Sparks in Spokane: a GOP odyssey

To paraphrase an old Chinese saying: "The mountains are very high, and Spokane and the Washington State Republican Convention were a long way away." But the trip was worth it — every lonely Interstate 90 mile of it. The May 29-31 event was classic GOP politics, high drama and a helluva lot of fun, even at $4.15 per gallon.

State political party conventions are the culmination of a long, multi-stage process starting with precinct, county, and district caucuses; then county conventions; and finally the state gathering where, in presidential election years, delegates to national party conventions are selected.

In addition to delegate selection, the party's platform — a statement of principles and policies reflecting the wishes and will of the grassroots — is adopted.

The Spokane GOP gathering did both, but not without faction-driven sparks.

Miles and miles west of Ritzville, streets became increasingly festooned with re-election campaign signs for U.S. Rep. Cathy McMorris Rodgers and former state Sen. Dino Rossi (that's right — re-election signs for Rossi; Republicans regard him as the legit governor). I rolled the Caravan into Spokane, parked, then went to the Spokane Convention Center to register.

I ran into Shawn Burpee, the longhaired young man I had met and interviewed at the King County Republican Convention. Along with his dad, Charles, both Burpees were to be delegates from King County's 31st Legislative District in Enumclaw.

We bent some elbows with overpriced libations and overcooked chicken skewers — what would a political event be without chicken? — while talking politics.

The Paulistas make themselves evident

Friday morning saw 1,351 delegates queued for entry through airport-tight security. Inside the convention hall, individual county delegations and King County's 16 sub-delegations were allotted space on the floor. Because King County had the largest delegation, and because home for me is in the 45th District, one of the largest district sub-delegations — I sat dead center, just a few rows back from former Sen. Slade Gorton's head. Best seats in the house.

Seeing familiar faces from the county convention and legislative district caucus made it easy to plunge in and converse. Delegates Andrew and Mabel Low were there with their super-delegate daughter, Mareya. They decided to get involved for the first time this year, citing a belief that the foundational greatness of America is in the strength of the family.

I also spoke with 45th district delegates Kjell Anderson, 27, and Brendan Woodward, 24. Anderson, a Microsoft contractor, said he believes it's the government's job to secure individual freedoms — not provide peoples' meal tickets or redistribute wealth. While he's an army veteran with combat tours to Iraq and Afghanistan with the 2nd Ranger Battalion, he's also new to politics. His edgy airborne (Hooah!) enthusiasm and hunger to learn about political issues and philosophy kept him firing question after question.

Woodward on the other hand, isn't a stranger to politics, nor is he your typical Republican. He cut his teeth stuffing envelopes for KVI-AM talk show host John Carlson's 2000 run for governor. He also managed a Jeffrey Possinger's state congressional bid in 2006. Now he's an environmental entrepreneur and the subject of a recent piece by Seattle Times scribe Danny Westneat, who touts Woodward's Christian-based green credentials.

This is the emerging Republican grassroots: family-oriented, risk-taking, visionary men and women who want to make a difference and be heard.

It was obvious from the first moment we entered the hall there would be some contentious fireworks during the course of the weekend between the supporters of all-but-nominated presidential candidate Sen. John McCain of Arizona and the zealous acolytes of erstwhile presidential candidate U.S. Rep. Ron Paul of Texas. His supporters — the "Paulistas" — neither asked for quarter nor gave any. Foreshadowed at April's King County Convention and seen at several state and local Republican gatherings across the country, the Paulista's would wage an ownership struggle for a hunk — if not all — of the convention's outcome.

Floor leaders for Sen. McCain wore either gold or red baseball caps (making those wearing business suits look sillier than normal), while the Paulista ramrods muttered to each other with Secret Service-type earpieces or also held clipboards burdened by masses of Paul campaign buttons.

From the outset, the Paulistas sought to wrest control. Not long after state party chair Luke Esser gaveled the convention into business, shouts of "point of order!" started streaming from several microphones scattered about the convention floor. Not even the adoption of an agenda was immune from the cries, though the measure finally passed after some amendment.

Then followed the obligatory litany of speeches by statewide Republican officeholders, candidates, and other notables.

Among them was U.S. Rep. Dave Reichert of Auburn. Not always the most stirring of orators, this was one of Reichert's better efforts, though his words in support of Sen. McCain as the party's presidential nominee fueled a minor Paulista firestorm. He focused on an appeal to our collective heritage and our hopes for the future, saying it could best be secured by adhering to traditional American and Republican values.