Dream Fundraiser, Talking to a New Generation

The Democrats have a dream, that politics can be hipped up. And that the disaffected young citizens of America will set aside their sense of abandonment and apathy and flash-mob the polls, pulling the Big D lever in '04.

The dream undulates into shape Monday night at Dream, the sleek, four-story dance club on New York Avenue NE, with a Democratic National Committee fundraiser that raises the roof and a quarter-million dollars, one $50 ticket at a time.

DNC chairman Terry McAuliffe looks out over the club's second floor, so packed it represents the sardines-in-a-can wing of the Democratic Party, and beams. "How great is this!" he yells over the blasting hip-hop, thrilled that 90 percent of those who bought tickets are first-time party donors.

The bass lines are so thumping that it defibrillates the hearts of all 4,500 people, lured to party with former president Bill Clinton. The aim is to make politics sexy for the 18-to-34 crowd, not in a "Sir, the girl is here with the pizza" way, but in a smart, leggy, sassy way. One person onstage will say that only one in five of this group voted in the last presidential election, and one will say only three out of 10, but why quibble about numbers? It's not enough.

By 10 at night, the place is so crowded that no one can do anything that resembles forward motion. Women in tight skirts on their way to somewhere slither against men in loosened ties and rolled shirt sleeves, who get that dopey, glazed look in their eyes.

Nobody seems to be talking policy -- who can talk? -- but they're enjoying watching each other dance in place. There is the "Red Room," some inner sanctum entered by parting thick, floor-length red velvet drapes. The actor Roger Guenveur Smith, who plays the mysterious and creepy lobbyist Francisco Dupre on HBO's "K Street," materializes and slips inside, looking mysterious and creepy. (But no "K Street" film crew. Says DNC communications director Debra DeShong: "I told them no.")

There is no-show from OutKast's Big Boi and Ginuwine and Sole, but there is much-show from Mrs. Virginia, who is wearing her sash and a low-cut black gown that displays to much effect pectoral muscles that appear personally trained. There is a dessert table with spinning fountains of dripping white and milk chocolate, ready to enrobe naked fruit on a skewer. There is busy bar business -- lots of rum-and-Cokes and gin-and-tonics slide across the glossy wooded bars. And much diversity -- in the parking line outside, there's a Volvo wagon with Vassar, Dartmouth, Sidwell and Van Hollen stickers pulling up behind a tricked-up Cadillac Escalade. Color lines are crossed: Well-scrubbed white denizens of the federal acronym agencies mingle with chic black professionals in outfits ready for NBA All-Star weekend.

"I'm very impressed with all the people from different backgrounds," says Amal Zaari, 25, who is wearing a smoke-colored satin halter top. She immigrated to the United States six years ago from Morocco and is planning to vote in her first election. "They are so much involved and really want to make a difference. And to make it fun! That's the best part." She's standing with Mario Diab, 28, who's Lebanese. He can't vote, "but I love him," he says, and he means Clinton.

Onstage, Harlemm Lee, the winner of NBC's "Fame," sings "Tomorrow" from "Annie." Music impresario Marcus Johnson takes the mike and wants to make three points -- in this order: His label, Three Keys Music, his new act, YahZarah, and oh yeah, "democracy." He adds, "Let's give it up for voting!" and the crowd says "hoo-hoo-hoo!" There's more than a little bit of ghetto fabulous -- the ridiculous Hummer limo idling outside, the "In Da Club" lyrics inside -- "I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love / So come give me a hug if you into getting rubbed." This is what's playing when the former president takes the stage. (For the record, Clinton restricts himself to shaking hands with those on the stage.)

DJ Biz Markie says, "And now, Da Man!" And flashbulbs pop, and strobe lights jerk around the huge room, and the crowd hollers "Bill! Bill! Bill!" and thousands of brown and beige and peach arms lift into the air, fists punching the room.

"Mercy!" says Clinton, with a broad smile. He talks for only five minutes, to the disappointment of many. "I never had any money until I left the White House," he says, causing D.C. Del. Eleanor Holmes Norton, standing beside him onstage, to double over with laughter. "Now I have plenty." He decries the Bush tax cut, saying, with his slow slyness, "I never had any idea the new president would take such good care of me. . . . I'm a little embarrassed to live in a huge country that gives me a huge tax cut and runs a huge deficit so that when the baby boomers retire you'll be taking care of them instead of your own kids. I don't think that's right."

More hollering and applause.

He mentions his support for men and women serving in the military, then says, "We can't capture, kill or occupy everyone who doesn't like us -- we need to start making more friends."

And then he is gone, and people head for the exits, although McAuliffe closes down the place at 2:45 a.m. ("The whole concept of having a fundraiser until 3 a.m., it's so them," former Republican National Committee chairman Rich Bond told the Washington Times last week. As if smashmouth best-selling pundettes Laura Ingraham and Ann Coulter never stay out that late, drinking whiskey.)

Outside on the sidewalk, Richard Strauss, 34, a former Clinton staffer, reflects wistfully on Da Man. "I'm longing for him," he says. He sees President Bush as vulnerable, but doesn't see who right now in the Democratic field can generate the same excitement as the 42nd president.

"I don't think there's anyone else, period," says Justin Pascal, 29, the DNC staffer who directs McAuliffe's office and created the event. For young people, "he is their president. Most people came of age under Bill Clinton. They graduated when he was in office, got their first job when he was in office. He is their president."

By Ann Gerhart, Washington Post Staff Writer