To put these stories into context: my internship with TIME was slightly less than promised. We did not get credentialed into the convention, and mainly were assigned to handing out magazines and business-card schedules and advertisements to convention-goers. We were popular and relevant (because we had the schedules way before they were widely published, and the DNCC never publishes a program for attendees, so they don't know what to expect). The internship, which felt more like volunteering, did put me in situations to meet amazing people, but it made me feel like I was missing out on the main reason everyone was in town. The Pepsi Center was like an exclusive clubhouse that read: "Everyone but you allowed."
I kept my morale up with the amazing people around me (friends and celebrities alike), and remembering that jobs are about working your way up...that the Big Time is something to be earned, not handed. I also was told by a colleague that a certain big timer was hardly anything eight years ago; he watched the DNC from the basement of the arena and left early because he didn't have good enough access. He left in obscurity that week, but is now the nominee for the Democratic party. So, yeah, Barack Obama is one that can vouch for the idea that "a lot can happen in eight years" and it's ok to start on the lower rungs and work to climb higher.
Wherever I am on that ladder, this is a good backdrop to remember when reading the following anecdotes. This context grounds me and also reminds me to believe in miracles.
I won't put you through the details of every minute, but the major events will take some space. Bear with me, or just look at the pictures.
The Only Protest I've Ever Feared
Tuesday, although mainly uneventful, did include something I'll never forget. I started my shift with TIME at the MSNBC stage, handing out free magazines to Hardball spectators. In the minutes leading up to the live broadcast, dozens of protesters arrived to crowd the stage and to chant their creed: "Nine Eleven was an inside job" (among others).
This is not the first time I saw these folks, not just at the DNC, but around Denver in the last few years. I have no qualms with their message (or their right to shout it at the top of their lungs). However, their descent into the hardcore Hardball crowd created issues. I experienced arguments (I recorded one, although I am debating as to whether to post it online), shouting matches, and hyped up security. I was in the front row, stuck between barricades and passionate people. It was a good view of the stage, but the physical pressure behind me made me fear being stampeded.
The noise of the protesters drowned out the taping of the show -- to the point where I almost forgot about Chris Matthews' existence. David Schuster came up to the barricades and tried to encourage one of the protesters to either shut up or come over for an interview (I couldn't tell). Later, when he went on stage to chat with Matthews, he yelled over the crowd that "they should listen to this" because although the first amendment protects expression, the demonstrators were technically on private property, "just saying!"
Matthews at one point, did bask in the glory of his fans who, in response to the protest madness, hyped up their fandom.
Before the show hit the halfway-mark, MSNBC's private security lined the barricades, along with show producers and other MSNBC staffers. I saw in my peripheral vision swat teams approach, and I heard one security member say something about increasing "intimidation." I felt more pressure on my back, and although I tried to avoid leaning on the barricades, it was becoming an increasing struggle.
It was the first time I questioned my safety because of a demonstration. Thankfully, I escaped unscathed, and nothing ever really got ugly. Harsh words were exchanged, and tension was explicitly present. I didn't hear of any arrests or injuries, though. Sort of anti-climatic, right? Still doesn't change how I felt trying to fight not falling over the barricades.
Wednesday's Roller Coaster
The morning began happily. I stopped at 9NEWS to pick up a credential present from a good friend. I was also able to meet with former Congressman and Gubernatorial Candidate Bob Beauprez (he lost to Ritter two years ago). He remembered me from the 2006 race, and we reminisced about what's happened in between. He reiterated my impression of his character: he's charismatic, kind, and good at remembering the details. He even let me do my TIME pitch, and then we talked about what our lives are like today. I'm glad he was balancing the coverage on 9 with a Republican viewpoint, and he was glad that I was back in the action with Adam.
The happiness continued as I was assigned to the Grand Hyatt Hotel for the beginning of my shift with TIME. Two other students (from CSU) and I handed out schedule cards and pitched The Page to anyone who would listen (check it out, by the way -- it is a pretty cool site for political spectators and insiders alike. And Mark Halperin really rocks. Does anyone remember The Note?).
In the process, we saw some pretty high-profile folks and multiple secret service escorts arrive at or leave the hotel (it was where many celebs were staying). At one point, I casually glanced at the main entrance of the hotel, which was far from our sidewalk view...
still, I saw the man himself, the one I had jokingly supported for President on Facebook, and who is a man I respect for his brilliance, humor, and downright coolness: JON STEWART.
We didn't ambush him, but we definitely approached him with an air of "please, please stop and talk to us!"
I actually talked with him for a minute or so, mainly about how he is shooting his show at DU, ("Yeah," he said, "DU is great!). While we took the picture, he was commenting on how cool and "high tech" my camera is. He is a really nice guy and totally laid back -- which is all I can wish for in a such a popular public figure!
I never truly escaped the high of meeting Jon Stewart the rest of the morning. I was positively giddy. That interaction alone made the whole TIME P.R. work totally worth it.
I did lunch with some fellow DU folks, then traveled to the MSNBC stage to once again hand out free mags. My friend, Nick, and I then ended our shift and ended up back on the light rail, aiming to prepare for our evening at the Pepsi Center. My pass from 9NEWS and a pass we would obtain from C-SPAN friends would allow us access to the last night in the hall -- to hear Bill Clinton and Joe Biden, among others, make their case for the Democrats.
This is when I got really excited. I quickly showered at home, dressed up a bit, and despite the heat (and the sweating), made it back onto and off of the lightrail. I kept my credentials, on a lanyard, in my purse until I hopped off of the train. Then, they casually swung from my neck as I strode down 14th street toward a Pepsi Center entrance.
As I made my way through a crowd of convention goers, and the craziness of a bus-pick up zone, the wind picked up. One minute, my credentials were bouncing around my neck, and the next, my Arena pass was gone. Blown off or stolen, there was no telling.
Panic swept me. Numb panic -- with slight hope the pass was at my feet, with the slight blindness of disbelief, with the overwhelming sense of confusion and loneliness amongst a very organized, prepared, and large group of pedestrians. The world spun for a moment, and my eyes glazed over in all of the emotion that was flooding...I immediately turned around and scanned the ground as I swiftly retraced my steps, four blocks back to the train stop.
No luck.
The next hour or so was filled with more weariness and distress; tears actually fell, and disappointment scolded my stupidity. "There goes that opportunity," is all I could think of.
My friends were of great comfort and support, although they couldn't believe such a thing could happen. I couldn't believe it either; I kept looking down at the lanyard in hopes it was really there, and I searched my jacket and pockets thinking it had been stashed somewhere all the time. I checked my purse again, fooling myself into thinking it had never been removed.
If only...
I also ended up at Hotel Teatro, where the concierge tried her best to get me another credential.
No such luck, although I greatly appreciated the effort by the Teatro staff.
My friends called me from the inside of the convention, wondering when I would arrive, or telling me their apologies. I ended up at the Brown Palace, where I sipped a rum and coke and ate a really much-too-expensive dinner. I had told my mom that I probably didn't want to watch the convention because it would depress me too much. I probably should have chosen a different hotel if that were really the case. I watched Bill Clinton, along with other rapt Tavern patrons. Their enthusiasm, and the sheer feeling of being around so many people excited about politics (like they were watching the super bowl), did lighten my mood.
Then, my C-SPAN friend called to ask if I wanted to retrieve his pass when he exited and see what was left of the night.
In my depression, I said no.
When he abruptly hung up on me (I later learned it was because Bill Clinton was passing him and he wanted a picture), I couldn't believe my continued stupidity. Who am I? I just turned down a pass? Surely I couldn't lose this one accidentally, so why give it up on purpose? WTF?
I paid my tab as quick as humanly possible, said goodbye to a nice couple that I had chatted with at the bar, and dashed out. I called my friend, over and over, as I sped-walked through downtown, from the South of town to the the North. He wasn't answering, and I was flooded with more emotion, simultaneously cursing my stupidity and praying for relief.
When I finally made contact, he wasn't sure it was worth getting the pass to me -- not because I had stupidly turned it down, but because his plans were changing and there wasn't a lot left of the night's activities. He said he would call me back, but I kept blazing on in what felt like vain hope.
The streets were the New York kind of crowded, and instead of being my nice Denver-self, I felt like a Manahattanite on a mission. I might bump into people in my rush and not think of apologizing. This was not smart karmically, but my mind was so narrowly focused on what felt like a far off goal (although I was so close to it!) that I couldn't think of anything else.
As I neared Pepsi, two young men walked by, heading in a direction away from the convention. I asked if they needed their credentials, "Oh, well, we might go back tonight," they said, uncaring. I wanted to kick them. I'm not sure if I would have, but may have found out if a man we may call my savior hadn't interrupted me. "Do you need passes for tonight?"
"YES!" I exclaimed, the desperation clear in my tone. He didn't have floor creds, he explained, but did have extra arena, hall, and special guest passes. By the end of the exchange, which included a big hug, I had the passes of a DNCC Staff member which would get me to my friends inside.
I continued my blistering pace toward security, anxiously charging toward the event so that I would miss as little as possible.
When I found the C-SPAN booth, I opened the door and ran into a man about to walk out. It was my friend, the man on the other end of the earlier phone calls. We hugged enthusiastically and my depression was cemented into elation; I made it.
I was in.
And the blur of my walking became a joyfully vivid movie. Although I was absolutely a wreck -- I was dripping sweat and trying to catch my breath -- I made it. And I had moments to spare where my friend and I could enjoy a lap around Club Level, seeing famous people and security and everyone in between. He then left to go out on the town while I stayed behind, in time to watch, from the C-SPAN suite, veep nominee Joe Biden deliver his acceptance address. Barack Obama even made a surprise appearance (following her husband's speech, Mrs. Biden said, "I have a surprise for you!").
Obama called Thursday night's venue "Mile High Stadium" during his brief speech Wednesday. I smiled like only a Denvrite could, especially when somebody in front of me said, "It's called 'Invesco!'" No, ma'am, it is Mile High, and nobody can take that from us.
My Denver pride can sometimes be too much, but my smile was a nice thing to wear after such a night.
The remaining of the night put me in position to see where 9NEWS has been working, as well as to watch live coverage from the NBC boxes. I even got to see my good friends from 9, including Adam, to take our now traditional major-political events picture (remember this one?) We discussed the week, and I told him of my lack-of-credentials situation, but that I was finding opportunities in good places.
I was reminded, during this happy ending, of the value of good friends, human kindness, and of miracles. It may not be a big deal to some to get inside that exclusive club of a party convention. I actually don't care that much about it being a party convention, but I do recognize its historical significance, its newsworthiness, and it's value, especially when it's in my backyard. For me, to go from losing what I considered my golden ticket, to being given access to my proverbial chocolate factory, I knew that miracles were abound.
The night in Pepsi, the last night for the DNC there, is one big moment I consider myself to be very lucky to have been a part of. I am more than thankful, especially grateful for the opportunity that presented itself in the most unsuspecting of ways.
Thursday's History
The joy of Wednesday night helped get me out of bed early Thursday morning. Anything could happen.
TIME had offered me the opportunity to be a seat-holder at Mile High leading up to the event. I had no idea exactly what that meant, and it didn't guarantee me access to the speech, but I had to go. Anything could happen.
I prepared for the day, thinking I would take the train into town, spend the morning at C-SPAN, and meet the TIME folks at the designated hour to head over to the stadium. I was barely two minutes outside of my building, on the phone with my mom and walking to my car, when my call-waiting informed me of a call from 9.
It was Adam.
"Hey, MJ, how are you?"
"I'm well, how are you?"
"I'm well, thanks. Who's your buddy, who's your pal?"
"Ummm...Adam...?"
"What if I told you that I have two passes for you and your mom, or someone else, to go to Invesco tonight?"
"Seriously?"
"Yes. I will leave them for you at the front desk. They were given to me, but I don't need them. You'll be really thankful and excited about who is giving these to you."
I bee-lined it for my car as I returned to my mom's call. We discussed this development. I invited her to the speech, but we decided the crowd and the lines may be too much to handle. She was happy that I had them, though, and joyfully encouraged me to find somebody else to go with.
I called my friend, Nick, who had lost out on getting access to Pepsi the night before. I had felt horrible for screwing up his opportunity through my recklessness, and thought this would be the perfect way to repay him. It wasn't Pepsi, but it was definitely an event and location to remember.
He couldn't believe it, and he accepted. We decided on a plan of action, which included lunch at C-SPAN, and got excited about the day.
When we made it to the lines at about 2pm, after a confusing journey to figure out where to go to catch a shuttle, we made it to the longest line I have ever seen for anything in my entire life.
Invesco Field at Mile High is on the opposite side of I-25 from Pepsi. It is within a mile of the arena and Auraria campus, but can be a challenging walk. We were on the West side of the campus, a trek from Pepsi and what felt like a hike from Invesco. We hit the end of the line around 7th and Walnut, and could see it winding in indiscernible directions without the football stadium in view.
As it moved along, surprisingly quickly, we discussed how it felt like a pilgrimage to the Mecca of Mile High (an observation based on the number of people, many of whom were excited party diehards, all traveling in the same direction in an exodus of proportions normally unheard of, even for Broncos games).
We made it to our seats, with a scant view of the podium from a direction behind the stage, in time to rest our legs for four hours until the man of the hour would take the stage. We never moved, and in so doing, saw much live music, great speakers, and celebrities of all kinds.
The landmark speech was more than worth the wait to hear.
I'm sure the news coverage will explain all of the nuances of its historic nature, so I won't write about that. I will give my thanks to Adam and his family for their kindness in giving me the passes. He included a note with the tickets and reminded me that this moment would go down in textbooks for generations to come.
I was there.
And I can't wait to tell people about it in years to come.
It was a Mile High moment to never forget, the perfect culmination to a wild week.
That I have had such an experience really is a miracle. It was disguised in different moments, under disappointments, failed expectations, and sporadic stupidity. But, my whole experience cannot be considered less than a miracle. I hope that my repetitive use of this term doesn't lighten its impact. It's honestly how I feel, and I am grateful.
Beyond the history, and the opportunity, and all of the learning moments, I know that the real miracle lies with the people that have surrounded me this week. Meeting the prominent people I did was one thing, but my friends are as important as ever to me, and I'm thankful they are in my life.
The Mile High moment is over, but the miracle of these relationships is unending.
As W.B. Yeats said, in a quote that inspired the "glory" of this blog, and always reminds me of my luck:
"Think where man's glory begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such a friend."
And oh what a miracle this glory be,
~MJ
No comments:
Post a Comment