Cape Cod Times reporter Jake Berry, facing camera, on the National Mall near the Washington Monument for the inauguration of President Barack Obama.
Swept up in the inaugural spirit
My body hurts.
You know the feeling — the dull, muted ache that seems to build from the deepest part of you; the one that comes only from complete exhaustion and a deep sense of fulfillment.
It's the kind of pain that comes from three nearly sleepless nights and three days of jetting around a bustling city in subzero temperatures, trying desperately to dance around a crowd of millions.
More than that, it's the kind of pain that comes from bearing witness, not only to one of the great moments of U.S. history, but to one of those moments — there are all too few — that brings to light the best of the American spirit.
I hope this pain never goes away.
On its surface, the 2009 presidential inauguration was miserable. Cape Cod Times photographer Steve Heaslip and I spent more time waiting — in subways and on street corners — than we did reporting. The bitter, chilling cold almost drove us from the inaugural ceremony, which we could barely see from our perch near the Washington Monument. And the crowd of millions kept us entirely from the parade celebration.
But these aren't the memories that will last. Instead, it was the moments in between — or more specially, the people on the way — that defined what will quickly become one of the country's defining moments.
From the minute we arrived Monday morning in Washington's Union Station — following a sleepless overnight train ride — every person we encountered carried with them a knowing gleam in their eyes that went far beyond excitement. It was an inspired gleam, energized and completely elated, and, for a few hours at least, it brought together millions of complete strangers.
In the subways, people happily volunteered their seats. They held doors, and they offered directions without being asked. On the street, strangers greeted each other not with the customary empty words and absent nods, but with a sincerity and a warmth that said, "I understand."
If there was a single moment that reflected the spirit of the event, it had to be our initial trip to the National Mall Monday afternoon — our first day in town.
After storing our bags, Steve and I happened to encounter two Cape Cod women standing near the Capitol building around noontime. Upon our request, they happily allowed us to follow them on their afternoon tour.
The women, part of a group trip from the Cape, had heard rumors — false rumors it turned out — that the Lincoln Memorial was scheduled to host speeches through the afternoon. But as we approached the monument, we found only a replay of the previous day's music concert playing over large projection screens posted around the Mall.
The screens, showing country performer Garth Brooks picking away slowly at his guitar, didn't capture the interest at first of the hundreds of visitors on hand. But, as he continued to play, the notes began to form a familiar melody, and within moments, the entire audience — at least 500 by my estimate — were tapping their fingers in unison.
By the time Brooks reached the song's opening lines — "A long, long time ago, I can still remember" — the crowd had all started to mime the words along with him. And when he reached the chorus — "Bye, Bye Miss American Pie" — the entire crowd erupted into a joyous and celebratory dance party like age-old friends at a wedding reception.
Over the ensuing five minutes, black people danced in step with white people — Latinos with Asians, elderly with the young and everyone in between — all without any sense of cultural, social or historical divide. Instead they shared only a deep sense of unencumbered joy, fulfillment and universal relief — sentiments shared by the crowds of millions, through smiles and tears, all week long.
As I sit here, I hope this image, and these feelings never leave me. And I pray that, as history reflects on this inauguration, it will recall it as the start of a new chapter in the American story: the birth of a true and inclusive American community.
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End note: I write this seated toward the back of an Amtrak train on my return trip to Cape Cod. In front of me, a group of Cape travelers continues to rejoice hours after leaving the city, offering their own spirited, off-key versions of "We Shall Overcome," "This Little Light of Mine," and other protest songs. At the same time, the travelers to my side are sharing their impressions of the inauguration and offering thoughts on how it will impact their lives and work: I hope this spirit lasts forever.
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