Outside the Stadium, Giddy Chaos

Supporters line up in front of the Invesco Field in Denver, Colorado for the last night of the Democratic National Convention.

Robyn Beck / AFP / Getty

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The Barack Obama bandwagon arrived at its final destination Thursday evening, when the junior Senator from Illinois took the stage at Denver's Invesco Field to accept the Democratic nomination for the presidency. But after a grueling 18-month campaign, Obama's legion of fans had to endure one final bump in the road: an anarchic line to enter the venue that some called the longest in memory.

In a jumbled mass, they trudged toward history. Obama said he shifted the venue of the address — from the cozy Pepsi Center to cavernous, 75-000 seat Invesco Field — to accommodate as many segments of the party as possible, and the crowd reflected his wish. Delegates, campaign organizers, cameramen, grandmothers, teenagers and reporters stood for hours, elbow to elbow, in a queue that snaked for miles, as throngs of people, stretching back to the bridge leading to the Pepsi Center downtown, continued to stream in. For three days, the Democratic National Convention had been as tightly choreographed as a ballet. But now, with Obama set to deliver the biggest speech of his career on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.s soaring "I Have A Dream" speech, the scene plunged into a giddy chaos.

Perhaps it was the perfect weather — clear, breezy, hovering around 80 degrees — but even amidst the maddening gridlock, the atmosphere was collegial. City workers crept along in pickup trucks, passing out bottles of water. Strangers struck up conversations on all manner of topics (one woman griped to her neighbor that her IRS audit was politically motivated). Few cut the line. Tubes of sunscreen were cracked and passed back. Someone tried — without success — to start The Wave. "People are just laughing it up," said Carlos Hipolito, 30, an assistant professor at the University of Colorado, who had been edging along for over an hour and a half, eager to see Obama outline his views on immigration. "At first it was a little sober, but once you get into it, it's pretty cool. You're meeting people from places all across the country.”

With a captive audience, vendors hawked a sea of merchandise: Obama playing cards went for $10, and replica jerseys from the candidate's high school basketball days went for as much as $40. One stand pitched an item called Obama in a Bottle — six for $10. Much of the swag was unofficial, but Convention salesmen turned a blind eye. "We're over one million in sales for the week," Kirk Dornbush, a member of the merchandise operation team, told TIME. "It's been insane."