Consolation prizes

There are reports that people -- like me -- kept waiting for hours in a tunnel (and forced to miss seeing history made) are slated to receive consolation gifts. The Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies will apparently give those slighted and humiliated copies of the invitation, program and a print. Well, isn't that special? OK, so I didn't have a print before.

Let me tell you what I did have before -- self-respect and some respect from colleagues and friends. After failing to deliver coverage on the inauguration, that's been shot. So, these consolation prizes really do nothing more than pour salt in a wound. It's just a reminder of what I missed. And I doubt that they'll restore the tattered remains of my dignity.

Yes, circumstances out of my control led to my broken promise. However, it's still my fault. So, please forgive me for failing to deliver.

A Disappointing Day...But Hope Remains

Change and hope is what President Barack Obama has pledged to bring. Seeing him being inaugurated was my great hope. Alas, it was dashed. Disappointment is a woefully inadequate adjective to describe my reaction to missing history. When a tour bus left Rockford Jan. 18, witnessing history seemed an achievable goal.

Nothing changed my perspective during our 18-hour trek, until we got closer to D.C. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, there seemed to be a question whether we would even go into the city on Monday. That was before we stopped for breakfast. Dawdling of some of the riders didn't help much. Despite pleas to get back to the bus at a certain time, people still showed up late.

Eventually, we got to D.C. Initially, we were allotted four hours. But a wait at the Metrorail station and the ride all but an hour. That's right, we spent an hour in D.C. on Monday. The hotel was two hours away in Charles Town, W.V. Of course, that was only part of the adventure. History was fast approaching.

Our departure times (like so many other times) seemed to fluctuate. Since we were told one time that we would leave at 2 a.m. and another at 3 a.m. D.C. time (one hour earlier), sleeping from 8 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. seemed the best option. We were ready by 1 a.m. However, we still left at 3:30 a.m. and losing the downtown parking spot we would have had. Instead, we parked near a Metrorail station in the Anacostia neighborhood.

Our group walked in the brisk winds of Washington D.C. (about three blocks) to the station. Upon arriving, we had to buy another day pass. Thanks to my luck of the draw, a rude Metrorail employee would help me to get our commemorative day passes. We took the Metro from Anacostia to Gallery Pl and transferred to a rail that took us to Judiciary Square.

We were following the directions -- to the letter -- on our %$$#@ purple tickets. It didn't take us long to make to First St. and Louisiana Ave., which turns into North Capitol. So, we got a great view of the massive building in the dark, morning sky. Following the prescribed path, we got to the Purple gate and instructed to get in line.

So, we did what we were told. We walked and walked and walked and walked, before finding the end of the line. It was 6 a.m. and we were standing the street tunnel headed to the Capitol. That's right, we were standing in the street.

My new friends and I took up two lanes, while emergency vehicles and limos whizzed by us. By 9 a.m., I learned that the couple in front of us were from Minnesota, where she served as the director of a nonprofit involved with housing.

At around 10:30 a.m., I received an urgent call -- from nature. So, wisely or not, I left the pack in search of facilities. After walking one-quarter mile, I found one at the Georgetown University Law Center. Getting there when a Georgetown grad did was the only reason the guard let me in. After leaving the restroom, fear of whether I'd find my companion filled me.

So, I began sprinting back. The line had moved considerably while I was gone. That made the challenge of finding my partner more difficult. But it shouldn't have been hard. All I had to do was look for a red hat. However, everyone was wearing a red hat. But when all was said and done, I did find him. We emerged from the tunnel not long after that -- at about 11 a.m.

The throng of people -- bringing us along -- made it down a block, turned right and walked another block. As soon as we got the intersection of First and C streets, we learned the purple tickets weren't being honored. The gate had been closed. It inspired all sorts of reactions.

While others dissolved into tears, anger overtook me and many others. I joined in a chant. "1-2-3-4, We don't to wait anymore. 5-6-7-8, open the purple gate." That got rid of some of my anger, but did little else. I walked away in a daze. In D.C. and on our trip home, I bought newspapers to help me commemorate the day. But those purchases gave me some sense of comfort.

With that said, a great sense of disappointment remains. It's a disappointment in myself. Despite best laid plans, events conspired to keep me from providing promised inauguration coverage. That's right, I failed. Yes, I'm disappointed to have missed seeing history. But my failure weighs heavier on me. I'm not seeking sympathy. I don't deserve it, as someone noted. After all, I got to go to D.C.

With that said, our nation still achieved something great. It looked past race and elected our first African-American president. I'll never be disappointed in that.

Tunnel vision

Hopes of witnessing history inspired my yearning to be in Washington D.C. Unfortunately, I witnessed nothing but a travesty (on a small scale). The tickets secured from U.S. Rep. Don Manzullo's office were purple. They would have afforded a pretty good place to stand. I arrived at the gate at 6 a.m., figuring on standing for three hours before getting in the gate.

However, I joined thousands of people from around the country in a street tunnel. Emergency vehicles sped past us, while we waited and waited and waited. My wait lasted five hours, while others waited nearly seven hours.

After emerging from the tunnel, the entire group headed to the gate. We would discover the gate was closed, making our purple tickets useless. And there were no officials to be found. The disappointment of seeing no history being made will stay with me.
But it does not diminish the momentous occasion.

One long ride

It's been nearly 20 years since I spent so much time on a bus. So, spending more than 20 hours on a chartered bus proved somewhat difficult. Sitting still from Rockford to Mahomet and between a few other stops was hard. And the ability to sleep proved nearly impossible.
Giggling girls and non-stop movies made getting shut-eye a problem. I managed to deal with that in high school. Been there. Done that.

And that was how I spent Martin Luther KIng Jr. Day. Given our initial itinerary, heading to the Lincoln Memorial might have been possible. However, my one hour in D.C. Monday consisted of locating a Starbucks in order to get an Internet connection and rushing back to the Metro Centre. (No, not that Metro Centre.)

But here's the silver lining. I'm still going to see President-elect Barack Obama inaugurated from a good vantage point. After all, that's why I'm here. Tomorrow history and Obama's destiny will meet.