‘92 Democratic Convention : It ‘Jump-Starts the Heart,’ Says Encino Delegate : Convention: Judith Hirshberg, an aide to Marvin Braude pledged to Bill Clinton, is swept up in a flurry of speeches, schmoozing and noshing.

Judith Hirshberg, her yellow delegate credential dangling from a silver chain around her neck and her pink lapels dotted with political buttons, responded with growing excitement Tuesday morning as dozens of Democratic women candidates took turns pitching for change.

When Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton told the National Women’s Political Caucus crowd in the

Hilton ballroom that “we don’t just need a new generation, we need a new gender of leadership,” the veteran activist clapped so enthusiastically that her watch flew off her left arm as she leaped to her feet.

“It’s like if you were a diabetic and you got a shot of insulin,” Hirshberg, who is a Clinton delegate from Encino, said moments later over corned beef and iced tea at the renowned Carnegie Deli on 7th Avenue.

“It really jump-starts your heart and your brain and your soul. To see all those women, who are not only attractive candidates but have a chance to win, makes you feel energized.”

For Hirshberg, this was the kind of event that makes attending the quadrennial Democratic National Convention particularly worthwhile. It is the rounds of meetings and seminars and receptions--some focused on issues, others solely about schmoozing, most outside the glare of the spotlight--where she says she networks and picks up information and gets fired up.

“Most of the business that used to go on at conventions is already done--picking the candidates,” said Hirshberg. “The evening is spent just listening to speakers. You learn a lot by going to things during the day; you get a lot of information. And it’s a chance to look up old friends and see what’s going on.”

By the time the 59-year-old grandmother strode up West 34th Street, past noisy demonstrators and phalanxes of cops, toward Madison Square Garden for Tuesday evening’s floor proceedings, she had already put in eight hours as a political foot soldier.

Early in the day, she had plotted strategy with fellow California Clinton delegates and heard former presidential contender Paul Tsongas make an 11th-hour pitch for his economic program. Later, she got shut out of an overcrowded health forum and kibitzed to the strains of a klezmer band at a United Jewish Appeal reception.

She had also endured Manhattan’s notorious mid-July humidity, Midtown traffic and stratospheric prices. And, at every turn, it seemed, she noshed--generally at food-filled events. Aside from the convention itself, she joked, “my main mission is to eat without paying for it.”

Hirshberg, the self-proclaimed “Pothole Queen of Encino,” is a constituent-service aide to Los Angeles Councilman Marvin Braude. This is the third consecutive convention she has attended, but her first as a delegate. In the past, she said, she was simply drawn to the conclaves as a political junkie.

She began Tuesday bright and early at the Grand Hyatt, headquarters for the huge California delegation. First, Clinton delegates caucused to discuss conflicts with the quarrelsome delegates for former California Gov. Edmund G. (Jerry) Brown Jr. (“Can we vote to eliminate the Brown delegates?” Hirshberg quipped to a fellow Clintonite).

Then it was off to breakfast with the entire state delegation. Over bagels, blintzes and fruit (courtesy of ARCO and Southern California Edison) she heard an array of speakers drone on about the platform and upcoming events.

The National Women’s Political Caucus event was a must for Hirshberg, one of the group’s vice presidents. Surveying the many banks of television cameras poised for Clinton’s speech, she said, “I think finally we’ve grown up and we’re playing in the big leagues.”

Among her political insignia, she wore a pin made by a California artist from shattered glass symbolizing the “glass ceiling” barrier that women candidates say they hope to shatter at the polls this November.

After lunch, she found herself, along with more than a dozen angry reporters, shut out of the packed Health Caucus Forum at the Waldorf-Astoria. This was a first, which she took in stride.

By the time she hit the Garden floor for the evening’s speeches and adoption of the platform, she was well fortified. She had a soft pretzel, two apples and a banana in her bag. And something else: a Watchman TV set to keep an eye on the All-Star Game.

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