I was there!

I arrived at BWI on Monday afternoon and waited for about 30 minutes for Super Shuttle to pick me up. I boarded the van with 7 other people. It was quite an interesting group - an older man from Chicago, a middle-aged woman with a landscape architecture firm returning to DC, a 30-something woman from Chicago, and 4 female professors from Seattle. We were all there for the inauguration. I was the youngest and the only person of color other than the Salvadoran driver. The 2 hour ride through Maryland was full of talk about plans for the week and how people felt about what was happening.

I arrived at my friend's house just in time to shower and dress for a pre-inauguration house party. There were several people at the party that I had not seen since FAMU. Some people were planning to go to the inauguration, while others were unable to go due to their flights. After the party, we took a friend to BWI. We finally got back to the house around 4am and I decided I would take a nap for a couple of hours. Before I laid my head down, my friend, who had been watching the news downstairs and saw the reports about the chaos already happening at the metro stations, told me I should probably just head to the Metro station without the nap. I had not slept since Sunday night, but I reluctantly got dressed (in layers).

I went to the Metro station and the ticket machines seemed possessed. I stood in line waiting to buy my ticket, and it flashed "Out of Service" as soon as I stepped up. I moved to the next line. Another machine would not allow a woman to enter her fare. I finally got mine, and walked through the gates to wait on the train. I had observed from the parking lot that the cars at the end of the train were practically empty, and people were crowding in to the middle. I got my seat at the end of the train and proceeded to DC. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I opened my eyes every time the doors opened and saw more and more people in my car. I embarked from the train at Judiciary Square station. It was 6:48am when I walked out on the street level.

There was a huge crowd on the street that was not moving. They would not allow anyone to walk towards the Mall until 7am. Those with tickets were directed one way and the others went another way. I did not have a ticket. There were volunteers on several corners giving us directions as we walked. We walked almost an hour on streets, through a tunnel, up hills, around corners, and finally onto the lawn of the Mall. There was no security check for the unticketed area. We were greeted by rows of porta-potties with lines already formed in front of them.

It was a few minutes before 8am. We still had a few hours until the ceremony started. What do a million people do in 20 degree weather for 3 hours? Keep moving. I walked onto the lawn and moved as close to the front as I could. I stood in front of the red castle in the first section of the unticketed section. I could see the Capitol in the distance ahead of me, the Washington Monument was behind me, and the museums of the Smithsonian flanked the sides. The concert from the night before was showing on the screens. I had a hard time viewing the jumbotron with all the tall people in front of me, but I could hear everything clearly. Everyone sang and danced to keep their spirits up and their bodies warm.

After over 2 hours of standing there marching in place to keep my blood circulating, I could no longer feel my toes. I was so afraid I had frostbite. The rest of my body was pretty warm because I dressed in layers, but I failed to layer my socks. That was a very dumb move for me. I will never ever do that again. I had to find some toe warmers. I left my spot up front and walked out to the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of Boy Scout volunteers and asked them where I could get toe warmers (heated packs you place in your shoes or gloves). They told me they were being sold at the concession tent. I walked the length of the Mall all the way to the back where the tent was. I didn't realize how close I was to the front until I took that walk. I stood in line for an hour and watched the procession of dignitaries on the screen as I waited. I heard Aretha Franklin singing, but could not see her just as I stepped up to order hot chocolate and toe warmers. I was so hurt when they told me they didn't have the toes warmers. I walked away just in time to see Barack Obama take the Oath of Office. I found a spot better than the original one (I could see the jumbotrons clearly) and stood amongst my fellow Americans beaming with pride, tears streaming down my face. It was so cold I thought my tears would freeze.

Everyone around me waved the flags the Boy Scouts passed out while cheering and celebrating this moment in our history. There was complete silence as President Barack Obama gave a very commanding speech. I was happy to share the experience with all the people around me. After the speech, some of the crowd started walking off the field. As I walked, I listened to the inauguration poem, and then the prayer by the legendary Rev. Joseph Lowery.

All 2 million people poured out from the Mall at the same time. Some people decided to visit the museums and stood in the long lines to enter. For those of us trying to get to the trains/buses to take us home, we were told to walk to 14th St. to exit, but they were not allowing anyone out that way. While I was walking, I finally found someone selling toe warmers, and put them in my shoes. I turned around and walked east going against the crowd headed west. I couldn't get out that way either. We couldn't walk north because Constitution St. was closed. I stopped to ask a few police how we were supposed to get out, and they said, "I don't know." It was pure chaos. There was no organization around clearing people out of the area - no signs, no volunteers giving directions, nothing. We felt like trapped animals. I found a set of stairs near a museum and stood there to get out of the crowd while I tried to figure out my next move. The crowd started thinning, and I decided I would walk south back across the Mall. I followed the crowd walking south where there were vendors lined up hawking their wares. I skimmed a few and kept walking when I didn't see anything I wanted. I looked at the map to find the closest Metro stations on the south side. I went to L'Enfant Plaza and was mystified by the crowd I saw waiting to enter the station.

crowd waiting to enter station

I was tired, cold, hungry, my body was sore from all that standing and walking, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I was on the verge of tears. I just wanted to get on a train and get out of there. I was surrounded by thousands of people, exhaust fumes from the tour buses, and the piercing sirens of police cars and ambulances parting the ocean of people in the streets every few minutes. I kept walking down 7th St., and I saw a line of people. I asked someone why they were in line. It was the line for the Federal Center Metro station with the yellow/green lines. I needed to be on the red line to get back to Rockville, but I was willing to get on any train that would take me out of the area. I could read the map to figure out where to go from there as long as I wasn't outside anymore. The line was wrapped around the building on 7th and down E St. I stood in the line which seemed to move a couple of feet every few minutes. After waiting in line for about an hour or more, I was finally on the escalator down to the platform. I walked through the doors of the train where I stood holding the straps for 2 stops before changing trains at Gallery Pl./Chinatown. I stood in the line to enter the platform for the red line to Shady Grove. I walked all the way to the end of the platform where the crowds usually don't go. The doors opened and I sat down. I finally exhaled. The ride to Rockville was pretty calm. I actually nodded off for a bit. I was so exhausted.

Would I do it again? Was it worth it? I would not have missed the inauguration even with all the drama and stress surrounding it. I endured the freezing temperatures for hours, walked for miles, and went without sleep on behalf of my unborn children. I want to be able to tell them I was there between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument on the day that President Barack Obama was sworn in. The people who participated in the March on Washington witnessed Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "'>I Have a Dream" speech over 40 years ago on that same patch of land, and I saw the realization of part of that dream today. America is finally living out the true meaning of its creed. We are not on the mountaintop yet, but we are definitely higher than we were before.

On the Pulse of Morning

I looked down at the sheet of paper Mrs. Reed, my 6th grade teacher, was handing out to the class. It was full of words that the whole class had to memorize. There was a collective groan. "Do we really have to memorize all of this?" "I can't do this." "Why is it so long?" On the top of that piece of paper was typed, "On the Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou". It was the poem she wrote and recited at the request of newly elected Bill Clinton for the 1993 Presidential Inauguration. It was the spring of 1993.

I was born eight days after Ronald Reagan was inaugurated to his first term as President of the United States (POTUS). I was too young to know or even care about his subsequent election and the one after that. However, when I was 11 years old in the 6th grade, I became acutely aware of the 1992 presidential election. Mrs. Reed gave the class an assignment that required us to write a report on the candidates and their stances on the issues. This was before the internet age so I used newspapers, magazines, and the local news to write my paper. After we completed our research, there was a mock election for all of the 6th graders. We felt so empowered and excited to be able to vote for POTUS like the adults. Eight years later, I voted officially. My first real election was marred by drama. It was 2000. I was a student at an HBCU. I was in Florida. Need I say more? The next one wasn't much better.

I first heard about Barack Obama around the same time as the rest of the country. He was introduced to us at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I was impressed by his speech and looked forward to seeing him more in the years to come. Two years later, when he announced he was running for president, I did not jump on the bandwagon. I read his books and was fascinated by his life, but I did not think he was ready to be POTUS. So many people around me were buzzing with Obama fever. I had friends who were precinct captains and campaign volunteers, but I did not acquiesce. I did not want to commit to anyone until I had done my own research. Too bad I didn't know any 6th graders who could do the research for me. I refused to support him just because he was a black man. I was angered every time I heard that someone was voting for him because of his race. I was also angered every time I heard that someone was not voting for him because of his race. I made my decision before the Texas primary using data from http://www.procon.org/ and other sources. I voted early in the primary and then went back to caucus in my first national election in Texas. I was officially on the team - no turning back. For the first time, I actively participated in a national campaign by doing more than just voting.



I did not know what to expect when November 4, 2009 finally came. Would it take days to hear the final results? Would there be mass disfranchisement again? Based on all the watch parties and gatherings advertised for that night, people were anticipating good news. Shortly after 10pm CNN projected Barack Obama as the winner. Everyone had a reaction. They screamed, cried, stared at the screen in silence, jumped for joy, clapped their hands, hugged friends and strangers. My initial reaction was a shout of joy, then silence. I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Was it a dream? I immediately thought of the impact of Barack Obama's presidency on my 2 nephews. He would show them that they could also aspire to the highest office in the land and actually achieve it. They will grow up seeing a black man in the White House and will not think it is unusual. The next morning I cried as I thought about two little black girls living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They are not the daughters of slaves or servants, but of the President of the United States of America.






I knew I had to be there on January 20, 2009 when President Barack Obama was sworn into office. I'd thought about going before the announcement, but decided to wait until it was confirmed before buying a ticket. All I needed was a flight and an inauguration ticket because I could stay with a friend in the area. I sent my requests to the 2 US Senators and 1 Representative for my area and waited in anticipation. I received rejection emails from all 3 over the next couple of months, but that only dampened my spirits a little bit. I just wanted to be in Washington, DC to say that I was there when history was made. I want to tell my children all about the day the first person of African descent was sworn in to the office of the President of the Unites States of America.

I will board a plane to Washington, DC by way of BWI tomorrow morning to partake in the inaugural festivities. The profound meaning of that is not lost on me. I am flying into an airport named after the first black Supreme Court Justice to witness the inauguration of the first black President.

Here on the pulse of this new day, I say to my sisters and brothers, "Good morning".

Thank you Mrs. Reed.

'On The Pulse Of Morning' : An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.

January 20, 1993