America's Inauguration (Part 1 of 6)

Only three times did the much feared violence from overcrowding appear ready to burst forth.

First was the crazy looking white guy. Ensconced in the front row at the Bohemian Caverns and jealously protecting the empty seat to his right, only two possibilities existed. Either he was a delegate from an obscure white supremacist group hell-bent on making a statement at a landmark of American black culture (invisible six-foot-tall white rabbit at his side) or he was the victim of a cruel Craigslist joke. (“I know. Let’s send him up to U Street and make him listen to some withering acid jazz while I don’t show up.”)

Second was only a few hours later – 3:55 a.m. down the street at Ben’s Chili Bowl. The alcohol-fueled hour-long wait for an overcooked chili half-smoke and plate of cheese fries fueled the tension. Note to restaurant owners everywhere: Locking the front door doesn’t just keep people out; it keeps people IN.

Finally, the Surge of the Silver Ticket Holders. A gate was opened or a fence was beaten down. Who could tell? And after hours of creeping forward in sub-freezing temperatures, the masses stampeded into the empty space at the foot of the Capitol’s reflecting pool just moments before He mounted the distant pedestal.

He – who they all came to see.

He – who they all came to hear.

He – who represented the fulfillment of dreams for so many present.

He – whose name was repeatedly, reverently, rhythmically chanted by gatherings of acolytes and admirers, taxi drivers and T-shirt sellers:

O – Ba – Ma!

America's Inauguration (Part 2 of 6)

Frequently reported sterile statistics gave scope to the event. 1,544,000 riders on the Metro subway system on a single day. 1,800,000+ spectators packed onto the National Mall. 130 tons of plastic water bottles, foam coffee cups and little American flags on sticks swept up in the middle of the night after what some hoped would be a “Litter Free Inauguration.”

One of the ubiquitous sidewalk vendors of Obamabilia said it more colorfully: “Hurry up folks! Two million people, only 1.5 million T-shirts! Limited edition! Get ‘em while they last!”

The apotheosis of O-Ba-Ma was part clever showmanship, part chaotic mosh pit, and all bane of headline writers struggling to avoid cliché. Historic. Hope-filled. Record-breaking. Uniquely American. The party started days in advance of the actual swearing in. Organizers pledged superlative after superlative: Biggest, greenest, most inclusive, most star-studded. By and large, they succeeded.

Thematically, the Keep Hope Alive architects of the most effective political campaign since Reagan’s Morning in America wasted no time dialing it up a notch. “Yes We Can” gave way to “Yes We Did” only briefly. The stakes were quickly raised to the iconic. Obamamania became suffused with Lincolnaphilia. A whistlestop train tour down the East Coast duplicated the one taken by Honest Abe prior to his inauguration. A concert was staged on the steps of the Great Emancipator’s shrine. Obama’s hand was placed on the same Bible used in Lincoln’s swearing in. The inaugural address emphasized dark and difficult days ahead.

But whereas Lincoln may have been perceived as an unlikely preserver of the Union and liberator of slaves on the day of his ascendance, Obama was greeted with no such skepticism by the millions gathered to see him on January 20, 2009. Another superlative: Perhaps never has a president assumed office with such astronomical expectations laid upon him. The electors of O-Ba-Ma were ready and waiting for their respective emancipations. They were ready for them right now.

Forgive this writer his Manichaean outlook. He was just a Caucasian boy from America’s Great White West on a journey to Our Nation’s Capital for the inauguration of Our First Black President. This writer had been to Washington many times before as a small tooth on a minor cog in the machinery of Republican hegemony. His Republican friends in Washington, for the most part, had the decency and good sense to evacuate the capital during the main event. His Republican friends back home, for the most part, confined themselves to buying more guns and re-reading scriptures pertaining to the Apocalypse.

This writer’s traveling companion, on the other hand, was a different product of the West. She was also white, but a non-homogenized manifestation of the melting pot. She was a Christian who practiced her Jewish heritage. She had bi-racial children and two decades of experience raising them in a cradle of white suburbia. She voted for Reagan and both Bushes, but had blue signs on every side of her corner lot from the latest winning campaign’s inception. She was fond of pointing out that Obama was not destined to be our first black president, but that he would be the first bi-racial one.

Arriving in the District of Columbia this time, they instantly noticed what was different: A veritable sea of brown faces. Or, rather, a sea of brown faces with smiles. So they plunged in. They shunned the traditional regional balls and familiar venues from Bush years lobbying. They migrated from K Street to U. They signed up for events promoted by the “Hip Hop Caucus” and confederations of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgendered and other nominally enfranchised peoples. They sought an answer to the question: How does change taste?

America's Inauguration (Part 3 of 6)

Two enormous mugshot-like photographs stared across the south lawn of the White House from the façade of the Corcoran gallery. Reagan and Obama. White and black bookends to a contemporary middle-aged life. Inside, the Avedon exhibit began with images from the tumultuous 1960s and marched through a stunning five decade parade of American diversity. Visitors to the exhibit could not escape feeling that they were somehow about to witness a climax of that procession.

Celebrities of all stripes were determined to be at ground zero and the hoi polloi responded. Cottage industries sprang up around star sightings and speculation about WWOB (Where Will Oprah Be?)

A measly few hundred thousand folks showed up at the Lincoln Memorial the Sunday before the inauguration for a concert featuring A list musical performances of all genres interspersed by inspirational readings from mostly A list actors and, somewhat strangely, comedians. (“George Lopez?” gasped some in the masses assembled far back in the shadow of the Washington Monument. Was that the highest ranking Latino to be found? And what was with selection of that noted patriot Jack Black?)

People of all ages, shapes and colors swayed back and forth in the cold as they sang along to the likes of Garth Brooks and Stevie Wonder projected on the giant screen video monitors scattered across the National Mall. The biggest reactions were saved for the occasional shot of Obama himself seated in the front row, head bobbing to the vibe. The mounting spirit of conviviality was so strong that when Bono – the only performer to stray from what was clearly a carefully choreographed script – uttered something brief about injustice and Palestinians, the crowd reaction was a collective sigh as if to say: “What? Are you trying to spoil the party?”

Even that most ubiquitous of species – the Washington DC protestor – was in short supply. A small band with a sign warning “baby killing women, porno freaks, sports nuts, drunks, homos, Jesus mockers, and Mormons” that judgment is coming was overwhelmingly reviled by the passing masses

Indeed, good will quickly became the norm. Lines and inconveniences that would ordinarily incite road rage were largely greeted with good humor by visitors who appeared just happy to be there for something like this. There was one exception: Any mention of the word “Bush” was nearly certain to elicit displays of visceral partisanship. It would appear that the new politics of inclusion were not quite ready to include authors of the politics of division that preceded them. As the former president’s helicopter lifted off from the Capitol building after the inauguration, some of the salutes offered by the dispersing throng were not suitable for a family newspaper.

America's Inauguration (Part 4 of 6)

Nowhere would the spirit of fellowship be tested more than at the inauguration ceremony itself. Here the crowds were largest, the stakes highest, and the logistics most impossible.

The ordeal began the day before the inauguration when color-coded tickets were disbursed by the Members of Congress in control of them. Each U.S. representative got 198 tickets and each U.S. senator got 393. Do the math. That’s over 125,000, or, in practical terms, enough to wrap lines of people around all of the House and Senate office buildings waiting to endure metal detector logjams. As the minutes before closing time ticked away and the line lengths remained unchanged, enterprising members of Congress emerged onto the chilly streets and searched for marooned constituents. “Anyone here from Memphis?” shouted one Congressman as he paced the line around the Longworth Building.

It was a scaled-down sneak preview of the mayhem that ensued the next morning. With bridges into the District closed to vehicle traffic, parking lots at suburban Metro stations filled at 6:00 a.m. Metro trains riders did their best imitations of Tokyo commuters. Metro trips that ordinarily require 30 minutes took two hours and trains frequently were forced to move through stations without stopping because of crowded conditions on the platforms.

Emerging from the Metro station at Capitol South still hours before the inauguration ceremony, rivers of people were flowing in every direction. Like getting elected president, getting to your ticketed space at the inauguration ceremony required equal parts ambition, luck and occasional lightning fast cutthroat decisions. We narrowly avoided the fate of thousands of purple ticket holders who lemming-like plunged into the I-395 tunnel – aka the “Purple Tunnel of Doom.” (They were warmer down there, but missed the ceremony entirely.) We also unexpectedly profited from the sudden emergence of a minor motorcade as several black Chevy Suburbans parted the crowds and allowed us to bogart a better position in the silver ticket throng mashed into Third Street.

But restlessness mounted as the freezing throng inched closer to the Mall as minutes to the ceremony raced ahead. A few chilled souls, mainly those carting small children, tried to bail out. But getting back out was no simpler proposition than getting in. It was gridlock.

Just minutes before the ceremony was to begin, the silver ticket line surged forward. Unbelievably, a wide expanse of open space surrounding the Capitol’s reflecting pool remained unoccupied. Officers struggled to head off the stampede. One woman in a wheelchair was pinned against a concrete barrier. But the panic soon passed, the space filled, conviviality returned and O-Ba-Ma became president.

America's Inauguration (Part 5 of 6)

The response to the president’s first speech as president posed a new Zen question: What is the sound of 3.6 million heavily gloved hands clapping? Maybe dogs could hear it.

Let’s face it: 1.8 million people cover a lot of territory, which means all of those crowd photos by all of those pilgrims can each only hold about as many people as you’ll see at a mediocre high school football game. With no stadium walls to concentrate the cheers, the crowd’s response to the president was probably best heard from somewhere in space.

President Obama gave a fine speech, of course – a solid 7.8 on the Obama Speechifying Scale. But the sheer size of the congregation, combined with the sub-zero temperatures and multi-hour commutes, actually worked against any monumental demonstrations of fervor. Chanting was sporadic, localized and short-lived. No one started a wave. Most people clearly felt they’d done their part just by Being There. And as soon as the president stopped speaking, the people began to disperse.

Which is a shame, because the best part was saved for last. Public prayers are often sterile things. The inauguration’s invocation, for instance, was a tortured attempt at ecumenism by mega-pastor Rick Warren. But the benediction was sublime. Dr. Joseph Lowery, who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., spoke in a voice that was comfortably conversational – seemingly at peace with himself and G-d. He made no concessions to political correctness or pomp and circumstance. His good natured plea for “white (to) embrace what is right” later incited the gun stockpilers back home to begin sentences with ridiculous phrases like, “I’ve never been racist but…” and I don’t think Dr. Lowery cared. Nor should he. It was a marvelous prayer that had even the most uptight downright do-right stiff upper lip Protestants joining in the choruses of “Amen” in the end. Here it is, in its entirety:

“God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, thou who has brought us thus far along the way, thou who has by thy might led us into the light, keep us forever in the path, we pray, lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee, lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee. Shadowed beneath thy hand may we forever stand -- true to thee, O God, and true to our native land.

“We truly give thanks for the glorious experience we've shared this day. We pray now, O Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant, Barack Obama, the 44th president of these United States, his family and his administration. He has come to this high office at a low moment in the national and, indeed, the global fiscal climate. But because we know you got the whole world in your hand, we pray for not only our nation, but for the community of nations. Our faith does not shrink, though pressed by the flood of mortal ills.

“For we know that, Lord, you're able and you're willing to work through faithful leadership to restore stability, mend our brokenness, heal our wounds and deliver us from the exploitation of the poor or the least of these and from favoritism toward the rich, the elite of these.

“We thank you for the empowering of thy servant, our 44th president, to inspire our nation to believe that, yes, we can work together to achieve a more perfect union. And while we have sown the seeds of greed -- the wind of greed and corruption, and even as we reap the whirlwind of social and economic disruption, we seek forgiveness and we come in a spirit of unity and solidarity to commit our support to our president by our willingness to make sacrifices, to respect your creation, to turn to each other and not on each other.

“And now, Lord, in the complex arena of human relations, help us to make choices on the side of love, not hate; on the side of inclusion, not exclusion; tolerance, not intolerance.

“And as we leave this mountaintop, help us to hold on to the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family. Let us take that power back to our homes, our workplaces, our churches, our temples, our mosques, or wherever we seek your will.

“Bless President Barack, First Lady Michelle. Look over our little, angelic Sasha and Malia.

“We go now to walk together, children, pledging that we won't get weary in the difficult days ahead. We know you will not leave us alone, with your hands of power and your heart of love.

“Help us then, now, Lord, to work for that day when nation shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree, and none shall be afraid; when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.

“Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right.

“Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen.”

AUDIENCE (tentatively): Amen!

REV. LOWERY: “Say amen –“

AUDIENCE (louder): Amen!

REV. LOWERY: “-- and amen.”

AUDIENCE (louder and smiling): Amen! (Cheers, applause.)

America's Inauguration (Part 6 of 6)

But what about those inaugural events? What about sampling the taste of change?

The parties began days before the inauguration itself. First came a night of club crawling on U Street – a neighborhood that’s seen good times, then bad, and now is seeing good times again. The Bohemian Caverns – a basement performance space (yes, it looks like a cave) with links to Duke Ellington, Billy Holiday, Sarah Vaughn and many more was shivering with acid jazz sax and some trepidation about scary guy in the front row. (Sighs, chuckles and smiles all around when he finally disappeared up the stairs.) Then on to a café with Caribbean food and a fine Latin band. Then on to a far hipper night spot – as evidenced by the barmaids who look stylish while utterly refusing to smile. Then on to Ben’s – an icon of a hot dog stand that stood in the same spot all through the good and bad and good times again. O-Ba-Ma had paid his respects there just a few days before. The street was still clogged with people at 4:30 a.m. Note to travelers: The only way to get taxis to stop for you in this situation is to look like you have more money than the rest of the mob.

Another evening found us enjoying the ambiance of Margaret Ann’s bar in the rear of Old Ebbitt Grill. There, we met Damica and her four closest girlfriends out for more drinks after the Wizards game. There was some taunting of a Wizards player unfortunate enough to appear in the next dining room. There was sharing of Georgetown shopping tips. There was – something else, but it’s getting harder to remember…

Then there was the American Scholars Ball – a formal tuxedo and fur coat-clad event sponsored by the Hip Hop Caucus and honoring outstanding black scholars. Held at the Ritz Carlton, the attendees were dressed in fabulous attire and beautiful to see. It was a helpful learning experience to round out the week. It turns out that black people can be boring, too.

Gay people it would appear, cannot. Following the inauguration ceremony, strings were pulled and favors called in to secure a cubbyhole office in the Methodist Building on Capitol Hill – the same building from which Dr. King used a cubbyhole office to plan the March on Washington. Our goals were slightly less noble: We planned to change into a tux and sparkly St. John dress and march over to the Mayflower Hotel for the “Out for Equality” inaugural ball.

Since the history of buildings appears to be relevant to this story, it should be pointed out that the Mayflower Hotel is where J. Edgar Hoover ate lunch for 20 years, where Harry Truman lived for the first 90 days of his presidential term, where in Room 776 Franklin D. Roosevelt dictated the words “We have nothing to fear but fear itself,” and where upstairs in Room 871 Eliot Spitzer conducted an assignation that led to his resignation as Governor of New York. We were there for the Best. Party. Ever.

Stunning décor? Check. Scrumptious food? Check. A packed house filled with beautiful people who also smell good? Check. And the entertainment? Forgive me while I rave. Dave Koz, Rufus Wainwright, Thelma Houston, Melissa Etheridge, Cyndi Lauper – all performing like this was a day that meant something to them.

In between having a wonderful time, two insights surfaced for me – a guy who grew up in the most Republican of states and continues to work in the most Republican of industries. The first occurred when newly elected Congressman Jared Polis took the stage to speak. Congressman Polis is the first openly gay man elected to the U.S. House of Representatives as a freshman. I turned to the people next to me and said, “That’s my Congressman. I voted for him.” Instant street cred, yes, but it was much more than that. Suddenly I felt connected to something broader – something about acceptance and love and, dare we go there, change. Hope even.

Then Ms. Lauper sung her old standard. I recalled when it came out in 1986 and how I thought it was a pleasant enough song. But it took until this moment, surrounded by rainbow-themed decorations, surrounded by people different from me in some ways but the same in most, that the parable became clear.

Whatever colors you are: “Don't be afraid to let them show. Your true colors… are beautiful.”