[Note on the following text: What you're about to read, my 2013 Inauguration Blog Post, comes directly from the book that I'm writing. The book is 100 Days of Editing. This book is similar to my 100 Days of Writing which was my first 100 Days book. Today, Thursday, is Day 45 of my 100 Days of Editing. For the last 45 days, I've been editing some of the books that I've written. I have written ten books now. Many need to be edited, so that's what I'm doing. My 100 Days of Editing book documents this editing adventure. But it's also a writing adventure because I'm writing about editing, and I'm writing about writing, and I'm writing about interesting things that happen each day. Stuff like that. On Monday I went to the Inauguration. I knew I was going to write about that. The Inauguration was an awesome experience. I just spent two long days writing about it. As you can see, below, I started writing on Day 43. Day 44 was pretty much a rest day, not much writing (and not much editing either). Today it's Day 45 and I've finished the piece. I'd like to say thank you to Abe and Graham for coming along on this mission. Thank you guys. And, as always, thanks for reading my words. I'm going to get this blog up to date sometime soon.]
Day 43, January 22, Tuesday
Well it’s the day after Inauguration Day 2013. Twenty thirteen is how I heard it said
yesterday when I was on the Mall. Yesterday has been on my mind for most of
this morning. I slept in as long as I possibly could this morning. I went to
bed around nine and I got up around 9:30,
so that’s a good solid twelve hours of sleep, which I needed.
Now it’s
around eleven o’clock. My fingers are
warm and my stomach is full and I’m just now sitting down at my desk to begin
my day’s work. I just spent the last half hour playing guitar. It was a half
hour of jamming. I started out in the key of G. But then I soon realized that I
should play in the key of B as a tribute to Barack. So my morning jam this
morning was a little tribute to Barack. I even thought about Barack as I was
playing. I thought about him at the podium giving his speech, and I thought
about him at work at this desk, and I even thought about what it might be like
to talk with him.
As I was jamming, I was also thinking
about yesterday. That’s one thing with music. You can be playing and also
thinking about something else. It’s harder to do that with writing. For
example: right now I’m thinking about these words, but when I try to think
about yesterday . . . . my yesterday thoughts come into my head and sort of
stop the writing. Normally I have to think about what I’m writing about.
Anyway, it
was fun to jam in the key of B. The key of B been one of my favorite keys over
the years. The key of C was of course the first key I really explored. I
learned the guitar by memorizing every natural note and its place on the
fretboard. Soon I was exploring other keys: the key of G, D, E, F, A, and B.
I’ve composed quite a few guitar pieces in the key of B. I didn’t play any of
those this morning. Today I improvised, a new jam for a new day, a happy day,
which is what today is. I was just exploring the world of music while at the
same time letting my fingers warm up. I ended the jam with a high note, a high
B that I played up on the 20th fret (on the high E-string of
course). And now here I am writing.
The guitar
playing has done its job. Now my fingers are good and warm and my mind is a
little warmed up too. My feet are still cold, but my body is quite comfortable.
I’m wearing two pants and two fleece jackets. This is pretty much what I wore
yesterday, but yesterday I had some other layers on top. I wore a lot of
clothing yesterday, but all of my tops were full-zip so it was easy to
ventilate if I got too hot, and there were times when I got too hot, especially
in the afternoon when I was picking up trash. But we’ll get to that.
My plan is to write about my whole
2013 Inauguration experience. I’ll start the night before, because that’s when
the adventure began. Going to an Inauguration really is an adventure. It’s similar
to the adventure of climbing a big mountain. When you climb a mountain, the
adventure starts the night before. You have to pack and you have to get a game
plan and you have to get yourself near the mountain as well. Climbing a big
mountain also makes you tired. Right now, my back and my legs and me feet are
sore. But the adventure is still fresh in my mind, so I might as well take this
beautiful sunny January day and get the adventure down on the page.
Here we go:
Inauguration was on a Monday this year. So our mission began
on Sunday. On Sunday I woke up and started packing. My binoculars were missing.
So I had to do a little cleaning. I found my binoculars in my dresser drawer.
In the evening, Abe and Graham came
over. Graham brought tortellini and he and Abe got our dinner going while I
finished packing. I packed food and clothes and writing materials. I also
packed my ground pad and my sleeping bag, because I knew I was going to be
doing a little indoor camping down in D.C. Abe was happy to see that I had made
a list for packing. I needed the list. There was so much going on and my mind
was a little tired from getting up early for morning writing.
But the
list worked. I got everything on the list. I even remembered to get the bagels
which were on the list but not in the house. The bagels were out in the car. I
grabbed them and then Abe and I got in Graham’s car. We left my home around 8:40 pm. The closest Metro station is only thirty
minutes from my home. We got there a little after nine. The Metro station was
busy, but it wasn’t crazy busy. We got a train and got seats that were near
each other. I don’t like to ride a train sitting backwards, so I got one of the
seats on the side of the train. Abe and Graham sat nearby. The mood was good.
We were going to D.C. to meet Graham’s friend Lindsay.
I sat on
the left side of the train as we zoomed down the tracks toward the city. I
pulled my green notebook out of my pocket and started taking notes. My notebook
was a fresh notebook that I had grabbed specifically for this mission. It had a
green cover. After I wrote a few words, I put my pen away. I pulled out some of
my other pens just to see what I had. I honestly wasn’t sure which pens I
brought.
I soon discovered that I had an ink
situation. One of my Uni-ball Vision Elites was in my pocket tip down with no
cap. I looked at my right breast pocket. For the first time in my life, I had an ink spot under my pocket. It was my first one ever. I wasn’t even mad. It felt
good. My shirt was blue so the blank ink wasn’t as bold. The ink was now on my
fingers because I reached in my pocket to feel around. What was it like down
there? The ink was still fresh. I got ink on my fingers and I played with the
ink. I wore the ink proudly. Right away I started thinking: how far could I
take this? If a pen was allowed to flow non-stop into a shirt pocket, how far
could it go? And then an even crazier thought: imagine a world where ink stains
were considered fashionable, because ink was expensive. Abe and Graham helped me understand that my words were getting a little too far out there.
But I was having fun.
“Graham, please photograph me with
my first shirt pocket ink stain,” I said as I handed my camera to Graham. I
felt good. I was packed for the mission and now we were moving. And the
Uni-ball ink was pleasant to play with. It was clean and it dried quickly, not
like that sticky ink that comes out of cheaper pens.
Of course
you understand what happened, right? In a moment of silly haste, I put a pen in
my pocket with the tip down. I think it probably happened when I grabbed a
bunch of pens and jammed them into my pocket. I’ve never made this mistake
before because I’m usually very careful when it comes to any and all
pen-in-the-pocket situations.
With my
notebook and my pen and my ink, the ride went by went pretty fast. We went downtown
and then we made a transfer. Riding the Metro reminded me of the Springsteen
concert back in September—that was the last time I was on the Metro.
Soon we
were there at Union Station. Union Station is a one of the big ones. You ride
an escalator up up up—from underground to ground level. We stepped off the
escalator and went outside. Graham got out his phone and did some mapping. I
zipped up my coat. It was cool out, probably about 35. Once you get a feel for
certain temperatures, you can usually guess the temperature to within five
degrees. Sometimes I can guess within one or two degrees. And actually, the
other night, when I was walking Marley, I guessed the exact temperature: 39
degrees.
So Graham
did the mapping as Abe and I looked around. There were bikes to look at. Lots
of bicycles were locked to the bike racks by the Metro. Abe liked these two old
road bikes that were right on the end. A good old steel road bike is a good
thing—simple, strong, affordable. There was also some weirdness to absorb. On
the ground was this big pile of croutons. Maybe about a pound of so of croutons.
The croutons had been squished by what looked like a car tire. The tire tracks were
on about half the pile, so there were still some non-broken croutons, which is
how I identified the golden brown matter in the first place. I didn’t give much
thought to the tire tracks at the time, but now it all makes sense. Nearby was
a cluster of portable toilets (for Inauguration of course). Those toilets were
probably brought in with trucks, and perhaps that’s when the croutons got
crushed. The portable toilets were all still zip-tied shut. All except one. One
had been opened. The zip-tie was on the ground. Cut open or broken open, we did
not know. But I did see a drunk man stumble out of that one open toilet.
There was a lot going on: the croutons, the drunk man, the lights of Union Station—and the reason I mention all these things is because now I was working—my writing mind was engaged—and I was really paying attention to the world around me. It was time to observe, time to have some fun.
Graham got us going in the right
direction. We walked east. I felt like a bag man. I started singing and talking a
little crazy talk out of pure excitement. “Bag man is real!” I shouted. “Bag
man is alive!” I had a backpack on my back and three bags in my hands. One of
my bags was full of newspapers. I had them so we’d have something to sit once
we got to the Mall. Abe and I both knew how cold it can be when you’re standing
on the Mall and it’s still dark out. This was going to be Abe’s third Inauguration.
It was going to be my second and Graham’s first.
I walked
down the street with all my bags. I wanted to take some notes while I was
walking, so I clipped my bags to my backpack. But I clipped them too low so the
bags bounced off my legs as I walked. Abe asked me why I was doing that—it was
obvious that the bags were affecting my walking. I said, “It’s like what the
old blues players used to say. ‘It serves me right to suffer.’”
Just then
Graham got a text. The Ravens had won the game, which meant they were going to
the Super Bowl. “We don’t even have to care,” I said. “The information just
comes to us.”
I continued bouncing down the
sidewalk with my bags. We passed a girl singing on the sidewalk. She had a good
voice. It sounded as though she was classically trained. I didn’t recognize the
song, but just hearing her voice made me happy. The adventure was alive at this
point. The old sidewalks, the old D.C. houses—all lined up, so close
together—those D.C. houses have a look about them. This wasn’t New
York. This was D.C. I saw some red-white-and blue
decorations here and there. People had pictures of Barack in their windows. The
moon was shinning bright. It was a clear night. Streetlights glowed bright like
little crumbs of the sun. Every streetlight was a thing of beauty—the way the
light came out, similar to the sun, very bright in the center, but then the
light spreads out all over the ground so you can see the rough patches of
sidewalk and avoid tripping.
Once we got on D
Street, we just had to cruise a few blocks and
then we were there at Lindsay’s place. Graham knocked on the door and Lindsay
opened it and welcomed us in. We got there around ten thirty and that’s when
our Inauguration eve party began. We shared some wine and beer and stood around
the kitchen talking.
Eventually I got out my sandwich
making equipment and went to work. I made sandwiches while everybody watched.
(Some of Lindsay’s roommates were there too.) I made six sandwiches, that way
Abe and Graham and I would each get two. I made the olive and cream cheese
sandwiches first. I used black olives and bagels. We snacked on the extra
olives. Then I made peanut butter sandwiches, just PB and bread. Although for
my PB sandwich, I added a few olives and some sriracha (this was my surprise
crazy sandwich).
I kept
talking about getting up at 3:30. I
wanted to get down to the Mall as early as possible so we’d get a good spot.
Four years ago we got down there around 4:30
or 5:00 and we got a great spot,
somewhere between 4th Street
and 6th Street. I was
hoping to be just as close this year. But as our party went on, 3:30 just seemed a little too crazy. I decided
to set my alarms for 4:00.
I went to
bed around 2. At 4 my cell phone alarm went off. I moaned and hit snooze. Abe
laughed. Abe was awake. He decided to stay up all night. I finally got up and
got moving around 4:20. Graham woke
up around 4:30. By 4:45 I was sitting on the couch writing as Graham
got ready.
I wrote: “4:45 AM, disregard the pain, keep moving, it’s okay. You’re
doing a good job.”—this was the stuff that I was saying that morning. I felt
weird after only sleeping for an hour or two. But this was part of the fun and
part of the challenge. I sort of liked the weird feeling in my brain. I wrote a
little poem:
I feel something
shaking in my body
I smell my thoughts
my own breath
thoughts crazy
like Death Valley
good thoughts?
where are they?
somewhere else.
the whiskey is in
the kitchen.
the vomit is still
inside me.
about to walk now.
“Disregard the pain.” I kept saying
that as we started walking west on D Street.
We left the house at 5:11 in the
morning. I really was feeling a little sick. Not because I drank too much. I
only had a very small about of whiskey the night before. I think it was more
the lack of sleep and the lack of food. I needed food but I didn’t even realize
it. I just kept walking and talking, comforting myself with my own words. “Disregard
the pain. Keep moving.” At one point I talked about taking a taxi down toward
the Mall. But we kept walking. And the vomit stayed in my stomach.
Police cars drove by with sirens
whoo-whooing in the night. I wasn’t wearing my gloves. I needed bare hands for
taking notes and also for taking photos. The documentation had begun. My hands got cold so every so often I put my hands in my pants pockets. I had about twenty sheets of paper
folded up in my left pocket (extra paper in case I needed it). The paper in my
pocket was warm and smooth. It made my cold fingers happy.
35 degrees out—that was my guess.
Walking felt good. Abe and Graham were talking and feeling good about the early
morning.
After only a few minutes of walking
we were able to see the dome of the Capitol shining in the distance. It looked
close. We walked toward it. There were a few other people on the sidewalk. We
saw more people as we got closer. Our plan was to take D over and then cut down
Louisiana to the Mall. But by 5:27 we came to a place where the police had
closed the road. They told us we’d have to go south on 2nd and then make a
right. This meant we were going to go around the south side of the Mall. We did
what they told us. It didn’t seem crazy at the time, but that’s because we
didn’t know about the detours and mazes and the walls and blockages that had
been set up.
We took 2nd
Street down and made a right on C
Street. Now there were more people walking on the
streets at this point. I drew a little map in my notebook so I’d remember what
we were doing. My notebook was cold. Now we were walking with lots of other
people. We were all heading to the Mall. Lots of people had tickets. “We don’t
have tickets,” I said.
“There’s no reason to say that,”
said Graham. Graham was of course right. I didn’t know where we were going to
end up. The trick was to keep moving and to keep a lookout.
The walk felt longer than it really
was—that was because of the craziness of the morning. It was an interesting and
joyful kind of craziness. We were all excited to get to the Mall. Also, the
city was different. We were walking right down the middle of the road, which is
something you just can’t do all that often. The roads were closed to cars and
open to the people. Police lights flashed in the night. There were police all
over the place. We asked them where to go, and we got different answers from
different people. The detour was complex. We continued our detour. Sometimes we
tried a gamble: we’d turn up a street and walk toward the Mall hoping to get
through. Each time we got turned around by security. After a while we stopped
gambling and just followed the crowd.
The more we walked, the more people
we saw walking around us. A lot of our walking was down on C
Street. We were south of the U.S. Capitol, and so
the natural urge was to head north. Like I said, we tried this a few times
and got turned around. The backtracking only added to the craziness. We walked
fast to make up for lost time.
At this point we had been walking
for half an hour. The sky was still dark but I knew the sunrise was coming. I
wondered how much more walking we had to go. We had no idea how far they were
going to detour us.
Right around the corner of C
Street and South Capitol
Street, we found a park. It was The Spirit of the Justice
Park. The park was open. We thought
we’d try to cut through the park. This turned out to be a mistake. Once we
entered the park, there was no way out. We looped around the western quadrant
of the park and ended up right back where we started. What kind of park only
has one outlet? It was maddening.
After walking through the crazy
park, we got on Washington Street
and made some forward progress. We took Washington
back to C Street and
continued west.
Then came the C
Street negotiations. We had to walk around fences
and closed-off roads. The city was a maze at this point, and we were in the
maze. But I did enjoy seeing all these new buildings and weird gardens and
parks and things. And I enjoyed walking and talking with other Americans.
People were carrying blankets. Some people walked with cups of coffee in their
hands. Some people carried chairs. Not only was this a new experience, but it
was also a new part of the city. I had never walked around this part of the
city. It was all new.
The C
Street negotiations went on for about half an
hour. It took half an hour to get from that crazy one-outlet park over to 6th
Street. Now I really shouldn’t call them the C
Street negotiations because we soon left C
Street. We went the whole way down to E Street at
one point . . . we were walking away from the Mall. It just felt wrong and it
made us all wonder what was going on. Wondering, wondering, walking and
wondering . . .
But then we started going in the
right direction. We went north on 6th. First one block north and then another
block north. We were saying, “This is good,” but we didn’t want to jinx
ourselves. I knocked on wood, the wood of a pencil, just in case. Now the roads
and sidewalks were filled with people. We were near the L’Enfant Metro station
at this point and people were pouring out of the subway and onto the street.
Lots of ambulances were lined up on 6th street.
They had their bright lights flashing. Crazy lights for a crazy morning. We
kept walking and gambling. It was still a gamble because we didn’t know if we’d
get through. We didn’t have tickets—and what if we were walking to a ticked
area. Our walk to the Mall felt like one big gambling session. I was feeling a
little pain and chaffage at this point—all the clothes I was wearing, not the
best for walking. Plus my ankle was hurting. I didn’t do my ankle stretches
yet.
We kept going north. I was getting
anxious. I said, “Are you guys prepared to get in position for sunrise?” I
wanted to be on the Mall for sunrise. And my big fear was that I was going to
be late.
6th took us right toward this big
white stone building. It was the Air and Space
Museum. Yes! We were so close! But
I knew not to get too excited because it was hard to say how much more
detouring we had to get through. We went a block west on Independence.
Then a block north on 7th. “Yes! 7th!” I said. “Good old 7th!” Things were
looking good. 7th was our path to the Mall. The detour was over.
Vendors on
the street called out to us as we walked by. “T-shirts! Hats! T-shirts and
hats!”
“How much
for the T-shirt?” I asked.
“Ten
dollars.”
“Good
deal,” I said.
“Bags and
handwarmers,” said another vendor. They were selling these plastic bags that
had the face of Barack on the sides of the bag. One man said, “You want Obama
to see you? Buy a flag! Buy a flag!” He was selling flags. And now that I think
about it, a few blocks earlier there were vendors too. One of the previous vendors
had a cardboard likeness of Barack. The man was saying, “Get your picture with
Obama. Get your picture with Obama.” People had all kinds of money-making
ideas.
We moved toward the Mall. The Mall
was out there before us, a huge open space, dark because it was still dark out.
We walked past the trees on the edge of the mall. There were hundreds of people
walking around us, doing the exact same thing: walking toward the Capitol. The
Capitol was to the East. It was bright and all lit up, not just the dome on
top—the whole West side of the Capitol was bright with light.
“Okay, move into the space,” I
said. “See the space, move into it. Oh, look at this space. Yes! My friends, do
it. Oh this is good, guys.” There was music playing. I listened: “Land where my
farther died, land of the pilgrims’ pride.”
All of a
sudden I knew everything was going to be great. No checkpoints, no lines. The
Mall was ours. We walked past the trees and then past the jogging and biking
path. Now we were on the Mall itself. We discovered that the main grass on the
Mall was covered up. All across the Mall there were these big white plastic
panels. We stepped onto the plastic and moved toward the Capitol. There were
people behind us and people in front of us. We walked forward and tried to stay
together, which took some concentration because it was dark and also because I
kept stopping to take photos.
As we got
closer I said, “Okay guys, I feel a lot better about the whole morning.”
And just as
I said that, we passed through a little gated area. The gates were open and people
in red hats were welcoming us. “Good morning,” they called out.
“Good
morning, thank you, thank you,” I said back to them. The people in the red hats
were smiling and waving. All around us, people were walking and talking.
I was very
excited at this point. I said, “Oh we’re so close, Graham. Abe, we’re so close
man.”
“I feel
good,” said Graham.
“I feel
great, man,” I said. “I am a little cold, though. I need to get in position and
zip up. There’s a chill going through my body. It’s about 30—” and as I said
this I was thinking about the temperature, was it 33 or 35 or maybe even 37?
But I never finished this thought because at this point I heard beautiful
music.
“Keb’ Mo’,”
said Graham.
“Keb’ Mo’,”
I said, as I looked up at the screen where the video was playing. “It is him?”
I asked. “Kevin Moore?”
“It is,” said Graham. Graham knew
his music and Graham was right. It was Keb’ Mo’ and he was on the big screen.
He was playing a guitar and singing on the jumbotron that was over to the
right. It sounded so good. Keb’ Mo’ sang, “Oh beautiful, for spacious skies,
for amber waves of grain.” It really was Keb’ Mo’. What a great song to welcome
us onto the Mall. His voice was perfect. His guitar was perfect. He played an
old blues guitar, a beautiful silver National guitar. The sound of that guitar
and his voice was one of the most beautiful things I had heard in a long time.
It seemed so right too. A little steel-string guitar in the morning, blue notes
ringing out over the darkness of the Mall, for us to hear and feel. A little music
before breakfast. That one song made me feel so good and I knew we arrived at
the perfect moment, for that was the first full song that we heard.
We walked forward with the music of
Keb’ Mo’ until we could walk no more. We hit a group of people that weren’t
moving. We went left and walked a little closer. Then we hit another group of
people. Keb’ Mo’ was still playing and singing. The sound was good and we had a
good view of the big screen. We had found our spot. From the very beginning I
was very impressed with the sound quality—that was part of the reason that I
was satisfied with our location.
We were a little left of center,
which meant we were a little closer to the speaker tower on the left side of
the Mall. There were two speaker towers in front of us: one to the left and one
to the right. The screen was to the right.
Abe nudged me and pointed to some
people.
“What?” I said, “People camping
out—memories of last year. Exactly man.”
I kept doing this. I kept saying
last year, even though I meant last time. The current scene was similar to the scene that Abe and Janice and I saw four years ago.
Although we were a little closer this year. We were on the Mall near 4th Street, which, as it turns out, was as close as
you could get without tickets.
As we looked around we saw people
on the ground. I don’t think they were there all night, but it did sort of look
as though they were camped out. They had blankets on the ground and blankets
over top of them. People were sitting back to back, supporting each other,
resting, sleeping. It was beautiful.
Abe said, “I think we officially
made it. I’m going to eat a sandwich.”
It was a great idea. I said, “Food
is so important, man. I was getting a little queasy on the walk.” But I wasn’t
ready to eat. First I had to gear up. “Now comes the warmth,” I said.
“Put all your clothes on,” said
Graham. So that’s what I did. I had three pairs of pants and five jackets, including
two fleece jackets, one down jacket, and one rain coat. Keb’ Mo’ played while I
was getting dressed. “We didn’t miss sunrise,” I said. “This makes me happy.” Abe
and Graham were sitting on the white plastic on the ground and they were both eating.
After Keb’ Mo’ there was some
background music while they showed the Inauguration schedule up on the screen.
The background music was like something you’d hear on TV, just some upbeat
background music. The music was very bright and happy and open and it reminded
me of U2 a little bit. So I started calling it the U2ish music. I was still
getting dressed. This took some time because I had to plan my pocket situation.
I had my pen and my notebook and my voice recorder and my camera, and I needed
to be able to access all these things. In the summer, it’s easy to wear a
mechanic’s shirt and have lots of pocket space. But in the winter—you have your
jacket on. I explained my problem to Abe and Graham saying, “So my situation
here is how to dress myself so I have both warmth and access to my pockets.” It
took a few minutes, but I figured it out.
And while I was getting dressed,
Abe and Graham were getting comfortable and eating their sandwiches. The ground
was actually not too cold. The plastic panels were not as cold as the ground.
After the sandwich, Abe ate an orange.
Once I was all set, I started
writing. It was tempting to sit down and rest, but I had to continued the
documentation. All around us, people were sitting and standing and talking. The
mood was good. It was dark, but there was still enough light that I could write
in my notebook. The music now was some background music that was more intense
than the U2ish music. This music sounded like music they would show in
documentary about fire. Images flashed on the screen: the Washington
Monument, Dr. King. I looked away
from the screen and looked at the Capitol. I was standing and since most people
were sitting, I had a clear view. I used my binoculars and looked at the
Inauguration platform. The platform looked good, but it was mostly empty at
this point. No people.
I stood there, looking at the
Capitol, looking around me, looking at the sky. At 6:30 the sky was dark. By 6:40
the sky was a whole different thing. The sunrise had begun. There whole sky was
now purple, a dark purple, except for the patch of sky to the right of the
Capitol building. The sun was nearing the eastern horizon. The bright part of
the sky was pink and orange. No direct sunlight, but the color was there. The
light from the sun hit the clouds and made them beautiful. People looked and
pointed at the sunrise.
Then my ears perked up. First, the
sound of a choir: “Come on up for the rising, come on up lay your hand in
mine.” I didn’t even have to look at the screen. I knew. Springsteen. A chill
went through my body. “Come on up for the rising tonight,” sang the choir. They
were dressed in red. I watched the screen with joy in my heart. This was a
performance from the 2009 concert, when Bruce and U2 and Pete Seeger and lots
of other artists performed on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial before the 2009
Inauguration. It was good footage of a good song. Bruce stood in front of the
choir with his acoustic guitar. The choir sang the intro, and right after they
finished Bruce started playing his guitar: “Ring, ding ding. Ring, ding ding,”
a cool and steady tempo. He soon started singing along with the chords he was
playing.
The voice of Bruce Springsteen,
strong and pure and honest. As his words and music filled the air I pulled out
my notebook and started writing:
This is my country! Sunrise
is just beginning. January breezes float by. Bruce Springsteen in the air.
Bruce is singing about spirits—I feel a chill in my body, but it’s not the
cold. It’s the music and it’s the freedom. Strong emotions. My first goose
bumps of the 2013 Inauguration, and all because of this Springsteen song. The
song is “The Rising.” And as I listen I look up at the sky, the waves of clouds
and color. The colors are getting brighter, more orange. Keep writing. Holy
Springsteen. Holy music. Holy America.
The song goes on. I look down at
Abe and Graham. They are resting with eyes closed. Graham is lying on his back.
Abe is sitting with his legs crossed. I am standing. I have to stand so I can
see it all. My feet are feeling good and warm. I’m wearing two pairs of socks.
I watch Bruce and the choir sing. Pure magic.
The music is louder than anything
else, but in the background I hear people talking. People are talking with each
other, the people they came with. I hear some laughing too. Laughter on the
Mall. Some people are resting, but many people are not. The conversations add a
liveliness to the air. “The dream of life comes to me,” sings Bruce. “Like a
catfish dancing on the end of the line.” And my mind goes right back to the MCI
center in D.C. in the year 2002, when I first heard “The Rising” live.
Sometimes you have to hear a song live in order to fall in love with it. And
that’s the power of a song—the experience of listening is always a new
experience and you never know exactly where that song is going to take you.
Past rock and roll memories flow
into my mind. Also memories from Inauguration day four years ago. It’s not as
cold this year. I write without gloves. I look at my fingers. There’s more ink
on my fingers, not as much as last night, but I still notice the ink. Streaks
of black ink. The ink is there because that’s what happens when you try to
write while you’re walking, like I did on this morning. You see, when you’re
working a notebook, it’s not just about the moment of writing. You also have to
handle the notebook when you’re not writing. I like to use the pen as a
bookmark. But then the tip sticks out. And sometimes you get inked.
The Springsteen song ends and then
they play that U2ish instrumental music again. It’s upbeat music. Someone made
it. I wonder about the composer. He or she is out there. The sky is slowly
getting brighter. Something uninteresting comes up on the big screen. I decide
to sit down and take a food break. I eat my olive and cream cheese sandwich and
it’s delicious—and I Abe to thank for I never knew about this sandwich until he taught me. I drink some cold coffee which I made the day before. I don’t
have much of it, but I have enough. Then I drink some water. I have different
water bottles going, different pockets for different things. It’s a little too
comfortable sitting down, but I feel the need to embrace it. I feel a tiredness
in my body, so I rest. I curl up like a dog and I use my bag of newspapers like
a pillow. But even then I can’t stop writing. The narration goes on in my mind:
I’m tired but not too tired to write. Down low I see shoes and boots,
houndstooth, a woman’s jacket, why don’t men wear houndstooth?, people walking
by, stepping over me and Graham, legs, feet, asses, sky, bright, more U2ish
music, just resting, resting and moaning.
Even the ground feels good when
you’re tired and when you’re lying down after walking a few miles and after a night
when you only sleep a couple hours.
Just a little rest, only a minute
or two.
Then it’s back up and back to work.
Notebook and pen, camera and binoculars. It’s 7:00.
Now the whole sky is lighter, blue where there used to be purple. The sky above
us is still one giant cloud. And the bright spot in the sky is down past the
right side of the Capitol. The sun will soon shine on us. A new day. With
binoculars I look at the Platform. I can see people here and there. Workers
getting ready. There’s a camera tower that’s sort of blocking my view of the
podium and I see at least four people up on the tower. So much work to do. Get
the cameras ready, film checks and sound checks.
7:03
and the light is more even and strong. Garth Brooks is on the big screen
singing: “Shout! A little bit louder now. Shout! A little bit louder now.” And
this song is getting a response from the crowd. People are dancing and singing.
Moving is a good way to stay warm.
Graham sort of moves his head and
gets re-situated. While doing this he bumps into a lady’s feet by accident.
“Sorry,” says Graham.
“Oh don’t worry,” says the lady.
“You actually remind me of my son four years ago. I don’t even mind your head
there. My feet are cold.” I hear this and smile. Kindness, so much kindness all
around. As I look around and listen I can feel the kindness of the people
around me.
We are still down low in the
darkness, but now there is color on the clouds behind the Capitol. The sky is now
all peachy, a very creamy orange. I see bare tree branches silhouetted against
a colorful sky—the stuff of film and photography. I look to the color. The
bright spot in the sky is the heart of the sunrise that is happening.
By 7:20
there’s so much color in the sky, waves of color, still that same peachy color
but there’s more of it. The clouds look like waves of color that are moving
from right to left.
I watch a national parks video on
the big screen. They show Barack and his family going around Yellowstone
National Park. So that gets me thinking
about my Yellowstone days and being on the road in the
summer of 2005. Graham was there. But now Graham is sleeping so we can’t talk
about that. He needs his rest.
The ongoing program on the big
screen is an interesting collection of different things. There are musical
things and there are informative things and there are stills and there are also
little short films. I mentioned the film about Barack in the national park.
Next we see a short film about the letters that people send to the
president. Barack gets thousands and thousands of letters, and every week
Barack actually reads 10 of those letters himself.
7:24,
and now the sunrise is really peaking with super bright oranges. The sky is a
study in orange. I’m writing and watching the sky while Barack is on the big
screen talking about one specific letter that he read. Just hearing Barack’s
voice . . . I hear it and I feel good. And my feet are still warm. My bare
hands are also warm.
Then on the big screen they show
Barack shooting hoops. “Buckets,” says someone. Then Beyonce comes on the big screen.
People around us cheer. I’m excited to see her later. She got the gig:
Inauguration 2013. James Taylor will also be performing. He got the gig as
well.
In front of me I watch a man eating
a bagel and cream cheese sandwich and I think to myself: I have one of those
inside my belly. On the big screen, Beyonce is singing about doing a dance
called the Dougie—a line from the song “Move Your Body.” I don’t really know
the song, but it seems to be a workout song. Beyonce sings about moving your
body, and then the film cuts to Michelle Obama. Michelle is talking about a
work out program that she’s involved with called Let’s Move. She talks about
the program and then she talks about some of the people she’s met. On the big
screen I watch as Michelle personally welcomes guests to the White House.
Michelle’s voice is so kind and welcoming it brings a tear to my eye. There’s
such a humanness to Michelle and Barack—famous people are people too.
I look around: people are talking
and doing things with their cell phones. I see lots of people looking down at
cell phone screens. I see birds flying up above. It’s now 7:30 and golden light from the sun is hitting the tops of
the different Smithsonian buildings. We’re still down low in the cool shadows,
but I know it won’t be long till we feel the light. All in all, it’s pretty
light out. Graham has his winter hat pulled over his eyes so he can sleep.
The next song is “La Bamba.” It’s a
live version. I don’t know the performers, but I enjoy it. Other people enjoy
it too. After that comes a blues song. The song is “Sweet Home Chicago.” I
watch the screen but the cuts are fast. They cut from the stage to Barack.
Barack is there, and they are trying to get him to sing. On stage is Mick
Jagger and Buddy Guy and Warren Haynes and B.B. King and Derek Trucks and lots of
other musicians too, but I just can’t catch them all. Barack sings a few bars
of “Sweet Home Chicago.” His voice sounds good. People around me cheer. Then
on the screen Barack hands the microphone back to B.B. King. It’s a short
video, just a little snippet form this concert that took place inside the White
House. I remember reading about the concert in Rolling Stone.
The blues sound good and I want
more but there isn’t any more. I make a conscious effort and turn away from the
big screen. I don’t want to get TV brain. There is so much going on all around
me. The sunrise is still happening. I look back behind me. The entire Washington
Monument is now glowing with bright
light. Sun on granite. It makes me think of Yosemite, of
being down in Yosemite Valley for sunrise. I also think
about being up on a granite wall, rocking climbing while the sun is rising.
Yosemite is way far away, way off to the west, 3,000 miles past the Washington
Monument. As I look toward the
monument, I can see the huge crowd. It looks as though the crowd extends all
the way back to the monument. I’m down low, so it’s hard to tell for sure, but
I know a giant crowd is assembling—it’ll be at least a half a million strong,
maybe close to a million. I know this, but it’s hard to comprehend a number
that big.
7:50
comes. I read the time off my digital watch that’s on my right wrist (I set the
time last night, so it should be pretty accurate). And now my hands are cold.
Binoculars really make the hands cold. Cold plastic, cold air. But there’s so
much to see. Visibility is good. I look around with my binoculars some more. I
watch the people who are on the tops of buildings. They have binoculars too,
but, as Graham later points out, “their binoculars are much better than mine.”
Now the light is coming down and
hitting more of the buildings. It’s also hitting our heads and faces. Direct light
. . . Ahh . . . how sweet the sound. I close my eyes and feel the sun. My hands
are cold so I put my gloves on. No reason to try and be tough. I have a long
way to go.
Barack is now talking on the big
screen. He’s talking about “How good and decent and strong the American people
are.” Then he mentions Dr. King and Lincoln
and their bibles, which will be used for today’s ceremony.
My hands quickly warm up in my
gloves. Abe and Graham are still resting. Barack’s voice is still in the air.
I’m thinking about Dr. King. Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day after all. I
think about Dr. King—I just about always think about Dr. King when I come to
the Mall. His spirit lives here.
On the screen there’s a little
piece about the National Mall, and they mention Pierre L’Enfant. They refer to
D.C. as a city that belongs to all Americans. I like the sound of that.
7:58
and there’s still no sign of the hawk. I keep looking to my right, looking for
the hawk. I spotted a hawk four years ago on Inauguration day. Now I wonder
where that bird is. To my right, in one of the trees, there are some leaf clusters.
I keep looking right and seeing the leaves, and I keep mistaking the leaves for
a hawk. There are no large birds around on this morning. No hawks and no
vultures.
There are actually not that many
birds in the air. With my binoculars I can see some birds flying off in the
distance by the Capitol. Capitol birds. I think of them maybe living there, secret nests and perches on and around the Capitol.
The right side of the Capitol is
now sizzling with sunlight. A few newcomers arrive and try to post up. The
newcomers get questioning glances but no one says anything. The newcomers move
on. There’s only so much space to go around and we’ve been waiting . . . has it
been almost two hours of waiting?
It doesn’t feel like waiting to me.
I’m totally engaged with the world around me. Writing does this to me. This is
my work: looking and seeing and thinking and getting it down on the page. It’s
a fun job. I’m having fun. A helicopter goes by, making the rounds. I say a
little prayer for peace. Peace is a word that will surely get used today.
Then I look back to the west again.
I happen to see a plane. It’s far away, way behind the Washington
Monument. I think about the people
on the plane. When I see a plane I often think about people sitting in the
seats, reading or sleeping, because that’s what people often do on planes.
Now Josh Groban is singing. Josh
and I are the same age, 31 years old. I’m not too familiar with his work, but
his voice sounds good on the sound system on the Mall. It’s loud but not too
loud. Great volume and clarity. I’d like to tell the sound team “good job,” but
I have no idea where the soundboard is. What you have to realize is there are
speaker towers at intervals the whole way back along the Mall. The speakers in
front of me are my speakers, but there are many other speaker back behind me.
Now I’m feeling really good. Food
is the key. After Josh comes Keb’ Mo’ again. The film is repeating. Way up
front I hear some music coming out of the front sound system, might even be
music from the Capitol sound system. Probably a sound check.
I decided to lie down again, just a
quick 4-minute rest. I’ve documented the sunrise and my reward is a little
rest. No sleep though. But when I close my eyes, guess what I see? I see the
sunrise. This is what happens when you really pay attention to something—it
stays in your mind and leaves an imprint. The clouds and the color and the
beautiful orange light. And as I watch the sunrise in my mind, I listen to the
people behind me talking. One lady is a teacher from Boston.
She flew down for the Inauguration. The other person is a lady from Florida
who drove up. The Boston lady says
this is warm for her. And I agree. 38 or 40 degrees is pretty nice as long as
you’re dressed properly, which I am. I am quite warm.
I sit up and Graham opens his eyes.
Abe and Graham are now awake and we talk a little. They want to know how long
they’ve slept. I say “I’m going to have to check my notes.” And then I flip
through my notebook. I tell them “you’ve slept for about an hour.” But it feels
like much longer than that. It’s been a busy hour, lots of thoughts in my
brain, lots of words on the page.
The music on the big screen is
repetitive. Abe and Graham notice this too. It feels like a writing playlist.
You may or may not know this: I have these writing playlists. I made one for
2011 and one for 2012. Playlists work well for me because I know the songs and
I know the order and that helps me get a good groove going. I don’t always
write with a playlist, but sometimes they are useful.
I drink some coffee and stand up.
More writing. It’s 8:19 and my left hand
is a little sore from writing, but the writing is fun. When the minutes matter
so much as they do right now—that’s when the writing is really fun.
There’s a video on the screen that
I’ve seen before. I look away. I watch a man eat a muffin. Direct sun is
blasting me in the face. The sky is blue.
8:28
and Springsteen is singing “The Rising” again. “I see Mary in the Garden,”
sings Bruce. This is my favorite song on the Inauguration playlist. The music
sounds so good I want to go up and kiss the speakers. I am standing but Abe and
Graham are still down on the ground. “Guess what Phish song I’m thinking
about,” says Graham.
I make my guesses: “Divided Sky.”
No. “Wading In The Velvet Sea.”
No. “Bouncing Around the Room.” No. Graham gives me a little hint. I guess
“Dirt” and I am correct.
At 8:36
I look up and watch seagulls soaring above us, just about four or five. They
are not too high and so I can see the sunlight on their wings. The sunlight
makes their white wings glow. Birds make me so happy. Later in the day I
realize the power of birds and I say: birds are one of nature’s
antidepressants.
I zoom in with my camera and take a
photo of the Capitol and the Inauguration platform. Now there are a lot more
people down low on the ground level. The central flag near the Capitol’s dome
is hanging down. No wind to make it fly. Meanwhile, to my right, there’s a
rainbow flag that someone is holding. The person is moving the flag—that’s one
way to make a flag fly.
“I feel like the ground is moving,”
I say.
“That’s just your legs, man,” says
Graham.
At 8:40
I decide to take a walk to the bathroom. Abe and Graham have no problem saving
my spot and I figure now is a good time to go. So I walk off and right away I
almost fall down. My balance is off from standing for so long. And my feet are
a little cold. Cold feet don’t work as well. And that’s part of the reason I
want to walk—I want to generate a little warmth—I also want to see what’s going
on around me. I want to get some new views, some new research. I use a man’s
shoulder to steady myself from falling. I thank the man and apologize. But he’s
in a good mood. He’s with his girl and they’re hugging and cuddling. That’s
another way to stay warm. The crowd is really tight. I plan my moves. There’s
not really any paths. You just kind of have to wiggle between people. I see a
group of college kids playing cards. They are playing while standing up, about
four or five of them. Have you ever seen people standing and playing cards?
It’s pretty funny actually. I smile and keep on walking and wiggling and excusing
myself. “Please excuse me. I’ll be out of your way in just a second, thank
you.”
And soon I’m off the plastic and out
of the crowd. Once I get to the grass by the trees on the side of the Mall, I
can relax and move with ease. There are people on the grass, but it’s not as
crowded. I see more grass than people. It’s because this part of the Mall is
off to the side—the views and the sound aren’t quite as good. But it still
sounds pretty good, and I think to myself that these people might be onto
something: get a little space and relax. But I’m committed to our position.
We’re in the thick of it, and that’s sort of the way I like it. I walk over to
the portable toilets. There are hundreds of them. They’re all lined up, a long
line of little blue plastic structures—they are placed right next to each other
with gaps every so often just like gaps between townhouses. You can’t have a
wall of portable toilets. No one would be able to get through.
No lines mean I don’t have to wait.
I go in. I come out. It’s all sunlight outside. It’s really a nice day. My feet
are warm from just that little bit of walking. It feels like 40 degrees. I see
kids playing in the grass. I see people lying on cardboard. I see one lady
lying inside a cardboard box and that makes me happy—I knew I was going to see
that because I saw that four years ago. You gotta stay warm. As I walk around I
see many people who are surprisingly under dressed. No hats on some, guys with
just jeans and sweatshirts. I notice that a lot of the younger people don’t
know how to dress for the cold.
I get an idea: I should walk west
and see how far back the people are lined up. But right away I see that this
isn’t possible. Metal barricades block my path, and there are men in uniform
guarding the gates. I worry that if I get out I won’t be able to get back. So
I decide to rest. I go under a big elm tree and lie on my back and look up.
“The trees are dancing,” I say to myself. “It’s a subtle dance but they are
dancing.” The movement of branches makes me smile like a child. Lying down feels
great on my tired back. Standing in one spot for hours can be hard on the back.
And holding a notebook and writing just adds tension to the complex equation
that is the human body. Rest is good.
I rest for just a few minutes. Then
I stand up and walk some more on the grass by the elm trees. I talk with a man
selling lanyards. How much? Five bucks. Good deal. Two choices, red and blue. I
pull out my wallet. U2ish instrumental music plays in the background. “Which
one would you like?” he asks. “This one has the mock ticket on the back.” “Mock
ticket,” I say, that sounds great to me. I go for that one. I talk with the man
for a minute or so. We talk about our feet. He understands why I’m walking
around. He thanks me for my purchase. I say your welcome. Yessir he says. All
in all, a very lovely transaction.
Then I see a man with an easel.
He’s painting. I walk past and say, “Oh yeah that’s exciting, open air
painting.”
“Yeah!” says the artist. I look at
his canvas. Black paint on a white page. The artist hands me a postcard. He’s
part of a big art project called A Thousand Artists. The artists are on the
Mall making art—the project is happening right now. I put the postcard in my
inside pocket and head into the crowd.
Getting back in is much harder than
getting out. I try one place, but I simply can’t get through. I turn around and
try another place. I get about ten feet into the crowd, but then I get stuck.
Another dead end. People are nice. They see I’m an honest traveler. I’m not a
latecomer trying to get up close. But it’s just so tight it’s crazy. I go back
out and decide I’ll just try another route. It’s still just as tight. “I’m just
trying to get through,” I say. I hear bits of conversation. The wiggling is
very tight. “I’m just going to squeeze by,” I say.
“I don’t know how you gonna
squeeze,” says a lady.
“It’s tricky to get back,” I say.
“Hey, which way are you going?”
“I’m trying to get out,” says the
man.
“Maybe there’s a path,” I say.
“Ain’t no path,” says the man. “Try
somewhere else.”
So that’s what I do. I go somewhere
else—just another tight spot. I decide to try something new. I look to the
people around me. Kind faces. I ask, “Which way, which way do ya think?”
“I think you’re better going this
way,” says a lady.
But then I get lucky. A father and
his son are going the same way as me. I get in their wake and we move. People
make space for a little boy, that’s the trick.
I get back to Abe and Graham and
they are happy to see me. They were worried about me. I tell them how crazy it
was, how it took me about ten minutes to walk a distance of about seventy feet.
I get my notebook out and write: 9:13,
back at the spot, completely packed down here on the lawn. I just turned
another page in my notebook and the sun is shining on the page—my pen makes a
shadow—the shadow of my pen looks a little like the top of the Chrysler
Building. Yes! The sun! I have to
stop and enjoy the sun.
Abe and Graham are standing. They
are both taller than me. We eat our second sandwiches. My crazy sandwich goes
down well: PB, black olives, and sriracha on wheat bread. Meanwhile, on the big
screen, Barack is singing the blues with B.B. King and all the others, “Sweet
Home Chicago” for the second time. Or is it the third time? No time to check.
Too much to do. Feel the sunlight, write, listen, write, look around, write.
There’s talk of a casket. If you want to sleep in a crowd and not get stepped
on, sleep in a casket—you could call it a picnic casket. What! We start talking
with this lady who’s standing near us. She wants to know about my journey to
the bathrooms. I tell the truth. She decides to wait. We talk about the Mall
and about D.C. We talk about the new Dr. King Memorial, which I really love. I
use a map to show her where it is. Graham mentions the welcoming committee in
the morning and how it set a nice tone for the day. People are so nice and
happy, especially now that it’s sunny and warmer out.
I take a break from talking so I
can write. There are seagulls flying up above us again. Beautiful white birds.
At 9:38 I use the binoculars and look
ahead at the Capitol. The special Inauguration area is full of people, although
the seats down around the podium—the best seats in the house—they are still
empty. The special guests are still en route.
Josh Groban sings again and the man
to my left harmonizes. The man has a good voice. I almost say this too him, but
I can’t do it. Just keep writing. Stand and write, rest a little too, little
rests here and there. My left ankle is sore. I’ll do my stretches later. No room
right now—it would be impossible to lie on the ground at this point—the crowd
is tight. I unzip my coat a little more. I’m still warm from the walk back.
Keb’ Mo’ plays again. There’s a sound conflict because we are close enough that
we can hear the sound check that’s going on up front. It sounds like a children's
choir is singing. Maybe that’s not the sound check. Abe and Graham are taller,
so they look ahead and tell me what they see. There’s a different video being
played on the screen that’s up ahead, the screen that’s there for the ticketed
people. The lady we’re talking with wants to know what’s up there, so I take a
picture and show her (because she's too short to see). “You mean you can see the podium!” she says. “Sort of,” I
say. “That TV camera tower is in our way, but yeah.”
In the photograph we can also see
the waves of heat that are rising off the crowd. We can also see the heat waves
with the binoculars. This crowd is putting so much heat up into the air. Graham
asks me about the big trees to the left and right of where we’re standing. I
say elm, but I’m not 100 percent sure.
10:00
and lots of people are standing now. I look down: more ink on my hands, my
jacket’s open, there’s sunlight on my hands. I look at the sunlight on my
beard. Some of my hairs are almost a little reddish—like a brownish red, or
maybe it’s just the light illuminating each strand of hair like a glowstick of
sunlight. My beard is open and free—plenty of space for the light of the sun.
Facing east. So many of us are
facing east. Waiting, waiting, people are taking and waiting, talking about
food. People like to talk about food. A guy to my right is eating a piece of
beef jerky. The sun illuminates the piece of dried beef just as it illuminates
my beard. The dried beef glows with sunlight. I’ve never seen that before. Oh
so beautiful, and I don’t even eat meat.
It’s now 10:05
and people have begun to notice what’s going on. “Switch the screen. Switch the
screen.” The crowd is chanting because we want new video content; we want the
live video feed that the people up front are getting. Abe noticed this long
before the chant. I say to Abe, “You’re right man. I bet that’s the live feed.”
Springsteen plays again and this
brings automatic joy and comfort to my soul. Abe mentions something about
Springsteen and this makes me even happier because Abe knows about Springsteen. I
look to my right and watch the movement of a flag. A flag almost slithers in
the breeze, back and forth, the fabric rising and falling, a wavelike motion.
You can get lost in a flag just like you can get lost while watching a river or
a campfire.
And speaking of waves, the clouds
in the sky are still sort of in the same position as they were earlier. I mean,
I can tell it’s the same sky. I know this sky. The sky is mostly one big
bluish-grey cloud, but this giant cloud has an edge. The edge of the great
cloud is over to the right, to the right of the Capitol. And if you look a
little farther, just past the great edge, that’s where the blue sky is. I think
about the sky some more and I write: what I’m seeing here is the evolution of a
sunrise.
Then more chants from the crowd:
“Switch the screen. Switch the screen.”
At 10:19
we get our wish. The sound changes too. People cheer and clap. Now we’re
plugged into the live feed. On the big screen is a military band. I hear the
brass. The music is very clean. Nice playing. The song is “Amazing Grace.” No
words, just brass and woodwinds. But “Amazing Grace” is so well known that the words appear
in your mind. The brass is flowing. It feels like a long version. And in
between video of the live band, we see video of people arriving for the inauguration.
People around us call out the names of people who are arriving. “Jimmy Carter!”
The sight of Jimmy Carter brings joy and cheering. Another person is shown on
the screen—this person gets booed. Not too many boos, though. The people around
us seem to approve—at least verbally—of a majority of the politicians and
guests who are shown on the screen.
The military band launches into a
new song. It sounds like merry-go-round music. I’m amazed how knowledgeable the
people around me are. They recognize just about every person that is shown on
the big screen.
The sun is now just a bright spot
behind the clouds. We talk and watch the screen. 10:20 now, just about an hour
until the ceremony starts. I hand my camera to Graham and let him do his work.
Graham and I have the same brand of camera, so he knows how to work mine.
The band plays a familiar melody,
and I silently sing along with my pen on the page, “Tis a gift to be simple.”
Aaron Copeland, right? Well, yes and no. “Simple Gifts” is the name of the
song (I just looked this up) and it’s an old Shaker tune, going back to the mid
1800s, so it’s gotta be PD by now, so that’s how Copeland was able to borrow it
and work it into his own music. The band sounds good of course, but we don’t
get to hear the whole song, because when the camera cuts to the guests who are
arriving, the sound also changes and instead of music, we hear a live
microphone that’s picking up the sounds of the people who are being filmed
walking in: voices, the sounds of high-heeled shoes on marble, just little
snippets of conversation. We basically have a front row seat now, because the
cameras are doing the work for us. (No commercials either—although I don’t
realize this at the time.)
Waves of heat rise from the crowd.
More heat now as the day is warming. Maybe 40 or 41, but it’s always warmer in
the sun. You know that, right? The temperature that the weather people tell you
is always is the shade. My hands are good and warm, as are my feet. But my feet
are a little sore from the standing. Inauguration is an exercise in standing
just as riding the Greyhound bus is an exercise in sitting. But I don’t mind
one bit. My travels have toughened me up. Going across the country in a Greyhound
bus will usually put a person into one of two camps: You either get positive
and get into the adventure. Or you get negative and get into the complaining. I
of course chose positivity and adventure. Writing too has toughened me up.
Writing books is slow hard work—in the beginning years, the writing sort of
shocked my mind. Now I love it more than ever.
On the big screen we see the podium
where Barack will soon take the oath. The podium looks cool. It’s 10:36 and a helicopter is making big long laps
around the Capitol and around parts of the Mall. We look up at watch the
helicopter—it’s very loud, louder than the music when it’s close.
I decide it’s coffee time, time for
a few more sips, cold coffee, so nice, a little power. Back to the music. Are
the musicians wearing gloves? I wonder. Yes, they are. They play their horns
with white gloves. Some gloves look like ski gloves. Other gloves are smaller.
I’m reminded of Yo-Yo-Ma and Itzhak Perlman four years ago. That was a real
treat—but they had to barehand it, though. Hard to wear gloves when you’re
playing a stringed instrument.
People in the crowd are now waving
flags. The flags are coming! We all turn our heads to see the people who are
handing out the little cloth flags. Abe and Graham and I never get the chance
to accept a flag. There are just not enough. People cheer as Martin Luther
King III arrives—10:40, getting closer.
Most of the special guests we see
on the screen are not wearing hats. A winter hat will really mess up your hairstyle, so no hats I guess. Once in a while I see a hat: some men wear
cowboy hats, a few ladies have fur hats. Then I feel something against my left
leg and my first thought is: could there be a dog in this crowd? It’s just this
boy lifting his foot to do a stretch or something. I look up: just one seagull
soaring above us. Are these just the courageous birds? Have the other birds
left the area due to the big crowd? Seriously, where are all the birds?
The guests continue to arrive and
take their places in the special seats that surround the podium. On the screen
we see Jay-Z arriving and people cheer. Beyonce is on the screen—huge cheers,
ear-hurting cheers actually. The people love Beyonce.
Graham mentions something about a
Ghillie suit, one of the guys on top of one of the buildings looks as though
he’s wearing one. I say I’m going to have to look that up. Ghillie is a new
word for me—it tickles my ear a little.
10:53, we see JOE BIDEN! Not only
cheers, but screams. This one girl to my left is already loosing her voice. “I
love this country!” she screams. She says that every few minutes. That’s just
her way.
10:55, we get our first views of
Barack as he’s walking through the Capitol, BIG BIG cheers of course. Barack is
part of main reason we’re here. We’re here for him and we’re here for America.
When the band stops playing it’s so
quiet. The TV effect is hitting the crowd. People are glued to the screen. And
when there’s nothing happening and no music, there are moments where it’s very
very quiet. It’s quiet in between songs and in between entrances.
The next piece of music is a little
Star Wars-ish. We see Jimmy Carter again on the screen. Then we hear a deep
voice, the voice of an announcer (very similar to the voice that says, “your Washington Capitols,”—the
deep voice tells us, “Ladies and gentlemen, please stand as the color guard
comprised of each of the armed forces presents our National Colors.”
People in the crowd chuckle every
time the announcer tells us to stand. It does sound silly. Many of us have been
standing since six in the morning.
People around us also notice the
announcer's deep voice and they have fun quoting him. “Ladies and Gentlemen,”
they say. It is fun to say, but a deep voice like that is hard to pull off when
you’re trying to pull it off. You can tell that we’re not doing it naturally.
Bill and Hilary Clinton get big cheers. More flags are distributed. Now when I
look around the crowd I see hundreds and hundreds of little American flags. People
are waving them.
“Graham, what is the proper way to
display the flag?”
“The field of blue should be on the
left,” says Graham.” There are huge flags hanging on the Capitol behind the Inauguration
area—and the field of blue is of course on the left or every flag.
It is noticeably cooler now,
without the sun. I watch the screen with everyone else. Then I look beyond the
screen, with binoculars, over to the National
Museum of the American Indian.
Above the museum I watch three little birds flying around—three little birds—I
of course think of Bob Marley.
Then comes more quiet in between
songs. I look at my watch and watch the seconds changing: 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,
13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20—Then Michelle Obama enters and the crowd erupts
with a big cheer.
At 11:19
Joe Biden is introduced. We see Barack on the big screen, cheers and than
chanting: “O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA!”
Trumpeters watch in attention.
“Look at the heat,” I say. The heat
above the crowd is incredible. They tell us to please be seated again. A little
laugher is a good thing.
At 11:22
the introduction is made: “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United
States, Barack Obama.” The band plays “Hail
To The Chief.” Then more people are introduced.
I hear voices behind me. The cheer
has started again. The cheer comes like a wave of sound. It’s soft at first.
Then it’s loud. “O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA!” It sounds as though the entire crowd on the
Mall is cheering.
11:26
comes and we are told to “please be seated.” This is the beginning. Charles B.
Schumer welcomes us to the Capitol and to “this celebration of our great
democracy.” Here come the words—words—holy words. Dr. King’s name is mentioned
yet again. Big cheers and then we get quiet and listen. Charles speaks into the
microphone on the podium and his words become amplified to reach us on the
Mall. Charles takes us all back to 1863 for a little history, the history of America
and also the history of the Capitol building. For the dome to the Capitol was
being built as the Civil War was being fought. And for a time, work on the dome
stopped. But Abraham Lincoln kept the project going and the dome was completed.
On December 2nd 1863, the Statue
Of Freedom was placed atop the dome. Abe and Graham and I had been talking
about the statue, so it was good to hear about it. Charles also mentions the
name of Philip Reid, who helped to cast the statue. Philip was a former slave.
That was a long time ago.
I look to the Capitol building with
my binoculars. I look at the statue on top. I bring my view down. I can see by
the way the flag is flying that the wind is blowing north. The wind makes me
happy. So many things make me happy on a day like today. 2013 is a special
year. This year is the 150th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation and
the 50th anniversary of the March On Washington for Jobs and Freedom, which is
when Dr. King gave his “I Have A Dream” speech. August 28th is coming—that’s
the day we’ll celebrate Dr. King’s legacy—that date has been on my calendar for
quite some time.
Now we’re into the Invocation. I
didn’t write her name down but I can look it up. Now we’re listening to her
voice. It is very quite in the crowd. Plastic hand warmer packages crinkle on
the ground as someone moves their feet. Her voice echoes—her words ring out: “.
. . the American Spirit, the American Dream, the opportunity to become whatever
our mankind, womankind, allows us to be. This is the promise of America.”
She speaks of respect and building a nation. Barack listens. His eyes are
closed. His head is bowed.
At 11:38
the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir is introduced, and then we’re off with “Glory
glory hallelujah.” It’s “The Battle Hymn Of The Republic.” Good sound—the
combination of all those voices. They sing about the grapes of wrath and I
think about John Steinbeck. I also think about Hunter S. Thompson. Hunter was very
fond of this song, especially the Herbie Mann version. The soloist solos. Her voice is perfect. Does she know that? I hope so. Every artist has bouts of
confidence and doubt. Beautiful sound though. Barack watches and smiles. The soloist hits
the high notes—she’s singing way up there. The conductor is conducting with
black gloves. The flags are waving. We listen. America
is watching on TV sets across the country. Connected in the moment. My feet are
hurting but I am not alone. Millions are standing on tired feet that hurt.
Up next is a man named Lamar. He
beings by saying to us, “the late Alex Haley, the author of Roots, lived
his life by these six words: ‘Find the good and praise it.’” I write the words
down and underline them, and I know immediately that those words are going to
go on a piece of paper which I will then put somewhere above my desk in my
writing room. Lamar reminds us about the “peaceful transfer of power”—he explains
his point. We all listen. I look around and see faces, the faces of focused
Americans, Americans who are listening.
Lamar then gives the microphone to
Sonia Sotomayor, who administers the oath to Joe Biden. Joe completes the oath
and we all cheer. The band plays a little piece. Joe is with us for four more
years.
At 11:48
James Taylor comes forward. Someone hands him his guitar. He puts his guitar strap around his shoulder and steps to the microphone. Is he going to barehand it?
Yes of course. He fingerpicks the notes of a chord and starts singing, “Oh
beautiful for spacious skies, for am-ber-waves-of-grain.” I’m reminded of
hearing James back by the Dr. King Memorial. James was there on Dedication Day
2011 (I know because I was there too). I listen and look at the big screen.
What key is he singing in? Looks like the key of A. Ah yes, capo on the second
fret. The man next to me is harmonizing again. And that’s pretty much what
we’re all doing—harmonizing with voices and hearts and minds and souls. “From
sea to shining sea.” I hear the words, and I think about this land where I’m
standing, but then I think about going from sea to shining sea by taking the long
way, which would take you around the world, and that’s a nice idea too. But for
that concept to really take off, it would have to be a song about the world—one
great anthem for the whole world—has such a song been written yet?
James is done singing and now it’s
time for Barack to take the oath. Michelle holds the bibles, Lincoln’s
bible and Dr. King’s bible, and Barack takes the oath. Four more years with
President Obama. Lots of cheering now. People are clapping and screaming, flags
are waving. And now Barack is going to speak. The crowd is cheering, “O-BA-MA!
O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA!”
Barack thanks us and gets started.
He gets right into it. “What makes us exceptional, what makes us American, is
our allegiance to an idea articulated in a declaration made more than two
centuries ago. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are
created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable
rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’
Today we continue a never-ending journey to bridge the meaning of those words
with the realities of our time.”
Barack’s voice is coming in good
and clear. There’s good volume to his voice. I look up and see the guards up on
the tops of the buildings. They are working, but I bet they can hear what he’s
saying too. Although they are probably trained to block out extraneous
information. What a view I’m sure they have, though, being up high. Eyes don’t
forget.
All around I see people recording
this speech with cameras and cell phones held up in the air. Barack talks more
about the history of this country. The crowd cheers when Barack says “a decade
of war is now ending.” Barack looks good on the big screen. There’s good
lighting and good camera work.
“My fellow Americans,” says Barack,
“we are made for this moment, and we will seize it, so long as we seize it
together.” We cheer and clap—what a beautiful sound, the sound of people
clapping with winter gloves on. A happy sound that hits my ears but does not
hurt my hears.
I listen to Barack and I envision his words going into a Word document on my computer. I know I’ll be
writing this out. More cheers now, talk of equality. I count ten seagulls
soaring above me, soaring up high, with wings spread, soaring like my friends
the vultures, who I see in my neighborhood everyday. The seagulls are soaring
just as Barack is soaring a beautiful speech over this crowd, this Mall, this
country . . . .
Barack has just spoken about
climate change. This is important. Kindness to our planet. Our home.
My mind starts thinking about words
and writing, writing and editing my own books. I think to myself—a selfish
little thought just for me here—it might be helpful while editing to imagine
Barack reading my words. This will keep me honest.
I feel inspired. Certain people
inspire us. I look to Barack and Dr. King and Bruce Springsteen. Dr. King
looked to Gandhi and Henry David Thoreau. Springsteen looked to Bob Dylan and the
Beatles. Bob Dylan looked to Woody Guthrie. And this is how it goes. The scope
and power of inspiration is truly magnificent.
Barack delivers another strong
thought and we cheer and clap. I watch the movement of bodies, heads and hands.
Flags are waving. A scarf takes flight and then it comes to rest on the
backside of a woman’s coat. The way the scarf is—wow—it looks like a tentacle.
Barack is so good at speaking that
it’s fun to listen. I’m having fun. “Peace in our time,” says Barack. Now the
wind speaks, just a little breeze. The sun speaks too, light all around.
Barack’s voice goes up in volume as he talks about Dr. King. It’s the climatic
moment. All around the country a million tears are born.
“He’s preaching now,” says a man in
the crowd.
Barack’s words are working. It’s 12:08 and I am inside the speech, fully
absorbed in what he’s saying. We’re all in it together. More claps from the
gloved hands, the music of appreciation. I take a deep breath—clean air, a
clean smell, the cool clean air of January. I hear a train whistle somewhere in
the distance—all around, life is happening, people are traveling and working
and playing and thinking and living.
At 12:12
Barack delivers the last word of his speech, which is America.
A good word to end on. As a writer, you pay attention to these things. The
beginning of a book and the ending of a book—you study how it’s done and you
think how it could be done.
Now Kelly Clarkson is singing “My
country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing” and I think to
myself: that’s a good way to begin a song. Set it up, now we know what the song
is going to be about. Kelly knows too. I’m sure she’s practiced this tune a few
times. It’s in her body. She sounds good. She opens her mouth and out comes her
music, her very own musical vibrations. She’s holding the microphone in her
right hand. Her face moves as she sings. Emotion. It’s a day filled with emotion.
And now people are leaving. A long
line of people are walking in front of me. My nylon bag is getting stepped on
but I can’t get to it because there’s a river of people going by. Time to leave
for many people. Barack’s speech was the big moment and now that moment has
passed. Kelly has a tough job—she has to follow Barack. But she’s singing well.
After the walkers go we have a
little more space. It feels good. Now for the poet. “Richard Blanco” I say. And
people look at me a little confused but then the poet is announced, “Richard Blanco.”
And just like Kelly, Richard has a tough job too. But Richard doesn’t have the
aid of music. He just has his words. It’s a beautiful poem, but people in the
crowd are tired at this point. People are cold and tired and sore. We are all
suffering. Soon we will be able to sit down and rest. Some people listen and
some people talk over the poem. The poem is a longer one. People aren’t used to
poetry—you don’t hear poems on the radio and you sure don’t see them on TV.
It’s a tough job, but Richard doesn’t hear what I hear. He’s up on the podium.
Richard says, “The ‘I Have A Dream’ that we all keep dreaming,” and that gets
people to listen up a little more. But then the talkers start talking again.
Someone says “Shhhhh” and it gets quiet. Yes, respect. Namaste. Richard
actually uses the holy word Namaste in his poem. But we’ve been paying
attention for so long—we need recess, we need to sit down.
Richard keeps reading his poem and
then we all clap when he’s done. I stretch my back and start moaning. I’m
looking forward to sitting and resting and drinking and eating.
Now comes the benediction. Yes,
we’re so close now.
The benediction is over. It’s
almost time to rest. Rest is so close that I am filled with a little burst of
energy. I want to sing. So I sing a little Beyonce song. My song is short and
simple. I simply sing Beyonce’s name three times, each time I go up in pitch:
“beyonce, Beyonce, BEYONCE!” People look at me and smile and chuckle.
And then Beyonce steps to the
microphone to sing our National Anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Spangle—that’s another sneaky little word. People are cheering—a release of
energy—but we all get quiet as Beyonce starts singing. She’s doing her job.
Beyonce and the band are rocking this thing to its completion. Beyonce hits a
high note and I see it in her face. I also see the wind in her hair. The air is
moving—necessary air, for music is an aerial affair. Beyonce pulls out her
left-ear monitor and keeps on singing right in key. She’s a singer. We’re in
her world now, the world of music.
And then one last round of cheers
and applause. People start moving and walking. Abe and Graham and I stand
there, in our same spot. Suddenly the ground is visible again—there is space
around us. I look back in my notebook and look over some of the pages, a quick
look just for fun. “Are there any illustrations in there?” asks Abe.
“Only my shirt pocket ink stain,
back at the beginning.” I was so proud of my ink stain that I drew it in my
notebook. But then I remember I also drew the clouds in the sky over the Capitol
and also the flight pattern of the helicopter as it went around the Capitol.
Graham talks about leaving, but I
say that I need to rest first. I need to sit down and rest and eat some food
and regroup. I say I know the perfect space for this. I lead us over to the
north side of the Mall, the grassy area with the elm trees. I grab some
cardboard on the way over to a great elm, and then near the base of the tree I
put the cardboard down and I lie on top of it, resting my back and my mind.
Very important. I then sit up and massage my left ankle. That helps. Abe and
Graham are sitting down too. We all need a little rest. We’re sitting near 4th
Street. Now we realize how good our seats were—we
really couldn’t have gone much closer. While we sit, we watch people leaving
the Mall. Most of the people are gone now. It took hours for them to arrive and
in a matter of minutes they are off the Mall. Now we can see the garbage that
was left behind. Lots of trash on the Mall.
“Okay guys, you know what it’s time
for? I got the perfect thing.” And I pull out a unopened bottle of iced tea.
Our water bottles are empty so I pour some for each of us. It is so sweet and
good. It really is the perfect thing. A little sweetness and a little rest. We
sit under the tree so we can watch the Mall. The national park workers are
walking around in their green uniforms. There’s still music being played on the
speakers on the Mall. It’s classical music now. I walk over to the speaker to
get a better listen. Sounds like maybe Vivaldi, some major key incidental
music. Meanwhile, on the screen, we see politicians and guests mingling and
talking and moving around. We sit and talk and eat some food. It’s recess time,
time to relax. The ground feels so good. People are walking around, taking photographs,
using the bathrooms, picking up trash. I go on a little walk to look at all the
trash that the people have left behind. It’s a weird combination: the clean
classical music and the dirty trash-covered ground. I’m interested in what
people left behind. Certain clusters of trash are kind of nice to look at—I
photograph them. I wish they weren’t there, of course. But since they are
there, I figure I might as well have a look.
I see all kinds of stuff on the
ground: raisin boxes, whole apples, empty potato chip bags, newspapers,
sunglasses, bags of granola, McDonald’s bags, plastic water bottles, coffee
cups, all kinds of plastic bags, ponchos, coffee cup lids, banana peels, candy
bar wrappers, soda cans, juice bottles, handwarmers, hot dog wrappers—hot dog
wrappers have a specific look. I also see a piece of unopened cheddar cheese. I
get hungry.
I start walking back to the guys. I
see a bright orange hunting hat on the ground. I take a photo of Abe and
Graham by the tree. It’s a beautiful tree that we’ve chosen to sit under. In
the distance past the tree is my one of my other friends, the National Gallery
of Art. I probably looked at that building a hundred times today—and every time
I thought about going inside. Maybe? No, not today. Graham is already talking
about pizza. We must rest and then we must walk back to Lindsay’s place. The
walk might be a little crazy because of the fences and the parade and the road
closures. The adventure is not over yet. We have to get home.
So we rest and I hand Abe the
camera so he can take some photos. I have plenty of space. I just got a fresh
16 gigabyte card. In the distance we hear some music with a big bass beat.
Dance music. At first I thought it was coming out of the Mall speakers. But I
walk to one of the speakers and discover that the music is coming from
somewhere in the distance. Maybe a car. Someone is partying. Inauguration
parties are now happening all over.
We sit and rest a little longer.
Then I decide to take action. I say, “I’m going to pick up a little trash
before I leave. I can’t talk about the trash and do nothing.” Abe and Graham
are not sure that this is my best idea because I don’t have any garbage
handling equipment. But I have a plan. I say, “I’m going to use a plastic bag,
dog-poop-style.” I then take a bag (one of my own) and I use the bag to cover
my right hand. It works pretty well. Then I go around and use my bag hand to
pick up trash. I put the trash in a different plastic bag which I hold with my
left hand. It feels good to bend over. The exercise also warms me up. Soon I’m
sweating. The dance music is gone. In the background there’s marching band
music—more merry-go-round music—upbeat music, good for picking up trash.
Abe and Graham watch and take
pictures of me. My first bag fills up pretty quickly. I make my way over to a
man in a green national parks uniform. I say: “Hey, I was just curious. How
long do ya think it’ll take to get it all clean. Days?”
“Uh, it aint as bad this time,”
said the man. “This look good. You should have seen last time. It looked like a
disaster area. Three days.”
“It took three days to clean up
last time.”
“Yeah.”
“How long this time?”
“Not long, after they get everybody
out.”
“Well thank you,” I say.
“Alright.”
I focus on cleaning the patch of
grass near where we are. But the wind is blowing toward us, so trash from the
Mall keeps coming into my area. I work faster. I make my way over to the dirt
pathway. There are two people in camo military uniforms. I want to say hi. I
say, “I like your uniforms.”
“Thank you,” they say.
“They look good. Are they warm?” I
ask.
They say that they’re pretty warm,
but the way they say it makes it sound as though both people are cold at this
point. They both have their cameras out. She’s from Wisconsin.
He’s from D.C. I thank them for their service and go back to my trash detail.
I’m on my second bag now. Abe and Graham call over to me. They’re ready to
start walking. So I throw my bag of garbage into a open garbage container and I
gather up all my belongings which are under the tree.
Now I’m pretty hot and sweaty. All
my coats are unzipped except my innermost coat, my green fleece jacket. So I
unzip that one. Yes, it’s time for the weirdness, time for the show . . . now
my chest is bare. You see, I’m not wearing an undershirt. I turn to Abe and
Graham and they see my bare chest and they start laughing. I give Graham the
camera so he can document the fine madness. I am smiling and laughing too. I’m
wearing four coats but my chest is bare. It’s ridiculous. I pose for the
camera. A man walks by and looks at me. “That’s sexy,” he says and we all laugh
a great big laugh. Oh boy, laughter feels so good—the perfect release.
And then we walk off, past the portable
toilets, past the police—I forget that I’m bearing my belly to the world and so
I quickly zip up right away. I notice a police man smiling. We walk past the
National Gallery of Art. We get to 7th Street
and go north, but we soon realize we can’t go north. Now we have to decide
where to go. Lots of people are doing what we’re doing—trying to figure out how
to get out of the city with all the road closures.
Then we find a nice volunteer who
seems to have all the road closures memorized. She’s the road master. She tells
us to go south on 7th and then left on something—I forget. So we do this and
soon we’re walking back on the same roads that we entered on—the maze of fences
and corrals and blocked off roads. The vendors are still selling. Prices are
lower now. One man is selling Obama aprons, 5 dollars. We see all kinds of
stuff. The streets are packed with people. It’s slow going. Graham leads the
way. He’s tall so he can see over the crowd.
We come to this one place. It’s
like a checkpoint. We’re supposed to go right. But we want to go straight.
There’s a little gap in the fence. We walk through with confidence and
everything is cool. That probably saved us a half-mile of detouring. Now the
sun is out and all my heavy jackets are off. I bare my belly some more. It
feels good. We are walking in the sun.
I pass a big sign that says 57th
Inauguration and I look for the brand name. Then I realize how my mind has been
trained, and how crazy that is. I say, “Abe, check it out. No brand name on
that sign.” And I explain to Abe how I was looking for a brand name. This is
the moment when I release for the first time all day that there were no brand
names mentioned, no commercials. And I am thankful that this is the way it is.
Now there’s so many new things to
enjoy, buildings to look at, beautiful brickwork to absorb. We walk around the
Capitol. People are waiting by the fence, waiting in hopes of seeing the
President.
Soon we’re
past all the fences and the road closures. We’re back to the neighborhood
streets. We get to D Street.
And then we’re there, Lindsay’s place. I check my watch and make a note: 3:00. That means it took us 1.5 hours to walk
home. We really did some solid walking, maybe eight or nine miles all day.
Inside,
everyone wants to know what it was like. I just want water and rest. My brain
and my body feel weird. Lack of sleep and lots of writing and emotions—such a
big day. I feel as though I just climbed El Cap. Now I’m off the mountain, so
now I must rest. Everyone gathers in the kitchen. I drink a liter of water and
then I say “I have to get un-vertical. I mean I have to lie down.”
I go to the
couch and close my eyes. My heartbeat speaks to me. I drift off. Then I
awake—someone’s knocking on the door. It’s pizza time. I have to wake up for
pizza. Two Chicago-style pizzas have been delivered to us. Oh man . . . I love
pizza. I eat two slices of the veggie. Now I’m feeling better.
We spend
the afternoon at Lindsay’s because we’re having fun and because we know the
Metro is going to be crazy for a while. We talk about the Inauguration. It
really was a satisfying adventure. I rest on the couch some more. I check my
phone. Too tired to make phone calls. I have to psych myself up: grab the
phone, make the call, speak the words.
Right
around sunset we walk to Metro. No crowds. No lines. Plenty of room on the
trains. We all think we’re going to fall asleep on the train—and that’s a fine
option because our stop is the last stop—but none of us sleep. I’m feeling much
better now. I’ve broken through some kind of barrier and now I’m feeling pretty
good. My body is doing good things with the pizza and water and juice that I
put inside of me. I take some more notes—there’s always more to write about.
And soon we’re back in Graham’s car. The car was in the garage overnight, which
cost us five bucks. “Good deal,” I say. We drive away. I say, “the only thing I
wish I brought is some music.” Some music would have been good. But I know I’ll
be able to sooth myself with music when I get home.
As we drive
through the Maryland darkness, I think about the day, such a big day, so many new
memories, so much to write about—the emotions and the music, the kindness of
the crowd, the goodness of the people, and the beautiful promise of the next
four years . . . .
Now it's late at night and I'm thinking about the World. The world is changing. It changes everyday. We all know the famous quote that goes "Be the change you wish to see in the world." The quote is often attributed to Gandhi. Although his exact words are quite different, it's still a nice quote. Yes of course, be the change. We all know this. But recently, more and more, I've been thinking about what might really be the root of this quote. I wrote this a few years ago: We are the change in the world. What we are doing affects the future. It comes down to what we do and what we don't do. And now, as I sit here in the writing room on January 24th, Thursday night in the Universe—now I know exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to write those six words on a piece of paper that's already hanging up to the left of my desk. Six words. Find the good and praise it. Thank you Alex and thank you Dr. King and thank you Barack and thank you America. I am thankful for all that is good.
