Five decades of Democratic convention memories

I have been to 11 Democratic National Conventions, and the mention of each one brings back memories. There are moments that stay with me, people I still see in my mind, speeches that still linger.

My very first convention was 1968, in my hometown of Chicago. The year had been momentous and tragic. Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed in April, Bobby Kennedy in June. Vice President Hubert Humphrey was the anointed choice by the immensely unpopular President Lyndon B. Johnson.

{mosads}Things did not go well in Chicago. There was rioting in the streets. Two scenes stick in my mind: Sen. Abraham Ribicoff (Conn.), with Mayor Richard Daley (D) in the front row, saying that if then-Sen. George McGovern (S.D.) were president, there wouldn’t be “Gestapo in the streets of Chicago.”

The second scene is Humphrey’s acceptance speech, where he tried valiantly to unite his party, knowing it would not work.

In 1972, Democrats gathered in Miami. The Vietnam War was still going on, and there seemed to be no end in sight. McGovern did become the nominee then, and there was chaos on the floor. By the time he gave his acceptance speech at 3 a.m., nobody at home was watching. Too bad. In a poignant and moving speech, he wailed, “Come home, America,” crying out for the Vietnam War to finally end and the boys to be brought back home.

New York’s Madison Square Garden was the site of the 1976 convention. An unknown peanut farmer who had become governor of Georgia outworked and out-organized a slew of liberals including a decent, smart, lanky congressman from Arizona, Morris Udall, who seemed to finish second to Jimmy Carter almost everywhere. Udall, though, placed Carter’s name in nomination — a touch of class.

Democrats found themselves back in the Garden in 1980, but this time, there was division. Sen. Edward Kennedy (Mass.) challenged the incumbent President Carter. He gave, though, a great speech after his defeat, speaking words that electrified the crowd: “The dream shall never die.”

In 1984, in San Francisco, former Vice President Walter Mondale was the nominee, but not the star: That was his running mate, Rep. Geraldine Ferraro of New York, the first woman ever on a major-party ticket. Resplendent in bright, brilliant white, she gave her acceptance speech with gusto. It was a truly unique and special moment.

With Democrats feeling they had to move south, the 1988 convention was held in Atlanta. Nominee Michael Dukakis, the substantive governor of Massachusetts, was paired with the smooth and polished Sen. Lloyd Bentsen of Texas. An odd couple. But it was a convention with no particular highs; just dull and forgettable.

Oh, how Bill Clinton’s 1992 convention was different. Once again, Democrats were back in Madison Square Garden. They played a video that was considered high-tech at the time, “The Man from Hope,” and it worked, displaying Clinton’s natural political charisma.

After Clinton’s emotional acceptance speech, the Fleetwood Mac song “Don’t Stop” echoed throughout the vast hall. There was sheer euphoria; everybody was smiling. I’ve never seen delegates so happy. They sensed they had a winner — that after 12 years of Republican rule, they were back in. They were right.

Democrats went back to Chicago in 1996, and the location itself was the story, given the horrible memories of 1968. But at the same arena where Michael Jordan played basketball, Clinton just needed to take a victory lap. Democrats knew they were in fine shape and Clinton would win another term.

Four years later, it was Vice President Al Gore’s turn, in Los Angeles. Desperate to separate himself from scandal-ridden Clinton, he picked major in-house critic Sen. Joe Lieberman (Conn.) as his running mate. Lieberman was another first: the first Jewish person to be on a national ticket. Gore, considered a wooden and robotic figure, sought to dispel that image with his long kiss and embrace of wife, Tipper.

In 2004, Sen. John Kerry was nominated for the highest office in the land in his own hometown of Boston. He got to throw out the first ball at Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox. You can’t do better than that.

But Kerry was not the star of the convention.

The hit was a young African-American state senator from Chicago running for the U.S. Senate. Nobody knew him, but his keynote speech went over big. The crowd was totally smitten. A star was born that night: Barack Obama.

The next convention was his, though, and historic. I missed that one, unfortunately. President Obama held his second in Charlotte, N.C.

There, though, Bill Clinton made a better case for Obama than Obama did for himself. You could feel appreciation and love overflowing in the hall.

After 11 conventions, I can say that they are truly life pressed into four days: They have the highs and the lows, the majestic and the banal, the laughs and the tears. They are a genuine all-American spectacle.

Plotkin is a political analyst, a contributor to the BBC on American politics and a columnist for The Georgetowner.

The views expressed by contributors are their own and not the views of The Hill.