- Someone knows how to speak in public -
Someone Democratic.
Someone who has brought perhaps a dozen supporters.
Someone's voice echoes loud and clear across the parking lot.
NO MONEY FOR SCHOOL LUNCHES - BUT THEY ARE IN FAVOR OF GIVING RICH MEN TAX BREAKS ON THEIR INVESTMENTS!
Meet Mr. & Ms. Applause and their children Clappings.
This is pitiful - the volunteer protest host thinks & scribbles in his freisprich journal - this is pathetic, to get so excited just to hear some loud, well-spoken words.
Now a strong-voiced, clear-toned woman takes the podium.
ALL RACE AND GENDER BASED SCHOLARSHIPS HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED!
(Yea, verily I write unto thee - At Last the ex-parking zone begins to sound like a site for protesting, not just a big empty lot with mumbled freespeech muzak....)
And suddenly the host must stop writing, has work to do, although altogether there are less than fifty people counting cops, media, speakers and listeners....
Da, tovarisch, suddenly the host has work to do - the National Association of Social Workers (next speakers) coming into the zone bearing signs under their arms. Three of them march up to the tent.
Sign them in, answer their questions about
how the traffic lights and microphones work,
listen to the memories of those meetings
flashing in your mind, watch the camera
drapped photographer in the corner of your
eye polishing lenses and studying the zone,
notice that the Associated Press reporter has
turned on his tape recorder and slipped the
microphone between you and the Social Workers....
All of this the host does.
The newspaper sits dead, folded away. The sci-fi novel unopened. San Diego sun is burning off more clouds. The host has work to do. He is suddenly very happy.
A freight train rumbles by, right behind the stage. Battleship-gray railroad cars rattle and clatter in front of the convention center, locomotive blasts whistle horn and bell goes clang-clang clang-clang clang-clang....
Speakers on the protest stage pause, turn, glare at the real power in America - communication, transportation, consumption - clang-clang....
THAT TRAIN MUST BE SENT BY REPUBLICANS....
(*-And the host thinks of his sister and sister-in-law who were friends when kids, sleeping over, laughing that the nuns in the nearby convent were beating pots and pans together at midnight and six a.m. - clang-clang clang-clang clang-clang it was their little prayer bell with its dull, drab tone-*)
(*-I will lift up my eyes from the sign-in sheet, and gaze to the far corner of camp freisprich lot, yea, gaze upon that very distant 5th Avenue crossing - one block away, beyond the city fence, where the crowds wait before the gates, held back by rumbling train. Behold the Hajj-faithful Dole/Kemp pilgrims! See them struggle to attain green lawns of Embarcadero Park & wait in the sun... "We want to see Elvis and his Veep arrive at San Diego's beautiful waterfront".... -*)
It's warm. Hope they all have plenty of water.
Meanwhile, back in the free speech cage, watch the Social Workers crack open their own little water bottles.
The traffic signal is yellow. The Democrats conclude with an attempt to lead the song America the Beautiful. Towards the end, time runs out. Auto-switch clicks, light turns red, microphone shuts off.