I've never been to a national convention before and so I can't tell you if the emotion that poured out of the delegates at the announcement of Barack Obama as Democratic nominee for president of the United States has been matched in recent history.

But I never thought I'd see former Denver Mayor Federico Pena dancing on a chair and a jubilant Colorado Rep. Ed Perlmutter shouting, "Yes, we can," so loud, for so long, I thought we might have to call a paramedic. And I thought I might cry myself at the sight of Colorado delegate Vivian Stovall, a black woman sitting in her wheelchair, sobbing her eyes out, trying to find words because I ask her to find them.

"I grew up in the civil rights movement," she says, speaking right into my ear so I can hear her over the screaming and shouting and the O'Jays singing out an invitation for everyone to start a love train, love train.

"I have marched and demonstrated, I have been spat on and kicked at. Barack Obama is an intelligent man, he's a qualified man, but to be an African-American. Never would I have thought this would happen."

Then she's crying again and so, it seems, is Colorado's entire delegation. There's Awilda Marquez, looking shellshocked. She's among the Clinton supporters who fought to make sure a roll call was taken, the delegate votes for Clinton recorded for posterity.

As the vote is recorded, state by state, Marquez is thrilled. No woman has ever been as close as Clinton to becoming president, she tells me. "This is the convention that needs to acknowledge it. This is the party that needs to acknowledge it and this is the vote that records history."

Then New Mexico yields to Illinois, Obama's home state. Illinois yields to New York, Clinton's home state. And the senator moves to nominate Obama by acclamation. Moved. Seconded. No protests. Pandemonium erupts.

It is done.

This was the job our delegates came to do, of course. Six months ago, they could be found in their neighborhood caucuses with thousands of others. It was hard work to become a national delegate to this convention of firsts, something Clinton acknowledged in a meeting with her delegates Wednesday afternoon before the roll call vote.

Hundreds packed a Colorado Convention Center room, crying, cheering and chanting her name. "This has been a journey," Clinton told them. "Yes, we didn't make it, but we had a good time trying."

She told them she had cast her ballot as a superdelegate for Obama. She told them she would not tell them how to vote, but would release them.

No, no, some cried out.

Yes, she said.

It's a formality. By the time she spoke to them, many had already voted in their breakfast meetings. Some of those meetings, including Colorado's, were tense because few knew for certain whether Clinton voters would get their wish for a roll call vote. The Colorado delegation voted 55 for Obama, 15 for Clinton.

They are your neighbors. It hits me again as I watch the Colorado delegates celebrate on the floor: the tall and ever-dapper Obama delegate, Anthony Graves, who, mark my words, will end up in Congress one day; the strong-willed - she'd say stubborn - Marquez, who entered this convention unsure whether she would vote for Obama and leaves it declaring that she will; Dunbar Watson Jr., a 48-year-old black man who sits in his chair and listens to Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana cast the majority of their votes for Obama, hears Clinton move to nominate Obama by acclamation, and starts crying.

The caucus system has its shortcomings. The Democratic Party has a challenge in keeping all this newfound interest sustained once this election is over. These issues will be raised soon enough. But at this moment it is a powerful thing to look at this delegation and know it is made up of people who might live next door to you, to know most of them are newcomers who not only refused to be apathetic but have spent countless hours working to be here as their neighbor's representatives.

"We made history you guys," Graves shouts, shaking the hand of fellow delegate Daniel Kagan, a Clinton delegate and soon-to-be Obama voter, as Kagan fights back his tears.

"You have been great to fight against," Kagan says.

"I have so much respect for you," Graves tells him.

"And I, you," Kagan says. "It's over now and on to November."

They are part of history. History, they say, dragging the word out, savoring it. His-to-ry.

griegot@RockyMountainNews.com