Witnessing History

Okay. Wow. The inauguration. Wow. Okay.

Let me just say, before I get started, that I would totally, totally, totally do this again. When this country elects a woman? I’m there. It was completely amazing to stand there in front of the U.S. Capitol and listen as the first African-American president was sworn in.

That being said.

Holy effing mackerel, what a clusterf--k.

MLB and I woke up at 5:30 this morning, put on the our layers (Side Note: The Commonwealth of Virginia is officially out of long underwear. Don’t even bother asking), and hopped a ride — courtesy Friend Logan — to the Franconia-Springfield Metro station... where we could see a line of people stretching off the platform, across the skybridge, and into the parking structure. We trudged to the end of the line and braced ourselves for a long day of waiting.

We “ran good” with the Metro, though (as MLB would say). About five minutes after we’d made our way to the end of the line (deep into the garage), it began to move, and in a matter of minutes we found ourselves on the platform, which looked like this:


Okay, not so bad. We were feeling pretty okay. Spirits on the platform were high enough that, when an empty train pulled into the station, stopped briefly (long enough for everyone to brace themselves for entry), and then continued through without opening its doors, we all laughed. When we did finally get on a train, MLB and I even managed to score seats. Together! Not too shabby.

We were fortunate in that Friends Amanda and Logan live at the very end of the Blue Line, so the train was empty when we got on it. It might not have been quite as fun had we had to stand in another station, watching train after train come and go, too full to take on any more passengers. Particularly when some of the passengers in our car started chanting “No more room! No more room!” every time we stopped.

Finally we made it to Federal Center, where Blue ticket holders had been instructed to disembark. The platform was what you might call crowded:


But we were still better off than the people on the train that pulled in just behind ours. Their conductor refused to open the doors until the platform had cleared. I don’t know how long they were stuck there, watching us file by, but I can tell you that the doors hadn’t yet opened when MLB and I finally made it to the top of the escalator about thirty minutes later.


Finally we returned to the daylight, where the streets of Capitol Hill were flooded with people. Oh, and the occasional motorcade.


The signage and assistance at the Metro exit was excellent, and it promised an efficient, expedient entry process.

That efficiency and expedience, sadly, was never to materialize.

We tried to follow the signs to the Blue Gate, but found ourselves facing a flood of people walking away from the Blue Gate and moving toward a line of people on the sidewalk. We asked the people on the line if they were waiting to enter the Blue Gate, and they were, so we joined the crowd and inched toward the end of the line, which we finally found. On the opposite side of the Department of Health and Human Services.

I don’t know how familiar with the HHS building most of you are; I personally was not familiar with the structure itself, but after having spent THREE HOURS snaking slowly around its perimeter, I feel inclined to point out an interesting architectural feature of this particular bit of government property: IT’S AN EFFING WIND TUNNEL. B-effing-rrrr, kids.


I was thinking, as we shuffled toward the end of the line, how important it is in these situations to be standing next to people you like — or at least, people you can tolerate. This was the case with the people in front of us, all of whom were friendly and one of whom was from Hood River.

Then there was the woman behind us.

I know her real name because of the many times I heard her say it during the many irritated (and irritating) cell phone calls I heard her make, but MLB and I have come to know her as Negative Nellie. Negative Nellie was there with her teenage daughters, and at 8:30 a.m. she was already grousing about the fact that we probably weren’t even going to get in, and that she would have set her TiVo to record the swearing-in if she’d realized these idiots weren’t going to be able to get us in on time, and did her daughters need a bagel or warmer gloves because she had them if they did, and it was too cold, and then there was the phone call to a friend to teach her how to use TiVo so the friend could drive to Negative Nellie’s house and set the TiVo because there was just no way we were going to make it in, and it was just a disaster, and we all should have just stayed home. Later, when the line started to inch forward, she yelled out “Go, Blue! Go!” and “If you voted for John McCain, get out of the line! Republicans, get out of the line!”

Yes, regular ray of sunshine, old Nellie. So much for unity, healing and bipartisanship. Did I mention that her voice sounds exactly like you’re imagining it did? Yeah.

Fortunately, we only had to spend about an hour and a half standing next to Nellie. Eventually our line merged with a second Blue line, and then we got to stand in front of a guy who spent a lot of time sighing heavily and making remarks about how disorganized everything was, and pushing forward to make sure people couldn’t cut through the crowd laterally to get to the other side of the street.

Don’t get the impression that the wait was interminable, though, because it wasn’t. Sure, there were a couple of downers, but for the most part, everyone was having a good time. We were cold and champing at the bit, but spirits were high. MLB bought hand and toe warmers from an enterprising woman on a street corner. We met some nice people — including a few from Fairbanks, to whom I distributed my last three Alaska For Obama buttons — and generally kept smiles on our faces. I mean, we were going to see Barack Obama sworn in as President of the United States! It was a party!

Well, it was a party, anyway, until we rounded the corner and saw this:


That tiny blip of blue to the left of the streetlight is the Blue Gate. And that sea of people? They’re all trying to get in. Our line led to a pit. A morass. A bottomless ocean of human life, edging slowly toward the unknown.

That was when people started to get edgy. It was 10:15, and then 10:30, and then more and more people started talking about the fact that the gates were slated to close at 11 a.m., and then the shuffling started to turn into steady — not urgent, but steady — pushing. At this point, I had several concerns:

1. Would we get in the gate in time to see Joe Biden sworn in?
2. Would we get in at all?
3. Would I lose MLB?
4. Would the crowd riot if the gates were shut at 11?

I think MLB had the same worries (although maybe not quite so particularly about Joe Biden), because he didn’t let go of me from 11 a.m. (when they did not shut the gate) on. We shuffled to the right, to the left, forward — every direction we could move without losing ground, as the gate and the hour moved steadily closer. Eventually we reached a metal fence that divided the crowd, and MLB pushed me to one side. A few minutes later, we found ourselves within feet of the fence leading to the gate.

That was when things got a little intense for a minute. The divided crowd met up again at the fence, and people from the other side started pushing to get closer to the fence. As they did, they apparently forgot that there were other people — including MLB and me — between them and the fence. I had been laughing with the guy standing next to me, but soon he was shouting frantically for people to stop pushing. At this point, MLB’s hockey-playing past kicked in, and he planted himself between the pushers and the rest of the crowd.

“Folks,” he said, “take it easy.” He created enough space for a few people to squeeze through, including the panicky man next to me, and then we manged to push down the aisle and through the gate... where we saw the first public safety officer we’d seen since we got off the Metro.

Yeah. I kid you not. Not a single cop on the line. Not a single cop in the throng. No signs. No directions. The gentleman behind us might have been unnecessarily grumpy, but he did have a point: There must be literally thousands — maybe tens of thousands — of sections of steel fencing in the District of Columbia. Why on earth wasn’t some of it used to create organized lines for swearing-in attendees waiting to pass through security? It’s a miracle there were no fights or injuries. This was not the open viewing area on the Mall. These gates were for ticketed attendees. The organizers knew how many tickets were distributed and how many guests were expected. They knew what time the ceremony started and what time the gates would open. There was no reasonable excuse for the chaos.

Okay, diatribe over. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Here:


Standing in front of the Capitol. We were just beyond the lawn, which was close enough that we could see the people standing at the podium and far enough away that we had a very hard time figuring out who they were. Except for this guy:


Yeah, it’s tiny. But if you look really, really close... that is Barack Obama. Delivering his inaugural address. Which we heard. Live and in person.


And yes, it was totally awesome. Other things that were totally awesome:

• Aretha Franklin. Aretha. Effing. Franklin. The sparkles on her hat were blinding even from a distance.
• Surprisingly, Rick Warren. Even MLB, who is not what you might call a religious man, was impressed.
• Joe Biden. I know, all he did was take the oath. But he delivered it with purpose.

When the swearing-in was over, there was more walking to do. Way. More. Walking. At least this time things kept moving.


As we stood near the exit, a roar rose up from the crowd: Marine One appeared from behind the Capitol. It was, of course, the Bushes on their way to the airport. I don’t think I have to tell you that there was a thundering chorus of “boo”s from the crowd as we waved at the helicopter. (Side Note: Some of us waved with only one finger.)

Incidentally, as it turns out, here is the problem with the inauguration of an American president: The crowd is mostly full of Americans. Americans, I love us. I really do. But some of us happen to be the kind of people who wait until Itzhak Perlman and Yo Yo Ma begin to play and then turn to the people behind us and say “Hey, would you mind taking our picture, since there’s, like, a musical interlude?”

Okay, well, maybe not all Americans would do that. But that’s what the Americans in front of us did. Some other Americans (lots of them) decided to leave as soon as the president’s address was over, which meant they talked through things like, oh, the original poem and the closing prayer and the national anthem.

But for the most part, like I said, people were great. Which was good, because there were a lot of us. We spent most of the morning in crowds that looked a lot like this:


Which is why we needed one of these:


We were waiting for a table at Gordon Biersch when CNN cut to footage of the newly-retired George W. Bush boarding a jet home. He waved at the camera, and the bar waved back, with more boos, and this time a chorus of “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.” Which was appropriate. We weren’t exactly sending anyone off to the penalty box... but I think it’s safe to say we all felt we were sharing in a victory.