Back in the era of the Rat Pack, Las Vegas was always rumored to be the safest city in America. Guys with names like Tony “the Tuna,” Mike “the Muscle,” Carmine “the Claw,” and others who helped run The Flamingo, The Sands, The Desert Inn, and most of the other casinos on (and off) The Strip wanted to separate their customers’ money from them legally, one slot machine at a time. And the last thing the big bosses wanted was for a potential gambler to get rolled by a two-bit, ne’er-do-well in the street. So, they dealt with any local miscreants rather forcefully. Thus, patrons of the gaming tables felt very comfortable walking around the city at all hours of the day and night.

I don’t know if Las Vegas still has that quaint “safest city” qualifier attached to it. (If the original CSI TV show that was set in that desert oasis is any indication, crime has climbed in recent decades.) But I know one city this week that could probably have claimed to be the most heavily fortified in the country. That would be Milwaukee, site of the Republican National Convention. Given the horrific events that took place on a Pennsylvania farmland last weekend, it would not be surprising to find there were more constables on patrol than delegates in the former beer capital of the world. (Random aside: I don’t know if this is still true or not, but you used to be able to know you were in Milwaukee blind-folded simply by the ever-present smell of Miller, Schlitz, Pabst, and Blatz brewing yeasts in the air.)

This week in Milwaukee, stories from delegates to TV reporters were rampant about credentials being scrutinized multiple times when trying to get into the convention arena. I know a little bit about what that’s like. Back in the days of yore, I got to attend a convention in Miami Beach. I was part of a bunch of college kids somehow selected to sit in the stands and shout for a particular candidate.

On the night the candidate was to appear and accept the nomination, a female student attendee I had met during the week and I hung our credentials around our necks on lanyards and walked from the hotel to the center. Wisely, she wore a nice dress, and I had on a suit. From the time we began our six-block walk until we were finally let in the doors, we had to show our official documents no less than a dozen times to various and sundry uniformed officials. At one stopping point, we had to climb between two city busses that had been placed end-to-end to form a barrier between a rather vocal group of dissenters and the delegates. As we approached the entrance, we were advised to hustle it up. When we asked why, the response was, “We’re about to tear gas this area out here.” No further prompting was necessary. (By the way, that tactic backfired just a bit. Some of the tear gas got sucked into the air conditioning units and made its way into the convention center. Not fun for us in the cheap seats.)

Of course, those of a certain age will no doubt remember the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Mayor Richard J. Daley (architect of a powerful political machine) marshalled what seemed to be a sea of baby-blue helmeted, Billy-club wielding keepers of the law who were tasked with forcefully showing demonstrators the error of their ways. There are some historians that have speculated Hubert Humphrey lost the election that night because instead of the TV cameras being trained on the proceedings happening inside the International Amphitheater, the thrashing of protestors was found to be more newsworthy. No mayor has ever wanted anything remotely like that to happen again in his/her city.

Back in those days, the country was torn apart by the Vietnam War. Nowadays, we just don’t like members of an opposing political party in general. But, unfortunately, the climate of division remains pervasive. Which is why, even absent the recent attempt on Donald Trump’s life, there would still need to be a substantial police force present at a party-nominating convention.

When the Democrats meet in, where else, Chicago in August, there probably won’t be another sea of baby-blue helmets atop the heads of the police. Bad optics. But there’s every reason to believe the streets around The United Center will be pretty darn safe. For at least a block or two. But if I were a delegate, I believe I’d laminate those credentials and hold them high over my head everywhere I went. (And it would probably be a good idea to leave the “Defund the Police” buttons at home.)

©MMXXIV. William J. Lewis, III   – Freelance Writer