http://www.startribune.com/stories/357/4938010.html
Gospel, crosses and boos on cue Nick Coleman, Star Tribune August 20, 2004 NICK0820
A guy in combat gear and Kevlar helmet, machine gun at the ready, stopped me outside the Xcel Energy Center.
"Hey," he said. "How you doing?"
It was just one of my buddies on the St. Paul Police Department, dressed for combat and carrying a 9-millimeter MP5. It was a beautiful day in St. Paul, the president of the United States was on his way to town, the SWAT team and the protesters were out, and I was on my way in.
My daughter put me down for a ticket to attend Wednesday's rally for President Bush, probably because she's always wondered what her old man would look like spread-eagled against a wall. But I was glad to join her. Lots of people don't feel welcome at political rallies these days, so this was a chance to see what's going on.
After three hours of speeches and nothing to eat or drink, I can say this: If you aren't dying to get into a political rally, you will be to get out of one.
We passed through the metal detectors and by the tables where folks were told to leave their contraband -- umbrellas, water bottles and other items not allowed inside, including books. Here's an impromptu look at a Republican reading list: "The Ultimate Bible Fun Book" was one of the inspirational titles left behind, along with "Shrines to Our Lady Around the World."
Religious conviction was a big part of the program, from the invocation in which the minister thanked God for touching the heart of George W. Bush ("a man we believe You've established") to the Pledge of Allegiance, during which people shouted out the words "under God" in order to vocalize their faith.
And all of that came after we were informed by the emcee, conservative talk-radio host and author Laura Ingraham, that if the ACLU had its way, we wouldn't even be allowed to pray. When the crowd didn't respond, Ingraham stepped back to the microphone to chide us: "You're supposed to BOO when I say the ACLU!" After that, boos came at all the proper cues.
Then we were treated to an off-key "Star-Spangled Banner" sung by the Minnesota Teen Challenge Choir -- the 230 residents of a Christ-based drug-treatment program in Minneapolis that includes many adults as well as teens.
Minnesota Teen Challenge enjoys the support of many Republicans, including Gov. Tim Pawlenty and his wife, Mary (she is on the board), and the group also was bused to Duluth last month to sing for a Bush rally there.
"Teen Challenge is one of President Bush's favorite charities," said Kimberly Lende, a Teen Challenge official.
With the remainder of their three hours in St. Paul, many of the recovering addicts made crosses by taping together inflatable Bush 2004 "thunder sticks." Later, during the president's speech, they lifted the improvised crosses toward the podium, holding them out in a reverential manner.
"Bush stands for One Nation Under God," said one teen when I asked why he was raising a cross for the president. "He wants to keep God in the nation."
The crosses worried two visitors sitting next to me, foreign students seeing their first American political rally.
Gabriella Gyorgy from Romania works part time in a senior center in St. Paul. She happened to pick up the phone when a Republican organizer called to ask if any old folks would like to see the president. She said no, but ended up taking tickets for herself and her friend, Balint Vanek of Hungary.
She hoped that seeing a campaign rally might help her understand America. Mission not accomplished.
"Please tell the meaning of the crosses," Gabriella said. "We are bothered by that. Do they mean evil is coming?"
No, I said. Why do you think that?
"Because many bad Hollywood films show crosses when evil comes."
Since she was Romanian, I was afraid it might be rude to discuss my favorite Dracula movies. She and Vanek were having enough trouble with the Europe-bashing they were hearing.
"I do not understand the mentality," Gabriella said, looking pained when one speaker's mere mention of the word "Europe" drew boos. "Every person must have friends who they talk to and helps them. If they have no friends, then everything is 'Me, me, me.'
"It is the same with countries."
She wrinkled her nose when U.S. Sen. Norm Coleman capped the Euro-bashing with a Top 10 list of reasons to re-elect Bush. No. 3 was "We're at war!" No. 2 was "He's a good man!" But Norm's No. 1 reason to reelect Bush was:
"He cares more about what Americans think than what Europeans think or what the U. N. thinks!"
Ingraham, the willowy talk-show host, gave Coleman a giant hug like the ones Lance Armstrong gets from the flower girls when he wins the Tour de (name of European country deleted for your protection). "What an inspiration," Ingraham gushed after Coleman had set the table for the president.
Musician Ricky Skaggs then took the stage with his bluegrass band to fire up the crowd. Skaggs is part of the Presidential Prayer Team and finished his set with a gospel song called "The Weapon of Prayer."
"We must never lay our [prayer] weapons down," he sang. "The weapon of love" will still be needed after "the planes and tanks and guns have done all that they can do, and the mighty bombs have rained and failed."
While Skaggs sang, American tanks were near the second holiest shrine in Islam. Gospel music is always timely.
Two hours, and still no Bush.
Finally, just before 6 p.m., two shiny Bush-Cheney campaign buses wheeled into the arena in a flashy entrance worthy of Willie Nelson.
The traveling press corps tramped in -- exhausted reporters who plugged in their laptops and zoned out, some of them reading online newspapers (I had binoculars), others leaning back with their hands on their laps.
Bush would speak for 45 minutes, but the news lamp was out: he would say nothing new or newsworthy in St. Paul. Even the president seemed to lose interest in his speech at times. And when sound problems lowered the volume to an almost inaudible decibel level, the crowd looked as blank as hockey fans during the last numbing minutes of a meaningless late-season blowout.
When it was over, we staggered into the lovely evening to find Bush and Kerry supporters yelling at each other.
"Bush was partying while John Kerry was in Vietnam," one Democrat yelled.
"Not my president," snapped a woman pushing a baby in a stroller "My president has a God who will not let you have what you want, which is to destroy the world."
I didn't know what God wanted, but I wanted a beer.
Seventy-four more days to go. [1] http://mailman.lbo-talk.org/pipermail/lbo-talk/Week-of-Mon-20040607/012776.html
"We're in a fucking stagmire."
--Little Carmine, 'The Sopranos'