The audience came to attention when the nominee came on the screen . . .

Even though Glendale’s most zealous Republican, Pat Nolan, was in New Orleans last week for the party’s national convention, the hometown faithful found a way to commune with their Assemblyman anyway.

They held their own convention Thursday at what they called the SuperDome in Glendale. It was actually the Monterey Room of the Verdugo Club, the private club on Glenoaks Boulevard where the city’s business and social leaders mix. Instead of name tags, each guest received a Delegate Floor Pass at the sign-in table. That’s about as far as the simulation went. The evening turned out to be more simply a large cocktail party focused on four or five color television sets, all tuned to the real convention.

It was the climatic night when George Bush and his vice presidential choice, Dan Quayle, would deliver their acceptance speeches.

There were a few recognizable faces in the crowd. Among them were State Sen. Newton Russell (R-Glendale), Carl Raggio and Larry Zarian, mayor and councilman of Glendale; Shirley Seeley, administrative director of the Glendale Symphony Orchestra Assn., and her husband, George, and even Shirley Minser, a field deputy for Los Angeles Councilman Richard Alatorre. There were also enough reporters on hand so that they occasionally even caught themselves approaching each other for interviews.

Mostly, though, it was an anonymous crowd of campaign volunteers, diverse in age yet uniformly favoring a crisp business look characterized by the fully exposed ear and the well-covered neckline.

As the crowd formed semicircles around the TVs, master of ceremonies Allen Brandstater stepped to the microphone and told a few jokes indicating, as much as anything, that being Republican in Glendale doesn’t rule out getting a little down-and-dirty.

“Remember, when Sen. Ted Kennedy asks you, ‘Where was George Bush?’ you can tell him, ‘He was sober and home with his wife.’ ”

Brandstater bid everyone a good time.

“The bar is open. The smoking light is on,” he said.

Later, he came forward again to shush the crowd a bit during Quayle’s speech, but the audience came to attention on its own when the nominee came on the screen, and listened in silence except to cheer his epigrams and laugh at his jokes.

They loved it when he called critics of Reagan’s economy “the Three Blind Mice” and warned those who have labeled him inarticulate: “Go ahead. Make my 24-hour time period.”

Moments after the speech was over, there was a movement toward the door. But Russell cut it short with his deep voice.

“Could you close the doors?” he joked in an easy, self-confident manner.

“Nobody leaves,” someone echoed. Someone else closed the doors. He went on solemnly:

“We have in this community, in this assembly district, we have a young man who but for the fortunes of the Lord, would have been Speaker. And you know who I’m talking about, Pat Nolan.”

The audience was hooked.

“Richard Longshore was in the hospital. And he said to Pat, ‘Pat, if you need me, I’ll come and cast my vote.’ It was put together. And it was to be done on a Thursday. And Richard Longshore passed away to his eternal rest on Wednesday.”

“Oh,” the audience groaned.

“So, except for that, our Pat Nolan would have been Speaker in place of Willie Brown.”

Real groans this time.

“But don’t give up. Pat is a tireless campaigner . . . and he is calling us. . . . We’re here to listen to Pat Nolan who is calling from New Orleans.”

Nolan’s voice then came over the speakers with just enough static to give the following conversation a nostalgic quality, like that of a replay of a historic transcontinental broadcast.

“We miss you Pat, but we know you’re doing good things for us,” Russell said. He described the sad faces he had provoked with the Speakership story.

“Well, the Lord works in wondrous ways,” Nolan said. “And we’re building to elect a solid Republican majority so I’ll be the Speaker . . . “

“If anybody can do it, Pat, you can do it,” Russell said.

Nolan commented on the enthusiasm of the Republican delegates.

“You’d be pleased to know that we’re as enthusiastic in this room in Glendale as all of you back in New Orleans.”

Nolan volunteered, for those who didn’t already know it, that his daughter, Courtney, was born a month earlier.

“And that’s what we’re fighting for,” Nolan said. “We’re fighting for a future for our children. My little daughter Courtney is giving Gail and me all the more reason to double down and work that much harder for the ticket.”

Then Nolan yielded the phone to Rep. Carlos Moorhead (R-Glendale) who chatted a minute.

“Thank you for calling us,” Russell said at last. “We appreciate you. God bless and good night.”

So ended the conversation between three leaders whose heavily Republican districts virtually assure their reelection in November.

Da-da-da-da-dat’s all folks,” Russell said, doing his Bugs Bunny voice.

The doors opened.