Chicago Then and Now: From Swinging to Passing the Baton
A President Who Kept the Faith, a Warrior Queen, and Women Who Mean Business Spark Joy at the 2024 Democratic National Convention
BINGE BINGE: I’ve always loved conventions, but no doubt for all the wrong reasons. As a kid, conventions meant we could watch TV. In our house, TVs had been excommunicated on the grounds that they caused ant infestations. (TVs, kids, food, crumbs, ants — you know, it’s a well-documented ecological cycle … ) Exceptions were made, however, once every four years.
That’s when my parents would rent an old black-and-white Motorola with rabbit ears to watch Democrats hammer out who they’d nominate, accompanied by the droll side-of-the-mouth commentary of David Brinkley. My brothers and sisters, so cruelly denied, would have watched anything. And so we did. We watched political conventions.
I had no idea what the hell was going on. That didn’t matter. It was TV. That was the point. I watched.
