We're going to make a detour from the usual "Outdoors With Frischkorn" for the simple reason that there's really no other road for me to drive this vehicle.
I attended the recent Republican National Committee (RNC) Convention in Cleveland. Not as a delegate nor even as a journalist covering the event.
Nope I served as a volunteer, knowing that the last time the GOP held a presidential convention in Cleveland was 80 years ago. If the next time the party comes to Cleveland is 80 years from now I'll be 146 years old. It ain't going to happen.
So to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I jumped aboard, processed through the required Secret Service background check, my name daily being marked off no fewer four times (and being given different color-coded credential passes each day) before entering Quicken Loan Arena - the "Q" - made famous by being the place where the world champion Cleveland Cavilers play.
Forbidden to speak good, ill or indifferently about any candidate and not even allowed to wear so much as the tiniest of pins and buttons that would reflect support for any person or issue, the 3,000 or so volunteers were there as ambassadors for the GOP. But more importantly as representatives for Cleveland and Northeast Ohio.
We took on our responsibilities seriously; deftly brushing aside surly media members, pushy delegates and desperately confused guests and visitors.
Friend, I would tell people, if I were to be paid for this job I'd quit.
Here's my view of the activities, a sort of diary if you will of my ever-so-small brush with history.
Tuesday, July 19
I stand in awe in the
presence of excellence.
Perhaps I was booted out
of being just a greeter on Monday to an assignment on Tuesday because...
well... maybe I became something of a pest. Or not.
The RNG professional
head of volunteers - all roughly 3,000 of us - had somehow forgotten to add my
name to a pair of mandatory check-off lists that one must go through in order
to do this, that or the other thing at the RNG's convention in Cleveland, which
runs through tomorrow. Or I think it's tomorrow. I didn't get out of the
"Q" until 11 p.m. after pulling a nine-hour shift and didn't arrive
at home until - oh - about 2 a.m.
But I digress.
At the last station and
well inside the Security Zone is what I call the "Castle," which is
surrounded by a moat of streets that are heavily patrolled by knights dressed
in dull technical black. We don't pay much attention anymore to their
existence. They've pretty much become white background noise. Though as volunteers
we understand the protocols to help ensure that we're not thrown to the ground
with a serious-looking black Labrador retriever or German shepherd standing
over us.
Shoot, there I go again
digressing. Sorry.
Anyway, with what I
thought for sure was an evil grin the professional head of the volunteers
winked, nodded and directed an assistant to tether me and lead the way to the
"Q's" "Guest Services" desk, which happens also to be this
week's RNG guest services' help desk.
I
t sits outside one of
the stairways that overlooks the building's floor and somewhat facing the
massive platform from which the Party's presumptive presidential nominee Donald
Trump won't be any longer the party's presumptive nominee. That will come on
Thursday and if I'm lucky I'll sneak in for a second and watch a few seconds
from the elevated perch.
No selfies, though, with
Trump or with anyone else. That's one of the strict Cider House rules for
volunteers. Besides, I really don't want a German shepherd and its
all-too-serious Secret Service handler lording over my prostrate TASERED body.
Besides, I can pretty
much assure you that the RNG's Guest Services desk will remain both open for
business and more than a little busy. If Tuesday's preliminaries were any
indication. Then again, I was told that Tuesday was something of a slow night
compared to Monday night.
Oy vey.
Immediately the roving
gangs of politicians, delegates, guests and media members pulled up to our quay
and began peppering us with questions, wants, needs, pleadings, beggings, and
close to demands; especially by media members. (Where are those German
shepherds when you need them the most?)
I felt overwhelmed
because I WAS overwhelmed. Indeed, I sort of - and kind of- thought I was
being punished. Maybe rightfully so.
However, a not-so-large core
platoon of folks was here before I arrived. In all, four women that included
three RNG volunteers that featured one tech-savvy intern plus a "Q"
staffer who pretty much owns this cubicle venue throughout the building's entire
year's worth of events. Including the RNC Convention.
Immediately the blur and
flurry of varied needs began lapping at the desk. "A wheelchair is needed
at such-and-such place," "We're all out of paper towels in the
(deleted, but insert "politician's" here) suite;" "where's
the nearest phone charger?" (Look to your left. ATT has them all over the
place); "Where's Section 121?" (Look behind you.); "My wife
broke the heel of her high heels. Do you have something she can wear for the
rest of the night?" (As a matter of fact, yes, as the "Q"
employee said she's always prepared with al sort of needs); Have a
band-aide?" (Yep); Do you have a convention speaker schedule I can look
at?" (Er, no. You'd think so but that's not the case. So I ran one off to
use today if I get posted again at Guest Services. Nuts, there I go digressing
again. Sorry); "Where do I go to board my bus back to my hotel? I'm a
delegate?" (Ah, look just to your right.;) "My credential lanyard
broke, do you have an extra?" (Ma'm we have a drawer full of them, this
request was so frequently made that we had to get a runner to bring in another
stash of the cloth necklaces.)
"How do I get on
the convention floor?" was a so-oft-asked question by the media that had
the RNG allowed unlimited access to the media, there would be no room
left for the delegates. So the RNG came up with a quickie make-do arrangement
to set aside one area from a point that news photographers can stand for 10
minutes, shoot art and then step back for another crew.
We (more like
"they," meaning of course, the Guest Services' Four-Wonder Women
quartet) were asked - a lot - about where to eat, how to call a cab (you gotta'
go outside the Security Zone which means undergoing the pat-down and
magnetometer search again. Which is too much of a hassle. So the tens of
thousands of RNG Convention people make do with a rather decent dining
venue pitched on the commons between the "Q" and Progressive
Field.
Or they could visit one
of the "Q's" few opened concession stands. Regrettably the
"Q" powers-that-be closed all of the little food kiosks that are
normally deposited around the building: A bad mistake. These forces expected
that attendees would just stroll out the door onto what's being called the
"food court" but officially called "Freedom Plaza or
"something-or-another."
But these are people who
want to wolf down a hot dog and go about the business at hand of smoozing with
the politicians and other delegates, voting on what's going to happen anyway,
and strutting about in some of the most outlandish costumes imaginable.
One woman even built a
flowing cape that would do Joseph proud and even included Trump's name sewn on
with a lighting system that dazzled the crowd and brought out the media
television film crews the way moths are driven to visiting your front-porch
light.
Another delegate
crossed-dressed in a get-up that was half Wisconsin cheesehead and one-half
camouflaged Statue of Liberty. Another sure winner for a TV station's 6 o'clock
news.
Oh, my best question of
the night was food-related also and consisted of a pair of women asking
"Where can I get a good Caesar salad here in the 'Q?'"
(Honest-to-john I was asked that and my reply came after a several-second pause
was "You can't. You'll have to find a restaurant outside of the security
perimeter.")
Where was I? Oh, yeah,
the Guest Services desk and the four unsung heroes. For several hours
until Dr. Ben Carson was wrapping up his remarks we fielded these sorts of
queries and many, many more.
Clearly and without
reservation, I must say that I was in absolute awe of what my Guest Services
mates did. I also felt uncomfortable because more times than not when someone
had a need or was beginning to mouth a question they would approach me first.
That's not fair at all.
All four of the women ranked me as sure as Trump is the Party's presidential
nominee.
Without reservation I
have o say that nothing I did could ever overshadow the fact that these
four women know a heck of a lot more than I ever could about this assignment.
They obviously are far more able to articulate a helpful response whereas I
will too often stand in quiet repose and wonder if I should give a
requester one lanyard or two just so he or she wouldn't return and bug me.
Maybe - just maybe - my
first tour of duty at the RNG Guest Services desk WAS a form of punishment
and banishment. But I gotta' say again I'm really hoping to get
reassigned to the RNG Guest Service's desk today.
I have no problem with
being a servant in the presence of such excellence.
Wednesday, July 20
Yahoo News has been running what it calls its "Unconventional
Blogs" regarding the RNG's big bash in Cleveland, which ends tonight with
the acceptance speech by Mr. Trump.
The blog includes two written by Republicans and a pair by - well,
critics of the GOP. Among them is the blog penned by Luis Miranda, the
Democratic Party's communications chief.
(For the sake of full disclosure Yahoo News will be doing the same
at the Democratic Convention. And, yes, Mr. Miranda is properly credentialed
to be at the RNG event. The two parties have signed a peace treaty allowing the
other side to attend the other's convention.)
Any-who, Mr. Miranda's latest blog posted today on its web
site obviously is a decidedly one-sided critique of the GOP in
general, Mr. Trump in particular. what gets my dander up are his words about
the fine folks attending the event and what amounts to the herculean effort by
a legion of 3,000 or so volunteers to slap, glue and hold the whole shooting
match together.
So here's my Yahoo News! readers’ reply to Mr. Miranda's blog:
" ' Seeing speakers like Ben Carson on Tuesday night, for
example, addressing an arena in which even lower levels are fairly empty, as
they were, was something I’m not used to seeing at a convention. That really
struck me.' "
"Yeah, it struck me, too, only the opposite way.
"As a volunteer for the RNG convention and one who assists in
guest services it appears that Mr. Miranda and I aren't at the same place; the
Big Top "Q" where the World Champion Cleveland Cavs play.
"It's also here where you'll see a wide spectrum of GOP
supporters, including folks wearing campaign buttons that read " 'Another
Democrat for Trump.'
"Of course there are going to be some empty seats during
portions of the event; like any other political convention there are
hospitality rooms, small and impromptu meetings of delegates, and folks just
wanting to get up, stretch their legs and see the House that LeBron James and
Company have built.
"Anyone who's had a need, inquiry, desire or help has been
met with the five of us volunteers.
"Oh, one more thing, Mr. Miranda and this is a suggestion for
your Party's up-coming big day. The last two nights we've run out of those
cloth necklaces from which hang the daily credentials.
"There's been such a demand from the heavy volume of traffic
that for some reason you've failed to see in the stands that keeping them from
being depleted has proven all but impossible.
"So please stop by at the Guest Services desk, Mr. Miranda. I
will happily give you a warm and very hospitable Northeast Ohio
glad-you-came-and-hope-to-see-you-again greeting.
"Oh, and just another one-more thing, Mr. Miranda, if you
should find yourself in need of one of the cloth necklaces please note that
today I'm bringing a large spool of 40-pound test monofilament fishing line as
a back-up.
"Shoot, Mr. Miranda, to show you genuine Northeast Ohio GOP
hospitality I'll even give you the cloth necklace from off my neck. - Your
Republican friend, Jeffrey L. Frischkorn."
I'll let you all know whether Mr. Miranda stops by, like former
Cleveland Mayor/U.S. Congressman Dennis Kucinich did to say
"hello." He doesn't remember me, but that's okay. He was busy being a
TV commentator... Seen lots of politicians stroll by and more than a few get
accosted by the media, which has ranged from the snooty to the generally very
friendly (photogs appeared the most stressed-out but also have been the
friendliest and most appreciative. The TV guys, not so much)... Helped two
ambassadors find a hush-hush/need-to-know-only reception... Worked with the
Secret Service and the Cleveland Police on an unattended expensive camera and
its accompanying heavy tripod… Leaving something and then walking away is
decided no-no. Never know if it's been wired to go off... Speaking of the
media, had we broken the rules and helped the industry's members exchange
credentials so they all could be on the floor of the convention there wouldn't
be any room left for the delegates... Speaking of delegates, there were tons of
requests from them to allow their accompanying guests to join them in the
special section set aside for this electorate reserve. No can do, as they guest
would take a space reserved for a delegate. Besides, this ain't no high school
football game where you can sit next to that cute girl in class. Security is
unbelievably tight and order must be maintained for safety sake... The food
service at the "Q" for the volunteers is (well) among the worst I've
ever eaten. The chicken fingers appeared to have been made from road-kill birds
and had been cooking since March maybe while the French fries appeared to have
started frying in January. I won't say the dining commons were thoroughly
depressing but it sure did leave me with the impression of where the slaves on a
Roman galleon ate. Most of the volunteers that I spoke with who were given a
free meal ticket used it only once. Thereafter they hiked next door to
Progressive Field and ate better fare from that establishment's "Home
Plate Club." I'll be doing that for my dinner tonight as well...
Among
some of the crazy things we've had brought to us as lost-and-found (we work
side-by-side with the "Q's security on this issue): Several cell phones, a
wallet or two - including one from a foreign journalist who did not have to
climb over Mr. Trump's wall... Questions asked include how to find one of those
hush-hush/for-eyes-only receptions that we were never told existed… When do the
buses board to return people to their respective hotels? (Oh, in about three
hours. You just got here, Sir/M'am)… "How far of a walk is it from the 'Q'
to the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame, and can I get back in time for the
convention speakers?" (Not in your lifetime, Pilgrim.)… "Do they sell
hairspray here?" (Ah, no, but perhaps the production of "Hairspray"
is on at Playhouse Square.)…
"Where's the men's restroom?" (Look
behind you.)... Where's the woman's restroom?" (Look to your left; it's
within spitting distance of the men's restroom). None of which seemed to have
bothered two convention-attending women whom I watched forgetfully stroll into
the open doorway of the MEN's facility. Never seen a pair of older women dash
so quickly once they turned the inside corner and observed the facilities. Our
"Q" guest services' shepherd Ruth says it happens a fair bit during
other events, too.)… "I hear there's a 'Starbuck; where is it?" (No
Starbucks but there is a concession stand about 100 yards yonder that sells
Dunkin' Donuts coffee. At rather highway robbery prices, however, I caution the
inquirers. It cost me $9 for one plastic bottle of Pepsi and one bottle of
water.
BEST BILLBOARD AWARD: Goes to the one seen on I-77 as one heads
west (or is it south?) going towards the airport and posted by (obviously) a realtor:
"Thinking of moving out of the country if Trump or Hillary is elected? See
us first to sell your home." Ingenious.
This is not just a job. It truly is an adventure.
Thursday, July 21
The troops have gone from the RNC Convention and I’m left to
recover, myself.
It was a hoot; a once in a lifetime experience. Don’t have a whole
lot to show for it in the way of physical property. Three polo shirts
designated for volunteers including one hot lime in color and two sort-of aqua
blue ones.
Volunteers were required to wear these polo shirts, serving as a
means for ready identification by law enforcement, the “Q’s” staff as well as
other volunteers.
The volunteers who stayed within the designated perimeter were issued
the hot lime-colored polo shirts. As a general rule they were not allowed
inside the “Q,” which I would refer to as the Castle surrounded by a moat
consisting of the roads that surrounded the Security Zone and which prevented
entrance by the non-credentialed.
The knights in shining armor were the varied law enforcement that
included everyday Cleveland Police officers to Ohio Highway Patrol officers as
well as their counterparts strung from across the country. A brew of federal
law enforcement consisted of an alphabet soup of federal agencies like the FBI,
the Secret Service, Homeland Security, and so on and so on.
White polo shirts were being worn by volunteers who helped the
vendors at Progressive Field while a small bunch of volunteers wore gray
polo shirts. But I have no idea what was their assignment.
Oh, and there was a small cadre of AT&T employees who serviced
the convention's communications. They had these really neat powder-blue polo
shirts.
I
n any event, my fourth and final day was spent once more inside
the bowels of the “Q” at its guest relations cubicle, which also had become the
RNG’s guest relations cubicle.
By Thursday’s final convention hurrah it became obvious that
grumpiness was the evil twin of exhaustion. The persons requesting our
assistance were the usual mixed bag that consisted of delegates, alternate
delegates (who were the most demanding, except for the occasional media member
and more on that in a moment).
The gist of the majority of requests from those alternate
delegates was to see if their spouses or significant others could sit with them.
Ditto with a rather large contingent of Veterans of Foreign Wars members.
It was amazing how frequently such last-minute seating changes
were rifled our way in light of the world’s toughest security. They wanted to
play musical chairs even though the seating arrangement band had stopped
playing ages ago.
Even a high-ranking British diplomat wanted “better seats” for he
and his wife. After talking with a “Q” staffer - who pretty much knows
everything about the complex and was our liaison - as well as my superiors I
had to tell the couple’s surrogate that while I didn’t want to start another
war with Great Britain their request was denied.
Indeed, the answer for them all was “no.”
Still, the ones who were taking “no” the hardest was the media; or
at least some of the media.
Protocols were in place about how and where to photograph along
with access to Ground Zero, the floor where the delegates went about their
business.
Or those delegates that weren’t partying at one or more of the
seemingly never-ending receptions and hospitality rooms, anyway. And there were
a whole lot of them. Both hospitality rooms as well as partying convention
business slackers.
Yeah, I know that previously I said how the media was generally
being kind and considerate. However, by Thursday their nerves were becoming
frayed and as a result, these once-docile newsmen and newswomen had become
savages. They all wanted to ensure that they could jockey themselves into
the best seat in the house for that Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph or
“got-cha” interview.
I
n truth, some media members were absolute boorish in regards to
their behavior. They’d stand on the “Q’s” level flats with their camera gear
and in the process totally block the view of the handicapped convention guests.
Say what you will about Republicans but I’ll tell you right here
and now we took seriously the needs of those folks anchored to their
wheelchairs. Their needs took precedence over everyone else, including the
diplomats and the media.
Consequently, the photogs were ordered to refrain from positioning
themselves in front of the handicapped. They even were given their own little
viewing outpost, each member allowed “X” number of minutes to do his or her
thing before rotating out so another photographer could step up to the “Q’s”
plate and attempt to shoot that prize-winning photograph.
Just how bad things became with the media was telling during a
conversation I had with another volunteer. That individual was posted
outside the Fifth Level Club 45 restricted-access hospitality area and who
opined for eyes in the back of his head. It seems that a steady stream of
reporters and the like was making every effort to flood its way into the
action. Thus, the media was always being channeled away from the off-limits
area.
The worst for me was seeing that TBS comedian Samantha Bee and her
trail of production toadies.
I watched one of her tapings, a short snippet that lampooned and
lashed out at the Party’s nominee. Then at some point after the start of
Trump’s acceptance speech I watched Bee and her entourage stroll through the
Level One concourse, blissfully ignoring the proceedings.
You can bet that Bee will drill Trump in some up-coming
comic routine and almost certainly will utilize the observational work of
other – and lesser – TBS personnel.
Thing is, my upbringing sort of gave me the bent that you don’t go
and insult someone in their own home. And since this was the RNG Convention
this was the home of the Republican Party.
But what do I know, silly old me.
I finally did take advantage of one perk, though. Working directly
opposite a short tunnel that overlooks the “Q’s” floor, I was pretty well
acquainted with the volunteer credential checkers as well as the law
enforcement posters positioned at the entrance to the cave.
So when it came time just before Trump concluded his remarks I
squeezed my way through the tunnel and found – surprisingly – an unoccupied
seat. And waited for the opportune moment to snap a shot with my Sony cell
phone.
Surely my several cell phone photos of the obligatory
red/white/blue inflated balloon drop will never grace the cover of “Time”
magazine or that of any other publication. It matters not to me.
What I have are the captured images of a once-in-a-lifetime
experience of an historic event.
Plus three really cool-looking polo shirts
embossed with notations about the RNC-Cleveland connection.
Now
I can go fishing again.
- Jeffrey L. Frischkorn
JFrischk@Ameritech.net