of a new political maxim: a liberal is just a Republican who has been shot in the head.

By now the audience was in full-blown empathy. Close-ups of their faces revealed that, although these people may not have lost anyone in a plane crash or survived an assassination attempt, they had been through equally compelling difficulties. These people know what is at stake. So on this August night in the Windy City, their hearts were open and accessible. And they were about to be caressed with a gentleness and dignity that is rare at political conventions.

Christopher Reeve, an actor who was in a tragic accident and is now confined to a wheelchair, was the evening's final speaker. Reeve's condition was brought on in the less-than-salt-of-the-earthy circumstances of an equestrian accident, and it's arguable that without the privilege and wealth he has accumulated as a movie star, he would probably be dead. But for someone in Reeve's condition, action speaks in a booming voice, and his work as an advocate for state-of-the-art treatment for all afflicted people has dispelled any doubts about the man's grit or character.

Monday night Reeve was wheeled on stage and more than rose to the occasion. Although he has lost the use of his hands, he managed to touch everyone with the sound of his voice. Sticking strictly to matters of health and the rights of the 20 percent of the populace with disabilities, Reeve articulated a much larger truth about the need for collective compassion. He spoke in brief and thoughtful phrases, the impact of his words magnified by the fact that each time he uttered just a few of them, he had to stop and wait for his oxygen supply to replenish. His once robust, classically trained voice, now reduced to a raspy crackle, was still magnificent when he reminded us, "The most important principle that FDR taught us was . . . America does not let its needy citizens . . . fend for themselves."

The evening should have ended right there.

Unfortunately, the Dems have poured millions into the metaphoric train trip that Clinton is taking from DC to Chicago. It's meant to inform us that "America is on track into the next century" (while Bob Dole is building bridges to the last one). So rather than leave the final word to Reeve, we were whisked by satellite to a whistle-stop speech by Clinton in Toledo, Ohio. After milking the "on track" cow for a few more squirts, the chief executive was relegated to the Ed McMahonly task of thanking all the guests who spoke at the convention that night.

Perhaps they did this just so the attendees in Chicago and the home viewers would remember Clinton's name. Reeve certainly didn't waste much of his precious breath on it. Apparently Clinton was already addressing the crowd in Ohio while Reeve was on in Chicago, so he may have missed the FDR comment. Considering the president's recent penchant for scapegoating the poor and the one percent of the federal budget that welfare consumes, it was a speech he sorely needed to hear.

The rank and file of his party, discount clothes and all, gave every indication Monday night that they'd keep Clinton in pie for a long time if he just would show half the courage Christopher Reeve demonstrated.

Barry Crimmins is a political satirist and longtime Phoenix contributor.