As the Green convention approached, rumors spread that Nader might attend the convention to try to get the assembled Greens to do what he wanted. I had already made arrangements to cover the Green convention for Liberty, and I was excited by the prospect of meeting Ralphie face to face.

I once called into a radio show where he was talking about health care and the need to implement a health care system similar to Canada's. I asked him if he supported universal legal care: "Since today we have a two-tiered system, where only the rich can afford quality legal assistance, wouldn't it be a good idea to socialize the entire legal profession and let the government decide how much a lawyer can earn annually, what branch of law he can specialize in, and put limits on the fees that can be collected. That way every American will have access to good quality legal assistance." It was obvious that my argument flustered him, but I never got to see his face. I imagined that his trademark look of composure broke at that point, and the co-host had to wrestle the "dump" button from him. I hoped he would be here at the convention and eagerly anticipated getting to see his face this time.

I got to Milwaukee early Friday morning, the first day of the convention. It was a beautiful, sunny day, the kind of day that makes you feel that you could be an environmentalist yourself. As I walked into the hotel, I noticed that the LED sign on the restaurant across the street was flashing out the drink and dinner specials, and also said, "It's not easy being Green. Welcome to Milwaukee! Yes, we have a large selection of vegetarian menu items!" I said a prayer of thanks to the invisible-handed gods of the marketplace who always supply what people demand, and I wondered why these Green people are so opposed to my religion — a religion that demonstrates such mercy, despite their rejections and insults.

I noticed as I walked into the hotel that it was built right over the site where Progressive candidate Teddy Roosevelt was shot in the chest (he finished his speech, before being taken to the hospital, where he credited a breast pocket Bible for his survival) back in 1912. I hoped that this would be the second time that a progressive candidate were ambushed here, albeit this time nonviolently.

I checked into the convention and picked up my press credentials. It was pretty laid back. I gave my name, but no one seemed to care. No checking me against a list, nothing. They just handed me a media card and told me to write my name on it. I wondered why I had gone to the trouble of applying for press credentials at all.

Up first was a press conference for all the Green candidates for Congress. Two of the four Green Senate candidates were there. Maybe the other two couldn't afford the airfare. Or maybe they're too weird to be let in front of the media.

The Greens were a lot more conservative than I had imagined. There were a few aged hippies wandering around, and occasionally I bumped into a real whack job, but for the most part, if I didn't know where I was, I would have guessed it was a meeting for the National Education Association.

Scott Summers, a small businessman from Michigan who's running for the Senate, spoke first. He said that he opposes grants and tax breaks to corporations because they hurt the economy and take money away from social programs. He thinks it makes economic sense to give tax breaks and grants to small businessmen instead. Not that unusual of an opinion for a small businessman.

Terry Baum, candidate for Congress from California, said that her first priority would be to see to it that George Bush is hauled in front of a tribunal and tried for war crimes. This was the first time I noticed Green ignorance of constitutional procedure, but it would not be the last. The Greens seem to view the Constitution as a minor obstacle in their march to a better America.

I discovered that, aside from me, there was only one reporter at the press conference, a girl with a pierced nose, no makeup, and a very expensive camera on her shoulder. Her pass said something like New Media Cooperative. Everyone else in the room was a delegate or a candidate, and the candidates outnumbered the audience.

I wandered around the hotel for a while after the press conference wondering to myself if I should even be doing this. "Where's the story?" I thought. I needed a sandwich. Nothing like mayonnaise on bread and a bag of potato chips to reassure a man that his purpose in life is noble.

I selected a tuna croissant and a bottle of grapefruit juice. The beer looked really tempting, but I figured that if I started drinking at this hour I'd be cashed in long before the day even started. I took my food up to the counter and waited while the help fumbled around with the cash register, and then, inexplicably walked away, leaving me standing there with a perplexed look on my face. I couldn't believe how crummy the service was until I remembered that this was a union hotel. I've always noticed a distinct difference between union and non-union hotels. Unionized workers make the same money regardless of how well they perform and they pool their tips, so there is absolutely no incentive for anyone to exert himself.

Unionism is popular among the Greens. All the handouts I received had a union label at the bottom of every page insuring that Allied Printing Trades Union Local #10 had made certain that this print job cost a lot more and took a lot more time than it otherwise would.

I took a seat at a table and looked over the schedule to plan my day. I overheard a couple of delegates at the counter explaining to the uninterested cashier how "Starbucks® destroys neighborhoods. They go into an area and force out the small businessmen. They've ruined entire cities by putting shops in places where thriving businesses used to be."

I hadn't even noticed that I was in a Starbucks® before I overheard their conversation. Starbucks® has become so synonymous with coffee that I don't even notice its logo anymore. But the Greens notice. They looked at that green circle with the woodcut of the twin-tailed siren the same way some Christian fundamentalists used to look at the Procter and Gamble moon. Except for Wal-Mart and McDonalds, there is probably no greater evil in all the world.

A very pleasant woman asked if she could share my table for a minute. She was from Palo Alto, Calif., and it was her first time in Milwaukee. "Beautiful city, isn't it?" I said. My sarcasm went right over her head and out into the lobby. "Yes, it's a very beautiful city. I wouldn't have expected that." She tells me that the thing she likes the most about Palo Alto is that she can ride a bike to work. "That wouldn't be much fun here in Milwaukee," I chided. "Oh, but it would on a day like today." That's the trouble with a lot of these people. They're just so dang nice. They want to destroy the free market and the wonderful things that it has given them, but their intentions seem good.

She excused herself and congressional candidate Joe Fortunado asked if he could have her seat. I welcomed him. Right away he noticed that I had a media pass. "Where're you from?" "Chicago," I replied. I saw in his face that wasn't the answer that he was looking for. "I'm from Liberty magazine." I hoped that he hadn't heard of it, so I could remain quasi-anonymous.

"That's a libertarian publication, isn't it?" Busted. I had kind of hoped that I could play the hippie journalist for the weekend. I even grew my beard out for the role, but Joe was pretty slick. "I know we agree on a lot of things, but there's some things we're vastly different on," he continued. "So what's a libertarian doing at the Green Party convention? "

"I'm just here to check out the party." That didn't sound right so I clarified. "Meaning party with the small P." He laughed, and I excused myself.

As I left, I overheard someone at the counter saying, "Do you know what Starbucks® does to workers in Third World countries?" I skipped down the hall and wondered to myself why such an anti-corporate party would hold their convention at a Hyatt Regency.

I went into the main convention hall. It was my first opportunity to see the assembled faithful, about 100 of them sitting at round tables. I couldn't help but notice how much they smelled like hippies. For the most part they were well dressed, and there were very few pony tails or beards (my own notwithstanding), and I hadn't spotted a single microbus in the entire parking structure. (There was only one hybrid, and no electric vehicles whatsoever.) But they still smelled like hippies. Sometimes it was the unmistakable smell of patchouli, sometimes it was sandalwood, sometimes it was that unidentified spice that makes every health food store smell exactly the same; but in a group together like this it was almost overwhelming.

The Green Party Black Caucus announced its formation. These twelve African Americans who spoke about the party's tolerance and diversity were just about the only persons of color I saw at the convention. For a group of people who love to point out the percentage of white people in the Republican or Libertarian Party, there were very few persons of color. It is a classic case ofthe white bread calling the milk white.

The new logo for the Green Party Black Caucus was unfurled. It was an African design depicting two crocodiles superimposed at right angles. The significance, they explained, is to remind people that although the crocodile has two heads, it shares a common stomach. I guess they were implying that we all have to eat, so food should be shared equally. I thought to myself, that if they have a common stomach, only one has to eat for the creature to survive. Perhaps this is why my mom told me to finish my plate because there are children starving in Africa. I always wondered how my being full would help people an ocean and a hemisphere away. Now I know.

As the banner was unfurled, the floor broke into applause, although not everybody applauded. Some people did this weird thing that reminded me of a Grateful Dead show: they raised their arms up in the air and wriggled their fingers rapidly. I found out later that this motion is called "twinkling." It is a gentle form of applause for those who are committed to nonviolence, and the Greens love to do it.

You can always judge the condition of a city by taking a walk downtown. If there is nothing other than failing businesses, then certainly there will be a lot of despair in that area. If the stores are boarded up, that means one thing. If the buildings are all government offices, that means something else. Those with nothing but antique shops are not much more reassuring — it's like the residents are selling everything they own before getting out of town. My favorite cities are those with downtowns that have a variety of thriving businesses where you can while away an afternoon.

A political party is like a mini-city and their exhibit halls are the downtowns of their political villages. I figured I'd check out the exhibit hall and see what the vendors had to sell.

The first table I stopped at was from Growing Power, Inc., a group that promotes "environmentally sustainable agriculture and strategies for urban food security." They have an indoor farm right here in Milwaukee where they grow plants hydroponically. I was curious about how much food could actually be produced in this fashion.

"So what do you grow?"

"Mostly house plants."

I don't know how many people can be fed from a ficus, but at least they're doing it in an environmentally friendly fashion.

"Doesn't hydroponics take a lot of electricity to grow?"

"Well, all the plant beds are built on an incline so gravity does all of the work. It only has to be pumped once up to the top, and then it runs down all by itself." That may violate the Law of Conservation of Energy, but it's an interesting way to look at it.

Next I visited two political tables, right next to each other, one for Ralph Nader and one for Texan Dale Cobb, the frontrunner since Camejo accepted Nader's vice presidential nod. There was a huge rift developing within the party and most people were aligning themselves with one of these two candidates. Joe Fortunado had told me earlier that morning that I had missed the fireworks the night before. Apparently there was an informal rally for all the presidential candidates, but it got really ugly and turned into a shouting match.

Standing behind the Cobb table was a pretty young girl with optimistic eyes named Jennifer who caught my attention. "They stuck you right together like this?" I asked.

"It's not so bad, we're all in the same party."

There was a boy also working the table who I'm pretty certain had a thing for Jennifer. "It's not so bad," he said. "In college they put our table right next to the Young Republicans!"

"How did that go?"

"We just didn't talk about politics," said Jennifer perkily.

Another college-age delegate asked about the youth caucus, and she handed him a sheet of paper. "We're having a meeting tonight. Put your name, email address, and birth date down."

"What's going on tonight?" I asked.

"We're forming a youth caucus. It's for people under 30." I guess she thought I was trying to snake an invitation, and she wanted to make sure I knew I was too old. "We need to get 100 members before we can form a caucus. The Greens already have a Black Caucus, and a Women's Caucus, and a Disabled Caucus, and a Lavender Caucus . . . that's for gay people."

I clarified, "No, I was wondering why you needed to have his birth date. I guess that's to ensure he's under 30. How does the Lavender Caucus ensure that all their members are gay?"

She blushed. I suddenly felt like a dirty, old man and quickly moved to the next table. I wondered how the Black Caucus was able to get 100 signatures together. Not at this convention, that's for sure. But I guess they didn't make them prove they were black either; just having a Black Caucus to make themselves appear diverse is probably far more important than the size of that caucus.

I noticed a pamphlet for the Green Energy Buying Club on the New York Green Party's table. The GEBC is part of a movement to take America away from its carbon dependency by reselling energy from alternative sources. They buy units of electricity from renewable sources like wind farms, and sell them to electrical companies. They make up the difference in price (renewables are still more expensive) by selling credits to concerned citizens. By calculating the amount of electricity they use every month, and sending a check to places like the GBEC, an electricity consumer can insure that every watt he takes from the grid is replaced with a watt of "clean" energy. I looked over the pamphlet.

"Do you participate in this?" I asked Jerry who was manning the table.

"Yeah, I sent them $74."

"Every month?"

"No, just when they started out, I'm a big proponent of wind power." I guess Jerry assumed that once a wind farm is constructed, it churns out free electricity forever. He didn't take into account that a wind farm requires maintenance, that the property is either taxed or leased, and the interest and principle on the startup capital has to be paid. No energy is "free" and if you want the assurance that you are not putting carbon into the atmosphere every time you turn on the pump of your hydroponics farm, that is going to cost you at least an additional two cents per kilowatt-hour.

"You're supposed to pay them every month depending on how much electricity you use."

"No, we can't do that in New York, it's illegal. The energy corporations won't let us use wind power."

"But this pamphlet right here on your table says you can. You just have to send them a check."

"I don't know anything about these pamphlets, I'm just filling in here."

Surprisingly few of the delegates were environmentalists — at least few seemed to be following the mores of environmentalism. Wisconsin is committed to recycling, so there were recycling bins all over the convention center. I kept peeking into them to see if they were ever used. They were always empty. Perhaps that's just good housekeeping, I thought, so I caught a housekeeper: "Do you empty the recycling bins?"

"We do if they're full. They haven't got full yet."

"What about the trash?"

"We empty a lot of trash."

The convention site comprised two main areas: the hotel's banquet and meeting facilities, and the Midwest Airlines convention center. To get from one to the other, Greens had to choose between the environmentally friendly staircase in the middle of the lobby or two bordering escalators, powered by electricity and therefore polluting the environment. The only time I ever saw any delegates take the stairs was when the escalators were backed up.

Sitting in the lobby, I saw one of the few true hippies carrying a sign over to the convention center. It read, "Profit from Marijuana Farms, Not Arms for Gasoline. Stop Global Warming." She rode up the escalator with it.

I needed a cup of coffee. I went into the coffee shop, and the two employees were talking over by the coffee machine: "I can't listen to them anymore. I'm just going to make a pot that's not Starbucks® and save it just for them."

"Can I have a cup of Starbucks®, please?" I asked.

The girl behind the counter laughed.

Over in the platform committee there was trouble. No one had a clue about how the platform was supposed to be amended or approved. Finally, they began discussing the question of whether the platform should support social justice or social and economic justice.

A woman stood up: "I think it should say we support social, economic, and sustainable justice."

A guy on the other side of the room: "How about social, economic, and sustainable justice for the victims of slavery, genocide, and corporate culture . . . "

Boring. I skipped down the hall for a peek at another workshop. There was one for "The Green Message and Political Marketing." Stacy Malkan, a comely blonde, was speaking.

"You have to get to know the reporters. Find out what interests them, learn where they like to hang out. They like it if you do their work for them. I can't tell you how many times they just took a press release we sent them, and just put their name on it, and published it as is." I looked at my watch; it was a quarter past a beer. Time to find the bar.

I cozied up to an open stool at a bar behind the escalators. I didn't have my back to the door, and I could see pretty much everything. Two delegates in the corner were tearing through the complimentary peanuts. The bartender asked them if they would like something to drink. They asked her to run through the entire beer list and who made each brand; they didn't want any money going to Anheuser Busch, or Philip Morris. I noticed their peanut shells overflowed the ashtray and were spilling on the floor: apparently they weren't so concerned about the big corporations or the state monopolies involved in getting peanuts to them.

I opted for a Leinenkugel. It was brewed in Chippewa Falls, Wis., by the Leinenkugel family for 137 years, but now is owned by Miller. I emptied the pint before I knew it. "Would you like another?" the bartender asked. She was at the corner where the two delegates had just left, sweeping up peanut shells.

"I hope they left you a good tip after leaving all that mess," I interjected. She just smiled.

"Did they stiff you?"

"No, they paid their tab."

"But did they tip?"

"No."

I understand that government employees are some of the worst tippers this side of Europe, and I imagine that the Green Party derives a lot of its membership from government workers. "How have these people been treating you? Are they generally tipping you well?"

"Not so good. But there's been a lot worse groups through here. There was a Baptist women's group, and I didn't make a dime."

Thus fortified, I decided to check out the press conference of the Green International Committee. Maybe it was because it was late in the day, or because the room was full of video lights, hot, and crowded, or perhaps it was just because I'm bigoted against Europeans, I don't know, but the international press conference was the worst-smelling event I attended all weekend. Gone were the pleasant aromas of patchouli and incense. It smelled like a taxicab in August.

I learned that although more than 10% of the EU parliament is Green, there has been little or no interest from Eastern Europe. They came up with all sorts of explanations, except for the obvious: that it's really hard to sell communism to people who have had to live under it for the past 70 years.

Well that was a waste of time. I returned to the bar to resume my little tête-à-tête with the Leinie tap. The bar was full, but I found a table within earshot of a couple guys who were going back and forth about Nader vs. Cobb. It was time to educate myself. I invited myself into the conversation, and sat down with John and Ed from Connecticut.

The state of Connecticut had its caucuses way back in April before anyone thought that Nader would snub the party, so Connecticut had several delegates bound to Nader, despite the fact that he had refused to ask for their nomination. Publicly, Nader had said he did not seek the Green nomination because he preferred to run as an independent. But most Greens think he didn't seek it because he thought he might not be able to get it. Inside polling indicated that Nader support had declined sharply, because a lot of Greens feared becoming the party of Nader, and some believed he has strayed too far away from Green Party principles.

Nader had also been less than honest with the party. Nader refused to share his donor list with the party. After a year of pleading and angry letter writing he finally relented and released his list of all donors under $100. Apparently the man who wants to keep big money out of politics wants to keep his big money donors to himself.

Nader conspired with Peter Camejo to get the Green Party's support without having to go through the tedious process of winning the nomination. Camejo had just run for California governor as a Green. Camejo agreed to run as a reluctant candidate, and if he won, he would refuse to take the nomination. He never was secretive about this; everyone understood that he would not accept it.

By releasing his delegates after he won the first round of the nomination process, he would force a second round of voting in which there would be entered a nomination for "No Candidate." If No Candidate won the majority in the subsequent round, individual state Green Parties could put Nader on the ballot in their own states, saving him the trouble of petitioning.

Another advantage that Nader has gained by remaining independent is that he is free to solicit endorsements from all third parties, without being tied to any of them. He did this successfully with the Reform Party, and I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that he had even approached the Libertarians with a similar offer. It was apparent that the Nader strategy was to build a majority by aligning all of the third parties under an anti-war wedge issue against the Democrats and Republicans. Of course, except for the Iraq war commonality, the Libertarians are opposed to everything Nader stands for, and there's as much chance of Hillary Clinton eating lunch at Hooters® as of a Libertarian voting for Nader.

Meanwhile, David Cobb was gaining support as the candidate who would bring the party back to its roots. He characterized Nader as an outsider who was taking the party too far away from its core values. He promised to use his campaign to build the party, and to stay away from battleground states. There was speculation that Cobb was funded by the Democratic Party as a way to keep Nader off the ballot.

Peter Camejo used these rumors to claim that Cobb was supporting Kerry. Both Cobb and his running mate, Pat LaMarche, said that defeating Bush was more important than putting a Green in the White House.

"Camejo really brings out the feminine side of the party," said Justine, a delegate from Connecticut who sat down with us. "Cobb is a really powerful speaker, but he is so masculine. When Camejo speaks, he just makes you feel the pain."

"She likes to suffer," John interjected.

"Well Nader, he's just the picture of suffering."

I had never thought about this before, but Nader does look a lot like those pictures of the little girls with the big sad eyes that were so popular in the seventies. Our conversation was interrupted by a volunteer passing out a photocopied letter from Nader himself. It was still warm, so it must have just been made. I noticed there was no union seal at the bottom.

Of course, it doesn't make a lot of sense to hire a union print shop professional when the copy machine does 99% of the work involved. I guess an important news flash like this just couldn't suffer the 24 hour turnaround that a union job would take.

Over at the bar I saw Joe Fortunado. I pulled up a stool next to him.

"Just heard, Nader's going to call in tonight."

Great. A phone call. My desire to meet the man face to face had been thwarted again.

Joe introduced me to Walt who, he claimed, was the unofficial historian of the party. Walt was a hard-core socialist, and he credited himself with inviting Nader to run back in '96. He has also asked Noam Chomsky, who he said declined because Chomsky feels he would do more harm than good for the party — all the Chomskyites already vote Green anyway, and Noam has a lot of detractors. I bought a round of beer.

"Tim's a libertarian," Joe told him.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever had a libertarian buy me a beer before," Walt replied.

"We don't mind charity, as long as it's voluntary," I responded.

Walt started talking about conspiracies, which I always enjoy. He told me that George Soros is funding anti-Nader activities, and has already set up a website. It gets deeper. Joe asked if he thought there's a possibility that the Democrats could "take Nader out." Walt replied that Bobby Kennedy was assassinated by the Federal Reserve. Bobby was also a friend of Nader, so it's not out of the realm of possibilities that if Nader started threatening the Democratic ticket, he might suffer a similar fate.

I mentioned that it's not going to happen this year because Hillary wants Kerry to lose, so there'll be no incumbent Democrat to run against in 2008. They looked at me like I was crazy.

Walt started talking about Edward Heisler, a member of the Socialist Workers Party and candidate for U.S. Senate from Illinois, who turned out to be an FBI informant. Well, Walt did a few background checks and learned that Edward was still living, now in Utah, and that his name has surfaced on quite a few Green Party mailing lists.

I excused myself, but before I went, Walt wanted to be sure to get my name. He looked at my media pass to make sure he had the correct spelling. "Are you going to do a background check on me too?" I asked. He laughed.

Michelle Shocked, who was really huge for about 15 minutes back in the early '90s, back when the "female singer-songwriter" was in fashion, was scheduled to perform at a street party. I caught her act in Chicago back in 1990 for the 20th anniversary celebration of Earth Day staged in the park across the street from my apartment, and I remember the day well. I couldn't find parking anywhere, because everybody from the entire surrounding tri-state area drove all the way into Chicago to celebrate the environment. I'll also never forget the trash on my front lawn, and the mountains of garbage in the park after it was all over.

When I arrived, the street atmosphere was quite festive, and "One Drum" was just wrapping up their opening set. A Green Party spokesperson took the stage and started revving up the crowd. He broke into the Green Party preamble which everyone there seemed to know by heart. Each line was read and the audience repeated it. The effect was very much like the sound of everyone mumbling their prayers in church. It sounded a lot like the Apostles' Creed that I became so familiar with as a Catholic schoolboy:

Priest: We believe in an alternative.
People: We believe in an alternative.
Priest: We believe in independent politics and active, responsible government.
People: We believe in independent politics and active, responsible government.
Priest: We believe in empowering citizens and communities.
People: We believe in empowering citizens and communities.
Priest: We offer hope and a call to action.
People: We offer hope and a call to action.
Together: Green and Growing! Green and Growing! Green and Growing!

By now, I was a little hungry, so I wandered to the back of the event to check out the food tents. There were only three. Jimbos Broasted offered a traditional Wisconsin fish fry, that is deep fried perch, french fries, and a little bit of mayonnaise soaked cole slaw. LaVerne's Soul Food had ribs and beer-boiled bratwurst to offer. Here are all these delegates from California, and there's nothing to eat but traditional Wisconsin fare — strange victuals for people more accustomed to sushi than fried fish. Then there there was the politically correct food tent: Lula's Vegetarian had boiled cabbage with lentils and rice and a spanakopita, but that was as nouvelle as it got. I opted for the rib dinner, sweet and greasy and delicious.

By now it was nearly 8:00, time for the big Camejo rally. I followed the swarm into the exhibit room where a couple hundred people were waiting for the phone call from Nader. Prominent delegates were taking turns at the microphone saying really nice things about him and mean things about Dave Cobb. The crowd was getting really worked up, with lots of delegates throwing their arms in the air and wriggling their fingers. A young girl from D.C. said, "Ralph Nader fought to get a supermarket in D.C.!"

At 8:25 the speaker on stage was told to wrap it up because Ralph was finally on the line. The crowd, now about 300, went wild. Nader-Camejo signs were thrust into the air, and fingers were wriggling all over the place. The camera girl with the pierced nose panned over the crowd to capture all the excitement.

Ralph said, "Hi." More cheering. He says he's sorry he couldn't be there, but he trusts that everybody will do the right thing. That's it.

After the call, I walked back out to the street fair. Michelle Shocked was doing a sound check. Only about a hundred people were still there. There was a guy walking around in a cow suit with pink floppy ears and a big plastic udder right in front. The cow suit had seen better days. It was no longer white where it should be white, nor black where it should be black, and it was torn where the owner has grown beyond the limits of the fabric. I imagine that when the suit was new and the man was closer to being a boy, the cow suit was a great attention getter at all the animal rights events. More than a couple young vegetarian coeds must have found the costume adorable, and melted into his hoofs. Those years, however, passed long before this convention, and I wondered why this guy was still clinging to the tattered cow suit. I guess that the things that bring us such joy in our youth are very hard to part with. It's probably the same reason that people still buy Van Morrison records.

When all the levels were adjusted, Michelle walked behind the stage where an Alero with Illinois plates was parked. She rummaged around in the trunk for some things, then slipped into the front seat to change her clothes. Apparently the last decade had not been too good to her.

I returned to the meeting room just in time to see Peter Camejo start speaking. Delegates for Peter were quite enthusiastic about him, and I was really a little curious. Peter Camejo was born into one of Venezuela's wealthiest families. Almost as if she were concerned for his presidential eligibility, his mother traveled to New York, in 1939, to deliver him in America. In 1960, he and his father competed in the Rome Olympics on Venezuela's yachting team. He earned a participation medal which he wore around campus to attract women.

He attended MIT and UC Berkeley where he was expelled just short of graduation in 1969 at the tender age of 30 for causing trouble. In 1976, he ran as the Socialist Workers candidate for president and got almost 90,000 votes. In 1980, after mounting a campaign to align all the leftist third parties against Ed Koch in the New York Mayoral Campaign, he was expelled from the Socialist Workers Party. He now works as a financial advisor with a progressive investing strategy.

Camejo started calmly with a call for peace in the party. But then he started to get worked up. He was angry about the "torture" in Abu Ghraib prison, and said it's no surprise to him — his brother was tortured by the CIA. Apparently they wanted to learn the whereabouts of a communist facility, so they put an unloaded pistol to his head and pulled the trigger. He told story after story about the plights of gentle communist guerrillas being brutalized by the CIA throughout Latin America to a rapt audience.

Then he spoke about economic mathematics. "Once the price of oil goes up, it never comes back. Corporate America has us addicted, so they can charge us whatever they want. The crisis is coming. When it starts rising, it's not going to be a spike, it will just keep going up. Ninety-five percent of the American people have not seen a pay raise in the past 30 years."

At this point I realized I was getting pretty tired. Not just of the platitudes, but genuinely tired. I looked at my watch, and realized I'd been there for almost twelve hours — time for sleep. On the way back to my car I passed through the festival one more time. About a hundred people were there listening to Michelle Shocked. Her voice hasn't lost a single note over the past 14 years; she's got the kind of voice that goes all the way down to your heart. There was a young girl not older than ten playing clarinet with her, I imagine that's her daughter. It was a beautiful summer night, and I lingered for a while, wanting to stay for more. I had a two hour drive in front of me, though, and I'd be lucky if I could stay awake for another hour. I forced myself out to the car, and reminded myself to go through the box of cassette tapes I have down in the basement and dig out the Michelle Shocked tapes, along with Van Morrison.

Saturday morning I was back in the press room. It was time to meet the candidates. I was barely awake, my head ached, and when I pulled out my pen it smelled like stale beer. I overheard Camejo whispering something about Bush being reelected; he looked back, saw me listening, and lowered his voice below audibility. The press trickled in. There seemed to be considerably more people with media badges than there had been the day before.

All the candidates were asked to take the stage. David Cobb moved up the aisle confidently, and I saw for the first time what Justine had earlier described as the "masculine" side of the party. He looked like Steve Forbes, only not quite as tough. He had one of those waxy permanent grins, like the one you make when you don't want anybody to know what you're really thinking. It never cracked once.

Peter Camejo was casually reading the paper, looking almost bored. I couldn't help but think he was pretty certain that it was wrapped up.

Carol Miller started things with a speech for Nader. Next was Lorna Salzman who looked like she was probably at Woodstock. She now lives in New York with her composer husband Eric. She was running to bring the environmental message back into the party. She said, "If the Green Party doesn't make the ecological paradigm the root of the its message, then it is useless."

I asked her about this, because I had noticed the same thing. "You said that the party is moving away from the environmental message?"

"We never really had a very strong one. I still don't think it has. I've been in this since 1984 and we haven't had any environmentalists in it at all, and there's hardly any now because they don't see that the Green Party is making it their focal point."

JoAnne Bier-Beeman, a drain commissioner from Charlevoix, Mich., then told a story about seeing an eagle nest on a friend's property. Her number one issue: she wants to abolish the electoral college, so that in the future majority wins. She figures if Bush can try to pass a constitutional amendment prohibiting gay marriage, she can pass an amendment abolishing the electoral college.

"The president of the United States has tried to push onto the people an amendment that restricts who can marry. That's none of his business."

I asked her, "I thought the president had nothing to do with constitutional amendments?"

Her friend butted in, "He can propose them."

She agreed, "And he's pushing these things. We have to start talking about what should be. It's right to abolish the electoral college, it's right to have majority wins."

"Would it be right to have majority outlaw gay marriage?" I asked. "I understand that the majority of the people are against gay marriage."

"The majority of the people want jobs. But the real question about this whole gay marriage thing, and the thing that nobody talks about either, the marriage through the state allows people special benefits. If we were a just and honorable state, people wouldn't have to worry about their security, wouldn't have to worry about old age, wouldn't have to worry about not having any insurance benefits, or worrying about putting a can out at the local 7-11 if you've got diabetes or you need a colonoscopy, you know, we need to have universal health care." Wow, nice cover. Vote Green so gay people don't have to put their can out at 7-11 for a colonoscopy.

One of her proudest accomplishments is keeping Wal-Mart from building a store in her town. "They put a high school out in the country against the wishes of the people of the town, and we predicted when that happened almost three years ago that Wal-Mart would follow. It endangered our children; it endangered our town. Just like a spider puts a web in a spot that's good to catch bugs, Wal-Mart put its store where it would catch young people on their way to and from school in order to sell them stuff from mostly other countries."

It's nice to know that even a lowly drain commissioner from Charlevoix, Mich., can prevent Wal-Mart from building. Ralph Nader would be proud.

Kent Mesplay, an air pollution inspector from San Diego with a doctorate in biomedical engineering, had a pony tail, an ill-fitting double-breasted gray suit, and some very interesting opinions that he was happy to share. He was born in New Guinea to American Lutheran missionaries and spent the first ten years of his life there. "We are experiencing wacky weather worldwide," he said, " I grew up with primitive people, and they know something is happening. They are Stone Age, not stupid. They have been observing the climate for millennia, and they know something drastic is happening."

I was unaware that the people of New Guinea have been recording temperatures and ocean levels. Perhaps their oral histories are more accurate than ours. I ran into him later, and asked some follow-up questions.

He said that his knowledge came not from the people of New Guinea, but from his contact with the Hopi tribes. "Native peoples are more in tune with the spirits," he said. My eyes must have gone wide at that point because he started to correct himself right away. "I don't normally like to talk about this sort of thing, because, well, I'm a scientist. I grew up with people who didn't have a lot, and not having a lot encourages long-sightedness."

"Doesn't scarcity encourage shortsightedness?" I asked.

"No, scarcity encourages long-sightedness."

"You mean scarcity might encourage people to hoard?"

"No, hoarding is shortsighted. Scarcity encourages people to share."

"How is sharing long-sighted?"

"Because someday, you might not have enough, and people you shared with before will share with you."

It seemed to me that hoarding is a more reliable survival technique than counting on the benevolence of others, but what do I know? I tried a different tack.

"Yes, but isn't it true that if you don't have enough to eat, you don't care if the animal you're eating is endangered?" I asked.

"Nomadic tribes were able to live in the desert for thousands of years. Because they never stayed in one place, they had very little impact on the environment."

So that's it. He wants us all to live in the Stone Age.

Back at the press conference, the camera girl with the pierced nose from the media cooperative was pointing her camera towards the dais, but her attention was focused elsewhere. On the floor in front of us was a New York Times photographer, rolling around on the carpet like a fashion photographer, changing lenses and angles and snapping a series of pictures. He was dressed all in black, and had taken the trouble to write New York Times onto his media badge. The rest of us just put our names down, so we'd know who we were drinking with. The girl from the cooperative was looking at him with longing in her eyes. I don't know whether it was the man or his position at the Times that brought out the desire in her. Maybe it was the obscenely large Nikon he was swinging around.

Scott McClarty announced that the conference was over, and told us to proceed to the convention hall for the nominating process.

Outside the convention hall, I happened across a gentleman projecting a PowerPoint presentation onto the wall behind him. There was the unmistakable suspended concrete rail stretching over the urban landscape, but instead of a train there were these cool red and white bubble cars that looked kind of like helicopters without the blades. The presenter was Dean Zimmerman, a Minneapolis city councilman, who wants to get Minneapolis and the DOT all to cough up $600 million to build his toy train of the future. He wore a fishing hat and rarely made eye contact. His eyes were locked on the computer screen, and I couldn't tell if it was the train or his Microsoft PowerPoint that more fascinated him.

"So you see, the thing runs with what you call a Maglev system. That's a real efficient way to move the thing, and it doesn't make any emissions."

"No emissions?" I asked dumbfoundedly. Electricity has to be generated, and electrical generation as I learned from talking with Lorna, is the most polluting sector of our energy supply.

"Well, no emissions at the point of use. When we get all the wind farms hooked up there will be no emissions at all."

"When is that going to happen?"

"I don't know."

The person seated in front for his presentation took the opportunity of our conversation to head for the door.

"Why don't you take a seat there?" he asked. What the heck, it might be interesting

Dean started flipping through the presentation again. There were beautiful sketches of a futuristic train and you could see why he was so infatuated.

"Right now, they're building one in Wales," he gushed, flipping up a picture of a building that looked like it could be Welsh, that has a very bad image of the monorail superimposed over it. "You build it right over the street, you see, so you don't have to worry about crossing gates, and it doesn't take up much more space than the road that is already there."

"How much electricity does it use?" I asked. "Theoretically it could be more polluting than cars."

"No, no, no, this will only use one fourth the energy it takes to run a car. Look here, you see, you never have to wait for a train, you got your own individual car, that you never have to share with anyone. You just put your dollar, maybe a dollar fifty, in the slot right there, and you punch in the number of the station you want, and it takes you right where you want to go.

"Now the cars, they are all heated and air conditioned," he put up a picture of a modern couple, looking very relaxed and sophisticated, inside the vehicle, only one of two on the track. Below the track, rush hour traffic is snarled. "Oh, and look at those two people, I'll bet they're real glad they're not down there in all that traffic."

I went inside for the nominating process. Dave Cobb came to the podium and the audience became a sea of campaign signs and wriggling fingers. He claimed to be the candidate of the working poor, and of the party of the working poor because we are all working poor people. More fingers, more cheers. "And before I leave to let you have your vote, I am pleased to announce that I just received the endorsement of the Green Black Caucus."

"Oh no you didn't!" shouted somebody from the caucus who obviously disagreed with the decision. Apparently, the 24 hours of Black Green solidarity were over. That can happen when you make your symbol a crocodile with two separate heads.

The voting started, and I watched all the goofy speeches that delegates make when cameras and microphones are thrust in front of them. I became reasonably certain that the nomination was going to take at least a second ballot and suddenly realized that I could have the bar all to myself. I took advantage of the situation.

I returned to the convention floor a couple hours later. David Cobb had finished first on the first ballot with 308 delegates. Behind him were Peter Camejo with 119, Ralph Nader with 117.5, and "No Nominee" received 74.5. Behind them were Lorna Salzman with 40 and "None of the Above" with 35.5. Because candidates who had not agreed to accept the party's nomination were considered abstentions, Nader and "None of the Above" were both scratched. Camejo and Salzman released their delegates. But Kent Mesplay (24) and JoAnne Bier-Beeman (14) both made it into the next round. The withdrawn candidates and "No Nominee" had received 355 combined votes in the first round (these delegates would theoretically vote for "No Nominee," i.e. Nader, in the next round) while Cobb had only 308. It was going to be an interesting second round with four choices: Cobb, "No Nominee," Mesplay, and Bier-Beeman; 385 delegates were needed to secure the nomination. I'm not sure why "None of the Above" was disqualified while "No Nominee" was allowed to go into the next round. Maybe I shouldn't have gone to the bar.

Outside I ran into a man in a suit from the Green Party organizing committee. He was fumbling around with a couple of grocery bags (plastic, not paper) full of Doritos, potato chips, a six pack of beer, and a twelve pack of bottled water. "Can you help me carry this?" he asked. I figured why not.

"This is my first convention," he says. "I think it's so neat to see everything finally come together. Those state signs look pretty good, we just made them last night."

"You printed them up yourself?"

"No, we found a Union Shop, and had them sent here. I meant we got the wood and stapled them all onto the wood last night." I wondered whether the wood came from a union lumberyard.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't see you were with the media, I guess it's kind of wrong to ask someone from the media to help me carry water, but I just get so used to asking just anybody for help. You know, everybody here is a very helping person. I guess we're just a party of friendly people."

We walked into a service hallway towards the dressing room for the banquet entertainment. Diverse, a local hip hop group, was scheduled to play. This was the third urban band that played for the event. I remember back in my college days, when all the fraternity boys liked to hire blues acts.

"This isn't for us," he said lowering his voice, even though there is nobody around. "This is 'Rap Food'." He might as well have said "Purina Negro Chow" because the intent seemed the same. Wow. Party of friendly people.

Back in the press section things were getting pretty hairy. The voting in the second round was neck and neck between Cobb and No Candidate. The media was now out in full force, and the AP reporter kept phoning in updates via his cell phone. He told me that he had two stories written, one covering each eventuality.

A pretty blond came up to me. I read on her delegate badge that her name was Medea Benjamin. "Which one of you is the guy from the New York Times?" she asked. She had a look in her eyes that I remembered well from my rock and roll days. It was the same look you would get from the girls outside the stage door, the ones that were hoping you could introduce them to the band.

"Why?" I asked. I looked over to my left, and saw the Times photographer on the camera platform turning the camera at right angles taking horizontal and vertical shots alternately. I looked back and could see that my question had flustered her. "I, uh, . . . just wanted to thank him for the article in the paper today."

The convention floor was a madhouse. As Cobb's vote total approached the number he needed for victory, people got up on their chairs and twinkled. The Texas delegation was lining up in front of the cameras, and it looked as if the big announcement was about to be made.

At this point, someone named Amber, with a face full of schoolgirl charm, dropped a press release in front of me, smiled shyly, and made her way down the aisle to drop one off with the next reporter. I was pretty tired of being handed pamphlets, so I almost ignored it. Just in case I was missing something important, I looked down. No union label. Hmmmm. I skimmed the first line:

"06/26/04, MILWAUKEE, WI — Green Party National Convention Crashed! In an effort to see just how extreme members of the U.S. Green Party are, or even if they have any sense at all, a cell of Wisconsin Bureaucrash activists, calling itself 'Progressives against Progress' infiltrated the U.S. Green Party's 2004 presidential nominating convention."

I rushed out into the lobby and called Shane Steinfield, the contact whose number was at the top of the release.

"Hello, Shane?"

"Yeah, we're leaving already, okay?"

"No, you don't understand, I want to talk to you. I think this press release is funny." He seemed shocked to learn there was a compatriot here inside the center. Apparently, I was the only person in the whole convention who wasn't really offended. Some of the delegates even threatened him and threw stuff at him. As I hurried down the corridor, I could hear that the nomination was official. Ralph Nader had been shot down by the Green Party, and I was missing the whole thing.

By the exit I was greeted by a what looked like a skateboard gang. I knew I'd found the right people because Amber was there. I thought that perhaps I should buy them a round of beer in gratitude for brightening up my weekend, but I wondered if they were old enough to drink.

"So how would you define yourself politically?" I asked.

"We're libertarian," Shane answered.

Here at the Green Party convention they handed out flyers nominating Fidel Castro for president, circulated petitions calling for an end to modern farming, the Internet, and business in general. They were shocked to learn how many Green Party members actually supported these ideas, and some delegates even thought it would be a good idea to recognize the good things Castro has done for Cuba.

These brave kids travel around the world, busting into events like these, and holding up protest signs with slogans like "Socialism Kills" and "Enjoy Capitalism."

"How do you fund these adventures?" I asked.

"I don't know. It's not organized."

"What's next on the agenda?

"We're going to go to Bangkok for the World Health Organization meeting. We're going to make them look stupid. I don't know how, but we have a couple weeks to figure out something."

I'm sure they will.

I walked around the conference center one last time just to see if there was any better note to leave the convention on.

There wasn't.

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