Inauguration 1: The Mightiest Word

[dedalus_1947]

Some live by love they neighbor as thyself,

others by first do no harm or take no more

than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,

love that casts a widening pool of light,

love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

(Praise Song for the Day, Inaugural Poem by Elizabeth Alexander)

 

“I think this is as far as we can go”, I said breathlessly, glancing up at the annoying strobes, flashing from the malfunctioning spotlights suspended near the video “jumbo-tron” screen.

“We could probably get closer to the barriers, but then we’d lose sight of the screen”, Prisa mused, raising herself on tip-toes to survey the 5 to 8 yards between us and the fencing along 4^th Street. “This is a good place to stop” she concluded, exhaling and sending a cloud of warm mist into the freezing morning air. We were being joined by a constant flow of hooded, scarved, and heavily jacketed settlers who had followed us across the National Mall, in Washington D.C. Like latter day Sooners, we were slowing from our initial sprint across the acres of worn winter grass to stake our claims at this spot. The imaginary land rush began the moment we topped the mound of the Washington Monument and saw only a vast tract of open territory between that towering obelisk and the eastern boundary of the public viewing area of the Inauguration. With every step we took, we accelerated our pace in the frigid morning, and sped past the buildings and landmarks we had noted the day before: the Smithsonian, the National Carousel, and the MSNBC trailer at 7^th Street. The darkness of the early morning was interrupted by beams of narrow light cast by towers set at regular intervals along the Mall. Guided by these beacons we traversed 4 divided viewing areas before we came to a stop near 4^th Street. We had come to the limits of our land claiming stampede.

 

As Prisa looked around to select her finally spot, I took stock of her location. The metal scaffolding to our right supported enough lighting to allow a determined GW student to read a hardbound novel. The last of a series of five jumbo video screens hovered to our left; and straight ahead, bathed in sparkling illumination, rose the gleaming white National Capitol. Red, white, and blue bunting and banners festooned the multi-layered portico which faced the Mall. This was it – the best, free spot on the Mall, except for the fortunate few in the exclusive seated and standing areas surrounding the capitol dais.

“Okay, chula” I said. “I think this is as far as I can take you. You can see everything here. Are you good?”

“Yup” my daughter replied cheerily. “This is great. I’ll be fine, don’t worry”.

“I’ll try calling you when I reach the ticket entrance, and we can stay in touch before the swearing in”.

“Okay, Dad. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit down here and wait”.

The people around us had already started spreading blankets, chairs, and tarps on the ground, settling in for the long wait ahead. An enterprising quartet of friends seeking more warmth had confiscated a trash receptacle and transformed it into a waist-high, circular, cardboard barricade. Another settler behind her had spread a large white cardboard mat on the ground as insulation for his red blanket. The flannel rug stood out like a crimson postage stamp on a square white envelope.

“Okay then, Prisa” I said guiltily. “I think I’ll take off. Hopefully, the sooner I’m in line, the better my chances at a good spot in the center of the mall”.

“All right, Dad. I’ll be fine – really. Don’t worry”.

Unfortunately, I was worried. I was second guessing my decision to leave Prisa behind and proceed to another site on the Mall.
 

 

I kept thinking of the wide silver card I was carrying protectively in a plastic souvenir bag. The ticket was an exclusive invitation from Congressman Howard Berman to enter a special area between 4^th and 3^rd Streets, just ahead of Prisa’s location. Yesterday, we had queued up at 10:00 A.M. in front of the Rayburn Congressional office building on Independence Avenue to receive the silver ticket, and plead for an extra one for my daughter. That hope was soon dashed when the congressional assistant told us that we would have to return after 5 o’clock to see if anyone had failed to pick up their ticket. I was convinced that the chances for success were bleak, and not worth the rigors and travel difficulties of returning in six hours. My guilt over this decision was somewhat alleviated when, upon surveying the map and the actual viewing areas in front of the Capitol, we saw that we would be relatively close to each other on the Mall. I would be on one side of 4^th Street and Prisa on the other. This sense of proximity gave us renewed courage, and we began sketching our game plan for Inauguration Morning as we walked around the Capitol and Mall. Beginning at 4:00 A.M., we would catch the first bus on Wisconsin Ave in Glover Park, and take it to the limits of the No-vehicle Zone at Washington Circle, near the Foggy Bottom Metro. From there we’d walk down 23^rd Street to the Mall and then dash across it for 4^th Street. Once settled, I would leave Prisa in place and make my way to the Silver Entrance at 3^rd Street and Independence and get in line to wait until the gates opened at 8:30 A.M. So far, the only hitch to this plan was the failure of the bus to appear at 4 o’clock. We had waited forlornly at the bus stop for over 30 minutes in the freezing cold. After watching countless empty taxi cabs drive past, we decided that a warm car was worth the added expenditure. The speedy taxi ride proved even more fortuitous, because the driver was able to travel beyond our original drop-off point and deliver us on Constitution Ave at the edge of the Mall. Warmed and optimistic from the fast and comfortable journey, we joined the bands of early spectators who were making their way down the Mall. My 28 year old daughter had been my constant companion throughout our three days of travel, exploration, and planning. Now, in this semi-lit, cold, and barren place, I was at the point of leaving her alone.

“Okay” I repeated, trying to reassure myself that the time and difficulties spent in procuring my ticket demanded that it be used. Prisa had urged me to do so yesterday, and nothing had changed to prevent it. I gave her a wide, encompassing, bear-hug and a kiss on the cheek, and said, “I’ll see you when we have a new president. I love you, and thanks for coming with me”.

“I love you too, Dad. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’m fine”.
 

 

I strode quickly away, refusing to look back. I kept telling myself that Prisa was a mature adult, a veteran high school teacher, and a coach. She was not the little girl of 8 who I once left for 2 hours, with her 10 year old brother, to wait for me at the Northridge Mall in Los Angeles while I went into a bookstore. That had been a scary misadventure. I brushed those memories aside and concentrated on the plan and the mental map I had drawn up showing the streets I needed to reach. I assumed that this second half of our game plan would go as well as the first. I made my way to the corner of our enclosed section, hoping to find a quick exit to 4^th Street, so I could take it south one block to Independence Ave. There I would turn left toward 3^rd and my entrance gate. However, I couldn’t get out. There was a security guard blocking my way at the nearest break in the fence.

“You can’t exit from here” the rotund guard said, as I approached. “You need to go back and find another exit”.

“All right” I replied, not worried about the redirection; in fact, I had expected them earlier. I had read about extensive road closures, and closed access routes; but none had materialized until now. I walked quickly away, along the dimly lit gravel pathway that paralleled the grassy mall, but did not receive much light. It was a cold but quiet walk, with no one other travelers going my way. Looking to my right, I could see clusters of people in all ages, sizes, and groupings streaming steadily along the illuminated mall. The walking warmed me, and I grew more confident of my actions. Suddenly a broad street opened to my left. Approaching another barred fence with more security guards, I saw a sea of faces and torsos pressed behind it. A sigh of dread escaped me when I saw no clear way out. Worse, I could see nothing to indicate that there were any lines or movement of people along Independence Ave, beyond the massed bodies behind the perimeter. I could only see wave after wave of people behind the barrier, staring at me and wondering how I was on the other side of the blockade that prevented them from entering the mall.
 

 

I walked up to a friendly looking guard and asked, “Is there an exit to Independence from here?”

“No sir” he replied, courteously, in a mild southern accent. “You can’t get out from here. We’ve been holding these people back for about an hour. We’ll be letting them in soon. You don’t want to be around when we let them go”.

Those well meaning words unleashed a series of apocalyptic vignettes in my head. I imagined myself the Flying Dutchman of the Mall, doomed to sail on an endless quest to circumvent these barriers and find a passage out. I saw a tidal wave of bodies cresting the wire mesh levies and inundating the vast expanse of the mall behind me, putting an incalculable mass of humanity and distance between Prisa and me. I saw myself being overwhelmed and overcome by a relentless current of people flowing in the opposite direction that I needed to travel. I had not foreseen this situation, or discussed it with Prisa. I turned my back on Independence Ave and decided that I would rather find safe harbor with Prisa, than venture further into the frigid, early morning waters of these unchartered seas. I walked past the gravel path to the Mall, and quickly began retracing my original route back to Prisa’s location. Speed was now essential. I theorized that Prisa and I must have found an accidental breach in the Mall security that allowed us earlier access to the Mall than our brethren on the south side of the capitol. This advantage would soon disappear, and with hordes of additional people entering the mall from the south, the harder it would be to find Prisa among the thousand bundled and huddled spectators. It would help if she was alerted to my change of plans, and looking for me as well. I pulled off my mittens, pulled out my cell phone, and pushed the speed dial number, praying that the signal would get through. The phone rang and rang, until an automated voice said that the contact was not available.

“Hi Pris, this is Dad” I said into the speaker. “I can’t find an access route to Independence and all the streets on the south side are jammed with people that will be flooding onto the mall. I have no clue how to get to Independence, so I’m heading back to your location. I hope you get this message so you can be on the lookout for me”. I tried to sound confident and matter-of-fact, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure if I could find the exact spot I had left her.

“Details, details; what were the details of that area?” I questioned myself, as I lengthened my stride. I mentally checked off the objects I remembered: strobe light, video screen, spotlight tower, and cardboard fencing and mats. I saw the strobe light in the distance, and re-positioned my returning glide path to the middle of the mall. I passed more and more people filling in previously open spaces as I descended toward the gleaming Capitol building. Praying that Prisa had not moved from her original location, I slowed down and triangulated with the strobe lighting and video screen on my left and the beacon tower on my right. With a sigh of relief I saw the cardboard fence around the quartet of friends in front of me, and quickly started searching for a familiar face and profile. I took three more steps and, looking down, I saw a bright blue knit cap, atop a huddled bundle on the grass. Prisa was sitting exactly where I had left her standing 20 minutes before.

“Hi Prisa”, I said with soulful relief. “I couldn’t get out; so I decided to come back”. I sat down next to her, huddled close for warmth, and explained what had happened.

“I’m glad your back” she said. “It was lonely without you”.

“I’m glad to be back. It would have been a sad morning without you”. Instead of feeling irritated or annoyed at the obstacles that had thwarted me, I was filled with a sense of peace. One thought kept going through my head, “Thank God I couldn’t get out”. I reached over, gave Prisa a one-armed hug, and settled down to our long, cold, morning watch together.
 

 

To be continued…..

 

 

Comments

The Mightiest Word

[(Anonymous)]

Good Tony. I look forward to Part 2.

TRH