Showing posts with label keynote address. Show all posts
Showing posts with label keynote address. Show all posts

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Making a Name For Himself



"There is not a liberal America and a conservative America. There is the United States of America. There is not a black America and a white America and Latino America and Asian America. There's the United States of America."

Barack Obama
July 27, 2004

Sometimes destiny is hard to recognize, even when it slaps you silly.

Until 10 years ago tomorrow night, no one knew who Barack Obama was. Well, some people knew who he was — but it is fair to say that most Americans, probably even most of those who did know who he was, did not know, when they saw Obama on their television screens, that they were getting a preview of coming attractions.

The keynote address he delivered 10 years ago before the delegates at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston has been credited by many with making him president. I disagree. It certainly contributed to his political rise, it gave him national exposure, but I think it is an exaggeration to credit the speech with making him president. He was just a state senator from Illinois trying to win a seat in the U.S. Senate. Three years later, he hadn't distinguished himself in the Senate, and he was not the front–runner in the polls when Democrats began holding presidential primaries; Hillary Clinton was.

People often forget that she, too, spoke to the delegates in Boston, who had gathered to nominate John Kerry for president.

But her speech seemed to stir little in the way of enthusiasm. The audience cheered her politely — probably more in gratitude for her husband's presidency than for her contribution, at the time, as a U.S. senator. In a way, perhaps, it foretold what would happen in the Democratic Party when it chose its next nominee.

It is true, as David Bernstein wrote in Chicago Magazine in 2007, that the address "changed Obama's profile overnight and made him a household name," but it is also true that it was not a history–changing speech.

And I would also dispute that it made Obama a "household name" in 2004. That came later.

"It was good, but it was nothing awe inspiring," his press aide, Robert Gibbs, said of Obama's speech. It wasn't until Obama won the Iowa caucuses in 2008 that opinion polling started to show movement in his direction — until then, Hillary Clinton was still the front–runner.

Obama's speech 10 years ago was greeted with enthusiasm, but I honestly don't recall the extent of the positive response that Bernstein did. I suppose there may be something to it; Bernstein's article, after all, was published several months before the Iowa caucus — long before the idea of an Obama nomination qualified as more than wishful thinking.

But I'm inclined to think Bernstein was looking at it from the perspective of sustained candidacy, not necessarily nomination.

"Before the speech, the idea of Obama running for president in 2008 would have been laughable; he was a lowly state senator from Chicago's Hyde Park, and while he stood a good chance at winning his U.S. Senate race, he would enter that powerful body ranked 99th out of 100 in seniority," Bernstein wrote. "After the speech, observers from across the political world hailed the address as an instant classic, and Obama was drawing comparisons (deservedly or not) to Martin Luther King Jr. and John F. Kennedy."

Now, whether it is true or not, I do fancy myself to be current on politics and what journalists write about things like primaries and conventions and keynote addresses. In the summer of 2004, I did a lot of reading, and I remember reading many accounts of the speeches at both of the major parties' conventions.

And I simply don't remember the kind of reaction that Bernstein did. I mean, come on. King? Kennedy? Really?

Other black politicians have given speeches to national conventions — Barbara Jordan, Condoleezza Rice, Jesse Jackson, Colin Powell — and they didn't make that kind of impression.

Well, except for one.

Jordan was the first black woman to give a keynote address. American Rhetoric ranked her 1976 speech fifth in its list of the Top 100 speeches of the 20th century, behind only King, Kennedy and Franklin D. Roosevelt (twice).

And, although the convention was already set to nominate Jimmy Carter that summer, Jordan did receive the support of one delegate in the nominating ballot. However, I don't recall reading any articles promoting her as a future nominee — in fact, she retired from politics a couple of years later.

Jackson's 1984 address was ranked 12th, and his 1988 address was ranked 49th. I do remember reading some articles promoting Jackson as a future contender for a presidential nomination, but I'm sure I read just as many articles arguing that he should not seek the presidency — not because he was black but because of concerns about having a religious leader in the Oval Office.

Jackson, of course, was not a keynote speaker.

Pundits often refer to keynote speakers as if they are future presidential nominees. In my experience, few have come close to that — so, while there probably were those who, swept up in the excitement of the moment, spoke of Obama as a future nominee 10 years ago, it is likely that most of the people who heard them did not really think it was possible.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Cuomo's Tale of Two Cities



"So, here we are at this convention to remind ourselves where we come from and to claim the future for ourselves and for our children. Today our great Democratic Party, which has saved this nation from depression, from fascism, from racism, from corruption, is called upon to do it again — this time to save the nation from confusion and division, from the threat of eventual fiscal disaster, and most of all from the fear of a nuclear holocaust."

Mario Cuomo
July 16, 1984
San Francisco

The keynote speaker at a convention is expected to establish the theme to be built upon.

In 1984, the Democratic Party was still demoralized from its loss of the presidency in 1980. The task facing New York Gov. Mario Cuomo, as he prepared to deliver the keynote address at the Democrats' convention in San Francisco, was twofold: to make the delegates feel better about themselves and to define their mission in 1984.

That was really a fine line to walk. At the same time Cuomo was building up his party and its presumptive nominees, he had to tear down an administration that had been getting approval ratings in the 50s since before Thanksgiving.

He succeeded on both counts with a speech that is rated the 11th–best speech in the 20th century by American Rhetoric. It really was one of the best rhetorical performances you will ever witness, and it was especially impressive given that his message was not the one that the majority of Americans wanted to hear — and it was one of several impressive speeches delivered at that convention.

At the time, Cuomo's address propelled him to the front of the pack of would–be candidates for the 1988 and 1992 presidential nominations, but he declined to run both times. There were even those who said — as people often do after hearing an inspiring convention speech — that Cuomo should have been on the national ticket in 1984, even though few outside New York knew who he was until 30 years ago tomorrow night.

Cuomo began by challenging President Reagan's assertion that America was a "shining city on a hill."

"[T]he president is right," Cuomo said. "In many ways we are a shining city on a hill, but the hard truth is that not everyone is sharing in this city's splendor and glory. A shining city is perhaps all the president sees from the portico of the White House and the veranda of his ranch, where everyone seems to be doing well. ... Mr. President, you ought to know that this nation is more a 'Tale of Two Cities' than it is just a 'Shining City on a Hill.'"

As I say, Cuomo's speech catapulted him into the lead in polls of Democrats just before the official starts of the 1988 and 1992 campaigns, but Cuomo was reluctant to enter either race — to the point that his indecision led to his being nicknamed "Hamlet on the Hudson." Actually, Cuomo's dawdling was a familiar refrain by 1992, but, in 1988, I knew many Democrats who fretted (perhaps correctly) that their party would lose the presidency for a third straight time because Cuomo would not seek the nomination.

His hesitance was baffling. The nomination seemed to be his for the taking — and I believe that one of the great what–ifs of history is the one about Mario Cuomo and the presidential campaigns of 1988 and 1992. I don't know anyone who thinks that George H.W. Bush — no matter what one may think of him in general — could have come close to matching Cuomo's eloquence in the debates in either campaign.

But there came times in both campaigns when his diffidence was too frustrating for Democrats who craved a leader.

Cuomo certainly was assertive 30 years ago. He sounded like a man warming up for the general election campaign as he criticized the Republican deficit.

"The president's deficit is a direct and dramatic repudiation of his promise in 1980 to balance the budget by 1983," Cuomo declared. "How large is it? The deficit is the largest in the history of the universe. ... It is a deficit that, according to the president's own fiscal adviser, may grow to as much as $300 billion a year for 'as far as the eye can see.' ... It is a mortgage on our children's future that can be paid only in pain, and that could bring this nation to its knees."

Speaking of children, there has been talk that Cuomo's son, Andrew, who now holds the office his father once held, may be angling to give the keynote address at the 2016 convention.

If he gets the assignment, will he do as well as his father did not once but twice? To be sure, if he does get tapped for the keynote job, he will face a far different set of challenges than his father did.

I imagine, though, that Andrew Cuomo wouldn't be likely to criticize the deficit spending of a president from his own party — unless, by 2016, deficit spending has fallen far from the voters' grace, and fiscal austerity is in style.

If that is the case, he can probably borrow very — pardon the pun — liberally from his father's speech 30 years ago, and few, if any, of his listeners will know that he didn't think of it first.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Born With a Silver Foot in His Mouth



"I'm a grandmother now. And I have one nearly perfect granddaughter named Lily. And when I hold that grandbaby, I feel the continuity of life that unites us, that binds generation to generation, that ties us with each other. ... And as I look at Lily, I know that it is within families that we learn both the need to respect individual human dignity and to work together for our common good. Within our families, within our nation, it is the same."

Ann Richards
July 18, 1988

It was on this night 25 years ago that I first heard of Ann Richards.

That was probably true of most Americans who lived outside Texas, and, frankly, I expected most Americans to be oblivious to things that were happening in Texas, but I really felt that didn't apply to me.

You see, Texas was always a second home to me when I was growing up. It is where my grandparents lived, and my family came here two, three, sometimes four times a year. When we were here, I read the local papers. I watched the evening news. I listened to the adults' conversations about current events. I always felt like I was on top of what was happening in Texas.

Then, after I finished work on my bachelor's degree and began working for newspapers in Arkansas, my parents returned to Texas, and I continued to visit the state two, three, even four times a year.

I believed I had been keeping up with developments in Texas pretty well — until this night in 1988. That was when I realized that I really didn't know as much about what was going on here as I thought.

It was on this night in 1988 that Richards delivered the keynote address at the Democratic convention. She was the two–term state treasurer in Texas, and word was that she was planning to run for governor in 1990. The keynote address was intended to give her some additional exposure in her buildup for the campaign.

This was of interest to me because, by mid–July of 1988, I had made the decision to move to Texas and work on my master's degree at the University of North Texas. If Ann Richards was going to be a candidate for governor, I decided, I wanted to see her in the national spotlight. It would tell me a lot about her ability to handle pressure.

What did I think?

Well, I thought it was one of the finest convention speeches I have ever heard. There were a couple of times when Richards appeared a little shaky, a little nervous, but she shook it off and, more often than not, delivered an effective zinger.

Like this one about patrician (and somewhat gaffe–prone) Vice President George H.W. Bush: "Poor George, he can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth."

Only Richards — who earlier told her audience she was especially happy to be speaking that night "because after listening to George Bush all these years, I figured you needed to know what a real Texas accent sounds like" — pronounced the word help as "hep."

And can't became "cain't" when Richards spoke.

Take it from me. That is authentic Texan.

It was an important speech, more crucial to Richards' political career than it was to the success of the Democratic ticket that year. But, looking back on it, I am struck by how much her complaints about the incumbent administration sound like the complaints from subsequent keynote speakers in both parties — and, consequently, both by how much and how little has changed in the last quarter of a century.
"They've tried to put us into compartments and separate us from each other. Their political theory is 'divide and conquer.' They've suggested time and time again that what is of interest to one group of Americans is not of interest to anyone else. We've been isolated. We've been lumped into that sad phraseology called 'special interests.' "

Richards was a true Texan. She reminded me of my mother, who was a native Texan as well, and she used the kind of phrases my mother used — such as "tell how the cow ate the cabbage."

(I'm not sure of the origin of that one, incidentally. I can say only two things: 1, I believe it began as a Southern expression although it may be in use in other regions as well, and 2, based on how my mother used it, I concluded that it means the speaker is telling the absolute truth about something.)

I liked Richards' plain–spoken nature. She kind of seemed like a female Harry Truman, someone who wasn't afraid to say what she believed. She was blunt. She just wasn't as salty as he could be.

When she ran for governor a couple of years later, she was elected. I was proud to vote for her. I wasn't living in Texas when she sought a second term and lost (to George W. Bush) in the Republican wave of 1994, but I would have voted for her again.

All of that was still in the future on this night 25 years ago. In 1988, Ann Richards spoke to a TV audience in the millions with poise and charm. If she was nervous, she didn't show it. And she had plenty to be nervous about. She was only the second woman to give a keynote address at a Democratic convention, as she herself observed.

(In so doing, she borrowed a six–year–old line from a comic strip — "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels!")

There was a real honesty in her words, the kind of honesty we could use today.

"[W]hen we get our questions asked, or there is a leak or an investigation," she said of the incumbent administration, "the only answer we get is, 'I don't know,' or 'I forgot.'

"But you wouldn't accept that answer from your children," she said with a sly grin. "I wouldn't. 'Don't tell me you don't know or you forgot."

(That's the kind of response I could have expected from my mother if I tried to get away with saying I didn't remember or I forgot something.)

Then she cut to the chase. "We're not going to have the America that we want until we elect leaders who are going to tell the truth; not most days but every day; leaders who don't forget what they don't want to remember."

When she spoke, she had the same kind of character that all the women in my family had. She said that she was glad the young people of that time didn't have to experience the hardship and sacrifice of the Depression and World War II. It was the kind of thing I could hear my own mother or my grandmothers say, and I agreed with her; I, too, was glad that most of the people who were under 50 at that time had no memory of those things.

"But I do regret that they missed the leaders that I knew," she said, "leaders who told us when things were tough and that we'd have to sacrifice and that these difficulties might last for awhile. They didn't tell us things were hard for us because we were different or isolated or special interests. They brought us together, and they gave us a sense of national purpose."

I'm sorry we missed those leaders, too.