Just as I was about to head out for another day of the DNC, my wife, Evelyn called to me. Something was happening up the block. First responders were everywhere. I quickly concluded that pro-Palestinian demonstrators must be demonstrating outside of Senator Dick Durbin’s residence, which is just north of our condo. Grabbing the two cameras sitting on the front-hall counter, out I went. Firetrucks, ambulances, and squad cars lined inner Lake Shore Drive down the block, rather than to the north.

No demonstrators were in sight. Turns out there was some sort of carbon monoxide or gas leak in a residential care facility several doors to the south of my building. Lots of elderly peopled were standing or sitting in wheelchairs on the sidewalk and in the nearby bus shelter. The leak apparently had been contained, but I did see one person being transported, probably as a precautionary measure.

Although the Democrats were taxing the city’s resources, the Fire Department and CPD still had the necessary capacity to handle what could have been a far more serious incident—further evidence that the city was well prepared for all eventualities despite the influx of Democrats and the media.

I went back upstairs, packed my equipment, and walked to the Belmont ‘L’ station, taking the Red Line to the Lake and State ‘L’ station, where I transferred to a Green Line, heading to McCormick Place. Approaching the secure zone, I saw pop-up tables and tents lining the street. Several entrepreneurial locals were selling Harris/Walz branded merch.

This time the Secret Service permitted me to bring cameras into the secure zone. A large Scooby Doo-like dog sniffed me, checking for concealed explosives. While the security team demanded that I empty my pockets, nobody did a deep dive into my wallet, looking for explosive-laden money or credit cards.

Once on the other side of the magnetometers, the two-level escalator beckoned, transporting me to DemPALOOZA, which looked just another nondescript trade show, except for the large amounts of vacant floor space. Several booths focused on voter registration; others addressed the pressing issues of the day—canceling student debt, unionization and worker rights, the Progressive agenda, Washington, D.C. as the 51st state, civil, LGBQT, and women’s rights; and other hot button issues. Those seeking a manicure or shopping for a handmade dress were in luck.

Surprisingly, there was no gigantic Harris/Walz merch store. I did ask, but was unable to find the store that apparently was located near one of the convention hotels several blocks away in the security zone. Before heading back to the Green Line, I had a quick lunch—an overpriced ham sandwich and a Diet Coke. Exiting the hall, I ran into Representative Jamie Raskin, but my cameras were in my backpack, so no photograph. Raskin is very slight, much smaller than I imagined.

Immediately outside the entrance, seven or eight women with the Progressive Anti-Abortion Uprising (PAAU) were picketing, one holding a small fetus and forceps. I also saw signs posted by family members of those who died in the E2 stampede years ago demanding that the building be torn down.

On the train ride to Damen, I chatted with a stringer for the Wall Street Journal and fellow photographer Keith, who is a demonstration staple. When I arrived at Damen, I headed toward Park 578, where a group was denouncing deaths by overdose. One woman holding a bullhorn did all the speaking. In front of her, were black cardboard tombstones with the names and photographs of people who had overdosed on opioids and other drugs. Gathered around were surviving family members who hoped to end the cycle of addiction propagated by Big Pharma. Like yesterday’s rally by family members who were highlighting police shootings, this gathering was both solemn and sobering.

Next, I headed to Paulina and Madison, where the entrance to the United Center’s security zone is located. Were she still alive, Diane Arbus would have trouble distinguishing this freak show from Hubert’s Freak Museum that once was a 42nd Street staple where Arbus found many subjects for her pioneering photographic work..

Like yesterday,, the Holly Rollers were hoping to convince the delegates to find Jesus so they wouldn’t face eternal damnation. Several small groups of pro-Palestinian demonstrators yelled at captive delegates stuck in a slow moving line. Five or six people were holding signs supporting Tamie Wilson for Congress, Representative Jim Jordan’s opponent.

With the pro-Palestinian rally an hour away, I headed over to Union Park. Speaking with one of the Palestinian organizers, I learned that the heritage Palestinians were not happy with the last night’s ruckus outside the Midwest Offices of the Israeli Consulate General. Later in the evening, I saw the same organizer assisting two women who had been ‘detained’ by the police at the Damen ‘L’ station—more about that shortly. Police Superintendent Larry Snelling appears to respect the heritage Palestinians because they police their own demonstrations, assuring that there is no violence or other abhorrent behavior.

Recognizing an opportunity for a bathroom break, I headed over to the Billy Goat Tavern. While I was gone, a guy with a broken flagpole apparently tried to stab several people in Union Park, but I was told he was unsuccessful. The take-away: You can’t be everywhere all the time.

When I returned to Union Park, I was just in time for the speeches. I skipped most of them, preferring to wander around the park and along Ashland Avenue. The rally signage ‘popped’ in the afternoon light, as did several large puppets manipulated by demonstrators. While wandering, I ran into Cornell West, so I got my photograph.

As with the week’s earlier Union Park demonstrations, the police ordered the photographers out of the street just before the march began. Knowing that the Damen elevated ‘L’ platform would produce the ‘Money Shot’ when the marchers passed under it, I paid the $2.50 fare, gaining entrance. Then things got interesting.

CTA employees demanded that the photographers “either get on the next train or exit the station.” We ignored them—one photographer refused to ride on the next train because he said it smelled bad, buying him 17 minutes. Then the police showed up, ordering the photographers to leave. Not wanting to be arrested, I exited the station. It is worth noting that the CTA has a published photography policy that permits photography. ACLU, where are you when we need you?

After photographing the lead banner as it turned the corner at Washington and Damen, I headed back into the station. Up the stairs, I arrived just in time to see two hijab-clad women being taken into custody—at least it looked that way. CPD officials later said that there had been no arrests. I watched two police officers escort them to the elevator. When they were out of sight, I headed back to the platform, arriving just in time to see the two women, now freed from the grip of police hands, exiting the station.

I assume the incident began with an intended arrest, but when the marchers below converged on the station, the police decided that releasing the women would avoid an ugly scene. As one non-Palestinian organizer subsequently said to me, “You mean the arrest, unarrest.” Ironically, when I had finished photographing from the platform, I had to ask the CTA employees holding the doors shut whether I could exit the platform. They opened the doors.

I followed the marchers back to Union Park, and then made my way home.

[Click on an Image to Enlarge It. The Images Are Not Necessarily in Exact Chronological Order.]

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