What the TV cameras didn't catch: Backstage at the Dem. Convention

CHICAGO -- The Democratic National Convention here ended much the same way as it began: not with the bang of an impassioned fight over political issues, but with the whimper of television cameras following a carefully choreographed schedule. The reality of the convention was quite different from what America watched on TV: the stage was small and awkward, the hallways were crowded with smokers and sleeping delegates filled the non-prime time hours. Look at the speeches. As the most widely-watched part of any convention, they set the tone for the entire event. History has shown that good ones -- like William Jennings Bryan's famous 1896 "Cross of Gold" address -- can change the course of a campaign. So can bad speeches, which may explain why convention organizers this year decided not to leave anything to chance. Everything, including the jokes, was planned and rehearsed in advance. Texts of each speech -- complete with stage directions reminding politicians when to pause and laugh -- were available hours in advance to journalists. "Watching a speech is definitely not the same once you've had the chance to read it," explained veteran CBS news correspondent Bill Curtis, who has been covering conventions since 1968. "It gets to be like watching a videotaped sporting event when you already know the score." The convention was also home to begging, threats, bribery, blackmail, back room deals -- and that was just to get in the door. One pass was required to get onto the convention grounds, and attendees needed a second to enter the building. And only those with a third pass could actually set foot on the convention floor itself. Dangling from the neck of entrants, the passes were color-coded and carried designations identifying their bearer's status. Walking around the convention floor became an exercise in unobtrusively scanning the passes of others, while pretending not to notice others were doing the same. The other big activity of the week forced convention-goers to dodge the flailing limbs of the thousands of delegates dancing the "Macarena" before and after most speeches. "The Florida and Rhode Island delegations are the worst," said Jennifer Field, a convention usher and Northwestern University student. "Seeing everyone dance was cool the first time, but after a while, it just gets a bit nauseating." And outside the convention, away from the cameras and media, residents of one of Chicago's poorest neighborhoods struggled to reconcile the cosmetic changes the convention brought to their area with the underlying poverty of their day-to-day lives. "After the convention, the area won't be as safe or as clean as it now," said Chicago resident Steve Washington, an unemployed 21-year-old. "These changes are for the cameras and the tourists, not us." Chicago resident Sam Perkins, who has lived in the area since 1963, added that "you can count on your hands how many neighborhood people worked at the convention." "People from around here are still standing on street corners, not because we're lazy, but because there are just no jobs," he said. The convention, the men explained, left them with a lot of unanswered questions about the future of their neighborhood. "It's great to see what the city was able to do for this area when it wanted to," Washington said. "But I wonder, now that the convention is over, will they keep doing what they've been doing, or will things just go back to the way they were?"