Pride in Cleveland: There was very little trouble during Republican Convention week in the streets of a "great Midwestern city" run by Democrats.
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| The scene on Public Square. |
By Dennis Robaugh
And the people of Cleveland, fresh off basking in the glory of a Cleveland Cavaliers national championship, took pride in the national attention their city received.
As the security fences came down and barricades were lifted away following Donald Trump's acceptance speech, praise was heaped upon the city of Cleveland, Chief of Police Calvin Williams and thousands of police officers for pulling off a safe and secure national event.
"You should all be very, very proud of yourselves, and Calvin has done an amazing job," Trump said in a phone call to a group of police officers Friday. "So I just want to thank all of you for the great job you've done."
Huddled around the phone, officers cheered as the call ended.
"I've been talking with a lot of people I know from around the country who think we've got a great city," Ohio Treasurer Josh Mandel, of suburban Beachwood, told Cleveland.com.
One week ago, expressions of fear and anxiety accompanied any mention of the convention that would host the Republican nominee and his delegates while drawing flocks of individuals and groups that find his rhetoric revolting.
Adding to the unease was a state law allowing people to openly carry rifles and handguns, a law that could not be suspended despite requests from the city and police union. One mentally unstable shooter or a person with a cause willing to wreak mayhem, or a misunderstanding between conventioneers, protesters and police, could have spiraled out of control, bringing shame and pain to Cleveland.
Could anything good come of Bikers for Trump sharing a public square with Black Lives Matter?
No one wanted the ignominy of a "Cleveland 2016" chapter alongside "Chicago 1968" in our political history books.
But the worst we saw was an aborted attempt by the Revolutionary Communists to burn an American flag on Wednesday near the entry gate to Quicken Loans Arena, which ended with a protester setting his own pants on fire and 18 arrests. Only two people, accused of punching police, were charged with felonies.
Three people scaled flagpoles outside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to hang an anti-fracking banner on Tuesday. They were charged with misdemeanors, and their sentences were suspended.
And one of the best moments we saw? Chief Williams embracing a Black Lives Matter organizer, Joseph Offutt of Dallas, in Public Square and joining hands with protesters in prayer on Wednesday.
"It felt great," Williams told USA Today. "It was a good thing.''
» Watch: 4 Amazing Days in American History in 2 Minutes: The Unconventional Donald Trump Convention
About 4,000 law enforcement personnel handled security for the convention, including Secret Service, Homeland Security, FBI and police. More than 3,000 police officers from jurisdictions near and far — Florida, Texas and California, among them — augmented Cleveland's 500-officer force. Local hospitals laid in an extra supply of blood in preparation for a mass-casualty incident. Healthcare workers were trained for the possibility of a chemical or biological attack.
Outnumbering the 5,000 delegates and alternates and the thousands of federal agents and local officers were 15,000 credentialed members of the news media. Reporters, photographers and videographers — from Asia, Europe, national papers, small-town radio stations and alternative outlets — combed the streets and the arena talking to people, looking for stories and waiting for a chaos that never came.
That didn't stop some from describing minor dust-ups as "chaos in the streets," however. Video of the flag burning showed a mass of people shifting and moving as smoke rose from within their ranks. Upon close examination, however, half of that crowd was made up of photojournalists and people with smartphone cameras in hand.
Williams said the news media sometimes got in the way and made dealing with protesters "a bit difficult."
Placid and small demonstrations were dwarfed by the news media flock, too. "Lone gunman" Steve Thacker of Westlake, who strapped ammo to his chest, slung his AR-15 over his shoulder and holstered a sidearm for an open-carry rally on Sunday, found himself to be the only armed protester on the square. Thacker was set upon by dozens of reporters.
Everything was not all sweetness and light, however.
Peaceable But Dark, Too
Differing views between an African-American woman and a Biker for Trump on a crowded street stoked tempers and set tongues a-flapping, but police calmly interceded, said a few words, and the would-be duelists went on their way. That's how the days went for much of the week.
What's in Trump's heart has many fearful of a Trump presidency.
He wants to build a wall on the Mexican border, deport millions of "raping and murdering immigrants," put Muslims into a national database, keep Muslim refugees out of the country, and bomb the hell out of ISIS terrorists.
And others love him for those ideas.
The streets around the convention filled with people moving among booths and tables where peddlers offered all manner of political schwag and memorabilia. Every one of Trump's attitudes seems to have found its way onto a cotton/nylon blend T-shirt. Hate Hillary? There were shirts aplenty for you. Black Lives Matter and Blue Lives Matter T-shirts hung side by side. You could fashion an entirely different "Make America Great Again" wardrobe for every day of the week if you wished.
Some of the schwag reflected a despicably coarse and hateful anger. For $10, you could slip a "Hillary Sucks But Not Like Monica" T-shirt over your head. Or a "Donald will TRUMP that bitch" shirt.
One young African-American man selling shirts told Patch he'd be voting for Trump. Asked why, he replied, "I ain't putting no bitch in the White House."
Inside the arena, too, some delegates even could be heard chanting "trump that bitch."
Another shirt seller, Elgie Trotter, who works in prison ministry, told Patch the convention offered a great opportunity to raise money for his ministry. And he didn't mind selling Trump shirts and anti-Trump shirts as the same time.
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At the most sadly ironic booth, a quiet young woman in a traditional Muslim head-covering stood behind dozens of pink-and-white, made-for-women Trump shirts and hats. She didn't want to talk to reporters.
Regardless of what side of an issue one stands on, a dollar is a dollar is a dollar, and the Trump gear outsold everything else, one vendor said. Black or white, the only color that mattered in streetside Trump memorabilia sales was green.
Partiers and Politicos
At times, some of the blocks surrounding The Q, as Clevelanders call Quicken Loans Arena, looked more like a neighborhood street fair than a flashpoint for competing political ideas.
MSNBC set up its mobile studio on East Fourth Street, packed with partiers, politicos and police every day and night as people gathered to gaze at the sites. You could grab storefront snacks and sodas, marvel at colorfully and clownishly dressed passersby, or pause to enjoy delightful street music. An Indiana Highway Patrol trooper even sat down and played drums with a street band.
While on a stroll, you'd pass a gaggle of cops every few minutes. Many people stopped to say "thank you" to the officers and express appreciation for their work. A little girl offered a "high five" to an officer. A young man in a suit stopped to shake a few cops' hands. A woman urged another group of officers to "be safe." And yet another said "we love you guys."
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Observers from Amnesty International and WeCopwatch.org stood on Public Square, too, watching the cops who kept watch on everyone, protesters, conventioneers, locals, and the just plain curious. A key ingredient in the police force's ability to keep the peace proved to be the bicycle cops deployed throughout the zone. The use of special, interlocking bikes allowed lines of bicycle cops to line up alongside protesters and passively but firmly control movement. They also could form barriers that kept agitated groups from intermingling.
And in doing so, people were able to have their say without altercations.
"The observers saw mostly peaceful protests with police largely protecting the rights of people to take to the streets to express their opinions," Amnesty International spokeswoman Amanda Simon said in a statement.
And there were many, many opinions.
Say It Loud, Say It Proud
Every cause or claim, and some people without any obvious message, could be found in the crowds that gathered to sing, march, dance, or simply stand around to display their unique form of protest, from Black Lives Matter to immigration rights to gun rights to anti-war to "Find Jesus" to anti-abortionists ... even stilt-walking vegetarian nuns, a Vietnam veteran in full uniform protesting the horrors of war, and a cowboy who sang odes to Trump and country classics.
One protester, Medea Benjamin of CodePink.org, managed to sneak into the arena during Trump's Thursday night acceptance speech with a "Build Bridges, Not Walls" banner, disrupting his epically long address. On Monday, two others from Code Pink got inside, too, for minor disruptions.
The most significant observation from Amnesty International when all was said and done seemed to be that protesters on two occasions, including the flag-burning incident where most people taken into custody were written up on failure to disperse misdemeanor charges, had difficulty hearing the police dispersal orders.
With concrete barriers marking off the "red zone" and 10-foot-high fences in the streets to provide clear motor routes for convention goers, as well as police checkpoints, rooftop observers and snipers, and large police patrols, the streets from Public Square to the convention center resembled "Fortress Cleveland." The city received a $50 million federal grant to pay for the necessary manpower and equipment.
The difficulty getting around town and the high anxiety stoked before the Republican convention kept many Greater Clevelanders away for the week.
Local businesses felt the pinch, too.
Before the security zone was set up, restaurants and bars were told by the city to stock up on supplies because deliveries the week of the convention could be impossible. Many stocked up expecting an influx of business from convention-goers and other visitors to the city.
But that didn't happen.
"We're all kind of disappointed. We were expecting more," said Jeffrey Burson, who's owned Huron Point Tavern for five years. "This will be a break-even week. ... It's been busy but not gangbusters."
The barricade area included his tavern, and a police checkpoint was set up about 100 feet away from his patio seating area.
"I don't know if that's helping or hurting," Burson told Patch, adding several of his neighbors within the security zone decided to shut down for the week. He brought in extra supplies of beer, expecting busy days, but now he has enough to keep him in suds until September.
The U.S. Travel Association estimated the overall economic benefit to Cleveland for hosting the 2016 Republican National Convention at $180 million, based on room reservations and roughly $300 a day in spending per visitor. The Cleveland Host Committee projected as much as $250 million in spending.
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Most of the people who stopped in at Huron Point for a beer, sandwich or pizza were indeed convention goers. Burson said one demonstrator, a man with a rifle, came in but was asked to leave. Burson said firearms in his establishment make him nervous.
"We're Switzerland," he said with a chuckle. "We're neutral."
One group of people engaged in a particularly special form of commerce seemed to be having a great deal of success. One female escort told Patch she'd made $8,000 by Wednesday off convention goers. A male sex worker quoted on Advocate.com said he'd earned $1,600: “The Republicans have a lot of delegates in the closet, let’s put it that way."
Well, as long as everyone went home happy ...
Even with legitimate commerce not materializing as expected, Burson said the national attention the convention brought to Cleveland was worthwhile.
"This is phenomenal for the city," Burson said. "And I'll kiss the feet of the cops, too. They've been awesome."
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Cleveland's Best Side
Aside from the inconveniences brought on by the security zone, Clevelanders raved about the attention the city was getting as host of the Republican Convention.
For decades, Cleveland became the punchline of a joke that wasn't funny. This proud rust-belt city fell on hard times. The downtown became a sad, hollowed-out shell, civic pride replaced by vacant buildings. The Cuyahoga River was so polluted, the water caught fire. Someone tagged Cleveland as "the mistake by the lake." The city's heart rose and fell on its sports teams, and those great hopes too often fell tragically to the cold ground.
Clevelanders name their heartbreaks and speak of them wistfully as if they were disappointing children. Red Right 88. The Drive. The Fumble. The Decision. The Factory of Sadness. Johnny Football.
This spring, however, more than one million people came downtown to watch a celebration parade thanks to the NBA champion Cleveland Cavaliers, led by a man Clevelanders call "The King," LeBron James. Unlike other cities, where championships turn people into goons, Cleveland just partied.
A great psychological weight had been lifted.
"When the Cavs won, 1.3 million people gathered right here in unity and peace," said Roger T. Davis Sr., a 69-year-old Army veteran from Parma, Ohio, who bicycled down to Public Square to check out the convention people. "I want to see my city achieve. I would love to see the Indians win a pennant."
The Cleveland Indians are playing playoff-caliber baseball now, and the eternal springtime hopes of fall classic victories seem possible, maybe even likely.
"A renaissance has swept over Cleveland," Davis said. "Let's show the world, guess what? We've got it together."
The excitement of the Republican Convention — and the lack of any disaster — has only added to the positive vibes Cleveland is feeling in 2016.
The convention directed a spotlight onto some of Cleveland's prized attractions, too.
On Sunday night, 10,000-plus convention-goers were invited to a Rock the Night in CLE party at North Coast Harbor. Three Dog Night and a host of local bands provided the music, and guests feasted on grub provided by 50 Cleveland chefs. "Late Night" host Stephen Colbert, master of the droll witticism, was spied clowning around with guests, and the night ended with fireworks.
"This is a really great venue you guys have here," Missouri delegate Chris Howard told WKYC TV. "I knew about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but I didn't really know about the other stuff that was here. So it's kind of cool."
Former U.S. House Speaker and Ohioan John Boehner and law firm Squire Patton Boggs hosted a private reception Sunday night for Ohio Republicans on the 49th floor of the Key Tower that night. His invitation touted "stunning views of the city."
Trump flew into Cleveland on Wednesday (his jet hilariously interrupted a Ted Cruz press event on the street). The candidate then took a star turn in his helicopter, flying in front of the landmark Terminal Tower before landing on the lawn at the Great Lakes Science Center. The theme song to the Harrison Ford movie "Air Force One" played as he touched down. He was greeted by his family and running mate Mike Pence.
"Welcome to Cleveland," Pence said to his boss.
They posed for photos, and then Trump said, "we've got to go back to work." He climbed back into his chopper and flew away. Pictures taken, publicity achieved, mission accomplished.
Nearby, ensconced in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a three-story exhibit titled "Louder Than Words: Rock, Power and Politics," was open for viewing. Network news reporters ran to the museum and the exhibit to help illustrate an unfolding story about rock bands objecting to Trump's unauthorized use of their music at his rallies. Without permission, Trump used Queen's "We Are the Champions" for his rock-star Monday-night arena entry to introduce his wife, Melania, for her speech.
Maybe people were surprised to learn Cleveland is the birthplace of rock 'n' roll, and the first rock 'n' roll show happened here, too. Ohio is the cradle of pro football, too. Daily bus trips ran from Cleveland to Canton so conventioneers could visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Some enjoyed Lake Erie boat trips on the Goodtime III, and others made day trips to Cedar Point amusement park.
Northeast Ohio's Tourism Bureau put a message on its website for convention visitors that sums up the city and its attitude in two succinct sentences: "We’ve got world-class experiences without the world-class ego. And for that, you’re welcome."
On top of all the attractions, delegates partook of after-hour parties and morning breakfasts with political experts and celebrity guests (the Ohio delegation got to spend time with beloved Browns quarterback Bernie Kosar; the Illinois delegation heard from former Trump campaign manager Corey Lewandowski).
Many visitors commented simply on how friendly Cleveland seemed to be.
"Y'all have been wonderful," said Debbie McCord, second vice chair of the Georgia GOP. "Everyone's been very, very friendly. Very gracious."
With 50,000 people in Cleveland over the week, millions of pleasant memories were made here beyond the pilfered passages of Melania Trump's speech, the flag-burning protest, the brief floor fight over the nomination rules, and Trump's thundering acceptance speech.
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Dave Boyes and his son Grant, of Twinsburg, came downtown on Thursday to catch the convention vibe. Boyes is a firefighter and two members of his family are cops, so he was well aware of the potential for something to go very wrong during the Republicans' four-day jamboree.
But everybody was cool on Thursday, and the Boyes men were all smiles as they wandered the convention area in matching "LeBron-Kyrie 2016" shirts — a wearable reminder that regardless of your political affiliation, sports teams in Cleveland trump politics — and soaked in the atmosphere.
"This is great for Cleveland," Boyes said. "People get to see this is a great Midwestern city."
A Democratic city through and through, Cleveland played host to the Republicans for a week.
And we managed not to hurt each other.
Even to like each other. Maybe, even, to love and understand each other a little bit.
In American politics these days, that's a rarity to behold.
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| He's just happy to be here. | Patch.com |