So the writers and camerapeople are ushered into the hallway by the woman who'd distributed media credentials emblazoned with "Trip of the Vice President."

"I'm trying to be nice, and a little mean," she says. Attendees, it seems, "are worried about getting pictures taken while spitting out food."

I'm left to peek through a slit in the one door left ajar. State secrets probably aren't being bandied about, but I wonder whether they're just doing this to make a point. That point being they can do whatever they want. The result being that reporters become the equivalent of a pack of cattle on a Texas ranch.

We're told that we must stand outside of the velvet ropes surrounding the secure dining area. If we dare move among the tables, "You're gone." A handler will escort photographers, two at a time, for a sorta-up-close shot of the veep.

Inside the ballroom, waiters and waitresses donning white gloves deliver plates with silver covers to the tables as the press waits for their crumb of admittance, which happens some 20 minutes later. This is odd, considering most of the people are still eating; one of the dozen cameras could easily get a picture of someone "spitting out food."

With the Secret Service swarming the building—the guards at the metal detector even searched packs of smokes—Kissinger starts garbling in that thick European way that only he and Schwarzenegger can. He lauds someone who "has made a huge contribution to the creation and execution of our foreign policy," a statement that, in some quarters, would be considered laughable. But not here, as everyone stands in ovation for the "great service he's rendered to our country."

Cheney flew up from D.C. not to talk about Islam and the West, as U.S. Sen. Joe Biden did during a morning session, but to offer a tribute to professor Bernard Lewis, a renowned expert on the Middle East. He neither snarls nor shoots lightning from his fingertips, but offers what some would consider another civic black eye. "It's always a pleasure to be in Philadelphia," Cheney says, without acknowledging that the city rocks. "I was reflecting that six years ago [at the Republican National Convention], this is where I began my current tour as vice president. I chalk that up as another historically significant moment for Philadelphia."

Having spoken for roughly 10 minutes, he returns to the table with Kissinger. Or does he? A minute later, Dick's head is nowhere to be seen. And it's not as if we in the press can mosey anywhere to take a gander. For the subsequent 10 minutes, we're told no one here gets out until all the vice president's men say so.