My introduction to political conventions and the democratic
process did not leave me with a favorable impression. I was 6.
My introduction to political conventions and the democratic process did not leave me with a favorable impression. I was 6. The daily routine in our household included an afternoon swim in the blow-up pool until the 5 o’clock whistle blew (it was a siren at the fire station downtown, but we called it a whistle). That’s when we would hop out of the pool, rush up to our new Magnavox television set and turn on Crusader Rabbit (5pm followed by The Mickey Mouse Club (5:30pm) in living, snowy black and white.
One day in the summer of 1956, I flipped on the TV, and instead of Crusader Rabbit, I saw an arena full of adults in suits listening to someone on a podium give a speech. This electronic anesthesia went on for a full week (eternity to a kid who wanted to see the Mickey Mouse Club) and was followed a couple of weeks later with another cripplingly boring week featuring a different group of adults in a different arena.
I learned much later that these were political conventions where some guy named Adlai Stevenson had been nominated to run for president against the incumbent, Dwight Eisenhower, who was nominated at the second convention.
It wasn’t until the summer of 1968 that I watched the conventions with interest. That pesky Vietnam War and having reached draft age only months before gave new relevance to the outcome of the election. Eugene McCarthy’s success in New Hampshire had raised the possibility of a successful antiwar candidacy, which led to Robert Kennedy’s opportunistic candidacy, which in turn led to President Lyndon Johnson dropping out of the race. Then Martin Luther King was killed, then Robert Kennedy.
These were shocking events, all of which occurred within three months. Couple them with the ambient rage and turmoil across the country and the democratic process becomes very interesting. Especially if you remember that political conventions were not always coronations and pep rallies. They used to look more like the Friday night fights than an Andy Williams Christmas special as they do now.
Who would be nominated? How many ballots would it take? What planks would be included in the platform? Which delegation would be seated? These were unanswered questions at the 1968 Democratic convention. Open and bitter disscusion often characterized the struggle to prevail in these matters.
After floor fights, deals were brokered, and when the convention closed, delegates went home bitter, leaving the party in disarray.
That same year, motivated by the disaster in San Francisco in 1964, the Republicans had the troops in line. All that messy democracy stuff was worked out behind closed doors prior to the convention. Not a discouraging word was heard all week as the Republicans marched in lockstep projecting an image of unity and purpose. They proved that through focused efficiency, you can even elect Dave Barry’s favorite politician, Dick “Dick” Nixon.
I miss the messiness. That year the Democratic convention looked like a bowl of M&M’s fighting for what they believed in. The Republican convention looked like a bunch of marshmallows performing a synchronized-swimming routine.
Democracy is neither expedient nor tidy. I became comfortable with the sluggishness of democracy when I heard a scholar say that the founding fathers designed it that way.
It’s supposed to be difficult and time-consuming to get things done. At its best, our process gives a voice to everyone, which ultimately leads to compromise. Such decisions may be unsatisfactory to many, but they are almost never dangerous. If you want expediency, talk to Hussein, Hitler, or Stalin. They knew how to get things done.
Now both parties know they must project unity and enthusiasm no matter how much dissension lurks beyond our view. Democrats and Republicans, show your warts. Then you will look more like we do.
