Inside the bubble, under the balloons

I'm told South Jersey was broiling this week, except for periods of drenching rain.

But I wouldn't know that because I was on a sort of business trip — to Philadelphia.

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I spent most of four days reporting, and basically living, at the Democratic National Convention inside the Wells Fargo Center. It was like being inside a massive (and largely air-conditioned) bubble — one that popped only when a balloon-and-confetti storm blew in around midnight Thursday.

Granted, the arena complex seemed an unlikely spot to draw sightseers. It was ringed by heavily armed law enforcement officers, formidable fencing, and security measures that ranged from routine checkpoints to dump trucks parked sideways across traffic lanes.

Not to mention the repeated waves of angry protesters, both inside and outside the South Philly site.

And not everyone was hospitable — like the concessionaires demanding $3 for a TastyKake or $13 for a sausage sandwich. Or the annoying people who blocked the way in the crowded concourses — or reacted badly to bouncing off me.

And especially the guy who — parked behind me under standing-room-only conditions — repeatedly demanded I sit on the floor to improve his view of President Barack Obama.

(Initially I explained politely that, particularly on press row, reporters shooting pictures don't surrender prime spots to accommodate, um, idiots. When he came back again and again with the same unimaginative insult, I suggested he buy a thesaurus for obscenities — and offered an extensive sampling of what he'd find inside it.)

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However, other elements of the convention conjured up an other-worldly experience.

Walking outside the arena felt like a visit to a movie set. People rolled around on Segways, motorized passenger carts, delivery trucks and the occasional tactical vehicle. A helicopter was usually circling overhead.

At night, when floor workers busily distributed thousands of hand-held signs to reinforce speakers' messages, the convention floor would resemble a shimmering green forest at one moment, a rolling blue sea the next.

And when Bernie Sanders die-hards screamed and yelled? There's your wildlife.

True, the Courier-Post team of writers and photographers worked awfully hard over a string of days that started early and ended late.

But that "work" offered a close-up look at history in the making, as well as incredibly dramatic moments.

And for pure pleasure, we regularly watched — and recorded — rehearsals of musical acts each morning before enjoying the polished performances each night.

You know that inspiring moment on Wednesday night where Broadway stars sang "What the World Needs Now is Love"? My colleague Shannon Eblen and I endured four or five versions of varying quality as they tried to get it right on Wednesday afternoon.

That tune would not leave my head - until Carole King repeatedly warbled "You've Got a Friend" on Thursday.

Sometimes it felt odd knowing more than the rest of the country.

Take the pyrotechnics that erupted after Clinton's acceptance speech. Co-worker Phaedra Trethan and I had gasped at a test run hours earlier.

And that silly card stunt where delegates lifted red, white and blue placards? We'd known about that all day — although, like most people, we still have no idea what the stunt was supposed to say.

We also struggled at times to identify lesser-known celebrities and elected Democrats from other states.

"There's Jerry Springer!" I told my fellow reporter Carly Romalino one morning after spotting the former Cincinnati mayor and talk-show host. Then he came closer, and we realized it was some other older white guy.

Romalino laughed, left the convention floor — and promptly ran into the real Jerry Springer in the concourse. Or at least she thinks she did.

In sharp contrast with the loosely run GOP convention in Cleveland, the Democrats' show was carefully staged to drive home key messages.

But I'll spare you those details — even though Democratic press aides made sure I had the printed remarks of several dozen speakers. They dropped onto my work space like solitary snowflakes hour after hour, night after night.

The real blizzard came Thursday night, when thousands of balloons and a cloud of confetti slowly descended onto the convention floor. At the end, Bill Clinton stood on the edge of the stage, batting balloons into the crowd, and a handful of security officers tried to look forbidding at a post that resembled a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit.

I should note in closing that Courier-Post staffers also covered the week's events from outside the arena — in sweltering heat and soaking storms. They might not be delighted to learn my biggest problem was air conditioning that too often resembled refrigeration.

But I give them my full respect — and a suggestion that they, too, might want an obscenity thesaurus.

Jim Walsh; (856) 486-2646; jwalsh@gannettnj.com