Tuesday, January 20, 2009: How I made it to Obama's Inaugural (and back).
7:15 a.m. Home: I had planned on getting on the metro at King Street Station by 7, but was still dilly-dallying at home trying to cram random supplies into my coat pocket when my wife turned on the TV and showed me the huge crowds that had already gathered on the mall. That was a necessary kick in the pants...an end to my feeble hopes that all those predictions of record crowds would prove to be wildly overstated and that I could simply saunter to the middle of the mall and find a good spot. I'm not sure why I thought this; maybe because over the last month many of my friends had decided against going, citing such novel reasons as the difficulty of getting to DC, uncertainty about the metro system's reliability, inadequate access to restrooms, large crowds, cold weather, etc., that I hoped most people would elect to stay home. I was channeling my inner Yogi Berra ("no one goes there any more; it's too crowded.").7:30 a.m. King Street Station: Yawn, not much of a crowd. Bring it on! I mutter confidently, in the spirit of our outgoing President. Then, a train comes. It's a Blue line train and it's packed. Already! Just two stops into its journey. One person gets off, four squeeze into the spot she just vacated. My cheer is dulled a bit, but I hope my Yellow line train fares a little better. Optimistic chap, that's me. Enter Yellow line express, equally packed to the vents. I shuffle to the edge of the platform and assume a proper stance--wide with knees flexed in order to lower my center of gravity--to hold my position against the frantic mob behind me. Luckily, the train stops with a door exactly in front of me. Like a good NFL running back, I pick my slivers of daylight among the huddled bodies and soon disappear into the belly of the car.
7:30-8:15 a.m. Yellow line train: I became familiar with some strangers. Quite unintentional, really. But when one is pressed close against other people, you can't help but hope they don't think you're acting fresh. L'Enfant Plaza, our preferred destination to the south of the mall area is apparently ridiculously full, so much so that our train is hurried along to the next available stop: Gallery Place/Chinatown. Groans in the train. Cheers when we get off at GP/C. Groans when we see the crowds there, wondering what "ridiculously full" looks like. In an attempt to salvage some dignity, I sheepishly take out the water bottle from my coat pocket and show it to the dude whom I had been pressed up against on the train. He allows a small smile.
8:15-8:35 a.m. Gallery Place/Chinatown Station: This long to get out of the damn station.
8:35-9:45 a.m. Trying to get to the Mall: Crowds. OMG, crowds. Everywhere. Since we were unceremoniously dumped to the north of the mall, we were caught up in the masses trying to get through security and onto the parade route. Yes, the parade that's scheduled to happen in the afternoon! I'm walking on H Street, about five blocks north of the mall, but can't see any way of going south. Street after street is closed for the parade and I doggedly continue, hoping to see some daylight somewhere. Me and a hundred thousand of my closest friends. I am about to give up in despair and sit down and sob somewhere quietly, when I round the White House and make it to 19th Street. Hallelujah, I can see the Washington Monument, and more importantly, a clear path to it.
9:45-10 a.m. Washington Monument: I made it! I try to inch my way up the mall closer to the Capitol, but a patient security chap informs us that that part of the mall is full. So, I backtrack and find a spot of high ground right under the Monument with a clear view of the Capitol in the distance. By distance, of course, I mean a mile away. But, hey, I can see the Inaugural stage and little people dots. To my left and right nearby, two giant jumbotrons provide a great view of the proceedings. People of all colors and shapes litter the place. That's when I realize that I'm in the minority. Yep, I'm the only one in ski pants and snow hiking boots (God bless my time in Colorado). With my ACU hoodie sweatshirt and my grey wool dress coat on top of it all, I realize I'm cutting a strange figure, but at least I'm warm. Lots of dust everywhere.
10-11:45 a.m. The wait: Interminable wait for our new royal family. It's cold and a bit blustery. Families with unbelievably patient kids everywhere. Everyone taking pictures of the crowd with their cellphones. Few scattered couples keeping warm by periodically giving each other tongue massages. Some geospatially challenged individuals attempting to guide their lost friends to themselves by giving incomprehensible directions over the phone. Which is just as well, seeing that any empty spaces have rapidly filled in long ago. I myself have a spotty cellphone signal (damn you, AT&T), so I can't call anyone. I content myself with the occasional text update to my wife. Lots of chants: O-BA-MA; Yes We Did; O-BA-MA. The giant screens show us a live camera feed, but are not accompanied by any commentary. That's when I realize how much I miss Peter Jennings. I also realize how important the media narrative is in shaping our experiences. The PA announcer kindly keeps us company by periodically informing us that Grand Poobah so-and-so has just shown up. Muted applause for Jimmy Carter. Enthusiastic cheering on seeing a motorcade on screen; the crowd assumes that's Obama. Polite reception for H.W. Bush. Crazy cheers for Gore and Clinton (more so for Gore). Boos for Dubya. Lots of boos. More so for Dick Cheney. Wildest cheering reserved for Malia and Sasha. Rapture and relief on seeing Obama. General sense of relief that a new administration is coming in. I have an Onion-style headline in my head: "Black man gets crappy job." PA guy kindly requests everyone to sit down. Many laughs from the crowd. The crowd's really big by now. I thankfully munch on a granola bar, my only nourishment of the day. I have my bottle of water, but I dare not drink more than a sip, for fear that I would have to give up my hard-earned spot to relieve myself. Not to mention my fear of portable restrooms. I turn my head left to right and see nothing but a sea of heads and American flags. I grew up in India, in the land of a billion people, and I've never been in anything like this.
11:45 a.m.-1:15 p.m. The inauguration of Barack Obama: Biden says his oath, and many in the crowd instantly yell, "No More Cheney!" Chief Justice Roberts flubs Obama's oath. Dude, that was your only part all day, and you messed that up? First black President, a moment that will likely be replayed endlessly for future generations, and you couldn't say 39 words. Also, since Bush's term expired at 11:59 a.m., America had no President for ten minutes, or at least an oathless one. Constitutional crisis, anyone? Still, when Obama concludes his oath, there's a lump in my throat and I'm overwhelmed by the moment. I'm taken in by the magnitude of what just happened, thinking about the fact that a black man is about to take up residence in a building that used to have slave quarters. I'm overcome at the thought that Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke at the other end of this very mall, and I'm watching history happen in front of me. Many are freely crying, hands on their heads. I wonder if MLK would also consider this a fulfillment of his dream, like so many seem to imagine. I'm ecstatic that I am here, in this moment, in this place, on the freaking mall! The cheers are deafening; I can't help but sense a common feeling that we all need him to succeed. Obama's speech is good, not great. But, I'm grateful to have a President that I can listen to without cringing. I'm hopeful he will change our image in the world. I also notice how confident he is. Good, he'll need it. I also think: congratulations, it's your shit now, buddy. Don't let us down. Break a leg. (Note to Secret Service if you're reading this: that's just a saying.)
1:15-2:30 p.m. Home: Yes, I left without staying for the parade. I'm glad too, the thing didn't start till 5 and only those with tickets could be there anyway. I look toward the L'Enfant Plaza Station and alertly notice that there is no earthly way I can make it there in less than two hours through the crowd. I decide to hoof it to Arlington Cemetery Station, a mile behind me, over the bridge. I make it there in 30 minutes, notwithstanding the blisters on my feet (I ruefully realize that my hiking boots are meant for the snow, not for concrete). The station is less crowded than I expected and a Blue line train comes along in a minute. I sit down with a grateful sigh. I also realize that this is the first time I've sat down or leaned against anything all day. I'm weary, but thrilled to have experienced Obama's inauguration in person.
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