A Democratic Party

"Being chairman of the Democratic Party is a little like making love to a gorilla," says Robert S. Strauss. "You don't quit when you're tired, you quit when the gorilla's tired." But judging from the mini-convention held in Kansas City last weekend, the party is more like a wolf in sheep's clothing then a gorilla, and Strauss most definitely is doing a fair job as shepherd.

The convention was officially convened to pass a charter and to discuss major national policy issues. And ostensibly that is exactly what was done. The delegates passed a charter that institutionalized recent party reforms and gave some direction and uniformity to what in the past has been a loosely assembled mass of rules and positions. An economic plank drawn up by the 52-member Rules Committee was accepted. And Democrats split up into day-long seminars to discuss issues ranging from "Government and Human Needs" to "America and Its Role in the International System."

But for most of the 2038 delegates, the convention was more of a floor show and an excuse for carousing than a time for serious consideration of Democratic Party goals and policies. In fact some people hadn't even read the charter they were there to ratify. Former North Carolina Gov. Terry Sanford, head of the Charter Commission, announced each article as it came up for consideration, carefully explaining its contents so those delegates not talking or drinking in the corridors or back rooms could cast informed votes. But at various times during the three-day floor session, delegates about to vote yea or nay would lean over to their friends and ask how they were voting.

The floor proceedings sometimes seemed like a live taping of "Queen for a Day." Articles were passed by voice vote, so whichever sentiment elicited the loudest response prevailed. One could almost see that applause needle gauging the intensity of the crowd's feelings.

The floor itself was rigged up to look like an unsophisticated T.V. game show. Red, white, and blue bunting hung everywhere. It crawled up poles and over balconies and spawned innumerable small American flags. A big blue curtain hung at the back of the podium with brassy gold letters spelling out "We the Democrats of the United States." Red and white box-shaped signs proclaiming the names of the different delegations matched the red and white phone banks and harmonized well with the lines of blue-cushioned chairs.

But despite all the gimmickry, there were some hints of genuine dedication and commitment to the democratic ideal. As the drooping floodlights were dimmed and tardy delegates hurried to their seats at the opening of the convention, four native Kansas City soldiers in full uniform carried the American flag to the podium while the Kansas City Philharmonic, stuffed in among the press corps, sounded drum rolls and bugle calls. A feeling of pride in the Democratic Party and eager anticipation filled the air--a feeling that the mumbled pledge of allegiance and the off-key singing of the national anthem could not dissipate. As the lights came on and Chairman Strauss's gravelly voice filled the hall, delegates sat back ready for some hard work.

As time wore on, however, attention vacillated between the activity at the podium and the mau-mauing on the floor. Warren Beatty, in a designer brown tweed suit and sculptured haircut, caused quite a stir among delegates and press alike as he stood in the aisles near the California delegation signing autographs and talking with presidential hopefuls, not-so-hopefuls, and celebrities like Jesse Jackson. George Take, who played Zulu in "Star Trek," got his fair share of ogling, as did Mrs. Lorne Greene.

The New York delegation took the prize for the greatest number of nationally known politicians. Crammed into the aisles were Reps. Bella Abzug, Elizabeth Holtzman, Shirley Chisholm, and Herman Badillo; ex-governor Averell Harriman; Mayor Abraham Beame; former Rep. Mario Biaggi; City Councilman Meade Esposito; writer Michael Harrington; and AFL-CIO leader Albert Shanker.

An unexpected visit by Senator Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) set the floor awash as half the delegates streamed over to the Massachusetts delegation to catch a glimpse of their idol. A fiery speech by Senator George McGovern (D-S. Dak.), given under dimmed lights, was a sharp reminder of the more embattled Miami Beach convention, a reminder that did not go unnoticed by his followers who voted for the party regular Charter down the line.

Violence on the floor was nonexistent except for a small fracas occasioned by a confrontation between a labor representative and Willie Brown, a black caucus member and Los Angeles Assembly man who had led a walkout of blacks and some reformers at an executive meeting of the Charter Commission in August. The labor delegate apparently had charged that blacks were applying undue and unprincipled pressure to gain passage of affirmative action guidelines.

A full-fledged fight did occur, however, between two members of the press. Christopher Lydon, a reporter for the New York Times given to flamboyant dress, was knocked down by Robert Novak, a columnist and partner of Rowland Evans. Novak had gotten into a closed-to-the-press labor caucus. When Lydon tried to follow him he was told to leave. Lydon complained that if other reporters could go in, so could he. As a result Novak was identified as a reporter and thrown out. Novak in his anger yelled, "If you ever do that again I'll knock your block off," which he reportedly nearly did.

When the day's business was done at the Convention Hall, what one delegate called "the real work" began. Parties of all sizes and styles abounded and most everybody got a good look at the Kansas City bars. Some presidential hopefuls held parties almost every night, inviting delegates and press up to their hospitality suites for a little free food and drink and some good conversation. About 5000 people showed up at Senator Bentsen's (D-Texas) suite Friday night and drank somewhere around $20,000 worth of liquor. A party given by the Latino caucus featured a seven-piece combo in green flowered shirts, an open bar, and tacos and enchalidas. The Louisiana delegation rented a room and filled it with tubs of shrimp and liquor. They also handed out colored beaded necklaces which could be seen on many a haggard delegates' neck the next morning.

Thomas "Tip" O'Neill's (D-Mass.) party was the classiest. He served scrambled eggs, sausage, and great goblets of champagne.

Presidential hopefuls Georgia Gov. Jimmy Carter and Henry "Scoop" Jackson (D-Wash.) took a different tack working on the theory that the way to a man's vote is through his stomach. Wherever Gov. Carter went he left little paper cups fulled with Georgia peanuts and a glossy magazine filled with pictures of himself. Jackson had a trailer in the basement of the convention hall where delegates could pick up apples "picked in Washington."

By Sunday many delegates were nursing heavy heads and wormy stomachs. But most seemed pleased with their ratification of the first party charter in American history, a charter that opens the Democratic Party to broad participation and allows for ideological non-conformity. Strauss was being congratulated for having presented a united front to the public--a front that conceals major rifts.

In the words of one delegate as he slumped drunkenly over a table at the Playboy Club, "A couple of hours ago that charter was the most important thing in my life and now it's over. It'll be two years before I'll be doing this kind of thing again. But I'm gonna be back and we're gonna win."