Wish You Were Here

Postcards from the Obama Inauguration

Published:
May 01, 2009

This article appeared as a web extra for The Grinnell Magazine, Spring 2009.

Grinnellians, never known to pass up a good party, were well represented among the throng that streamed into Washington, D.C., on Jan. 20 for the inauguration of the United States' first black president, Barack Obama.

For those of us who couldn't be there, the next best thing is a postcard. We got a bunch of them from Grinnellians who were there.

Through dear friends I met while working in the U.S. Senate, I had the great fortune and privilege to be one of the people sitting on the inaugural platform, amidst former presidents, governors, senators, and others. The day capped three days of amazing energy, excitement, and camaraderie, starting with the concert at the Lincoln Memorial on Sunday where my partner and I were among the crowded, happy masses out on the mall.
The day of the inauguration started early and spun into a wonderful reconnection with many friends from the U.S. Senate, their families, celebrities performing at the inauguration or balls, and others there as fellow citizens. Our evening ended at the “Peace Ball,” where progressive entertainers, writers, and activists such as Joan Baez, Alice Walker, and Eve Ensler performed. The attached photo speaks for the inauguration itself -- an unforgettable experience. — Amy Fraenkel ’85
Here’s our view from the purple area of the Capitol grounds. — Tod Read ’81
John Malkinson ’79 and I attended a variety of inaugural events. Here we are Tuesday morning with the Capitol in the background (that’s John Malkinson in the foreground). — Ed Senn ’79
 
It is not often one has the opportunity to witness history. I spent an amazing week in Washington, D.C., during the inaugural celebration, including time with some great Grinnell friends. Here I am at the concert on the mall on Sunday with Ed Senn ’79 (Ed’s in the red hat, I’m in the black). Prohibitive airfare for three-day itinerary made a longer stay (cheaper rates) imperative ... and I was never so glad! Thanks to Ed and some of our own ingenuity, the week consisted of a non-stop wave of food, drink, and parties. I went to three inaugural balls, including a great ball at Union Station that I persuaded Ed we were able and needed to “crash”!
The Inaugural Concert on the mall was fantastic, and being there with Ed and the masses will be a lasting memory.
I had the good fortune to celebrate with a few politicians and celebrities, but the most amazing part of the week was experiencing the absolutely palpable good mood that enveloped the entire city during the days leading up to and surrounding the inauguration. Wherever one went, everybody in town was happy, talkative, and upbeat. Seeing the overnight transformation of the downtown area into military/police corridors was also an eye-opening experience.
Witnessing history together with good friends, that’s what it was all about! — John Malkinson ’79
I wasn’t at the inauguration, but I’ve got an interesting image nonetheless. I’m a graphic facilitator. I’ve got a great job where I get to think and draw for a living. While business folks are having strategy meetings, I’ll be at the front of the room, at a large piece of paper, mapping out the conversation while they are talking. This gets the work of the meeting on paper so people can see what they are saying. Normally, I do this work in real time with groups of people. On Jan. 20, I mapped Obama’s inauguration speech in my studio here in Chicago. — Brandy Agerbeck ’96
I watched the inauguration on a huge screen with a huge crowd inside the Newseum. This photo shows President Obama’s car driving by. A bit later, he got out and walked, to great cheers. All week, despite the difficulties getting around the city and the freezing cold, there was an amazing feeling of joy and unity. — Beth Preiss ’76
I was a field organizer in Clinton, Iowa during the campaign. Here I am with Allie Berger and Kate Morley (both ’08), alongside the Reflecting Pool during the We Are One Concert. — Maggie Potthoff ’08
On inauguration day, my husband, Matt, and I were on the National Mall. We live in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Washington, D.C., so the decision to walk just a few blocks and brave the crowds to witness history was an easy one.
A few months earlier on Nov. 4, I was in Nakuru, Kenya, for work. It is impossible to overstate the excitement and pride Kenyans feel for Barack Obama. Although his father was a Luo, members of every tribe and the entire nation claim him as their own. One of my colleagues told me that we Americans could keep him for eight years, but then the Kenyans want him “back” so that he can be president of Kenya. — Joy Fishel ’96
Here we are (left to right) -- my son Peter, yours truly John Lom, and my other son Max. — John Lom ’76
Long cold drive from Ithaca to Maryland ... Monday night slumber party -- three generations spanning 60+ years -- in a convent in southeast D.C., guests of Sister Brigid, sole remaining occupant ... Awake at 4 a.m., on the streets before 5 a.m., waddling under layers of winter clothing. Two and a half miles, a straight shot to the Capitol, gleaming white in the distance ... Groups at each corner bus stop, all traveling in one direction ... Walking through the night, first dozens, then hundreds, then thousands, all moving together ... Sunrise on the mall, more and more and more people ... Standing together, waiting, singing, laughing, chanting ... Lifting up the kids to see the jumbo-tron images ... Ten hours in the cold, cold January air ... surrounded by hope, witness to history. The face of daughter Abby Katz, age 9 (see photo), reflects the joy and wonder many felt. — Ruth Katz ’83
Washington, D.C.’s Metrobus ran special busses on key routes all day, and to make life easy for everyone, offered special fares. We rode a special express bus down Connecticut Avenue from near our home in Chevy Chase, D.C., at 7:30 in the morning. Metro ran these every 10 minutes.
Connecticut Avenue is one of the major commuting routes into the city from suburban Maryland. But on Jan. 20, there was hardly any other traffic at all. It was a weird contrast to the normally crowded four-lanes of commuters! By the time we were one-quarter of the way downtown, the bus was standing room only, with people from all over the country.
We had purple standing room tickets, and on the way across the center of the city to our security screening station we crossed over the Third Street tunnel. This is what later became known as The Purple Tunnel of Doom, as thousands of frustrated people were trapped in it as screening stations completely broke down. Eventually, most of the people who were directed into the tunnel as a means to get into the inaugural missed it altogether. When we passed it at around 8:15 a.m., it was very quiet. We finally reached our destination, First Street NW, and were confronted with several thousand other purple ticket holders (see photo). We stood in subfreezing weather for more than 90 minutes and moved about 40 feet out of 500 toward our goal.
We finally bailed out and took refuge in a bar and watched the inauguration on TV. While the crowd was extraordinarily well behaved and festive, we were all tremendously frustrated at the complete lack of communication about what was happening and why the line was not moving. Thousands who had received tickets were unable to even get to the screening stations. Some people had already waited hours the previous day to pick up their tickets. And many of them wound up on long lines to get into inaugural balls that night and then again in Union Station and the local airports trying to get home.
But the mood downtown was festive, joyful, and peaceful. In spite of the cold and frustration, it still was a wonderful experience. — Barry Zigas ’73 and Jodie Levin-Epstein ’72
Inauguration. It’s 4:18 a.m. and 21 degrees F. I am on the subway platform at Pentagon City station. The rows of people are 5 and 10 deep on the platform waiting for the train. It looks like rush hour on a weekday, but it’s President-Elect Obama’s inauguration. An eight-car train is full and cannot take on more. People are dangerously close to the platform edge. I catch the next train. People in the car are young, smiling. So many out-of-towners who do not know how to insert their subway fare card into the turnstile readers. The mass on the upper platform of l’Enfant Plaza subway station press against one another, happy, laughing, and proud that they made it. Another train arrives. People exit and scream with excitement at the sight of a crowd at l’Enfant Plaza subway; they begin singing, “Yes, we can.” It’s 4:40 a.m., and the subway station is too jammed to allow people to exit. We wait for 12 minutes, trying to leave the station. Exit onto Seventh Street and Independence Avenue, adjacent to the National Mall. Crowds arrive before all security has a chance to set up. Buses of security still arriving. A meek officer ushers a line to form down Independence for the security tent to open at 9 a.m. ... 9 a.m.?! Security relents and opens the gate to the Mall at 5 a.m. Free at last. Security momentarily closes the Seventh Street entrance because the Mall is “full” at 5:30 a.m. Security gets the message: the Mall is not full. Let them pass. The crowd is mainly African American. Families. Many white and Latino young people. California. Rhode Island. Massachusetts. People without hats; sweat jackets. Hypothermia threatens. I find my compatriot at the jumbo-tron in the dark. Texting still works in spite of an over-used phone grid.
7 a.m. I photograph the scene and e-mail it to friends and family domestically and internationally. Throughout the day, I hear thank yous back from Moscow, Uganda, Germany, Indiana, Oregon, Hawaii, and jibes from warm living rooms in Washington, D.C. A woman has a box with four coffees. A lady next to me goes in pursuit for hot chocolate and coffee. I give her a $20, offer to pay for hers if she brings some back for me and my friend. She returns two hours later empty-handed. Lines too long. Service too slow. $20 unharmed.
Dawn arrives. The change in temperature brings a slight wind that is colder than 21 degrees F. It cuts like knives. Crowds groan. It becomes clear that not everyone is going to make it to the ceremony at 11:30 a.m. The sky is gorgeous. People are sleeping under blankets, on the ground, on newspapers and cardboard. I am well-layered, standing for eight hours by day’s end. I jump every 40 minutes for three successive minutes to warm. The next 40 minutes feels like five minutes. Complete daylight at 8 a.m. It’s cold. Will we make it? The mall looks like a refugee camp. Some people in bad shape from the cold. Girl Scouts are passing out American flags but no coffee. Security warnings forbad backpacks; only 9” x 6” x 4” bags. No purses. Few have food. No one has thermoses. Snipers on the roofs of Smithsonian Museums. A National Park Service helicopter overhead surveys the cattle. Inauguration alerts come in through texting: farthest subway station in Virginia reports trains are full before starting their journey; a 68-year-old woman at Chinatown Station killed after falling off the platform onto the subway tracks. Then, the report is retracted: she fell on the tracks but not dead. Chinatown Station closes.
9:30 a.m. A text-alert reads that the 300,000 limit along the parade route has been reached. Entrances to the parade area close; the 300,000 are sealed in until the parade at 2:30 p.m. 10:30 a.m. The jumbo-trons show life at the White House. The motorcade departs and the mall roars that this party is finally underway. Carter snubs Clinton in the Capitol building hallway. Cheney arrives in a wheelchair. Bush is booed when the jumbo-tron pans to him. Someone hums Darth Vader’s entrance music. Evangelical Rick Warren opens the ceremony. A man in a hunting jacket turns his back to the stage in protest to Obama’s choice for the benediction. Obama fumbles the oath. From the Mall, it’s seems he’s nervous. Later, we learn Justice Roberts relocates “faithfully” after “execute” presidential duties to the Constitution. The oath is done. The mall explodes. People in tears. The founders deliver on their promise. The son of a hippie mom and an African Muslim with an Arabic name “blessed” is now president. John Lewis’ work is done; he lived to see it. A miracle. [We learn later Obama did not vote to confirm Roberts.] American democracy peacefully transfers power a 44th time. Obama confronts Bush, Iran, Russia, and China (“clenched fist”), promises destruction to Al Qaeda, and improved rapport with Muslims. Elizabeth Alexander of Princeton poeticizes. She is eloquent, but impersonal. No gravity or feeling of Maya Angelou’s “A rock. A tree. A cloud” from inauguration 1993. Reverend Joseph Lowry closes with prayer, telling it like it is among the races. Somebody got real before the end. The National Park Service officially counts 1.8 million in attendance, 1 million more than Clinton’s inauguration in 1993. Subway declares 900,000 riders before 7 p.m. Michelle defies Alma Powell’s admonition that “there are crazy people out there.” She allows us our first black president. The four bridges into Virginia are closed to vehicles. Thousands cross by foot. Truant vehicles are stopped by police on the bridges, scolded, and detained. The Pentagon parking lots are completely empty. Defense Secretary Gates does not appear at the ceremony. He instead is at an undisclosed location in case of emergency.
The day ends. Eight hours on my feet. A three-mile walk home. Lunch at 3:30 p.m. – Vincent Kiste ’90

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