On July 4, the National Armory in Washington looked like every Goldwater fan’s dream of a Republican national convention: pretty girls and blaring bands and bunting and flags and hotdogs and spotlights and college kids and TV stars and gay placards and enormous portraits and cowbells and hooters and laughers; and everyone united for one man, not there, named Goldwater. The occasion was the National Draft Goldwater Independence Day Rally, staged by the National Draft Goldwater Committee to convince everyone (including Goldwater) that Barry means business.

At the least, the committee convinced reporters and politicians in Washington that it knew how to run a show. This is a feat sure to impress people in this town and to keep the committee above the “bunch of amateurs” class. The conservative Republicans bent on nominating Goldwater would have lost face badly if the show had deteriorated into a hoarse, shoving melee, but things ran smoothly and with decorum. The committee, headed by Texas Republican Chairman Peter O’Donnell, Jr., had planned for weeks. Hotel reservations were set up for thousands of visitors. Suggestions for placards, were issued (DON’T TARRY- GO BARRY, JFK - WE WILL BARRY YOU). More than 8,000 enthusiasts showed up, and Goldwater Girls ushered them to their seats. The fans tended to cluster by states (ONLY BARRY CAN CARRY MINNESOTA; ONLY BARRY CAN CARRY FLORIDA; BROOKLYN BACKS BARRY).

If anything, there was too much decorum. The speeches and shouting lacked some of the verve that might have been kindled if there had been an issue to divide the delegates. But everyone seemed agreed on one goal: Put Goldwater in and take the Socialists out. This is not to say that the crowd was listless. But every once in a while it turned quiet, and the speakers had to pump pep into it with scare words [Stevenson, Schlesinger, Galbraith, Reuther).

Two themes dominated the rally: youth and Dixie, The crowd was young, more than half of it good, clean, American well-off college kids. The pretty Goldwater Girls, strolling about in fringed red, white and blue sashes and ten-gallon hats, looked like Kennedy Girls kidnaped from the 1960 convention. The college crowd didn’t enjoy Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.’s attempt to twist an old anti-Goldwater joke to Barry’s advantage: the one suggesting that the handsome Barry should go to Hollywood and join 18th Century-Fox. Zimbalist wasn’t forgiven even when he explained that that would put Barry with Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton and the rest. The young people much preferred to think of their hero as the space-age man (P-T BOATS ARE OUT OF DATE, WE’VE GOT A SPACE-AGE CANDIDATE). One giant photo showed Barry in jet pilot fatigues, his collar open, his T-shirt showing, his hair messed, his eyes squinting in the sun - the perfect Model for a Camel television spot.

Some Confederate flags flew, and everyone received a song sheet that included The Star-Spangled Banner, America the Beautiful, Battle Hymn of the Republic, God Bless America and Dixie. The speakers declared confidently that their man could win all the South’s 128 electoral votes. With a series of slides, the committee showed that this bloc, with the near-solid Midwest and Mountain states would help give Barry 301 votes, 31 more than needed for election. They tossed to Kennedy almost all the Northeast, including his home state. This outraged some Boston Young Republicans (ONLY BARRY CAN CARRY MASSACHUSETTS), who shouted, ‘‘No, no, no.”

The racial problem was ignored by all the speakers and placards during the evening. However, the speakers, in the tradition of rousing political rallies, spent little time on any specific issues, except to demand less socialism and more action on Cuba. Most of the speeches were good, biting partisan fun, aimed, it seemed, more at Stevenson, Schlesinger, Galbraith and Reuther than at anyone whom Goldwater might conceivably face in convention or elections.

Zimbalist seemed a little dreary on the political stump, telling the crowd that Barry is an inch taller than Jack and the taller man always wins. Another Hollywood star, Walter Brennan, knew his role better. He cried he was for Goldwater and, when pressed to say more, recalled an anecdote, the point of which was that when a comedian has nothing funny to say, he should sit down. He then sat down. The other speakers, Governor Paul Fannin of Arizona, Rep. John Ashbrook of Ohio, Senator Cad Curtis of Nebraska and Senator John Tower of Texas, supplied the kind of oratory that Barry might have used on his admirers if he hadn’t been, as Fannin put it, “back home riding a bronco.’” One surprise speaker, Enrique Ilaca, Jr., a Cuban veteran of the Bay of Pigs invasion, delivered the most emotional speech of the evening. It was a plea for the liberation of Cuba, and an endorsement of Barry as the man to do it. The crowd whooped, and waved its signs (BARRY SI, ROCKY NO).

Although the racial issue was dormant in the almost all-white crowd inside the armory, it was stirring outside. Neatly dressed Black Muslims hawked copies of Muhammad Speaks. I asked one if he had sold many copies. “Oh yes,”’ he lied. After the rally, seven storm troopers of George Lincoln Rockwell’s American Nazi Party picketed the armory. They had a grudge against Goldwater: he was a “race mixer.” Someone handed out broadsheets to the Goldwater fans. The sheets called Barry the “Arizona Israelite” and a “Jew phony.”

But these were minor notes - lost in a rhapsody for Barry. After the rally, Governor Fannin told a newsman: “I don’t see how he can possibly resist this kind of demonstration.” He probably won’t.

Stanley Meisler is a Washington newsman.