BLOG: WELLNER AT THE CONVENTION

Sunday

6:30 p.m.

Minneapolis-St. Paul is in convention mode. I wasn’t even off the direct flight from Anchorage before meeting an Eagle River delegate and received a welcome directed from the flight crew to folks attending the Republican National Convention.

Heading to baggage claim, each door to the outside had a balloon-festooned booth with convention workers helping delegates and other attendees find their way.

Each was more than polite. Having been here countless times visiting family, I expected nothing less – in 27 years not one person in this fair city has been rude to me. The volunteers, though they didn’t know where to direct me, offered apologies and a gratis box of snacks – granola bars and snack mix.

Down at the Minneapolis Convention Center, site of some of the ancillary festivities, security at the door asked for credentials.

“We don’t really have press credentials where I came from,” I said, handing him a business card.

“Where’s are you from?” he asked.

When I told him Wasilla, Alaska, his eyes lit up. Jokingly pretending to quiz me on the name of my now nationally famous governor he ushered me inside.

Down at the press office where folks were handing badges to bloggers, more eyes lit up on the other side of the check-in table when I mentioned Wasilla.

Unfortunately, I was told, my credentials were with the folks handing badges to representatives of traditional media. Unfortunately, that office had closed just before I arrived at 6:20. But I was told I could come back in the morning and get badged up.

Monday

2:05 p.m.

I’ve been working since 9 a.m. trying to figure out who’s holding my credentials. At the start of the day, I rode the bus, then Minneapolis’ shining commuter rail to the convention center.

I found the line to get through the gates. The longest line I’ve seen since I landed. At the front of the line the woman scanning badges told me to get a badge I’d have to walk to one corner of the fence.

At that corner they told me they didn’t know where media get badges. So I tracked down a security guard. No help. Two more security guards – same story. I even tried cornering a Reuters guy to ask him where he got his badge. He just shook his head.

So I hit the phones. I called one of my local media contacts down here, a family friend who reports for a newspaper and who has had his credentials since Sunday. He promised to help but could only offer a phone number.

I called Alaska, where time zones ensured everyone was still in bed. I woke up everyone I knew before figuring maybe it was a better idea to call someone in my time zone. So I set my brother to work Googling for phone numbers. He came up with a handful, which I then set about calling.

Eventually, I tracked down the press office, which told me to head to the Hilton Hotel. I had my brother Mapquest me some directions and was on my way.

At the hotel, the press office said they’d never heard of me and asked for my letter.

“I didn’t get a letter, we signed up Friday,” I said, and was met with a sour face and a shaking head.

“He’s not from here,” was my first thought.

They said that since April they’d had no additions to their list, so I must be on another list. Who’s list am I on? I asked. The “special media” list, apparently. Which is to say those blogger guys who told me last night they didn’t have my badges but the newspaper guys did.

So I called the media office, which said it would work on it and I should call back in an hour. I went to grab lunch and bide my time at a bagel shop.

My hour up, I called the media office. They said to go back to the hotel.

On the way I ran into some protestors. From my protest days I recognized some of them as anarchists, judging by their black clothes and bandana masks. A man who appeared to be a leader told the others to turn back and not to risk getting themselves arrested. Most listened. The anarchists did not.

I was briefly delayed, dodging a phalanx of truncheon-wielding riot cops marching in formation behind the anarchists but managed to get through to the hotel.

“This is the same thing that happened in Denver, this finger-pointing,” they said when I walked back into the media office.

So now I’m camped out in the Hilton hotel’s lobby waiting on calls back.

Day 3

11:54

I finally got my credentials about an hour ago — and not a moment too soon as word on the street is tonight’s events are going to be much grander than last night’s.

The woman who brought the badges to me said, “If there’s anyone who should be covering this, it’s you guys.”

Last night, having finally gotten a definitive word on when my badges would be handed over, I got a final call from another guy in the press office who said, essentially, that it’s really nice to have Alaska represented in the media contingent here.

Though flattering to hear, I think what’s more interesting is that people actually seem to be aware of Alaska in something more than the usual, superficial way.

From James Carville holding up a photo of the Wasilla City Hall on Larry King Live last night to folks seeming to want to interview me rather than the other way around, Wasilla seems to be on everyone’s minds.

It’s a strange feeling for someone so used to getting questions like, “Wasilla, where’s that?” or “Wasilla? Is that near Nome?” or just a blank stare. All of a sudden people know where we are.

Also today, and along the same lines, I ran into Frank Zilaitis, a Republican from Florida running for the U.S. House of Representatives without party affiliation having been, in his words, shut out of the nomination process.

Like me, he was seeking credentials this morning trying to get into the Xcel Center. When I told him I was from Wasilla, his eyes lit up. His plan, apparently, is to try to get hold of Palin, unite her philosophy of government with Ron Paul’s and attempt to bring about sweeping changes (changes that will need Constitutional amendments) in the way the country collects taxes.

Alaska is playing a big role in his plans and he is seeking any means necessary to interface with the Alaska delegates in town now.

For good or ill and for however long it lasts, Wasilla, and Alaska in general, are front and center on the national stage. Local Valley delegates last night seemed to agree it was a good thing. Whether they’re proved right or wrong it seems clear we’ve got a lot more eyes on us.