I'm traveling on unofficial business with three friends who worked as field organizers on Obama's campaign, including my best friend, Robin, who brought me as her plus-one ticket to the inaugural swearing-in ceremony. I was one of about a quarter million people with tickets. (I know... I owe her, right?)
The metro opened at four this morning, and none of us felt sure about what the crowds would be like. Things seemed relatively normal for Washington -- at first. We left the studio we're sharing north of Dupont Circle and headed toward the metro. People trickled into the station. We slid our farecards through the machines and waited for the train.
Four in the morning, and the first train was completely packed. My group got separated. Robin and I got on the next train. There were no strangers there, we were packed like sardines. Everyone was in good spirits and courteous, asking each other where they were from. Detroit, Atlanta. One middle-aged woman was from Europe.
This is no joke. The European woman asked someone why the train was so crowded. Another passenger informed her that the president was being inaugurated today, and she said, "Oh, the black one?"
At any rate, our group reunited. We got off at the Judiciary Square stop. It was so dark and cold.
There were masses of people, and we were laughing in amazement at how many people got up at least before 4 a.m. to see Barack Obama. People flooded the streets. We found our line for the Purple tickets (the standing section right behind the seated section, on the northwest side of Capitol Hill). The Capitol building was beaming white and beautiful. We chatted with the people around us, who were from Ann Arbor and Las Vegas.
At 5:30 a.m. the Canadians arrived. No, seriously. A group of about 30 people marched from the direction of Union Station metro stop. One guy was carrying a huge Canadian flag. They headed toward the end of the line.
Everything felt surreal, and the cold seeped through all three of my layers as time passed. Most people had a sort of dance that kept them warm. I was marching in place because my toes hurt. A man was doing jumping jacks in line. We later found out his name was Gar (not sure of the spelling), and he would become the hero of the Purple ticket line.
The sun started to rise somewhere around 7 a.m., and everyone started to cheer up. Every so often people would break out in cheers or songs. Eventually there was a tambourine. One man told us that the gates were supposed to open at 7 a.m., but they didn't. There started to be problems because the hordes of people coming in from the metro in waves didn't know where to go, and a mass of people began trying to cut the line. Most of them herded in the middle of the intersection instead of finding the end of the line.
That was where things got interesting for the Purple line. We were standing somewhat near the entrance to the gate, right where the line curved from the Capitol lawn down the street at Constitution and Second. As people started trying to butt in, people on our side of the curve started chanting, "No line cuts!" A group of people left the line to form a human barrier, locking hands to prevent people from butting in line and isolating our section from the crowd of confused people. The chanters switched to "Defense! Defense!" Gar and others started directing people in the opposite direction. Officers with machine guns showed up to help control, but the communication wasn't effective. Finally, a little after 8 a.m., we made our way through the Purple gate. We were lucky. The ticket-holders who weren't in our protected part of the line got caught in the crowd of thousands.
More on my experiences soon -- I'm headed to the Youth Ball.
- Lindsay Carroll
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