Smiles from everyone as Republicans hit Philadelphia

By ROGER FRANKLIN

PHILADELPHIA - W.C. Fields, who knew a thing or two about putting on a performance, once asked that his headstone read: "I'd rather be here than Philadelphia."

Everybody who was within earshot of a fellow called Phil at the bar of the Ritz Hotel one night this week can now be certain of this wisdom, since the cheerful Californian must have repeated the quote at least five times in the course of a single hour. And whenever he did, a silver-haired senior from Illinois would ejaculate in rote response, "Well not me! I like Philadelphia just fine!"

Then the pair would quake with mirth while the large stuffed elephant atop Phil's head rocked so hard it seemed to be sharing in the joke as well.

Actually, with the inspiration of the patriotically potent red, white and blue martinis that Phil and Buddy were sampling, W.C. Fields might have found the City Of Brotherly Love somewhat more diverting than in his day - though it is doubtful the comedic curmudgeon would go so far as sharing in the eruption of good humour that has engulfed the 10 square blocks surrounding the Republican Party's National Convention.

Sealed off by street closures and detours that have tied the rest of workaday Philly in a traffic-snarled knot, it is a happy little kingdom where all the protests have been peaceful and everyone seems to be sporting the smile of a lottery winner.

At least so far.

For Republicans, who have spent their last couple of conventions making dire predictions about America's collapse into a chasm of godless wretchedness, such a sunny display of All-American dental work is a rare thing indeed. Last time, four years ago, the Republican gathering displayed all the good humour of a felon waiting to be sentenced.

Bill Clinton held an unbridgeable lead over hapless Republican contender Bob Dole, who spoke confusingly of himself in the third person and sometimes even fell off the podium.

The obvious reason for this year's change of mood, the one that had Buddy and Phil clinking glasses, is that Governor George W. Bush is now running as many as 14 points ahead of Vice-President Al Gore, his Democratic rival. All Bush has to do is keep it together until November.

But that is only the first reason fun is the key word in Philadelphia. With no real business to enact, no backroom deals to cut now that primaries have made Bush's nomination a certainty, the conventioneers are simply enjoying the right to turn the heart of a major city into a political theme park.

A brass band just marched past for the third time, apparently on a meandering quest to find a crowd eager for the theme music from Mission Impossible. Down the street, a shapely young woman has painted herself in patriotic colours and donned a bra whose cups replicate the dome that covers Capitol Hill in triple-D dimensions. She may be protesting, come to think of it, since she is also handing out mock banknotes emblazoned with the legend, "In Corporate Exploitation We Trust."

But at the moment, nobody is taking offence. The painted woman is all smiles, and so is everybody else.

On another corner, Benjamin Franklin and Abe Lincoln are posing for photographs with Teddy Roosevelt and George Washington. On another nearby street, clones of Babe Ruth, Monica Lewinsky and Mighty Mouse are signing autographs.

Closer to the convention, the Pentagon has placed one of its more public bets on the outcome of November's election. A tank, a helicopter and assorted other items of lethal hardware have been parked for delegates to touch and admire; if the Republicans win, any good impression these weapons make might come in handy around budget time.

In the hotel suites and function rooms, the Pentagon's weaponsmiths are hosting any number of open-bar parties. If your ambition in life is to get drunk for free while eating nothing but saveloys in puff pastry, Philadelphia is the place to be.

On another street, an earnest woman has arranged 60,000 empty shoes. She intends this display to tweak the consciences of "pro-death" Republicans, since each pair represents someone who has been killed by a gun in America over the previous 12 months. Actually, the real lesson might just as easily be that 1970s platform sandals attract killers, since that style accounts for a truly surprising percentage of the exhibits.

As for the other protests, they have so far marched in step with the prevailing spirit of civility.

A mass demonstration yesterday morning lumped every school of social criticism into one parade - assembling in one 300m straggle of sweaty activism the voices of environmentalists, gays, militant vegetarians, and foes of capital punishment. Eight people were arrested, but apart from the odd shout of "Pig! Pig!" the marchers were almost as cheerful as those Republicans whose platform and attitudes they have come to Philadelphia to rebuke.

Philadelphia police chief John Timoney, a flinty Irish cop from New York with the thin lips of a letter box, professed himself well pleased - even as his aides were admitting that any trouble will most likely occur around the time George W. Bush officially accepts the nomination on Friday.

"But so far," said a police lieutenant, "everything is perfect in Philadelphia."

Back at the Ritz, where some or other corporate sponsor was picking up the bar tab, Phil and Buddy were happily toasting that assertion.