Inauguration is for Stories

Our WJC Director Terry Mattingly welcomed us to what he called "a city of stories" at the beginning of Saturday night's orientation events. He warned that we would be tempted to believe that all the stories in DC can be found on Capitol Hill or in the business district, to be discovered somewhere between perfect ties and glamorous nights out. Warning turned to exhortation as he told us of the stories that exist in the edge of crowds and in the less fortunate places of this city. Those stories are just as important.

My group left at about 7 a.m. hoping to see the country’s biggest story up close and personal. That hope starting waning at about 8 o’clock on D Street, when I stood squished somewhere between a van and a sedan that had turned off their engines.

Two hours later, we left the middle of a stationary line to thaw out with a cup of coffee at the Hard Rock Cafe. Cold and full of lost hope, I asked the gentleman beside me where he was from. "New Hampshire," he told me, "and my friend is from South Carolina." I nodded. "Are you disappointed you didn't get in after traveling so far?" I asked. His answer changed my day. "It's ok. We're here," he said. "People ask me why I'm here, and I say 'because it's here. This is history. I'm here for it.'"

He left me with warm regards, making room at the counter for two Canadian women. I asked them why they were here. They said that they hadn’t been alive for historical inaugurations in America’s past, and wanted to come for this one because, “this is huge for our generation,” they said.

The Hard Rock Cafe started closing, much to the protests of the Canadians, who quickly recovered and said they would watch "in a bar somewhere." As we all left they wished us well and smiled - regardless of having traveled this far only to end up watching Obama's moment on TV.

Around 10:30 we wound up packed into the National Press Building food court with what must have been at least 200 African Americans. The girl behind me said she arrived on a train from New York last night, but didn't seem upset at being stuck in a food court any more than my new friends at Hard Rock were at being holed up in a bar. As shots of Obama began coming up on the screen, the crowd around me roared, cried, and chanted

O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma! Yes we did!

Tears rolled down the faces around me as Obama spoke of history, freedom and America’s long road to equality. The big story today may have taken place at the Capitol building, but I looked back across the food court after Obama’s speech, and saw the stories that put him where he is today. Just behind me a white woman and black man stood together holding twin babies. They were crying, laughing and kissing the babies. I watched as the man looked up and pointed towards the sky, mouthing a thank you to God.

In that moment I realized it didn't matter where one flew in from, or how long one had sat on a train to end up watching a TV screen, it was the stories of the people here, coupled with the stories of those who had fought for their freedom, that gave them the emotion and joy to make today an experience that was anything but disappointing.