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http://www.cityhallnews.com/news/128/ARTICLE/1304/2007-10-30.html
Knapp holds traffic on 42nd Street, trying to get Paul through Grand Central, on the way to his speak at the free-market Mises Institute luncheon, which Knapp will attend as well. The crowd follows. They bunch at the door as they wait for the stragglers. They pause for a moment, then they pour in, chanting his name.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” Paul himself does not seem to notice. Veering to the right, he bounds up the first set of beige marble stairs, on his way up to Métrazur. Behind him, they have poured in, hundreds of them waving their blue and red campaign signs. They fill most of the space in the main concourse between the stairs and the clock. Paul turns to face the crowd. He motions for his wife to come stand by his side.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” they scream.
The whole station has turned toward the noise. Paul grabs the thick edge of the balcony with his right hand, steadying himself, and hurls his left into the air, finger pointed.
“It is now time to end this war and bring our troops home!” Paul shouts.
The crowd roars. Paul thrusts himself forward again. “It is time to restore liberty to this country and obey the Constitution!” They cheer, stomp their feet, whistle and catcall. “It is time to make sure that we retain the right of habeas corpus and personal liberties.” Each time, the applause gets louder.
“Thank you very much for coming,” he says, slightly emphasizing the “very,” seemingly shocked, as he often seems to be, that so many people are paying attention to him and simultaneously just as shocked that many more are not.
“There is really something going on, there is truly a revolution going on in this country!” Paul shouts, hitting the first syllable of “revolution” with the flourish of a preacher.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” the crowds chants.
Then, from among them, comes a solitary voice.
“Times Square!”
They all stop, and for a moment, there is almost a hush in Grand Central. Then the crowd erupts again.
“Times Square! Times Square! Times Square!” And off they go, waving their signs and pumping their fists. As their candidate leaves for lunch, his supporters march off to spread their message on the other side of town.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” Paul himself does not seem to notice. Veering to the right, he bounds up the first set of beige marble stairs, on his way up to Métrazur. Behind him, they have poured in, hundreds of them waving their blue and red campaign signs. They fill most of the space in the main concourse between the stairs and the clock. Paul turns to face the crowd. He motions for his wife to come stand by his side.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” they scream.
The whole station has turned toward the noise. Paul grabs the thick edge of the balcony with his right hand, steadying himself, and hurls his left into the air, finger pointed.
“It is now time to end this war and bring our troops home!” Paul shouts.
The crowd roars. Paul thrusts himself forward again. “It is time to restore liberty to this country and obey the Constitution!” They cheer, stomp their feet, whistle and catcall. “It is time to make sure that we retain the right of habeas corpus and personal liberties.” Each time, the applause gets louder.
“Thank you very much for coming,” he says, slightly emphasizing the “very,” seemingly shocked, as he often seems to be, that so many people are paying attention to him and simultaneously just as shocked that many more are not.
“There is really something going on, there is truly a revolution going on in this country!” Paul shouts, hitting the first syllable of “revolution” with the flourish of a preacher.
“Ron Paul! Ron Paul! Ron Paul!” the crowds chants.
Then, from among them, comes a solitary voice.
“Times Square!”
They all stop, and for a moment, there is almost a hush in Grand Central. Then the crowd erupts again.
“Times Square! Times Square! Times Square!” And off they go, waving their signs and pumping their fists. As their candidate leaves for lunch, his supporters march off to spread their message on the other side of town.
