Word: austine
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After a moment of silence for the Concorde victims, George W. Bush got right to it: "I believe you're looking at the next vice president of the United States." The Austin crowd whooped and Richard P. Cheney smiled a shy smile...
...first glance, McKinnon is an unlikely messenger for the G.O.P. cause. With the air of the Nashville singer-songwriter he once was, he is the kind of hep-cat presence that red-meat Republicans like to mock. A longtime Democratic consultant, based in Austin, Texas, who grew so disillusioned with politics that he gave it up in the mid-1990s, McKinnon was wooed back into the game by Bush's charms. Now he is not only Bush's chief imagemaker--directing the convention film, overseeing the campaign ads and even shooting some of the footage himself--but he is also...
...turn its skill for selling Advil and Chicken McNuggets to selling the candidate--much as Reagan's "Tuesday Team" did in 1984. The Park Avenue Posse--named after the location of Ferguson's apartment, where the small group held its first six-hour meeting with advisers from Austin--has worked with the Bush campaign as well as the Republican National Committee on its TV ads, which have already started airing. During its weekly meetings, the Posse also acts as a cultural sounding board for notions from Austin on everything from the candidate's message to convention music. Last week, when...
Rounding out the message team are Hughes and Rove. At campaign headquarters in Austin, an industrious policy shop churns out ideas that fit into the compassionate conservative rubric. Rove then picks the optimal political moment to unveil them. In a process Rove describes as "political heuristics," most people don't retain the details of Bush's proposals, but they come away with a positive feeling about Bush that makes them more inclined to vote for him. "They get a sense of his values, of what kind of a person he is," says Rove...
Parents do not, as a rule, encourage fighting among their children. Particularly one-on-one dueling with long pointy sticks. And yet, there was Mary Beth MacLaren last week in Austin, Texas, cheering on her 11-year-old son Rob as he engaged in exactly that type of combat. Of course, when Rob lost a bout at the U.S. Fencing Association's national championships, she would have been upset if he hadn't calmly taken off his mask and shaken his partner's hand. After all, Rob has been trained in the etiquette of the ancient sport since he started...