4/21
When marching on Washington, it is advisable to start at the
source of power, the center from which all strength and influence radiate: the White House. Thanks to the generosity of my old Smith
College pal and Wilson House little sister Julianna Smoot, we were able to do
this. J is an extraordinarily capable
and lovely woman who oversaw the entire fundraising effort for the Obama
presidential campaign. After a year as
chief of staff to the head of the US Trade Board (not sure what they do but
apparently trade is boring), she was tapped to be the new White House Social
Secretary last month. Her brisk Southern
charm is the ideal asset for her new role to welcome all visitors to the WH, and
she graciously treated us to lunch at the White House Mess.
Here’s what happens when you arrive for lunch at the Mess. You go to the West Wing gate, and line up
behind all the dreary suits. Your kids
in their red and pink LL Bean rain jackets rather brighten the scene. The guard says, oh, you need to be at the
East Wing gate, so you call the Social Secretary, and she says no no no, tell
him you’re coming to the Mess. So you
do, but nothing doing, he says they need to change our access. More phone calls, and a convo with a nice
young man who is also waiting for his status to be changed – “are you here for
the Vice President’s event?” – and then miraculously you are waved in. It is all very exciting, right down to the A
for Appointment tags you have to wear.
If you lunch with Julianna, the staff is all very nice to
you, although I think they may treat everyone that way. The Mess is very clubby – paneled walls,
fancy White House china, even the Presidential seal impressed into the butter
round on your bread plate – and surprisingly small. (I wonder who was lunching in the Senior
Staff overflow room next door, since our room was full.) It is run by the Navy (hence the mess) so
there are the requisite nautical prints on the wall, and the clock rings ship’s
bells. The food is pretty good! J also makes sure to order the house
specialty for dessert, a molten chocolate cake and frozen yogurt concoction
called, incongruously, Freedom. J thinks
it is propaganda, so you’ll leave muttering how much you love freedom and want more. I think it is a holdover from the previous
administration.
When you leave they give you little boxes of Whitman
chocolates imprinted with the seal, and also boxes of M&Ms with the seal
and the Pres’ signature. Needless to
say, Peter is going to share this event with his class next week, but not the
M&Ms.
J walked us out the front door, which is upstairs where the
important offices are. On the wall there
is a digital clock showing the times of POTUS, Washington, Moscow, Seoul,
etc. Then you walk past banks and banks
of permanent camera and light setups, for all the correspondents. You are really right there in the heart of it
all, and it is very exciting.
It was incredibly nice of Julianna to take so much time out
of her busy schedule, which today involved fete-ing the entire US Winter
Olympic team – “did you know there are 220 of them?” – and dealing with things
like rain which cancelled the outdoor event, and then what to do with people
who have showed up for it not knowing it was cancelled and so on. She does everything from the Easter Egg Roll
to Jewish Heritage Month (May, same as Asian Heritage Month, who knew?) to
state dinners of course (will it be a problem for the toasts if Obama and
Calderon are at the same table?). She’s
usually home by 7 she says.
After that big start, we wandered with increasing urgency to
the Washington Monument as the rain fell faster and faster. No more tickets today, so a dash to the
Museum of American History. Do you think
it is spring break, asks Bill. This
because it is what our esteemed cousin, the respected writer Nancy Lemann would
call a swirling vortex of chaos. There
are about four hundred thousand teenagers and tourists there, and it is all
hard marble walls and floors ensuring endless cacophony. Old Glory has a new gallery, and is
spectacularly impressive even viewed from amid the throng. The Ruby Slippers are a tad dull (can’t
really polish sequins, I guess), and it is gratifying to see the hordes who
want to learn every little bit about Lincoln in that surprisingly cramped
gallery. But we are tired and the
smallest member of our party desperately wants to swim in the hotel pool, so
off we go to the Embassy of Suites as Peter dubs it. Where, it seems, every child previously at
the Museum of American History is now in the pool. I retreat to the silence of the tub in our
room.
Dinner is at a Lebanese restaurant nearby, where Peter further
demonstrates his maturity by ordering off the big boy menu (as Izzy calls
it). Practically crawling with fatigue,
the kids collapse into bed shortly thereafter.
4/22
When asked by Chandra Manning, professor of history at
Georgetown, Civil War expert, and my friend from graduate school, what was her
favorite thing that she did today, Isabel replied: “The Lincoln Memorial.” Chandra beamed. It is true that when we finally arrived at
the Mall, Izzy took off and charged up all the steps, me panting behind, not
stopping until she was as close to The Man as she could get. There, she gazed at him for a while and after
checking everything out dashed out and down to get to “that river” a.k.a. the
Reflecting Pool to see the ducks. We
walked through the Vietnam Memorial on our way to Lincoln, and even despite the
presence of apparently every middle-school student on the Eastern Seaboard, it
remains a moving experience. The Park
Rangers will bring out a ladder and do a rubbing of a name high on the wall if
you want one. There are not many
memorial items left there these days, but a lone beret and a pair of modern combat
boots still manage to produce a lump in one’s throat. Then you have to explain to the small members
of your party what the Vietnam War was, and why this memorial is so important
through said lump. Fortunately Lincoln
follows, and there is little that is more uplifting and inspiring than the
Lincoln Memorial on a brilliantly sunny day.
The Address ends thus: We hereby
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under
God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by
the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth. ROCK ON!
What I thought would be the highlight of Izzy’s visit – the
Zoo – was indeed enjoyable, despite containing every elementary school student
in the District (are they required to go there on Earth Day or
something?). But no giraffes, which was deeply
disappointing. “I’ve NEVER seen a
giraffe.” Peter managed some good snaps
of the panda Tien Tien (among other things); Mei Xong was in seclusion as she
is hopefully pregnant and doesn’t need hordes of camera-pointing yahoos looking
at her. Really, what pregnant woman
does? Here is the thing about the
National Zoo however, if you start at the Connecticut Ave entrance, and then
expect to walk back to the metro from the Rock Creek Parkway entrance, you are
sorely mistaken. Sorely, because then
you have to walk back through the entire Zoo to get back to the Connecticut Ave
entrance and then walk some more to the Metro.
Our next stop on this day’s Long March was the highlight
(well, one of them) of Peter’s visit to DC:
The International Spy Museum.
This is a spectacular project, no expenses spared to teach the craft and
history of spying. When you go in, you
have to choose a cover and memorize it so you can get through border control
and then complete your task at the end of your visit. Ich bin Greta Schmidt; 33 y.o.; born
Bornstedt, Germany; an astronomer on a business trip to London for four
days. (That fits, says C.) My mission, I learned once entering the
tradecraft room, was to meet with Phoebe Helsop from the Royal Astronomical
Society and pick some sensitive plans.
Unfortunately, I was not able to complete my mission as I had to go meet
Chandra, but this museum is completely entertaining all the way through,
surprisingly educational, and definitely worth the steep admission price and at
least two hours of time. That said, even
with all the warnings about danger, one wonders if it glamorizes the whole idea
of covert service a bit much (the gift ship completely glorifies it), which is
a bit tricky given that its apparent target audience is impressionable 9 y.o.
boys.
We had a nice but too short visit with Chandra, who is on
sabbatical this semester, doing research for a book that will address the idea
of what does freedom actually mean to emancipated slaves who head north. As much of the work on freedmen is done with
Southern sources, Chandra’s efforts here will provide valuable insights on both
the ground level – what does it mean to be free in your daily life once you
make it north – and the meta level – how does this contribute to an
understanding of the idea of freedom more broadly, and what does that mean for
the long-term of Reconstruction? Good
stuff, and Chandra is the gal to do it. She’s
expecting baby no. two on July 4 – of course.
Dinner at the Afterwords Café at Kramerbooks, a local
institution so we hear. Izzy nearly fell
asleep in her kiddiecat fish fingers.
4/23
It will surprise no one that Izzy’s sole purpose on this trip
is to swim in the hotel pool. It is a
mediocre pool, but she loves it. How she
has any energy left after a full day and no nap is astonishing, but she does,
and it recharges her just enough to get through dinner.
Peter’s final wish on this trip was fulfilled with our visit
to the National Air and Space Museum this morning. He was snapping pix right and left, and I
asked if he knew what he was taking pictures of. “Rockets, airplanes” he replies, waving his
hand about. The museum is chock full of
completely cool stuff, of course, and we spent a happy couple of hours tearing
around looking at rockets and missiles and airplanes and space stuff. You can actually walk through Skylab!
Julianna had arranged for us to get on the public White
House tour today – the one you have to ask your congressman six months in
advance for tickets. It is pretty
great. You have to go through several
security layers, and you cannot take a single thing in with you, so Bill
volunteered to skip it and stay with stroller, purse, cameras, etc. You go in through these long hallways, which
are lined with photos. There are a LOT
of people, but it actually does not feel that crowded. Then you mostly get to see the state rooms on
the main level: East Room (site of
nationally-televised press conferences), Green Room (where Thomas Jefferson
liked to dine. Thomas Jefferson! You are in the same room!), Blue Room (where
televised interviews took place, such as the one where Obama showed his
ultimate cool in nailing that fly), Red Room (where John Adams breakfasted),
and State Dining Room, before heading through the main entry hall and out the
“front” door which is really the back door.
Here are some comments.
Isabel on the East Room: “This
room is too much.” She is more of a
minimalist than I thought – turns out that while she adores sparkly shoes, she
does not adore crystal chandeliers which on this sunny day sparkled
magnificently. Isabel on the State
Dining Room: “I love this!” (kissing my
hand to demonstrate how much). Isabel
under the portico on departure: “Where’s
Smoot? I thought Smoot was taking the
tour.”
It’s magnificent, of course.
Elegant, elegant. Portraits of
former presidents everywhere. Gorgeous
flower arrangements in every room, not plastic or dried, as I pointed out to
Peter. The kids noticed that the vases
in the State Dining Room where covered with overlapping rows and rows of dried
apricots! Secret Service agents in every
room are also there to answer questions, and are very kind about. Yes, Sasha and Malia have free run of the
house. Yes, Bo does too (grownups tend
to ask these questions, not kids). A
marine band was waiting to go in and set up once the tours were out today,
clearly something was happening this evening, and we’re pretty sure Smoot is
involved.
One would like to stay longer and see more, but of course
that is not to be. We satisfied
ourselves afterwards with some more modern culture, checking out the National
Gallery sculpture garden (small, but great collection, see pix), and the
Hirshhorn and its sculpture garden before pouring ourselves into a taxi and
heading back for the point of the day:
the swim.
Dinner tonight at Bistro du Coin, clearly a local hot spot,
v. French bistro. A plate of charcuterie
was devoured by children (the sight of Isabel forking down country pate warms a
chowhound’s heart), as was much steak frites and chocolate mousse. Thanks for the recco, Kristy!
4/24
The Newseum is in my opinion even cooler than the
International Spy Museum. It presents a
history of how news has been reported in the US, and therefore also covers the
major news stories of the past two hundred plus years since as Phil Graham once
said “journalism is the rough draft of history.” And since the real-time reporting of news is
an event that happened in my lifetime, it feels a bit like my story too. One learns about the craft of reporting, the
history of reporting from print to radio to TV to internet, who owns the news,
bias, dangers of reporting, humor, uses of news to promote change and
particularly advance issues of social justice, the first amendment (quick, can
you name the five freedoms guaranteed therein?), the free (or not so much)
status of press around the world, and of course all of the big stories where
the reporting did indeed indelibly influence how and what we think of that
event – from the fall of the Berlin Wall, 9/11 (these include extraordinary
artifacts such as sections of the Wall and a Guard Tower, and the mangled
broadcast antenna from the top of one of the WTC towers) to war reporting,
Charles and Diana, Challenger disaster, Elvis, Lincoln’s assassination, and on
and on. And of course it is all
accompanied by the brilliant images that have been part of reporting since the
technology aligned. There are lots of
good short videos around the museum on all kinds of subjects, but if you are 9
and a half, the very best part is the broadcast center where you get to do your
own standup. Check out my facebook page
to see Peter broadcasting live from the lunar surface.
My dear friend Kristy Keteltas is a lovely and smart woman (another
Smithie, natch) but completely unrealistic about time management. Kristy and her daughter Becky had patiently
accompanied us through the Newseum, but I feared mutiny on Becky’s part when we
said we wanted to check out the National Museum of the American Indian after
lunch. Kristy claims that one only needs
45 minutes for the Indian Museum but she is spectacularly wrong on this
point. It is a stunningly imposing and
beautiful building, and filled with all manner of items and exhibits on the
existing Indian nations, art, artifacts, legends, music, and on and on. It is not about the destruction wrought by
the Encounter, rather it is about Indians in all their diversity and tradition
and beauty and spirit. It is
wonderful. But it is not do-able in 45
minutes. Unless one is with cranky and
tired kids, in which case one’s visit is rather truncated. We beat a hasty retreat to Bethesda, for a super
fun overnight with the fantastic K’s.
There is much much more to do in Our Nation’s Capitol – the
Indian Museum to finish, for one thing, and more Air and Space out near Dulles,
Congress to see, and the Holocaust Museum and the National Gallery, and Ethiopian
food and Five Guys burgers to eat, and on and on. We shall have to return!
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