The surreal instructions on how to find your place at Saturday's Democratic caucuses came over Chaparral High's public address system sounding something like this: "If you live in Assembly District 3 and 4, go stand over by the far end of the north goalposts!" If you could figure out which end was north and from whose vantage point the "far end" referred to, you got to stand around in a disorganized mass of precinct neighbors as some dude feigning a measure of authority attempted to lead an intelligent discussion on presidential candidates and party platforms.
It was, indeed, the best of crowds, it was the worst of crowds. It was a time for die-hards, it was a time for lunatics. It was their sudden spring of hope, driven by several summers, autumns and winters of maddening despair and disgust. The sentiment ran something like what 67-year-old Teena Calloway of Las Vegas uttered to Sen. John Kerry during his brief handshaking visit just prior to the event: "I am not a vulgar woman, sir, but I am here because we have to get that God-damned bastard out of the White House."
Nobody was more surprised to see Saturday's spontaneous spark of activity among Las Vegas Democrats than the Democratic leaders themselves. They expected to fill but a few classrooms at Chaparral High, and instead they filled the football field's bleachers. U.S. Sen. Harry Reid quipped that he'd never even had to look for a parking space at prior caucuses.
The party alleged 6,000 Democrats appeared at Chaparral High and we, the media, reported that figure dutifully despite its unlikelihood because it was impossible to disprove and because the enormous turnout was the surprise story, not Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry's easy triumph. That made the attendance about 10 times that of a normal caucus year and turned the usually somnolent activity into an impromptu carnival. Oddly, though, despite the obvious energy and partisan fervor, several attempts to whip the crowd into a decent, cohesive chant did little more than to make those screamers trying to get it going look silly.
Perhaps the strangest moment came long before the football field scene, though. Early on, as local Democratic stars were arriving, buzz zipped through the crowd that stomach-stapled Today show weatherman Al Roker was present. The man was actually Billy McCurdy, a political consultant for U.S. Rep. Shelley Berkley and strikingly dissimilar from Roker. And yet, as I listened to this rumor get rolling, I realized it was an instructive moment for any journalist itching to ask Kerry about the week's Internet-spread, now-debunked rumor that he'd had an affair with an campaign intern. First, one idiot with lousy eyesight blurted, "Hey, Katie Couric's weatherman is here!" Roker's name was then murmured a few times. A few minutes later, in an entirely different part of the crowd, someone else said, "Did you know Al Roker was here? He's a friend of Shelley's!" And so it goes.
Of course, if you're gonna hold a circus, there'll be a few freaks. My personal favorite was the kook who screamed "God bless you, President Kerry" about 87 times directly into my good ear, until the senator finally came over to shake his hand. That might've sated him, but it didn't. Instead, he gripped Kerry's hand disturbingly tight and, looking right at the Botox-enhanced visage of the Democratic frontrunner, said, "President Kerry! President Kerry! You could be President Kerry some day!"
Gee, I don't know if he'd thought of that.