For a donation of $15,000 (£10,300) you could gain access to the luxury box of the Republican chairman Jim Nicholson, and a number of companies had thrown in their cash to buy a little space for their favourite Congressman or official; United Distillers and Vintners, for instance, was sponsoring a box for Dennis Hastert, the Speaker of the House.At one end of the stadium a discreet door led to the Victors' Club, a haven for the really high rollers. And fenced off from the rest of the convention, exclusive parties were staged for contributors in a line of vintage railway cars hosted by Tom DeLay the House majority whip. While the good times rolled in the stadium, the money kept on flowing: reporters from The Philadelphia Inquirer found a $5,000 cheque made out to one Congressman lying on the ground, apparently forgotten amid the merry exchange of cash for favours.It is too easy to say that the money men run the show; after all, if the party cannot convince the people seated at the top of the stadium, the "nosebleed seats," to vote for them, then all the shrimp in the world will not matter.For a convention to work, money, media and political control must be brought together in a perfect fusion; from that point of view, the Republicans will have been well pleased with their week in the City of Brotherly Love.. How different this week has been from the last occasion when a Bush accepted the Presidential nomination of the Republican party. How different this week has been from the last occasion when a Bush accepted the Presidential nomination of the Republican party. True, back in Houston 1992, they stuck up a bronze statue of the President outside the Astrodome, and almost managed to kid themselves they could win in November. But whereas George W Bush took a double-digit lead into Philadelphia, his father arrived in Texas 17 points behind Bill Clinton in the polls and the mean-spirited, divisive gathering which followed was never really going to change things.Houston was the last time Ronald Reagan, the Republicans' greatest icon, but now stricken with Alzheimer's disease, addressed his party's convention. A bitter floorfight on abortion was narrowly avoided, but it was open season for bashing "skirt-chasing, draft-dodging" Bill Clinton.But the most vivid memory is of the speech by Pat Buchanan, the right-wing populist who had given President Bush a real scare in the early 1992 primaries, and vowed to carry the fight against "King George" all the way This year, Buchanan is safely confined to the Reform party But in Houston he gave a satanic performance.
His language was cruel, xenophobic and homophobic, verging on the openly racist.No Reaganesque "shining city on a hill" for him. Just the promise of all-out war on the forces destroying America. "Block by block we must take back our cities, take back our culture and take back our country."In the hall they cheered, but the middle of the road voters were appalled. The broad church of sunny Reagan Republicanism had shrunk to a narrow claustrophobic barracks Women voters shunned the Republicans that year. They had surrendered the vital centre ground of American politics to Clinton, and he never relinquished it.The overriding goal of both Republican conventions since has been not to make the same mistake again. San Diego 1996 was a notably gentler occasion, but the strategy didn't really work because Bob Dole, the nominee, was too far behind in polls and temperamentally incapable of projecting fuzzy optimism.That same fuzzy optimism is Bush junior's stock in trade.
Every sign is that however choreographed and stripped of real emotion, the Philadelphia convention has succeeded in its aim of projecting "compassionate conservatism" as Republicanism's new guiding spirit.. When George W Bush walked away from the microphone at the end of his speech and the cameras drew back to show the whole glorious confusion of red, white and blue, there was just the briefest of silences in the theatre. Then, one of the platform guests said: "You know, this guy could win." "Yes, he could," agreed one of the others, subdued. "It all depends on what Al Gore can do." When George W Bush walked away from the microphone at the end of his speech and the cameras drew back to show the whole glorious confusion of red, white and blue, there was just the briefest of silences in the theatre. Then, one of the platform guests said: "You know, this guy could win." "Yes, he could," agreed one of the others, subdued. "It all depends on what Al Gore can do." The speakers were no friends of George Bush, still less of the Republican Party. They and their audience of a couple of hundred were mainly young, left of centre and alternative types, gathered at the Annenberg Centre at the University of Pennsylvania to watch Mr Bush's acceptance speech.
The panel of six was there to deliver instant comment as the speech rolled.So boisterous and opinionated was the audience, though, that the commentators were hardly needed. The audience was taking George W's words apart all by itself, with laughter and jeers. When Mr Bush said that America's prosperity, if not properly used, could be "like a drug in our system", there were raucous guffaws - "Speak for yourself!" "He's pro-drugs", they yelled cheerily, referring to Mr Bush's half-admitted use of cocaine.The audience ridiculed some of his less felicitous phrases - "The cold war thawed" attracted whistles, while "The politics of the road- block ... the philosophy of the Stop sign" was met by looks of blank incredulity."OK, now shut up," they muttered wearily after he had chanted his promise "They have not led; we will" for the third time. And when Mr Bush tried to steal the Democrats' thunder by pledging "no change, no reduction, no way" to the state pension system, someone shouted: "Read my father's lips", alluding to the 1988 election promise given by George W's father: "Read my lips, no new taxes". Breaking that promise may have cost George senior a second term in office.His appeal to Texan loyalty also attracted a dusty reception.
