A peek at Romney's primary night event
Jillian Melchior
Issue date: 1/24/08 Section: News
Although the candidate the revelers celebrated was Mormon, a mound of beer bottles cluttered every table after the victory party - a quenching relief to body heat pulsing from the room where Republican Mitt Romney spoke.
Just hours before, supporters crammed themselves into the small room - a trick as old, I read, as the Nixon campaign. The idea is that the cameras don't portray the size of the room, but they do show the density of the crowd. Campaigners hope their turnout then looks better than their opponents'.
Mitt Romney's staff milked the trick for all it was worth. Platforms in the back of the room lifted cameramen and announcers above the mess of fans, many with their hands clad in foam baseball "Mitts." An attendee could literally get stuck in the crowd. It was tighter than shoulder-to-shoulder.
The atmosphere was a strange, awkward and fake. The crowd brayed their support when the cameras panned to them. Otherwise, they just stood there, holding their signs, sweating, waiting for Romney's speech.
When he stepped onto the stage, they went berzerk. The awe on their faces seemed almost sacrilegious as they looked at their precious may-be savior.
The media seemed annoyed. The BBC stood on the floor to the right of the stage, and, to their perpetual annoyance, rowdy supporters kept spilling into their masking tape-marked territory.
On the platform where Romney spoke, the Chosen supporters rattled their signs. One woman rocked back and forth euphorically, waving both her sign and a beer bottle to the cadence of his voice. Romney's speech was hard to hear above the cheers.
Nevertheless, the rabid supporters chanted Romney's mantras almost religiously. "Washington is broken!" they droned. "Change change change!"
After the speech, he descended into the crowd.
An old woman behind me clamored to the front, wedging her body against the stage, aviators shielding her wrinkles even though it was night. She stretched out her arthritic maw, clutching at the air in front of Romney's wife, begging for an autograph. As soon as she received it, she shuffled off in pursuit of the candidate's.
Just hours before, supporters crammed themselves into the small room - a trick as old, I read, as the Nixon campaign. The idea is that the cameras don't portray the size of the room, but they do show the density of the crowd. Campaigners hope their turnout then looks better than their opponents'.
Mitt Romney's staff milked the trick for all it was worth. Platforms in the back of the room lifted cameramen and announcers above the mess of fans, many with their hands clad in foam baseball "Mitts." An attendee could literally get stuck in the crowd. It was tighter than shoulder-to-shoulder.
The atmosphere was a strange, awkward and fake. The crowd brayed their support when the cameras panned to them. Otherwise, they just stood there, holding their signs, sweating, waiting for Romney's speech.
When he stepped onto the stage, they went berzerk. The awe on their faces seemed almost sacrilegious as they looked at their precious may-be savior.
The media seemed annoyed. The BBC stood on the floor to the right of the stage, and, to their perpetual annoyance, rowdy supporters kept spilling into their masking tape-marked territory.
On the platform where Romney spoke, the Chosen supporters rattled their signs. One woman rocked back and forth euphorically, waving both her sign and a beer bottle to the cadence of his voice. Romney's speech was hard to hear above the cheers.
Nevertheless, the rabid supporters chanted Romney's mantras almost religiously. "Washington is broken!" they droned. "Change change change!"
After the speech, he descended into the crowd.
An old woman behind me clamored to the front, wedging her body against the stage, aviators shielding her wrinkles even though it was night. She stretched out her arthritic maw, clutching at the air in front of Romney's wife, begging for an autograph. As soon as she received it, she shuffled off in pursuit of the candidate's.
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