The View from Wash. U.

NEWSWEEK's Sarah Kliff reports from Washington University in St. Louis--her alma mater--on the run-up to tonight's much-anticipated vice presidential debate. 

ST. LOUIS--At Washington University in St. Louis, hosting a presidential debate has become a bit of a routine: this is the fifth time the school has been selected, and the fourth showdown it has actually had (the 1996 showdown here was canceled at the last minute). The campus feels much as it did in 2004, when I was a student here, and President George W. Bush and Senator John Kerry were in town to throw down. Chris Matthews has set up his Hardball stage in the exact same location as before. The campus dining halls are running the same donkey vs. elephant cookie contest. (Predictably, students have purchased more donkey cookies). They even have a special “debate door:” created during the 1992 debate, its sole purpose is providing reporters with easier access to the media filing center. It’s unlocked a few days prior to each debate and shut the day after, not to be opened until the next war of words.

But even for a university accustomed to the media maelstrom that goes with hosting a presidential debate, Thursday night's showdown poses special challenges. The school simply never expected a running mate match-up to be such a circus. “It definitely hasn’t gotten easier,” says Fred Volkman, vice chancellor for public affairs, who has been through all four of the university’s debates. “We’ve never seen interest like this.” The Commission on Presidential Debates has credentialed 3,100 journalists to cover the show--up 300 from the university’s 2004 debate and up 600 from the last cycle’s veep contest. As Joani Wardell, media director for the commission, said at a recent media briefing, “We had a large contingency from Alaska and Delaware who suddenly decided they needed to be here. I think I heard from every single radio station in the state of Alaska.” Forty television trucks have parked outside the debate site—about double the number that turned up for the Bush-Kerry clash in 2004.

The veep debate initially seemed a consolation prize. “At first, administrators at Wash. U. kind of felt like they had been shafted,” says junior Greg Allen, who edits the Washington University Political Review. “They kind of just expected a presidential debate” after having been selected consistently over the past 16 years.” In fact, the school's role as host of top-of-the-ticket debates has become a selling point in its admissions strategy, along with nice dorms and good food. (When I was a tour guide here a few years back, the likelihood of seeing a presidential debate was one of the talking points in the script we read to prospective students.) “We were told that we were going to get a presidential one,” says junior Scott Statman, who lives in the Kappa Sigma fraternity, about 10 yards from Thursday night's debate site. “It was kind of cool [when we got a vice presidential debate], but also kind of a let down.”

And, then, enter Sarah Palin. “All of a sudden, it was like we had the best one that everyone wanted to see,” says Statman. “We had gone from the debate no one wanted to the debate everyone wanted.” The campus was suddenly energized, he says; his house has been plastered in Obama posters. “I sent out the second Palin skit from SNL earlier today and everyone is watching it,” says Statman.  And it's not just the students who are homing in. “News-wise, I think this is it," says Allen. "McCain and Obama are so known, and so well-versed, that the debates aren’t going to reveal much about them. Here you have the potential for things to get a lot more confrontational and to learn a lot more about the candidates.”

Those candidates, meanwhile, are still thousands of miles from St. Louis. The Palin team has been prepping the GOP candidate on how to handle Biden’s strengths--most notably foreign policy. The Alaska governor has been using McCain's top foreign-policy aide, Randy Scheunemann, as a stand-in for Biden. Meanwhile, the Democrats are hunkered down at a Wilmington Sheraton Suites, using a converted gym with two podiums;  Michigan Gov. Jennifer Granholm is playing Palin. Press secretary David Wade describes the preparations as less focused on specific subjects than on Palin’s debating style. "It's clear watching Gov. Palin's past debates that she's kind of like Sollozzo in The Godfather: 'very good with a knife,'" says Wade. "This Cicero of the Snow delivers these jabs with a smile. She comes from broadcast journalism and she shouldn't be underestimated."

Twenty-four hours out, many Washington University students looked like they were having trouble passing the time. Forty or so clustered around a half-built Hardball set Wednesday afternoon to catch a 4 p.m. sound check. Others watched a Clinton event on the flat-screen TVs in the student center. Only a diligent handful studied for exams. Janice Warren, who has worked at the university during the 2004 debate, says this contest “is all that students are talking about.” “Everyone just wants to see Palin,” says sophomore Seth Feldman. “Whether you want to see her do well or want to see her get ripped apart, you want to see her.” He hasn’t decided where he’ll watch the debate. He’s not among the 300 students chosen from a lottery of 7,300 to receive a ticket, so he’ll likely hunker down at his frat house or a friend’s apartment--or one of the half-dozen debate watching parties sponsored by university groups. But he knows he'll be tuning in. “Everyone,” he says, “has got to be watching this one.”

With Holly Bailey