It started off early -- we woke up at 5:30, because we didn't want to miss a single moment. We were the second Metro stop, but by the time the train rolled in, it was already full! The seats were all taken, and everybody at our stop filled in the middle. I wasn't sure how they were going to fit in any more people, but I soon found out -- not easily!
At each stop, more people shoved on in, but I have to say it again -- as crowded as the city's been, I've never seen such happy people! Doesn't matter where you go, or what you do, everyone is smiling and polite and just nice. They are so happy to be here, so happy to be part of this, that it's impossible to get mad at anything.
And so we stood on the Metro train, watching people squeeze into an unbelievably small amount of space. Each station we pulled into was crammed, some stations so full, the train simply didn't open the doors. The 30-minute ride we took yesterday dragged on to an hour and a half, but nobody seemed to care. Instead, they spent the time laughing, singing, and taking pictures of the huge crowd, both on the trains and in the stations.
Our final stop was so jam packed, they passed it by. Unfortunately, so were both the stops before it. We had to decide whether to get off at an earlier or a later stop, and opted for the later one. Here's what it looked like after the train emptied out:
And did I mention the people were happy? Including the Metrorail employees! One funny woman kept chanting over the speaker, "Keep it moving, keep it moving!" The crowd responded, chanting it back to her, and to each other. And move they did, politely, apologizing when they stepped on you, and even clearing a path for Mark and my Mom.
"Let the baby through!" they shouted when they saw Mark. "Look out for the baby!" My Mom loved that, and maneuvered her "baby" through the crowd unharmed.
The people poured out of the station and into the streets. "Blue and silver ticket holders this way!" shouted one cop, so we followed her directions. One very excited young man found out we had silver tickets like him, and glommed onto us. He was jubilant, and kept shouting, "It's here, people! The day we've been waiting for is here! O-BA-MA!" He surveyed the crowd and said, "Wow, there's a lotta people here -- it's like March of the Penguins!" (Not exactly how I'd have described it, but to each his own.)
When we got to the bottom of Capitol Hill, we encountered the first line of ticket holders. We could see people in line forever -- we never did find the end of that line. Not only that, the line snaked back and forth, doubling itself up in some places. It was for the Blue ticket holders. By now, it was 9:20 a.m. Security had opened 8, but nobody was moving -- the line was completely still. We searched for signs or police officers pointing to our gate, the Silver gate, but never saw them. And we certainly couldn't find the Silver ticket line.
It was pure chaos and total control all at once. The Blue ticket holders stood in line patiently, letting people cut across the line, or pointing them toward some vague end of the line. But everyone else wandered the area aimlessly, looking for the Mall, or the Silver ticket line. There were no police or volunteers helping out, so we wandered through the masses for another 45 minutes before we finally found the Silver ticket line.
"I've never been so happy to find a line before!" I told my Mom, but my joy was short lived. People in the Silver line pointed behind them to the end, so we followed along the line (along with a huge group of people), looking for it. I am not kidding when I say we followed the line for about a mile and a half, walking at least half an hour before coming to it. It was now 10:10, and we heard the music beginning. We started to panic a little.
My Mom finally found a volunteer and asked if there was any way we'd get into the Mall if we got into our line. "No," she said bluntly. "Not in time to see him sworn in -- you'll never make it through security in time."
And so we received our first blow. "Well, I'm just happy to be here," my Mom said. "Whether we see it or not, I'm just glad to be here." I agreed. We immediately scrapped our plans for using the tickets, and decided to find our way onto the Mall -- anywhere -- somehow.
After a short stop at the African Museum to heat up and use the bathrooms, we rejoined the crowd. It was just an amazing sight -- all the streets were closed to traffic, and just filled with people. People on the sidewalks, ticket holders in line, people in line for the portapotties, vendors hawking t-shirts and buttons. Just people everywhere.
We found another guard and asked what our options were. She didn't shoot down our Mall plans, but did tell us that the Mall was almost full, and they were closing up all the entrances. "They've closed the 14th Street entrance, but the one at 23rd Street's still open," she said.
"What street are we on now?" I asked. (We had no idea where we were!)
"Seventh," she said, apologetically.
What else could we do but keep on walking? We headed down Independence Avenue toward 23rd Street.
The weird thing was, we didn't really mind. Sure, we were bummed our tickets didn't work out. But if you could have felt the electricity, the simple joy, that reverberated in the streets, you'd understand. We'd traveled across the entire country to be here, and even if our original plans didn't work out, it wouldn't slow us down.
Well, not quite. We did worry a bit when we hit a mob near 12th Street. It was now 11 a.m. (the ceremony started at 11:30), and people were panicking. "What do you mean, the entrance is closed?" one man asked a guard. "They close each entrance just as I get to it!"
That did not sound encouraging. But there was no way we were gonna miss out! We walked a couple streets further, until we got to 14th street. There was a wall next to us, and a fence beyond that. We could see tons of people back there, walking about freely. All I could think of was how long it was gonna take us to get through security when (if) we made it to 23rd Street.
Suddenly, a group right next to us yelled, "Let's jump the wall!" We watched most of them go over pretty easily, and I looked at my mom. "Wanna jump the fence?" I asked, and to her credit, she never even hesitated.
"Yes," she said. "Let's go."
It was hilarious. One girl was having trouble getting over the wall, and proclaimed, "I can't do it! I don't wanna do it!"
"Then can you move aside?" I asked her, not really waiting for her answer. I was halfway up and all the way over by the time she moved away.
We had to hurry. To say security was tight is an understatement, and I didn't come this far to get separated from my family at this moment. (And I really didn't want to watch the swearing in from jail!)
"Come on, Mom, push Mark over the fence!" I called out. Before I could finish the sentence, she was shoving him over.
And then she was coming over herself. "Step here, Mom, use this part like a ladder," I said. I was worried the Mall police would appear, but instead of the police, two really nice guys grabbed her arms and pulled her over. In less than two minutes, all three of us were on the Mall, without the hassle of a security check. (Besides Obama being sworn in, watching my mom scale a fence was definitely a highlight!)
We passed a family, the dad photographing his group of five little kids. They had huge smiles, and when he clicked the picture, he told them, "Say Obama!" instead of "Say cheese!" They obliged, yelling out "Obama!" proudly.
But now the program was really starting. We muscled our way through the crowd, and found a final resting place. We were smack dab in the middle of a crowd so thick, you couldn't move, because if you did, someone else absorbed your space. Yet, again, they were unfailingly polite, and again, they all watched out for "the baby" so that Mark didn't get crushed. We could see the swarms of people at the base of the Washington Monument -- it was, again, unbelievable how many people there were! (Yes, unbelievable was the word of the day.) We couldn't see much, not even a full view of the Jumbotron screens, but it didn't matter.
We talked to a few people with great stories -- one family had driven up five hours from Alabama that morning, another had come from Tennessee. They had brought all of their family members -- kids, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles. Everyone was so excited, and though they couldn't see the screen, just a rumor of Obama appearing onscreen sent them into overdrive. "Did they say Obama?" "Is he there?" they asked, excitedly, breaking into cheers. One woman who could actually see the screen narrated for the rest of us. "He's getting into the limo," she'd say. "Now they're driving up the street."
One woman beside me was really funny. She (like most everyone else) had been there a good five to six hours already, and it was starting to show. "I'm HUNGRY!" she said loudly, and heads all around nodded in agreement.
I'd just fished out a snack for Mark, and I offered her one as well. She shook her head, politely declining. "Thanks, but I need more than a snack -- I need some LUNCH! There should be a buffet for us common folk!" The musical interlude began, and my neighbor started singing along.
"Do you know this song?" I asked (because I didn't).
"No," she said. "I'm just trying to forget about being hungry!"
There was a tiny Tourmobile booth behind us, and people were scaling the roof to sit atop it. At one point, there were so many people on it, I thought the roof might crash, but it held. A CNN camera man even climbed on up, where he filmed us waving and cheering wildly. He didn't want to get caught, so he'd wave at us to quiet down, and we did. "We don't need police with guns to control this crowd," I told my Mom. "Just camera men pointing cameras!"
People were sitting on top of portapotties, on signs, even in a coupla trees -- whatever they could shimmy up for a better view.
It was also quite evident which way their political beliefs leaned. Anytime George Bush was mentioned, they booed -- quite loudly. And not just the people around me, but people all along the Mall. You could hear it echoing along the sound system, until it reached us in the back. They even booed Laura Bush and Lynn Cheney, though not as loudly as for their husbands.
Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter appeared, then Bill and Hillary Clinton, and the crowd cheered. George Bush appeared, and again, the booing started, followed by an enthusiastic round of "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye!" (We heard that song more than once throughout the day.) People really did not like him.
Rick Warren gave the invocation, and because he is so controversial, I thought the crowd would be more vocal about him (they were about everyone else). He said his part, but what really moved my Mom was when he started saying the Our Father, and everyone joined in. It was pretty moving to hear 2 million people praying together (and I'm not even religious!).
The Vice President-elect appeared, and was sworn in. People were happy, but you could tell they were waiting for the Man of the Hour to appear.
And when he was announced...well, I don't know quite how to describe it. The crowd, simply put, went wild. They were cheering and screaming and yelling and I even heard a couple Hallelujahs. No one around me could actually see the new President, not even on the big screen, but it didn't matter. They cheered and wept and I really felt, at that moment, I was in a moment bigger than even the humongous sea of people along the Mall.
Senator Obama was sworn in and became President Obama, and the crowd cheered yet again. "At last!" a man behind me yelled, and a thousand heads around me nodded and cheered in agreement.
Boy, was it loud. The noise of all those happy people was impressive, but what moved me even more was the silence. Throughout the ceremony, people had chattered to each other. But when President Obama took the microphone, all that stopped. Suddenly, where there was tittering and talking among 2 million people, now there was only silence. He commanded their silence. They listened to him intently, shushing people around them (even though no one else was talking) so that every person could hear every word. Clearly, they all realized what a momentous occasion this was, and no one wanted to miss one word of it. That was just remarkable to me.
It really was an inspirational moment. Even when it ended, the crowd was riding high. A really nice older lady who'd stood beside us silently asked where we were from.
"California," I told her, and she nodded.
"Have a safe trip back home," she told us, and I wished her the same. I just couldn't get over the kindness of all these strangers -- but that day, no one really felt like strangers.
The crowd tried leaving the fenced off area, but couldn't find a way out, and just stopped. "Hey, guy in the tree, which way is the exit?" someone shouted, and the guy obliged by pointing in the opposite direction. "Go that way!" he called, so the crowd surged to the right.
That's when it got kinda scary. We followed the mob up Independence Avenue, and again, they moved quietly, happily, making room for each other. There were a few bad seeds (always are) who pushed and shoved, and at one point, I thought Mark might get crushed. I turned into Mama Bear, and told a grown man to back up or he was gonna squish my son. Some women walking by called out, "Happy happy, joy joy," reminding the crowd it was a joyous day, and not to let any bickering get us down. (As soon as Mark was safe, I returned to Happy Heather.)
For the most part, it was okay. At one point, we bunched up at a corner by the Metro station. There were no police in the street, no one directing traffic, except some man who was determined to drive a tour bus through the huge mass of people. No one moved for a good 20 minutes, and the crowd got a little restless, then more so when they noticed another bus next to us was filled with lounging police officers. They sat there on break, watching, even photographing the crowd from the bus, and people became pretty agitated. "Hey officers, why don't you come out of the bus and help direct traffic?" they shouted. I really did panic a little then -- we were so smashed against one another you couldn't even move, and if the crowd turned, it would be very dangerous, especially for Mark. But the police never did come out of the bus. One jumped on top trying to direct the crowd, but it was hopeless -- he needed all the other officers. The only volunteers we saw were later on -- wearing vests that said "Girl Scout Volunteers."
So my Mom did what she does occasionally, when need be -- she pulled out the D card. "Please let us through!" she said. "My grandson has diabetes, and we need to check his blood sugar RIGHT NOW!"
People weren't quite sure what that meant, but hearing "diabetes" and "right now" spurred them into action, and they let us cut through. It was still pretty hairy, but a few minutes later, we found an empty bench in front of the Sackler Gallery and breathed a sigh of relief. This was definitely NOT the place for anyone with even the slightest claustrophobic tendencies. It was very scary, especially after having spent the rest of the day smushed in the crowds.
We ate lunch, some sandwiches we'd packed and brought with us. Our hands were freezing, so popped open the disposable hand warmers we'd brought. Turns out, they take 15 minutes to heat up, so the three of us kept asking each other, "Is yours hot yet?" or saying, "The right one's hot, no wait, the left one's hotter!" We were cracking ourselves up with those dumb heaters!
Finally, we just went back into the African Museum to warm up again. (It was MUCH colder today than it was yesterday -- windy, and SUPER cold! But the one good thing about being in the crowds is that you didn't feel cold.) There wasn't anyone inside the first time, but now it was packed. People were lounging everywhere, thawing out from the cold, napping on the floor, waiting out the throngs overtaking the Metro stations. They weren't even putting up the pretense of looking around the museum -- they were just splayed around the exhibits, or asking where the bathrooms were.
After we were warm, we left, and found a little outside fair at L'Enfant Plaza. My mom was buying souvenirs, and a vendor from the next booth asked where I was from.
"California," I answered again, and he grabbed my hand into both of his.
"Thank you for coming," he said very earnestly. "How was the ceremony?" He explained that they couldn't hear it outside of the Mall, so I gave him my review. I told him what moved me the most was the silence, when almost 2 million people stopped talking so that they could hear the new President's every word.
"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "That's so cool."
He shook my hand again, and thanked me for visiting his city. I just loved that -- there was such a feeling of inclusion -- by everyone, for everyone. This wasn't just one city's celebration, or even one political party's -- it was the nation's, and no matter where you came from, no matter what you looked like, or believed in, you were welcomed, literally, with open arms.
We gathered our souvenirs and headed for the Metro. The Inauguration had ended two hours ago, and on the other side of the Mall, the parade had started 30 minutes earlier. We thought we were safe, that the crowds would've died down, but again, we were wrong -- there was a huge mob in front of the Metro station, pouring out into the street. Nobody was moving at all, and worse, there were Army guys perched above. We weren't sure if they were preventiative or if they were controlling the crowd before it got unruly, but we didn't want to find out. We immediately walked on, hiking up toward the Capitol South station.
Capitol South was equally crowded, and our hopes of ever going home were waning. "Let's keep going toward Eastern Market," I told my mom. That was my station when I used to live in D.C., and I thought it would be less crowded.
Which it was. I was exhausted by the time we got there -- we'd spent most of the day walking, sometimes two and three hours at a time, without stopping. (I'd say we spent a total of six hours today just walking, trying to get to or from the Mall or Metro.) But luckily, the station wasn't mobbed, and we actually got seats this time. One girl cracked me up, saying the whole event was a little bit Katrina-ish. "There were no trains, no police," she said. "There were only Girl Scouts!"
And so we finally returned home, almost 12 hours after we'd left. It was a long day -- it was dark when we left the house, and it was almost dark when we returned home. We were exhausted, hungry, and not wanting to see another group of people for a long time, but it was all a happy exhaustion. Throughout the crowds, and challenges, we spent the day laughing, and having a really fun time. Mark was a trooper -- he spent the day being pushed, prodded and pulled back, and he never once complained. (Honestly!) He did so great -- I don't know how much of it he really absorbed -- he spent most of the time staring at the back of people's jackets, but he still went on without complaint. He was awesome.
And my Mom...what can I say, except that we had a blast. There were certainly times when I was tired and frustrated and could've lost it, which instead, turned into funny moments we laughed about instead. We cracked up the whole day, and even after dinner, reliving the whole day.
So that's the report. Crowded, but inspirational and very moving. We may not have gotten into our ticketed section, but it didn't dampen our spirits at all. We still had the best time ever, and have really enjoyed talking to all the wonderful people we've met these past few days.
