MY LAST PRESIDENTIAL CONVENTION BOOZE AND SMOOZE

Blame this autumn of dreary mudslinging. I couldnt watch the Conventions. While the candidates savaged each other, I watched sports and movies on T.V. in my invigorated T.V. room. Try finding a HVAC repair man in this depressed economy. I waited for two months. With my Mafia/Cuban conflict novel awaiting a surge of inspiration to finish it, repressed memories of another Convention flooded my consciousness. I rarely spoke about my night, so long ago, on the Convention floor. In August 1964 sitting with the Michigan delegation in Atlantic Citys Convention Hall floor on the final night of the Democratic Convention, I saw on the widest screen imaginable the film 1000 Days JFK'S thousand days. Then, I cheered through Bobby Kennedy's inspirational My brother speech. Not to be outdone, Hubert Humphrey gave his My good friend, Senator Goldwater speech. Finally, LBJ gave a boring acceptance speech. I've been many places including Tibet but I've yet to visit Michigan. How did it happen? It began on Monday late in the afternoon. Mary, the Deputy Director's secretary, asked me if I wanted to escort her and Jan, another Deputy Director's secretary, to the Democratic Convention. The third Deputy's secretary was a middle aged woman not interested in politics. You figured it out. We worked for the government- the Philadelphia Redevelopment Authority. Mary told me, I have tickets for the three of us. Jan will drive down. You have to find a place to stay. I had a summer long invite from my sister's boyfriend, Tom to stay in his B.O.G. [bunch of guys] rental. Mary wanted to make certain I didn't pack the wrong clothes. Suit and tie the whole weekend, Francis. I confronted her: Sure you have the tickets? She assured me. We'll be in Convention Hall on Friday night. I'm picking up the tickets later this week. I wanted to get to the next level of government which meant Washington. Graduate school for public administration three nights a week at Temple University wet my appetite. I wanted something more challenging than my glorified clerk's job with the Redevelopment Authority. If things went right, I'd get to the next level. Throughout the balance of the work week Mary updated me on the Convention. She didn't brag about her connections. That wasn't Mary. We were required not to be
1

actively involved in politics by the federal law that funded most of the Philadelphia Redevelopment Authoritys budget. That was fine with me because with work and school I didn't have time for precinct level politics. I left my suitcase with Tom with the understanding Id be at the address he gave me in the early hours of Saturday morning. There are reasons Im boring you with these details. Mary, Jan and I left Friday; right before Jersey shore rush hour traffic, at 3 P. M. On the way down to Atlantic City we didn't stop at the Mickey Mouse, the halfway house for the Jersey shore. The girls wanted to be dressed for the Convention. So much of this is a blur. A few events that weekend overshadowed everything. I can't remember where they stayed or how long it took them to dress. I remember the disaster that awaited us. Convention Hall is on the boardwalk. From Mary and Jans hotel we walked the boards, always the coolest place in town, on a hot August night. When we arrived at Convention Hall, Mary handed Jan and me our tickets with seats way up in the rafters. We would be part of the multitude given tickets to fill the place up with enthusiastic supporters. The T.V. cameras would scan the bleacher crowd periodically as I had witnessed at previous conventions I watched on T.V. We were stopped at the door. The ticket taker told us: These tickets are forgeries. Mary got in his face and told him that the tickets came from the Philadelphia Democratic City Committee office. She then left us to look for a familiar face in Democratic politics. I saw Senator Joe Clarks wordsmith, Dick Doran. He told us what he could. It's a fight between rival factions over who's going to be seated in the visitors seating. They each printed their own tickets and your tickets lost out. The tickets look alike but the guys manning the doors know the difference between the tickets. Doran told us the names of Philadelphia Democratic Party officials with good tickets. He even told us where to find them. They're at a party in the Haddon Hall-Chalfont. We began our long march down the boardwalk for the hotel close to Steele Pier. Philadelphia had more than its share of ticket scams but rivals fighting over bleacher seats in Atlantic City ignited Mary. She was pissed and someone would pay for it. Ahead of us on the boardwalk a crowd gathered. We approached the mass. My political hero, the subject of the Egghead and I wove his way through the crowd of well dressed boardwalk travelers. Too late for me to shake Adlai Stevenson's hand and tell him how much I admired him. Ambassador Stevenson and his entourage, freed of the crowd, picked up the pace. I wasn't the only one disappointed. Like me, a well dressed woman in a wheel chair didn't get there in time. I could see the sadness carved into her face. I couldn't help myself. Instinct or grace took over. I caught up to the Ambassador and said in my most
2

dignified voice, Ambassador Stevenson, there's a lady who'd like to meet you. His annoyed aides turned a millisecond slower than the two time candidate for president. He put a radiant smile on his tired face, took two steps back toward the woman being pushed in the wheel chair, and extended his hand. I can still hear his words: So nice on the boardwalk. So stuffy inside the Convention. A pleasure to meet you. The speechless woman in the wheel chair glowed. Ambassador / Governor Stevenson looked over at me and nodded and I returned his nod. My favorite Democrat wasnt an asshole. The girls and I didn't say much on the way to the Haddon Hall -Chalfont. Lighthearted Mary had been betrayed by some functionary at Democratic City Committee who didn't know about her connections when she cared to use them. A year later before I resigned from the Redevelopment Authority I saw a far more outraged Mary use those connections. While walking the boards I didn't comprehend the depth of Marys feelings over my disappointment. One way or the other, Mary determined that Francis would be inside Convention Hall on the last night of the Convention. How many drinks I had on Friday night / Saturday morning I can't remember. It began in the cocktail lounge at Haddon Hall-Chalfont. I met a president in the hotel bar as good looking as JFK but this President looked more like the actor, David Brian. I introduced myself to him and told him I liked what he said to a T.V. reporter the night before. I wasn't lying. I saw David McDonald, the Steelworkers President; make a comment favorable to LBJ to a T.V reporter. He told me, Mr. Mulligan, I got a call from the White House for that comment. I told him he well deserved it. McDonald didn't ask how I came to be there. Dressed in a summer suit and tie he assumed I belonged there. I was 26 and looked 35. Mary who didn't see anyone she knew at Haddon Hall- Chalfont made a decision. Let's go to the Longport Inn-Senator McGlinchey's place. Mary was looking for connections. Jan, ever the good companion, drove to Longport. I wasn't expecting much. We sat at a table and ordered drinks. I didn't pay for the second round. Drinks appeared on our table while we were halfway through the first round. Mary looked behind her but didn't recognize anyone. She called the waiter over. He pointed to the table seating our benefactors. A handsome man in his early thirties approached our table. He introduced himself as a Deputy Attorney General of Michigan. He asked Mary and Jan to meet his friends. She begged off. We can't go without Francis. He's our escort. So old world and so effective. Of course, Francis was invited. We were introduced before we sat down. Candidate for state senate, Stanley Kowalski, looked less than enthusiastic. The two other at the table were the mayor of Hamtramck and a city
3

councilman. Kowalski, a big man in every way possible to describe height, head, hands, and torso- said little. The Deputy A.G. did most of the talking. He wasn't a bullshitter. He explained the composition of the Michigan delegation. U.A.W., A.C.L.U, intellectuals and the men in the trenches - the elected officials. I didn't say it because I didn't want to disappoint my new friend. Philadelphia was an ethnic scramble. It was really about spreading the wealth among the Irish, Jews, Italians, Slavs and affiliates, Blacks, and the new kids on the block, the Puerto Ricans. That's why we settled on Wasps like Joe Clark and Richardson Dilworth for the top jobs. It cut down on the nasty infighting among the ethnic leaders. My new friend, I cant remember his name, the Deputy A.G., extended an invitation to meet the Kennedys tomorrow at the Deauville in Atlantic City. You can meet the Michigan delegates at our motel. Well walk to the Deauville. He said it in such a matter of fact manner that I actually believed him. Enough politics for the night. The Michigan delegation wanted to see where the young people hang out. We drove to Somers Point and visited Bay Shores and Tony Marts. They held their liquor better than I. Before we broke-up for the night, the Deputy A.G., told me hed see me at noon tomorrow. I was a good night sleep away from meeting Bobby Kennedy. I had Toms address, my sister's boyfriend, written down on a small piece of paper. It was close to 3 A.M. when Jan drove me there. We made sure we turned at the right corner. The street sign had the name in easy to read large, capital letters. Halfway down the block, I was impressed with the neat bungalow Tom and his friends rented. I looked at the address plate on the door a second time. The door would be open and there would be an empty cot close to the door. Tom, the accounting student, couldn't be wrong. It was as he said. The sheets even smelled fresh like they dried on a clothes line. I took off my shoes, suit, shirt and tie. I didn't want to bother Tom for my suitcase. I'd get it in the morning. Didn't have to use the bathroom which I assumed was down the hall. It was an enclosed porch turned into a guest bedroom -so quaint. I got under the covers and fell asleep in record time like I had taken a fast acting sleeping pill. I slept peacefully until I heard a woman's voice- a middle aged woman's voice. I didn't think you would make it down last night. You came so late. I didn't move. I could only assume what she thought. Footsteps or a door closing told me she went back from whence she came. I was too exhausted to run. Something went wrong. I lay on the cot thinking and woke up in daylight when I heard her voice again- a more strident voice. Last night I thought you were my husband. I called the police. I recited the address. It's a double house lot. The college kids are in the back. She left the room. I dressed quickly and went out the front door precisely when I
4

heard the first police car siren. There's something I haven't mentioned. I was arrested and spent a night in the Margate City jail in July for sleeping in a friend's car. This time I wasn't going to argue with the police about whether I was praying or sleeping. If they were going to take me in again, I'd make it worth their while. My City Planning background, I finally put to good use. I ran down the first alley I saw then I continued going down narrow intersecting alleys until I no longer heard multiple police sirens. I remember going down to the beach and somehow I made it to the motel in Atlantic City before noon. My friend was waiting for me. I told him the girls didn't want to see the Kennedys. Last night they told me to go without them. I walked to the Deauville surrounded by familiar faces senate candidate Stanley, who advertised himself as the Polish Warrior, the mayor and councilman from Hamtramck and the Deputy A.G. It wasn't a food event. Someone said a few words and the receiving lines formed. The closer I got to Bobby Kennedy the more I thought that he sent his double. It was an effort for him to meet and greet. His suit hung on him like a drape. He missed too many meals. His hands were small. As the line moved and the ones in front of me were fewer and fewer I could hear the sing-song voice of the Attorney General of the United States of America. How are you? Nice to see you again. I forgot the third greeting that came with the handshake. When my turn came, Bobby Kennedy said, Nice to see you again. He looked so uncomfortable pressing the flesh. I felt for him. I couldn't let go of my love of celebrity. I went into the Avril Harriman line. Tall and imposing, he didn't say Nice to see you again. The wartime Ambassador to Russia and Governor of New York was an aristocrat. He knew a peasant when he saw one. He said nothing. His portrait like facial expression never changed. My new found Michigan friends were waiting for me by the door. They didn't go into any of the receiving lines. They gave me a choice. I could stay with them or come back later. Senator Phil Hart wasn't coming or had already left. The Deputy offered me his room for the night. I couldn't risk it. I had enough problems with free rooms. I knew about Senator Hart who was a union plumber who graduated from Philadelphias West Catholic Boy's High School. If nothing went wrong it would've been an honor to use his room. I turned them down. I stayed at the motel with the Deputy and Stanley. Someone gave me a bathing suit. Kowalski, a liquor importer, handed me a small glass of Goldvasser. I made a Goldwater joke which he didnt think was funny. We agreed on the late JFK for different reasons. Ill never forget Stanleys comment. The broads went ga-ga over him. The Deputy A.G. explained the feelings of the Michigan party insiders regarding the Kennedys. They didnt like Bobby Kennedy because he took on Jimmy Hoffa and the Teamsters. He wasnt a hero to the professional politicians. They wanted Bobby Kennedy as far away from Washington as possible. I was so nave. The Democrats were as divided as the Republicans.
5

Sitting around the pool, the Deputy introduced me to his boss, Frank Kelly. If asked to describe him today, I couldn't. Trim, serious, and well-spoken comes to mind. His wife and children were with him. His brain impressed me. I formed part of the group crowded around his beach chair, listening to Kelly expound on whatever his listeners threw at him. He asked whether Jackie Kennedy at the Deauville dressed in a white or black outfit. He made no nasty comment but wanted me to know that she wasnt just a pretty widow tanning herself on the beach. He didnt elaborate further, but he started me thinking about her show horse qualities and her use in Bobbys Senate campaign in New York. I dont remember who asked Kelly about Barry Goldwater's chances. Frank Kelly asked me what I thought. I felt it would be a close election because Goldwater spoke to the plain man and Johnson reminded me of Ike. Not much of a public speaker. I told Kelly it would be close but Johnson would win. Goldwaters negative was Nelson Rockefellers Convention speech which didnt help Republican Party unity. I should have been more cautious. Kelly had sheets of paper in his hand. He had been working on the outcome. He came right out and said it: Goldwaters getting 4 states. I said something foolish to match what I thought of his prediction, which annoyed Kelly. It was stronger than I think youre wrong. I thought Kelly took leave of his senses. I challenged him. He named one state Goldwater would win- Arizona. I wished I hadn't said what I said because as Kelly spoke, it was so clear to me that he knew what he was talking about. A few hours later, I was given a Michigan delegate badge and warned not to mix it up with the Michigan delegates if I wanted to stay the whole night. I was told by the Deputy A.G., Some of the women are real bitches. I walked onto the Convention Hall floor alone. No one questioned my credentials. On the floor I decided to make myself scarce until the show started. I overheard Pennsylvanias best known and most literate, Supreme Court Justice, Michael Musmanno, a thespian of the first order; act as if he didnt mind being pushed aside for the U.S. Senate nomination by a hard faced woman from Pittsburgh. When the show started I took a seat on the end of an aisle with the Michigan delegation. No one spoke to me. I listened and watched. I didnt see the Deputy A.G., Stanley Kowalski, Frank Kelly or the two politicians from Hamtramck. Frank Kelly wasnt infallible. Goldwater won 5 states. Kelly missed it by one. If he were still alive Id ask him how it would turn out in November. This time Id listen politely. Im not watching anything but the Phillies and Eagles until after the election. Its a comic relief with the Phillies, a team thats already lost 10,000 games. A few more wont make a difference. As for the Eagles, Ill think of Philadelphias glory days when Marys brother, Frank Kilroy, in addition to all his other accomplishments, played on the
6

offensive and defensive line for the Eagles championship teams under Greasy Neal in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Its refreshing to see young men at the peak of their fame strutting their stuff for a few hours and, without pointing fingers in public, living with the final score. Its mind numbing and disgusting watching the party candidates and their surrogate armies parading their nonsense about fixing Americas problems, subduing terrorists and straightening out the undocumented millions with undisclosed strategies to be played out over the next four years. In this political season, theres no Steve Van Buren putting the game away by banging his way through snow and ice into the end zone. If Frank Kelly were given the final word, hed tell us to brace ourselves for the long, cold winters ahead.