What a Difference A Day Makes As Gustav Upstages the Twin Cities

Even before the Republican convention began here where I live in St. Paul, MN, it lost its position as the country’s lead story thanks to Hurricane Gustav.

Wolf Blitzer relinquished his CNN catbird seat at the Excel Energy Center Sunday as the hurricane rapidly became the main story of the day. And it turns out Anderson Cooper was in the right place—waiting once again in New Orleans for the weather. Sunday night’s network news found Brian Williams in New Orleans, and NBC promised Katie Couric would be there Monday morning, as well.

This afternoon the Republicans announced that Monday’s convention kick off would be canceled, that there’d only be a business gathering of delegates for two hours tomorrow. Their prime-time debut relinquished, the convention folks took a wait-and-see approach, hoping against hope that the hurricane might somehow deal only a glancing blow and allow the party to begin in the Twin Cities.

And make no mistake, Republicans came to party. Outside my window, I see a 125-yacht, the Mimi from Stilllwater, MN, tied up on the Mississippi River, a lovely, white craft that sleeps 18 plus a crew of 12. And on the train tracks also outside the window of my loft, rows of private train cars house delegates who are shuttled between the trains and the nearby convention center in luxury buses.

“For four days, the eyes of the entire world are going to be focused on the Twin Cities,” said Jeff Larson, CEO of the Minneapolis/St. Paul Host Committee for the convention.

That was BG, Before Gustav. Twin Cities hotels are bursting with 45,000 visitors. The media has spent millions setting up elaborate sets—Chris Matthews’ high-tech, outdoor set has a prime position in Rice Park, the lovely center of old St. Paul. Restaurants and clubs are hoping for a surge in business; everyone wants a piece of the $150 million its estimated Republicans and the media horde might splash all over St. Paul and Minneapolis.

And just last week I watched armies of city workers hurrying to re-paint curbs, plant mums in hundreds of planters, and pick up litter wherever it could be found. Both St. Paul and Minneapolis were ready for their close ups, ready to show the country that they are more than just flyover cities.

“This is the biggest single opportunity we’ll get to tell our story, short of the Olympics,” Minneapolis Mayor R.T. Rybak said long before anyone thought of hurricanes on the Gulf Coast.   

I ran into St. Paul Mayor Chris Coleman, an affable Democrat, on the street this morning as word began to spread that maybe the Republicans might alter their convention plans. Rumors swirled that the convention might even be cut in half, with only two days of action. Coleman said he was sure the convention would go on, but that was this morning, when he had no idea how much a back seat the convention would take in the news cycle.

The president and vice president cancelled plans to come to Minnesota. Louisiana and Mississippi delegates charted an aircraft to go back home lest they be accused of fiddling while their hometowns drowned.  Even candidate McCain said he might deliver his acceptance speech not from St. Paul but from the Gulf Coast.

I have a long list of parties—some private, some public—scheduled for the upcoming week. Who knows how many will actually occur?

I report none of this to whine. I understand that a hurricane—especially with the memory of Katrina still so vivid--outranks a political convention, especially since everyone already knows the ending of the convention will simply be a McCain-Palin ticket.  I just can’t remember in my 30 years as a journalist when something so predictable, well-planned and major as a political convention was so quickly upstaged.

News is a funny business, and I know there are lots of television talking heads here in the Twin Cities lamenting the loss of their precious airtime. Pull up a chair. Tomorrow Anderson Cooper brings you the landfall of Gustav.