Kerry Faces Big Speech Challenge

By the time John Kerry arrived in Boston yesterday, the electronic badge on Alton Hughes' lapel was predicting another 97 days, 11 hours, 52 minutes and 56 seconds until regime change came to the White House.

Mr Hughes, a committed Democrat, had come down to the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston to see his candidate make a waterborne return to his home town.

At the same time, the entrepreneur in him thought he might drum up some interest in the clock badge his friend had invented, hoping to sell it by the boatload at $9.95 (about £5.50), particularly among the party's impatient rank and file.

"Countdown to the day when Bush goes away," the gadget promised hopefully. But, as Mr Hughes admitted, it also marked off the hours Senator Kerry had left to convince the nation's few remaining floating voters that he has the mettle to perform the top job.

His greatest challenge comes tonight when he must score an A-plus in one of his weaker subjects, public speaking. His address will mark the climax of the Democratic national convention here.

"I think he can do it," Mr Hughes said, before adding wistfully: "If he could take speaking lessons from Clinton, he'd be great."

Sen Kerry, who has been touring the country for the past week, appeared just after noon on a cool grey day, floating out of the grey murk of Boston Harbour, on a small white ferry draped in election bunting.

The boat backed away from a crowd of supporters until it was framed by the Boston skyline, and then edged on to the wharf, the Democrat standing at the bows waving. The sound system played a song called It's a Beautiful Day and, inevitably, it began to rain.

The crowd cheered and surged towards the boat as it docked. Mr Kerry jumped up to a platform at the stern and performed the campaign body movements his lanky frame has become comfortable with.

He clutched the air with his fists and then brought his hands together in an oriental sign of humility and gratitude. Then he clenched his fists again.

"Thank you Boston for an absolutely extraordinary return - a great homecoming," he said, and called on his travelling companions, his "Band of Brothers" navy crewmates from his Vietnam days, to join him on the dais.

"We are taking this fight to the country and we are going to win back our democracy and our future," he promised, adding: "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to my chance, in a little over 24 hours, to show this country what I want to do for America."

In fact, among the 700 supporters standing at the quayside, there seemed to be 700 opinions on what Mr Kerry could be doing better. That is his problem at this point in the campaign. His party has settled for him, it just wants to change him.

"I'm definitely not a Bush supporter, so I'm a Kerry sup porter by default. I wish he would do a better job," said a woman who lived in a block of flats above the wharf (where, by some random quirk, the Bin Laden family once owned four luxury apartments).

She gave her name only as Kathy, explaining that she was an author and she did not want her public to know her political leanings.

"I wish he would take a firm stand and stick to it. I wish he would speak in smaller sentences and be more definitive," Kathy said. "If you say something, believe it."

Mary Shaughnessy, who had taken time off from her office job in the Navy Yards to see Mr Kerry arrive, agreed that "he has a lot of work to do to let people get to know him". Bill Clinton, who had spoken earlier in the week, Mrs Shaughnessy said, was "a tough act to follow".

Marty Blatt, meanwhile, wanted more - a total overhaul of both Mr Kerry's and the party's image. He wanted "red meat. So far this campaign is making a huge mistake. The most important thing is the Iraq war, a horrific war, and there's no criticism," Mr Blatt, another local worker, said. "There's no edge there and there should be."

Surrounded by all this conditional support, Mr Kerry plunged through the crowd, no doubt receiving advice from all sides. He jumped into a waiting car to take him home for a few final hours to work on the script of his career.

By the time he was gone, he had 97 days, 11 hours and about 20 minutes to conquer the White House, according to Mr Hughes' tireless badge. Asked whether his customers would get their money back if Mr Kerry fell short, the clock-seller just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.