1988 Republican National Convention : In New Orleans, GOP Means Grand Old Partying

The Bourbon Street jazz bars are filling up with tireless yuppies in deck shoes. The French Quarter restaurants have the feel of newspaper city rooms, full of reporters in rumpled linen and seersucker. Even the rich are buying mixed drinks to go in plastic cups. The dawn is marked by a Superdome clock tower with the faces of--what else?--giant gold Rolexes.

There are zydeco (Cajun) musicians to listen to, sazerac (bourbon and bitter liqueur) cocktails to sip and crawfish to eat. Oh yes, there is also a Republican candidate for President to nominate.

The GOP National Convention starts Monday, and producer Mark Goode promises the biggest crowd in American political history--2,277 delegates and maybe up to 33,000 journalists, guests and curiosity-seekers on hand at the cavernous Superdome--to take part in four nights of prime-time television.

For all but a few Republicans, their main job in New Orleans is to cheer themselves silly for the benefit of the rest of America, watching on television. On both Monday and Tuesday, delegates will attend morning working sessions before the evening prime-time event, but serious work is something modern-day convention delegates have precious little of.

There is plenty of free time left--free, as they say, to be easy.

In the soggy heat of August, New Orleans has braced itself for the Republican Party’s party. Of course, much the same kinds of preparations are made in the Big Easy almost every day at sundown, earlier on weekends.

Beginning at the airport, delegates and reporters filing off their planes have been greeted by bands of fresh-faced, cheering young volunteers. Those unaccustomed to such treatment were seen looking over their shoulders, wondering if there were some VIPs behind them.

And how is this for a party town: Invite the whole city for a faux convention opening on Saturday afternoon; after the bands and speeches, send aloft zillions of red, white and blue balloons; then shoot them down with the shrapnel from a daytime fireworks show.

Or this: The French Quarter Business Assn. lists among attractions one convent and three voodoo shops.

Cashing in on politics has made political conventions one giant hawker’s stand.

For this one, an entire shopping center was rushed to completion adjacent to the Superdome. And vendors are extraordinary in their numbers and their range of products, many of which would require brown wrappers in most American cities.

There are buttons featuring Bush and virtually every imaginable running mate. And gag buttons like the one saying: “Our Wimp Will Beat Your Shrimp.”

About 800 of the New Orleans police department’s 1,300 officers will be working what are known as “Mardi Gras” shifts here--12 hours on--for the entire convention period.

Many find the idea of a group of Republicans holding a convention in this most bawdy city something of an anomaly. But everyone seems to be getting into the party spirit.

Even Phyllis Schlafly, the zealous opponent of the equal rights amendment and a self-described champion of traditional values, is giving a “Good Times Party” at the New Orleans Museum of Art Monday afternoon. Among the guests will be former federal appeals court judge Robert H. Bork.

Some, however, prefer to keep their pleasures quiet. These are, after all, Republicans. The latest issue of New Orleans magazine carries an understanding advice article:

“How to Have a Good Time in the Big Easy . . . And Keep It Quiet in Des Moines.”

Staff writer Thomas B. Rosenstiel contributed to this story.