David Brooks and me

 

After being harangued for months by avid reader Becca (and by “harangued”, I mean she casually mentioned it once in a comment a few months ago, but hey - I'm a too sensitive guy - that surely constitutes a harangue in Jamie World), I am finally willing to share the story of how David Brooks, the NY Times columnist, tried to have me thrown out of the 2012 Democratic National Convention (DNC).

(Spoiler – there is nothing in the story that follows that will match the scenario playing in your head that likely looks like this. I'm sorry - I have no idea how to link to GIFs properly. Or even how to pronounce GIF.)

So, here’s the back story. Cheryl got a call in early 2012 asking her if, based on her level of participation and hard work on behalf of the Obama campaign, she would like to be a delegate to the DNC coming up in Charlotte (NC, not VT).

Being a delegate to the DNC had been a goal of mine since I was in 10th or so grade and had seen a young hippie-like individual interviewed on the Today show who had hitchhiked all the way to the convention just to fulfill his duties as a delegate. So, while envious, I was also thrilled for Cheryl who clearly deserved it.

And since Cheryl was going, I looked into seeing whether I could volunteer in such a way that I could actually be inside the building to hear the speeches as well. And that’s exactly what happened.

There were going to be three nights they needed us: Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. There was no guarantee that we would be in a location where we could see the speeches, but we were told that no matter where we were put first, we’d be rotated around to make sure everyone had a chance to be inside the actual arena where the action was to be. But we – about 50-75 of us - were to follow our supervisor around the building and take whatever assignment we were given.

We started at the bottom of the steps leading into the arena just inside this entrance to the left of the 2012 sign:

…and I noticed that the supervisor took the person closest to him and placed them right there inside that door, and then the next closest person halfway up the steps, etc at which point I realized that I would be best served hanging well back until I saw people getting the spots inside.

Sure enough, after 10-20 people had been placed in hallways and such, I saw it was time to make my move.  Kinda like this guy.

So I moved to the front and soon found myself with a sweet gig working as an usher in the executive box at the top of the lower level of the arena, and had an amazing view of the speeches that night, Michelle Obama being the most memorable.

This was my view

And true confession – every time I saw a supervisor walk into the suite looking for us, ostensibly to rotate us out, I either ran into the bathroom or left the suite for 5 minutes or so until I was sure they were gone.

Well, karma being what it is, the next night I was specifically given a spot in front of the doors to the media center. This was my view:

I was inside the building but on the outside of the concourse. There was also someone official there checking credentials, and even though I was paired with another volunteer, we had no apparent responsibilities.

So we just kind of stood there, looking for any media-types we recognized, and since the room was dominated by the ink-stained-wretch-types (newspaper reporters), as opposed to talking head TV-types, we had no idea who any of them were. That is until I spotted one familiar face walking toward the room. Was it? Yes!

This guy:

 

So with that moment of breath-exhuming excitement behind me, I turned to my volunteer compadre  and told him that at some point, I was probably going to take a break, go for a walk and might not be (read: definitely had no intention of) returning.

Well, maybe 20 minutes went by before some official rent-a-cop-sorta guy strode all official-like toward me and told me he was there to escort me out of the building, sorta like this. Stunned, and upset I hadn’t gone for my “walk” already, I asked why. At first he wasn’t going to tell me, only saying that I had broken mandated protocols or some such. So I pressed, completely confused and wondering what I’d done, he finally confided that some unnamed media member had complained that I had taken his picture and that it was expressly against the rules.

Well, after much pleading, begging and emoting, I convinced him that I had never been told of any such rule and that I would never even think to do it again. To my surprise and relief, he let me go.

And predictably, as soon as he was out of sight, I went inside the media center, found the aforementioned Mr. Brooks, told him he was a diva and punched him squarely in the nose…in my fantasy. In actuality, I turned to my erstwhile buddy and told him I was going for my walk, at which point, I texted Cheryl to find out where she was sitting and soon joined her

 for a night of amazing speeches, including by this guy – The Secretary of ‘Splainin’ Things:

And then, ten years and 2 months later, I told the tale to you guys!

And one bonus pic - me pretending to stop to check my phone for messages on national television: