The whispers sped through the crowd like wildfire.
I stood amidst hundreds of journalists vying for a soundbite from Gov. Gavin Newsom or Vice Presidential Candidate JD Vance — any politician we could get close enough to record. The first presidential debate between former President Donald Trump and Vice President Kamala Harris had finished minutes before. Six blocks away from the debate hall, we hurried around the spin room in the Pennsylvania Convention Center, a large hall where the candidates’ spokespeople visit to field questions directly from the media. Typically, candidates don’t show their faces in the spin room — rather, their representatives come and speak on their behalf.
In more ways than one, this was not the typical debate.
“Donald Trump is here.”
Around me, the crowd constricted — growing more dense, pushing me forward. Clunky cameras and professional microphones peered out of the crowd in whatever open gaps they could find.
Being 5’1” and unable to see beyond the growing sea of heads, I shot my arm up, phone in hand with my camera app pulled up. I leaned my arm as far forward over peoples’ heads as I could and squinted up at the screen, using it as my eyes.
I could see a tuft of yellow hair growing closer.
-Olivia Schlinkman
—
It wasn’t until five days before the debate that we — Carlo Constantine and Olivia Schlinkman — found out we’d be attending the event as journalists for The Quad.
Going into it, we weren’t expecting much. As student journalists for a mid-sized state school, we easily saw ourselves getting beat out for a spot by journalists at The New York Times or The Washington Post — despite trying to err on the side of optimism.
So when our phones lit up with an email at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, finding out we’d been approved as media credentials was the last thing we expected.
The debate itself had no audience — journalists reporting on the debate did so six blocks down Arch St., at the Philadelphia Convention Center. But to get into that venue, journalists first had to apply to be credentialed in — attendance wasn’t guaranteed.
The days pre-debate were a whirlwind of preparation — brainstorming the big-ticket question that we would ask high-profile politicians, printing out business cards made on the spot (thank you, Tara Easterling) and researching, “what even is a spin room??”
But before we knew it, we were driving to Philadelphia in our finest business attire.
—
Back in the spin room, halfway across the room, I was certainly aware that someone quite important had just arrived, although I couldn’t be sure of exactly who.
Journalists and camera crews by the dozens were running past me as if George Washington himself had risen from the grave and begun fielding questions about the debate. By the time I even perceived of the frenzy that was ensuing, whoever had just walked in was engulfed by a ring of reporters that must have been seven or eight bodies thick. Even the big fish of the spin room seemed to be intent on getting the story; bulky television cameras, blinding studio lights and professional microphones rapidly bobbed above a sea of frantic journalists.
I didn’t have time to worry about that though — at least not in my mind. I was in the prime position to ask a question of someone I had been trying at for the better part of the night, and I’d be damned if I gave up now.
And so, as the reporters who sprinted around me were channeling their inner Olympian, my heartbeat likely exceeded 300 beats per minute while I anxiously waited to raise my voice. The man in front of me was Roy Cooper, the Democratic governor of North Carolina. Someone I had seen on the news countless times, and had watched only a few weeks earlier give a speech to the DNC in support of the Harris-Walz ticket. Not to mention, Cooper hails from a critical swing state, one which could easily decide this year’s presidential election. Yes, I had to get this statement.
As he concluded his response to a question asked of him by another reporter — I was too shaken at the time to remember what it was about — I timidly tapped the record button on my iPhone with a trembling hand and took a deep breath. “Governor,” I blurted, trying to grab his attention. This whole practice of shouting out your questions instead of waiting in some sort of line or raising your hand was entirely new to me, and I didn’t love it. In this moment, though, I was forced to adapt. Sink or swim.
I asked my question… and I kind of flubbed through it. I could be understood, sure, but I mixed up more of a word salad than I’d like to admit. Either way, short of breath, as if I had just rounded third base at Citizens Bank Park, I recorded the governor’s response with my fidgety hand. And it was a pretty good answer, too! Even though it’s hard for me to shake the feeling that I had somehow made an ass of myself, I can live with the fact that I mustered up the courage to open my mouth in the first place.
As Cooper concluded his remarks to me, I could see that even he began to intermittently dart his eyes over in the direction of the great journalist migration which was occurring. “Okay…” I thought to myself. “I should probably see what that’s all about.” Upon stopping the video on my phone and looking at my lock screen, I saw a message from Olivia that managed to surprise me, even given the circumstances.
“DONALD TRUMP IS F****** HERE.”
-Carlo Constantine
—
By 3 p.m. of debate day, we had arrived at the Convention Center. I was wearing a purple floral tie and Olivia a purple Quad button, repping our university’s colors.
It would be facetious to say that I enjoyed every aspect of dressing up on this still-summery September day. Long sleeves and buttoned-up collars don’t lend themselves particularly well to 81-degree weather. Did I feel professional? Yes. Sweaty? Also yes.
Regardless, we blasted the AC in my small Subaru and made our way into Center City. As the imposing skyline of Philadelphia asserted its presence, I-95 was flanked by the stadiums of the city’s sports teams. After some mildly frustrating traffic, we cruised through Chinatown, taking in all the delicious smells and driving under the neighborhood’s ornate arch. For a moment, it was easy to forget that this city, and this state, so beautiful and passionate and diverse, could single-handedly decide who gets to become the most powerful human being on the planet.
As we walked towards the Convention Center, surrounded by towering skyscrapers, we passed by a handful of camera crews and finely-dressed journalists. The realization began to hit; we were really, actually, a part of this. Once inside, we ascended the escalator and picked up our media credentials, which gave us the ultimate sense of officiality. In our heads, we might as well have been New York Times political correspondents.
After passing through a metal detector security checkpoint, we finally entered the media rooms. The sheer size of the place took us aback, with a sea of tables facing countless projectors, upon which ABC’s live news feed was playing. Lining the perimeter of the room were television sets, complete with mounted cameras, studio lights and teleprompters. Already, journalists stood in front of their crews and reported in a number of different languages. Upon finding our table, we were giddy to see that we had been given a complimentary tote bag and water bottle, which bore ABC’s Presidential Debate branding.
Watching the debate amidst a room of countless other journalists was a uniquely entertaining experience. If you’ve ever been to a Marvel movie, I would liken it to that. Hushed conversations and boisterous laughter would follow both tense and absurd moments, such as when Trump boldly claimed that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio had been eating household pets. -Carlo Constantine
—
Throughout the day, we kept ourselves busy uploading updates and behind-the-scenes videos to The Quad’s instagram, watching media personnel fiercely encircle political visitors and scoping out the security barricades around the debate’s venue — we couldn’t get closer than two blocks away. We even met up with fellow student journalists and photographers coming from Drexel, Ohio State and Pitt Universities.
By the time the spin room began to empty out, it was around 12:30 a.m. Needless to say, we were dead tired. As we left, we saw a small hive of reporters around Sen. Lindsey Graham, who appeared to be wrapping things up at the same time we were, after a last minute appearance. With more than enough soundbites and footage already, we didn’t feel any need to break our backs over trying to get one more.
And so, as we sleepily rode the escalator down to the ground floor, we did so just a few steps above the much-publicized U.S. senator. Unlike his TV interviews though, Graham left the Convention Center in an unusually quiet and low-key demeanor: exiting with seemingly a single aide, silently checking the messages on his iPhone.
A peaceful, windows-down cruise home from Center City inevitably led to a 1:30 a.m. Wawa stop, during which we both got milkshakes. We earned them, right?
Olivia Schlinkman is a fourth-year Political Science major with minors in Journalism and Spanish. os969352@wcupa.edu
Carlo Constantine is a third-year Political Science major with a minor in Journalism. cc1031591@wcupa.edu