It’s 4 a.m. in Washington, D.C. My family and I huddle together at the bus stop across the street from our hotel. I check and recheck my purse to be sure I have the tickets from Congressman Tiahrt’s office.
It is extremely cold. The temperature is in the teens. We are ready: my mom Karen, my sister Karen and her boyfriend Gary — all wrapped up in layers of clothes, scarves and hats. My husband Reuben ’92 wears both a Shocker and an Obama hat! We put hand and feet warmers inside our boots and gloves.
Anticipation is high as nearly a dozen people join us. A retired teacher from Florida says, “We are all out here at this hour for one reason — Obama!” Everyone smiles in agreement, chanting “Obama, Obama!” By 4:30, the bus hasn’t come, so my family grabs the first taxi that rounds the corner. We pile in and head to the D.C. Metro station. We talk and laugh all the way, wondering how this historic day will unfold.
Once there, we are surprised to see a massive crowd already gathering, as far as the eye can see, people of every hue, speaking different languages. We hear people speaking in Arabic and meet Obama supporters from Nigeria and Sweden. Some Italians talk about flying in from Paris. We stick close together riding the metro, everyone swapping stories. A Canadian reporter just returning from Afghanistan says he has been assigned to cover Obama for the next four years. He is elated! Young and old wear Obama hats, shirts and a wide array of buttons. My mom gets lots of compliments on her Obama hat that outlines his name in sequins!
We finally reach our next destination and prepare to get on the escalator, which has been shut off by security. By now, literally thousands more have come, and there is a sea of people trying to climb the stairs. The steps are steep and appear to be at least three floors high. It is tough going to the top, but I am coached by a teenager who looks like Tom Cruise. He keeps saying, “You can make it. Come on — take one more step!” Heart pounding, I am grateful to finally get up those stairs! I know turning back is not an option. I look over and a crowd is clapping for a 91-year-old lady in a long mink coat! She has just climbed the stairs using her cane. She tells the group she is determined to see the inauguration and isn’t going to let anything stop her! My husband teasingly whispers to me, “Now if a 91-year-old can make it...”
We keep walking, literally inching our way to the Capitol. At times, we are lifted off our feet because the crowd is so close that we move with them, heading toward the blue-gate entrance. I keep checking on my mom, who is determined to make it inside before the gate closes. She deserves to savor the day. Mom always said she knew Obama would be the next president! She worked on his campaign and even whispered words of encouragement in his ear when he stopped on the campaign trail in El Dorado, Kan., last year. He smiled, and gave her a big hug. She was thrilled!
With each step we join people from all over the globe. One woman calls out names of states, and everyone chimes in — “California, Texas, New York, Kansas!” There are many college students, wearing bright hats and scarves. Finally, after going through the gate, an amazing peace falls over the crowd, which some estimate is as many as 2 million strong. Obama is heading toward the podium and we, along with the crowd, chant every time we see him.
The sweet sounds of Yo Yo Ma waft through the air and the soulful voice of Aretha Franklin keeps everyone anticipating the main event. When Obama places his hand on the Bible, the crowd seems to lean forward to grasp his every word. There is thunderous applause afterward, people waving flags, lots of tears flowing and much jubilation. People exhale, so amazed at what has just taken place. One man exclaims, “We are one America!”
I reflect on words my mom spoke just the day before. She said, “I remember when I was a child, having to sit on the back of the bus, in the balcony of the Orpheum Theatre and waiting in line for takeout instead of sitting at a lunch counter.” She paused and then said, “Look how far we’ve come — our first African-American President of the United States of America!”
I smile and grab my husband’s gloved hand, basking in the moment. Then I fish my cell phone out of my purse
and call back to KMUW in Wichita, to do an interview with Frank Dudgeon, our local radio host of NPR’s Morning Edition.
I will never forget being blessed to be a part of this most significant day.
