I Was There

Not long after the November elections, I was vowing that I intended to flee the city for the presidential inauguration. I have never been too big into pomp, circumstance, ceremony, balls, and cotillions, and I see the January inauguration the same may I view January football: it is viewed much more comfortably from a couch than from actually being there. Nor do I like huge crowds and throngs of people. This is precisely why I live in Washington as opposed to somewhere like New York where it is impossible to not walk five paces without bumping into another person. Finally, because I did not make it home for the holidays -- from a combination of laziness, disinterest, my family's dormant Judaism, and my folks getting a nasty intestinal flu on Christmas day from my niece -- it seemed liked as good a time as any for me to make an escape up north.

With but a few days remaining, I seemed pretty set to fulfill my plans to head up to lovely New Jersey for a week, not thinking twice about it. I even cashed in 3,000 of the Amtrak points I have been hoarding for years for a train ticket. Then I got a call from my mother. She pointed out how foolish it was for me to live the city when history was about to happen right in my own backyard. She noted that I could come back any time. And she invoked how much it meant to her when she saw JFK's inauguration with Robert Frost as a teenager. That last one was the kicker. I knew she was right, and I switched gears right away. (Though, I did not hurt that I actually had some parties and other activities to go to for once.)

So, this morning, I awoke at 6 AM to make a short trek down to the Mall. (I have to say, I must have been more excited than I thought I would be, as I had a pretty vivid dream that I overslept and missed the whole thing and could not find my friends either.) From the moment out the door, I realized it was going to be a pretty surreal day. Despite the strong cold and remaining darkness, there were streams of people headed down 17th Street towards Constitution. A casual observer of the scene might have placed it in a horror or end-of-the-world film, but the feeling permeating the crowd was not an eerie one, but rather a sense of built-up exhilaration and really, pure energy. Indeed, despite the early hour, the long walk for some, and harrowing temperatures for all, it seemed as though as everyone on their way to the National Mall was in perfect spirits.

The walk to the Mall was really not too bad. People were packed like sardines, but I think I got up early enough to get through fairly easily, not to mention that I live only a few blocks from the Washington Monument. Once I got to the Monument, there was much more space for me to get some daylight. I had one objective: to move well onto the Mall, and as far up as I could go. I had few illusions about reaching the reflecting pool by the Capitol -- I had no tickets -- but I wanted to go far up. Because I was unable to connect with some friends -- pre-planned meeting spaces have little meaning in the midst of closed streets, unreliable and packed subway cars, and millions of people smushed altogether -- I had the freedom to make my move unencumbered by slow-poke and distracted associates.

I was able to move fast to the outskirts of the Department of Agriculture on the main part of the Mall, where things were slowed by 14th Street. Once I got there, it was like eating soup with a fork: tens of thousands were already there, and moving forward was a matter of finding open pockets of grass (or in winter's case, dirt and straw), getting right behind other forward-thinking (not to mention moving) individuals, and displaying a plucky and at time shameless resolve to use myself and others as a human battering ram to get where I wanted to go. Yet, despite my pushiness, I found the mood of the crowd to be similar to the jovial feeling that was infused around me on my walk down 17th Street. People were almost universally in great spirits, and no one seemed to complain about the uneasiness of some (read: me) wanting to get to another spot.

After weaving through an impressive maze of police, barricades, barriers, fences, and people, I made it as absolutely far as possible, ending up by the Air and Space Museum and next to the MSNBC structure. Ultimately, I moved down a bit to stand next to a set of speakers. While I did not have the perfect view of one of the many huge screens erected on the Mall, I at least wanted to ensure that I would hear all of the key proceedings.

I would be remiss if I did not say a few words on the weather, perhaps the most uninviting part of today's festivities. It was cold. Very cold. When I got up this morning, it was in the teens, and I do not believe that the mercury rose much through the course of the morning. The blowing winds did not make things much more inviting, and after a while, my chapped skin and and the colorless surrounding dirt made me feel, albeit very briefly, that I was occupying the arctic tundra of an Alaskan interior village. The sun made sporadic appearances, but never really impacted the thermometer.

Nevertheless, what is interesting about all of this is that it did not bother me as much it should have or usually would have. When I decided on a place to put up my tent -- i.e. a location to stand for the duration -- I looked at my watch and ruefully wondered to myself how the heck I would survive the four hours before the swearing-in was supposed to take place. Yet, as the minutes melted by -- though, that word might not be the most appropriate given the temperature -- I was not at all miserable. For once I had had the foresight to bundle up: I had on five layers, a scarf, and a winter cap my mother sent me that would please active Eskimos, and I passed the time in relative contentment.

I was certainly not alone. The entire crowd seemed to exude a similar feeling. People were certainly freezing, but no one seemed in despair, boredom, enormous discomfort, or to betray any feeling that they wanted to be anywhere else. The crowd remained friendly throughout. This is not to say that the inauguration crowd -- at least around me -- was all standing together and chatting like everyone was an old friend of everyone else, even if that is the type of Candyland vision I am sure a lot of people in the media would like to push. Still, I don't think that mattered one bit. Some people were chatting, absolutely, but mostly, I think people were just standing there trying to weather the elements, but full of complete eager anticipation for the ceremonies to begin. That's a pretty good thing too.

To me, the ceremonies, particularly Obama's speech, were anti-climatic. The speech was merely okay, and the endless litany of announcements of politicians and their spouses on the stage was not terribly interesting. The best part of the day was something else. It was being in the middle of that astonishing crowd -- there must have been two million people there, as the entire Mall was blanketed with bodies -- and being part of something that I don't think could have happened today in any other modernized country on earth: the election of a black chief executive.

At the end of the speech, I lingered up front to see if I could get a better view of the Capitol and surroundings. Besides seeing the largest amount of assorted refuse I had even laid my eyes upon -- the poor clean-up crew! -- I was amazed at how many people remained on the Mall. Like me, I think many, many people just didn't want to leave, and wanted to continue to soak up whatever history, magic, whatever you want to call it that was still in the air. In 30 years, assuming I am lucky enough to remain on this earth, I likely won't remember the specifics of Obama's speech, or Chief Justice Roberts' minor flub of the oath, but rather this whole scene. This is going to be what I remember most about this day.

I have no idea if Obama will succeed as President. He certainly has the opportunity to do big things, but who knows? Yet, even though I am one of the most hardened political cynics in the world and am someone who sees little good in most national politicians, it is hard for me not to be at least a little bit awed by today's inauguration. That millions of people braved the bitter cold -- many of them for many, many hours -- is no small feat, and it is not lost on even a political pessimist like me.

When I finally got home after spending seven hours outside, with my nose running like a faucet and my feet feeling like sacks of granite and rusted pennies, all-in-all I felt pretty good. It was almost as if amazingly, the weather and the wait had no negative impact at all. I am very happy that in a generation I can say I was on the Mall on January 20, 2009.