Like nothing seen before

DENVER — For the first time in memory, a spectator at a presidential nomination acceptance speech was treated for sunstroke. Fireworks replaced the traditional balloon drop; sunlight supplanted klieg lights. Parents brought children from as far away as Africa, and delegates munched Bronco Brats and clicked cellphone pictures of a political carnival that bore no resemblance to any convention finale that had come before.

While Sen. Barack Obama took the stage at the center of Invesco Field with big video screens and speakers looming overhead, the scene in the stands and concourse provided just as much of a spectacle. Senators, delegates, party bigwigs and celebrities mingled among political tourists, teenage volunteers and older voters — many of them African American — bent on seeing a moment they never had thought they would witness. Some waited for five hours in baking heat in a line up to a mile long.

"I have no reason to be here other than to be a part of history," said Janelle Murph, who had booked a last-minute flight from Baltimore to see the first African American accept the nomination of a major party on the 45th anniversary of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. "When I realized it was on that anniversary, it just felt like fate. I had to be there."

The scene was one of the most unusual sights in the annals of American political conventions. Overnight, the familiar trappings of the convention hall were moved outdoors, with banners from every state filling the field.

As the afternoon wore on, the warmup acts went from C- to B- to A-list, and spectators passed the time taking pictures, getting autographs and throwing the occasional Obama beach ball. By the time Al Gore came on at 6:45 p.m., the home of the Denver Broncos was awash in flashbulbs, waving flags and Obama signs.

In a twist on the normal convention finale, the prominent figures — donors, elected officials and suit-wearing media celebrities like Dan Rather — looked somewhat like the interlopers. Younger people dressed in jeans and shorts — many not of voting age — seemed decidedly more at home, as if they were attending an open-air concert and were fully versed in the festival ritual.

Big American flags waved next to massive Obama signs above where the number of the Broncos great Randy Gradishar's No. 53 is retired.

The occasion was part coronation, part organizing meeting, part Woodstock and part very long lines at the metal detectors. Chants of "Yes, we can" (not "Go Broncos") broke out, and big delegate hats outnumbered face paint (usually preferred at a football game).

Spectators were exceedingly well-behaved and less boisterous than a football or concert crowd as the afternoon wore into twilight and Obama's speech approached.

"This is one of the greatest experiences of my life," said Jane Culkin, a 16-year-old volunteer who attends George Washington High School in Denver. Behind her, Carrie Siubutt, of Brooklyn, was eating a bowl of Dippin' Dots while getting her first look at the stadium, which was filled by 7 p.m.

"This makes me feel very lucky to be an American," said Siubutt, a native of Trinidad. At that moment, Obama's running mate, Sen. Joseph Biden, had taken the stage and was expressing his longtime dream of playing for the Broncos. The crowd's roar had reached a new level, but Siubutt didn't notice.

"I feel like I'm the only one here," she said a few minutes later while flags filled the field, waving in rhythm to a "Si, se puede" chant.

The Obama campaign seemed to be trying to de-electrify the proceedings, keeping much of the focus on the grass roots instead of the rock star. There was a long procession of speakers from the military and relatively low-key musical acts and unintentionally subduing speeches from Democratic politicians.

The blue seats of the stadium gradually filled throughout the afternoon, with Democrats waiting for hours to hear Obama's acceptance speech. The atmosphere was one of historic celebration, with a resolution read into the convention's minutes stating, "Martin Luther King would have been proud."

After all the lines and waits and security screenings, the first thing people found were phone banks: clusters of tables filled with phones and eager volunteers who handed out lists of names and numbers. Callers were instructed not to ask their targets for money or votes — just to turn on their televisions to watch Obama's speech. The reward, or potential reward: a raffle with coveted floor seats as its prize.

The crowd was multiracial, but with a large African-American presence. Black voters, echoing one another, said they simply could not miss this moment.

Lillian Woods, 50, of Phoenix, arrived at 1 p.m., seven hours before Obama would speak. "I had to be here for the whole thing," she said. "It's history in the making."

Alycee Nelson Ruley, a retired Marine from Morton, Pa., recalled watching, as an 8-year-old, Walter Cronkite cover King's March on Washington in 1963. "I vividly remember watching, and I vividly remember not being able to go," Ruley said. She is a Republican, but after Obama won the South Carolina primary, she vowed to go to Denver if he won the nomination.

Audrey Johnson Thornton, a black woman who is 82 and does not walk so well anymore, has been registering voters for months, going into Philadelphia's homeless shelters, nursing homes, even into a minimum-security prison.

She had a wide-brimmed purple hat to go with a purple blouse, and she was beside herself. "You talk about living the dream," she said. "I'm 82 years old, and I never thought I would see this. Never, never, never."

New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Michael Powell contributed to this story.