When my children were small, I took them to the county courthouse on election night so they could be close to the center of power when that power shifted, moved because of an election. Was a way to demystify the process and the officeholders themselves for they were unusually there watching the precinct numbers add up.
As my children got older going to the courthouse on election night became a past tradition.
Traveling to Washington for the Inauguration was a little like that for all of us. A very fine family trip, to witness the peaceful transition of power, a simply amazing thing that should not mystify us at all.
Harold was not as interested in who was being inaugurated as president as much as the fact that there was a president being inaugurated. The high school history teacher had been fascinated with the Presidency since he was a high school student himself and was required to write a paper on one of the Presidents. When others jumped at Washington or Lincoln or FDR, Harold chose Rutherford B. Hayes so he could have one all to himself.
What he discovered, at least as he understood it in later years, by choosing a less than outstanding officeholder he became fascinated with the office itself. It became the way he taught History of the American Presidency, a senior level class he got to teach only every other year, alternating with Colonial U.S. History.
As a student, a history major, at Chadron State College, Harold had written a paper on the evolution of the inaugural ceremony itself, its traditions, its ceremony, both regal but heavily populist as well. He became fascinated with the ceremony and how it spoke to the end of one term and the beginning of another, what it said about the handing off of power, of delineating whole segments of the nation’s history with the end of one era and the commencement of another, and done so in the midst of flags and pomp, not violent revolution.
His career as a high school teacher in southwestern Nebraska had lasted for almost 25 years. He was an institution of sorts, never wanted to venture into the administrative tier, preferring to be in the classroom. Never marrying or becoming very active in the community, but consistently committed to his students. About the only thing the community knew about him was his annual summer vacations to visit at least three historical sites he had never seen.
The only trip Harold had ever made to an inauguration was in 1985, for Ronald Regan’s second. It was not because he was a fan of Regan or because he had the means; it was because he had the opportunity.
The invitation to make the trek came from Simon, a fellow senior at Chadron State whose father ran a major hardware business in Omaha, and kept Simon in a steady stipend which both boys enjoyed. The invitation to take a train to Washington to see Regan inaugurated was to be a final senior trip together, just the two of them doing something substantive and doing it together.
When the two arrived in Washington’s Union Station a couple of days before the event, it was already turning cold, even for the two plainsmen. By Sunday morning, January 20, the announcement had been made that the swearing-in would take place in the White House because of the subzero weather. First time ever not held in public. Harold and Simon watched it from their hotel room, on television, as they could have done from anywhere in the world. Harold remembered they did not even get dressed and had both breakfast and a late lunch delivered to their room. He only knew that they were in Washington when he occasionally looked out the window on to the frozen white of Franklin Park and beyond to the tip of the Washington Monument above the trees. The next day they headed back west, only slightly disappointed. They had made the trip together and were glad they did.
After graduation in May, the two gradually started losing touch with each other. Simon returned to Omaha and his father’s business and Harold returned to western Nebraska to teach. They saw each other at a 15 year class reunion held in Lincoln in 2000, but it was a big event and they didn’t get to talk long. About a year later, Harold got an email from Simon wanting to reestablish contact. They continued to write each other a couple times a month, and then last summer Harold got an email from Simon’s address but written by his sister telling of Simon’s death. There was no explanation except to say it was a “tragic loss for all of us who knew him.” Harold had been blind-copied, and the email closed with “Please do not respond, account being closed.”
Harold received that email in late July. On August 28, as he ate dinner alone and watched Obama’s acceptance speech from Denver, just 200 miles to the west, he knew he wanted to see this inauguration. He got up from his plate and went on line, and in a few minutes had a three night reservation at the Hamilton Hotel, agreeing to a surcharge to guarantee a room on the top floor, overlooking Franklin Park, facing the Washington Monument.
There were a group of business men and women in cities scattered all across the Texas Panhandle that saw the writing on the wall two years ago. Many point to a speech made by Shelia Cidergap as the point at which the new movement started. It was when she was speaking to the Morse Junction Chamber and said simply: "George Bush is on his way out; the wind is shifting, and we need to get ourselves aligned with the new direction.”
Usually, the President was not challenged in even such small local venues, anywhere in the Panhandle, and certainly not by a women, and never before by a business women who was a major contributor to the Republican Party. But Shelia was also a pragmatist. She knew there was change coming and to be right and defeated was not an option; she wanted to be near-right and win.
She organized a group called the 66/40 Group named after Route 66 and Interstate 40 which is the equator of the Panhandle. The group never actually raised much money, but rather encouraged businesses in the area, and eventually the region covering three states, to make contributions to candidates that favored the area. These contributions were across party lines, always aimed at votes friendly to the 66/40 rather than just one party or the other. It was a group looking out for the area’s interest regardless of which party won, except for the White House. For that race, the 66/40 Group, led by Shelia, was betting everything on Obama. It paid off for the 66/40 walked away with a toe-hold in Washington, rare for Texans these days, and clout that would likely carry over into state wide politics.
The idea of taking a group to Washington for the Inauguration came up at a cookout at Shelia’s cabin on Lake Meredith the weekend after the election, just before Thanksgiving. Claude Muttner, a prominent John Deere distributor, proposed the 66/40 get a bunch of rooms, charter a plane and go to Washington, make it a long weekend. The dozen or so in attendance all agreed and, on the suggestion of Connie Muttner, Shelia should be a guest and not have to make any of the trip's arrangements. Just go and enjoy.
When the group departed Amarillo there were 11 in all made up of four couples and three singles. Shelia knew most of them, but two of the couples were new to her, one which shared her row on the plane, a man and his young daughter from Perryton, up near the Oklahoma border. During the flight to Washington, Shelia learned that Cynthia, who was in the middle seat, was in the third grade and that her father was part Kiowa, so of course so was she. Shelia also learned that Michael, Cynthia’s father, took his grandfather’s hot water heater business and turned it into a manufacturing firm specializing in solar panel components and was doing very well.
When the plan reached Washington, the pilot announced that those on the left side of the plane should have a good view of the National Mall during final approach. Shelia offered Cynthia the window seat so she could see better which she accepted. As the plane drifted slowly down, the three leaned forward toward the window, a cowboy’s daughter’s daughter, the great-grandson of a warrior leaning over a child of the 21st century, just inches from each other, so they might catch glimpses of the boxed Lincoln and domed Jefferson and pinnacled Washington monuments.
Becky had it all planned out in her head before she even shared it with Rachel. They would leave extra early and take the Metro all the way from Fairfax-GMU stop to L’Enfant. Since that stop was the first on the Orange Line they’d have seats, and they would not have to change, just get off and go up to the Mall. Seemed simple to Becky.
Rachel was more skeptical. She agreed it was a good plan and showed a lot of mature thinking and understanding of public transportation and schedules and locations, but she was skeptical. She did not think Mrs., Middleton would let her take Sidney and Frankie, and she doubted if Mrs. Thomson would be so free with her kids either.
Great idea, slim chance.
Tomorrow was Friday. The Inauguration was on Tuesday. Becky did not work on the weekends and Monday was a holiday, ML King Day. If she were to pitch the plan it had to be Friday afternoon and she had to have an answer then.
Candace Thompson and Sara Middleton were friends in high school in Richmond, had drifted apart, lost touch during their college years, but were recently reunited in Fairfax. Sara was a human resources officer for a bank and her husband was on the faculty of George Mason University. Candace was recently divorced and relocated from Seattle by her employer, a software company. The friends embraced their reunion and Sara did all she could to help Candace settle into the community including finding her a house only a block from hers and a great babysitter.
Becky had been caring for Sara’s children for a couple of months when Candace arrived. Becky suggested her friend Rachel, and for nearly a year now the four women have looked after the every need of the Thompson’s two daughters and the Middleton’s son and daughter, all of elementary school age.
Thursday afternoon, Sara called Candace, to see if she wanted to eat out that evening. Hank was out of town at a conference, she could have Becky and Rachel keep the kids at her house and order pizza. When the two women met at Born Restaurant in Vienna, they we genuinely glad to see each other. Out on a Thursday night reminded Candace of their years in high school when every weekend started on Thursday night.
Several times during dinner, the subject of the Inaugural came up, once as the two toasted the end of the Bush Years, and other when Candace lamented the loss of Hillary Clinton one more time, and again when they talked about the racial divide at their high school and in their community. They had not grown up in the South of the 1950’s but rather the south of the 1980’s and in many ways it had not changed and maybe still had not changed. Maybe it would not, they both thought.
After dinner the two women strolled along Maple Avenue and Sara brought up the Inauguration again, saying what an historic moment it would be and being down there on the Mall would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Candace picked up on what Sara was thinking and volunteered the suggestion that they should make sure their children got to attend. They talked about how neither had planned to be out of their offices that day, but probably could.
Then Candace suggested Becky and Rachel take them. The two women stopped and said the same things at the same time about level of confidence, age of responsibility, familiarity with the Metro. Sara wondered if Hank would be ok with it?
They walked back to their cars and said good night and drove to their homes, Sara following Candace nearly all the way. Becky and Rachel had the children all asleep in their respective beds when the two mothers arrived home. Becky left first, stopping to pick up Rachel a few minutes later. They were both filled with confidence at their good job and how easy it would be to win approval for their grand adventure.
Just before Sara went to bed, she called Candace to thank her for the evening out, and then asked her how things were at her house. Candace replied that they couldn’t be better. There was a slight pause, and they asked each other how about the girls taking the kids to the Inauguration. Then they both answered that is would not only be alright, but probably a very good thing to do.
Sara said she’d ask Becky the next afternoon if she and Rachel would be interested. Candace said she hoped the two girls would want to take the adventure to see history.
Ankle Frostburne played football for Florida A&M in 1950, the year the school won its first Black College National Championship under Coach Jake Gaither. In fact that’s who first called him Ankle. Had to do with the way Ankle ran and was to be able to quickly change directions seemingly without moving his upper body. Coach Gaither said it was all in his ankles, so called him that.
After college, Ankle returned to Tampa to work in his father’s grocery business, and marry his longtime sweetheart, Luanna. After the birth of their second daughter, the family relocated to Daytona Beach and operated a small motel for nearly 20 years, finally selling out to a developer, their business having waned along with the entire business district, with the rise of desegregation. Ankle and Luanna returned to Tampa, settling into a quiet residential area where they each had a garden, his flowers, hers food. Their daughters both were raising families in the Tampa area, so it was easy for grandchildren to visit.
Though neither were ever politically active or even followed politics closely, they did watch the growing support of Barack Obama with a shared sense of amazement. They hardly spoke of it, but they watched it.
Starting a family in the same days as the start of the civil rights movement had never escaped them. They had never marched or sang in public, they had never been confronted by a mob or police, they had never really felt particularly threatened. They had lived their life within the system, quietly and lovingly raised a solid family which is solid into a third generation. Perhaps they had dreams that were unfilled, but it was not because of racism, they would say. It was because some dreams remain just that...dreams.
A few days before Christmas, a letter arrived from the FAMU Football Alumni Association. Luanna handed it to Ankle along with two Christmas cards received that day. He looked at the Christmas cards first and then opened the letter. It was an invitation to travel to Washington, DC for the Inauguration along with the Florida A&M Band, who would be marching in the Parade. The university was organizing buses from several Florida cities to caravan along with the band. One bus would come from Tampa.
Ankle did something he had never done, or hardly ever that he could remember. He made a big decision without talking to Luanna, but he knew it was important for them to make this trip, and he didn’t want the space to sell out. So he acted. He picked up the phone and reserved two seats on the bus.
When he told her what he had done, she said it was the most romantic thing he’d done in years.
the mountain top is the best vantage point to see beyond the daily view to be inspired by the complete picture of context, where each part fits, see how it all comes together
to reach the crest is work, takes effort and a desire to climb, heartened by the promise of reward, a more complete understanding, a better view.
but the best soil is in the valley, the safest shelter is in the valley, the most nurturing pastures are in the valley, the work is in the valley.
it is where we live it is where the work has to be done.
so when taking up the tasks that take up the day, my arms want to lift a little harder to lighten the load of another, the one next to me I see, the ones farther down the line I will never see.
sixteen hundred and seventy nine miles roundtrip, same route there and back, a dozen hours in motion, a scattered hour for relief and refueling.
driving north in waning light, driven by anticipation, keeping anxieties unspoken, so ready for an adventure.
drifting south in brilliant dawn light, through pine forests waiting for spring, carried by an exhilaration, held close and quiet, one’s own experience universally shared.
Inaugural Address By President Barack Hussein Obama
My fellow citizens: I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you've bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors.
I thank President Bush for his service to our nation as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we, the people, have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears and true to our founding documents.
So it has been; so it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost, jobs shed, businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly, our schools fail too many -- and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable, but no less profound, is a sapping of confidence across our land; a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this America: They will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord. On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas that for far too long have strangled our politics. We remain a young nation. But in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted, for those that prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life. For us, they toiled in sweatshops, and settled the West, endured the lash of the whip, and plowed the hard earth. For us, they fought and died in places like Concord and Gettysburg, Normandy and Khe Sahn.
Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions, greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week, or last month, or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of our economy calls for action, bold and swift. And we will act, not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We'll restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. All this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions, who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short, for they have forgotten what this country has already done, what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage. What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them, that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply.
The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account, to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day, because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched. But this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control. The nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity, on the ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils that we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man -- a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience sake.
And so, to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born, know that America is a friend of each nation, and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity. And we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with the sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort, even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we'll work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet.
We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense. And for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken -- you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus, and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West, know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy.
To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history, but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders, nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the role that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who at this very hour patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are the guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service -- a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves.
And yet at this moment, a moment that will define a generation, it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all. For as much as government can do, and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- honesty and hard work, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history.
What is demanded, then, is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition on the part of every American that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept, but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship. This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny. This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed, why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall; and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served in a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At the moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words to be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world...that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet it."
America: In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America.
each performer or person who came to the lectern or stood unprotected out front, adding the flow that carried a song high, high above the holy places at some point must have thought what does all this mean because I did, I thought of that for them, not for me, for them, each one independently drawing from a one of a kind package of experience
it was when Pete Singer lead the cast and the cast of hundreds of thousands in This Land is Your Land that I felt the greatest satisfaction from the greatest accomplishment seeing This Land in his eyes with his memories laid softly behind them
Nearly thirty years ago I went with a friend to visit a couple who had been friends of his for many years. Over their mantel there hung a large, framed poster that I realized was their wedding announcement with the signatures of the nearly 200 people who attended the event. They were all witnesses.
The couple explained that by signing, each guest had made a commitment to support the commitment they had made to each other. As witnesses they accepted that responsibility.
That is the same reason I felt I should be a witness of the inauguration of Barrack Obama, and that my partner and I should make it possible for our children to join us as witnesses.
Today we set out for Washington to be witnesses and to embrace the responsibility that comes with that role.
For a thousand days prior to October 22, 2010, I posted images with accompanying words, or I posted words and then illustrated them with images. The form was the same; the genre varied with fiction, poetry, essays, and journal-like entries. Then after a thousand days I closed the book on Pablo Notes. Consequentially, the same month I ceased posting at Pablo Notes, Instagram was launched, a platform designed to share images and words about the images. This is where I am sharing most of my expressions these days @PabloPalm. But from time to time I want to share something that does not fit into Instagram as well as it fits into this format. So that’s what follows. (Posts below the search bar are pre-10.22.10) And thank you for the read. ...paul
