WASHINGTON D.C. TRIP – JANUARY 5-9 Dear friends: I arrived at D.C.s Ronald Reagan airport at about mid-afternoon to the cold weather I had wanted. It was easy to find the Metro station, but figuring it out was another story. I went down the escalator and spoke to a woman inside a sort of glass covered station, perhaps plexiglass. It was positioned between two sets of entry ways with wooden guards. This was the setup at every entrance into the metro. I soon discovered the person at each of these stations was called a station manager. The station manager gave concise instructions that I didn’t understand because it was all new to me. She finally said, “I’ll come out and help you.” She led me over to a series of vendors and as I explained where I was going and that I would be here for a week, she said that what I really needed was a “Smartrip card.” She showed me how I could load more money on Smartrip card from my debit card. And there was a picture of the Smartrip card where I could check its “value.” I loaded some money onto the card, and then went to the entrance where I ran the card over a picture of the card which gave me a green light, and there was a small screen which told me how much I’d just paid to enter and how much was still on the card. The two wooden guards slid back and allowed me to enter. I’d told the woman that I needed to go to the Red Roof Inn in Alexandria and she said I’d need to take the Yellow Line car to King Street-Old Town. I caught the metro and watched the stops on signs along the way until I arrived at the Old Town station. I got off and went out into street. I didn’t see any directions to Richmond Highway and asked around. A nun at a bus stop told me I’d need to take the Rex Bus and pointed to where I could catch that bus. I got on and told the bus driver where I needed to go and he nodded. The bus began its route. “Take off the face mask,” the driver said to a young man as he stepped on at one of the stops. “Take off the face mask,” the young man repeated as he began to peel it off. “OK. He thinks I’m gonna rob the whole car. I’m gonna rob the whole car.” As we hit Richmond Avenue, the driver told me the Red Roof Inn was on the other side of the highway and he couldn’t stop until a considerable distance away. He said I could cross the street at that next stop and take the fairfaxconnection bus which made more frequent stops. As we came to a stop behind several cars at a red light, I noticed we were at what appeared to be a bus stop and asked if I could get off there. He said no, he had strict instructions about where to stop. “They’ve got something called the matrix,” he said. “They’ll write you up for any little thing and it stays on your record for three months.” I said I understood his position and we both agreed it was ridiculous. We finally came to a stop, which was as he said a considerable distance from the Red Roof Inn. I crossed Richmond Highway and caught the Fairfax bus he’d referred me to, and soon I was at the Red Roof Inn. I checked in and told them I had a reservation. They swiped my debit card for four days. I went to my roof, dumped all my stuff and headed toward the Metro station. I’d noticed on the ride on the Rex bus that we passed a Metro station that was very close to the hotel on Huntington Avenue.I went up Huntington Ave. to the Metro. I asked the station manager how to get to the Lincoln Memorial and he said take the Yellow Line to L’enfant Plaza. The station managers and bus drivers impressed me with their eager enthusiasm to assist me any way they could. They were eager to help, and they also impressed me with their patience and their courtesy. They were extremely knowledgeable about the metro system and had a quick and accurate answer to each of my questions. It was the same case at the Smithsonian museums and the National Gallery of Art. At one of the museums, I told a young man at the entrance where they checked my backpack that I had been very impressed by the professionalism of everyone I dealt with and their patience. With great enthusiasm he said, “Well, patience is a virtue, try to treat people they way you’d want to be treated” etc. I caught the Metro and rode to the L’enfant Plaza. We crossed the wide Potomac River which is one of the many iconic symbols I’ve read and heard so much about that I wanted to see for myself. I asked a man if it was the Potomac and when he said yes, I literally laughed out loud with joy. The whole experience was magical. As soon as I stepped off the escalator I asked a man how to get to the Lincoln Memorial. He looked up the street and said, “I think the mall is that way and just hang a left. But it’s way on the other side of town.” I was worn out from the trip, had not slept much the past couple of days, but nothing could deter from seeing the one landmark I wanted to see above all the others. It was getting cold. I pulled my jackets tighter – I was wearing four layers of clothing – and headed up seventh street, crossed Independence Avenue, and found myself standing at the National Mall. I crossed seventh street and began heading toward the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial in the distance. I began walking through the cold evening as the sun slowly drifted toward the horizon. I passed the towering Washington monument that reached lean and straight into the sky, surrounded by fluttering U.S. flags. Then there was the World War II memorial, a circle of pillars each with a name of a state and a memorial wreath. Then I headed on toward the Lincoln Memorial. In the dwindling light the memorial, tall and proud with grand columns, slowly grew larger. I caught my breath as Lincoln’s figure, the one I’d wanted to see so much for so long, appeared between the pillars. It was so small from that distance, but it was still such a surreal, spiritual experience. I walked closer and he appeared larger and larger, and with each step a whole new series of impressions rushed through my head. I climbed the steps as though I were approaching a great king for a personal audience. The steps were covered with people from throughout the world. Apparently he’s had an impact on many people. I passed the columns and entered what could only be described as a holy shrine. The words above him said it was a temple, a shrine. He sat there, proud and solid like the stone in which his spirit seemed to be embodied. Warm light lit up his visage. He sat with his right foot forward, one hand covering an arm rest, the other curled back. Cloth fell away from his chair and the stone seemed at once solid and fluid. There was an air of majesty about the place. He seemed to be looking out over Washington, over the country, keep an eye on things, almost in a spirit of protection. In fact, in my opinion, he did protect the country from disintegrating when he pulled the Union back together. The Gettysburg address inscribed on the left wall (his right) even mentioned the issue of making sure the experiment of government by the people and for the people would not fail, would not, “perish from the Earth.” I stood before him for awhile, just watching, gazing, thinking about him. I thought about his powerful speeches, his writings. The sculptor did a brilliant job of revealing the sadness and the wisdom in his eyes. It has been noted that Lincoln suffered from depression all his life, long before his presidency. The sculptor captured that sadness in his eyes beautifully, as well as his almost mystical intellect. It’s remarkable that Lincoln, in spite of his personal troubles, persevered so well. I thought of Martin Luther King who had stood on those steps and given his famous “I Have a Dream” speech. Such a powerful moment, and Lincoln behind him as though backing him up. Interestingly, I left the Lincoln Memorial and wandered back down the National Mall, making my way towards the Metro. I passed a bunch of statues of soldiers and discovered it was the Korean War Memorial. I saw something across the street, tall boulders with floodlights. I went to see and there was Martin Luther King, only a short distance from where he’d given his speech. I realized I was at the tidal basin, and across the water was the Jefferson Memorial, lit up in the darkness by more floodlights. That would have to wait until another day. I was exhausted. I returned to my hotel and fell into a deep sleep. I had checked the 10-day forecast and it had called for cold dry air. The following morning I stepped outside and snow fell softly and the ground was covered with three or four inches of graceful white. I was at first dismayed at this complication. I walked up Huntington Ave. to the Metro station, swiped my Smartrip card and went up the escalator where I waited for the yellow line car. I got off at L’Enfant Plaza and head straight for the National Mall. The main reason for my visiting D.C. was to get a feel, a point of reference for the location of the iconic figures I’d seen so much in pictures and movies, and read about in books. Most of it was right around there. So I continued up seventh street and then turned left on Constitution Avenue, heading back toward the Lincoln Memorial. As the day proceeded I began to feel good about the snow. Everything was beautiful, all bathed in white, the memorials, the trees, the ground. I passed the Vietnam Memorial and scanned briefly over all the names inscribed there, thinking about all the individual lives represented by each name. I passed Constitution gardens filled with snow-covered trees and a lake, then back up to the Lincoln Memorial. Lincoln had an entirely different look in the daylight and I stopped again to see him. I began circling the tidal basin. I passed the monolithic image of Martin Luther King. I planned to just keep walking as I’d already seen it the night before. However, having just passed the Lincoln Memorial where King had given his famous “I have a Dream speech”, I had to take pause for a moment to reflect. The African-Americans fought like hell for the Constitution. What do I mean by that? Well, the constitution says, “All men are created equal.” As long as the white-dominated government failed to extend full citizenship and opportunities to all Americans, they were compromising the integrity of the Constitution. They were not giving the Constitution the honor and the respect it deserved. The African-Americans fought like hell to defend that integrity and demand that it be honored. Yes, I concede the primary motivating factor was they were sick of being denied the rights due them. The Constitution was a powerful tool in achieving the rights due them. They were able to pick up the Constitution and point to the phrase, “All men are created equal” and say, “Look! You wrote that! There it is! Right there!” The government had found every way possible to dodge those words staring right back at them. But by the 50s it had come to such a boiling point that they couldn’t deny it any longer. Many came up with the excuse that black people weren’t really human. Well, take a look at the accomplishments of George Washington Carver. Take a look at the Tuskegee airman during World War 11 who never lost a single bomber. Take a look at the powerful oratory talents of Rev. Martin Luther King. Case closed. I’ll close this missive by reiterating my beginning statement. The African-Americans found in the Constitution a powerful tool toward achieving the rights due them as Americans. In so doing, they fought like hell for the Constitution and brought all Americans closer toward giving it the honor and respect it deserves. But I think we can all agree there is still much work to be done, as I think there always will be. Later I’ll write about my visit to the Jefferson Memorial.
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 20:23:58 +0000
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