Report from Grant Park
It was a night that I will never forget as long as I live. There we all were, men and women, gay and straight, young and old, abled and disabled, all the colors of the world. We were the "real" America, because we were every segment of American, come together to celebrate an event that, even a few years ago, I would have told you would never happen in my lifetime.
On the Tuesday before the election, I was checking my email from work, and there it was:
YOU ARE
INVITED
llinois supporters are invited to join the Obamas and the Bidens in Chicago for a special Election Night event.
I immediately replied, and was one of the lucky folks to get a ticket, admitting me and a guest:
I left work early on Election Day, planning on getting to the event well before the 8:30 start time. (Aside: I stopped by the shoe repair to pick up some shoes, and the woman who works there commented about my being there in the early afternoon. When I told her I'd left work early to go to the rally, she pointed to a pair of freshly-polished men's dress shoes and said, "Those are Obama's shoes!" Then she opined that she hoped he would wear comfortable shoes that evening.) I took the train down to avoid traffic, and joined a host of other folks walking from the Van Buren station to Congress Parkway.
There were two entrances, one for ticketholders and one for non-ticketholders. The lines were just beginning to build, and there were lots of folks with handmade signs asking for a guest ticket. They came from near, and they came from far:
Some ticketholders were selling their guest slots, which I think was truly tacky. I had invited a neighbor who had been waitlisted, but she had managed to get a ticket, so, knowing that there'd be people looking to get in, I had decided that I'd just bring in the first person who asked. That turned out to be a woman from St. Louis, Glen, who had come up on the train with her friend Doris. I couldn't get them both in, but her friend was given a ticket by someone else, so we all went in together. We actually ended up spending the whole evening hanging out, and they were great fun.
In the event, they decided to open the gates much earlier than 8:30. Entry was in three stages. First they checked tickets and photo IDs, and then we waited awhile for them to get the second entry area ready. Then through that, with another ticket & ID check, and finally through the metal detectors, and check of purses and electronics. With the crowd and the wait in each holding area, it took a fair bit of time, but everyone was relaxed and friendly, chatting and making new friends, talking about other rallies we'd attended, work we'd done for the campaign, and our hopes for the night. A woman near us had some leftover Hallowe'en candy and was passing out mini Hershey bars, so we had a bit of sustenance. (Theoretically, no food or drink was allowed in, but "no bag larger than a purse" can cover a multitude of sins!)
And then we entered Hutchinson Field. A lot of folks headed straight for the stage, but the fact is that I didn't want to be in the midst of that crush, and figured I wouldn't see much from that vantage anyway. Glen had recently had knee surgery, was walking with a cane and wasn't feeling too spry, so she decided to go up to the platform that was set up for folks in wheelchairs and otherwise needing assistance, and Doris and I stayed with her. They'd set up a couple of big screens with the CNN feed, so we had a good view, and were near the amenities of food, drink, porta-potties and the Official Obama Store.
There had been much naysaying when the plan was announced. Some people thought it would be a disaster. The weather won't cooperate, there will be too many people, etc., etc. But the weather was utterly gorgeous. I was wearing a lightweight sleeveless sweater and a blazer, and had brought a pashmina if the night turned chilly (as it did, but the shawl was plenty). There were scads of people, but plenty of room, and everyone was cool - no pushing and shoving, no rudeness, but people being helpful and considerate of each other.
So we watched the returns, cheering every bit of good news, booing the occasional bad news. When Ohio was called for Barack, I tried to get my sister on the phone, but she wasn't around. (I talked to her yesterday, and she announced the end of her "I'm not spending money while Bush is in the White House" campaign, which means she will finally get, not only high speed Internet, but a cell phone, which may actually be the most astounding outcome of the election.)
The press, of course, was everywhere. We were interviewed by USA Today, a reporter from Italy, ABC News. Jokingly, whenever a news crew went by, we'd yell, "Over here!" As the returns rolled in, and the electoral votes racked up, the excitement built. And then:
I expect they heard the cheers all over the country. I'm not sure that we really believed it could happen, that it would happen. Many, still cynical from the last two "elections", feared until the end that it might be stolen. But it wasn't. There were tears of joy, laughter, and dancing to the sound of Signed, Sealed, Delivered and, natch, Sweet Home, Chicago. Flags were waved. People hugged whoever was nearby, friend, family or stranger. But, no, there were no strangers there, because we were all family in that moment.
This was the nature of the crowd: when John McCain gave his concession speech, he was listened to with attentiveness and respect. He was applauded, his dignity and grace in defeat were given their due. There was no hatred shown, no vindictiveness. The only boos came at the mention of Sarah Palin's name, and those were slight. The general sense was, "Where was this man during the campaign?"
We waited, now a bit impatiently, for Barack's speech. First, as was fitting, we said the Pledge of Allegiance, and Kim Stratton sang the "Star-Spangled Banner". (What is it about that song that singers always mess up the words?) A bishop, whose name I did not catch, gave a deeply moving prayer (and if anyone can find the text or a video clip on the Internet I will be forever grateful). [EDITED to add: kf_in_georgia located this. Please see her comment below for a link to video of the prayer.] Then he was there, with Michelle, Malia and Sasha. He hugged his family, and then he spoke to us, to the nation, to the world. We listened to history being made:
And then we left, quietly at first, but the celebration spilled into the streets of downtown Chicago. People smiled at each other, and the smiles turned to laughter, and cheers rang out all up and down Michigan Avenue and State Street, and every street. The t-shirt vendors were making out like bandits! By the El tracks, this band was drowning out the trains with their version of FDR's theme song, "Happy Days Are Here Again":
The rally ended shortly before 11:30. What with the walk to the bus, and the rerouting due to the closure of Lake Shore Drive, I didn't get home until 1:00 a.m. (The city did an amazing job of laying on extra buses; I was really impressed.) To paraphrase a famous statement from the Montgomery bus boycott, "My whole body was tired, but my soul was rested."
It's really difficult to describe, to explain, what this moment means to me. I grew up hearing about the DAR refusing to allow Marian Anderson to sing in their hall. I remember the images of Bull Connor and the dogs and the fire hoses, and I remember four little girls murdered when their church was bombed in Birmingham. I remember the March on Washington, and the one across the Pettus Bridge. I remember the Willis Wagons, that enforced de facto segregation in the Chicago Public Schools, and the rocks thrown at Dr. King in Gage Park by those who opposed fair housing. I guess I was raised right, because I never could understand those things. So to see so many different kinds of people working together to see a skinny guy with a funny name and dark skin elected to the highest office in the land moved me more than I can say. Barack spoke about Ann Nixon Cooper, 106 years old, who lived through years when she could not vote because of both her race and her sex. And this year, a black man and a white woman contended for the Democratic nomination for president. It says so much about the distance we have come as a nation, as a people.
Dr. King said, "Let us march on ballot boxes, march on ballot boxes until race-baiters disappear from the political arena." They haven't disappeared (I don't suppose, human nature being what it is, that they ever will, entirely), but their power is gone, crushed, dissolved. So it isn't so much that we have elected an African-American to the presidency, but the fact that we have done so symbolizes the journey that the United States, the people of the United States, has taken. It is the visible sign that tells us what we've done. To so many young folks, it is the visible sign that they can be, can do, anything. And now, they can believe it.
My heart is so full. I am so proud of all of us.
On the Tuesday before the election, I was checking my email from work, and there it was:
YOU ARE
INVITED
llinois supporters are invited to join the Obamas and the Bidens in Chicago for a special Election Night event.
I immediately replied, and was one of the lucky folks to get a ticket, admitting me and a guest:
I left work early on Election Day, planning on getting to the event well before the 8:30 start time. (Aside: I stopped by the shoe repair to pick up some shoes, and the woman who works there commented about my being there in the early afternoon. When I told her I'd left work early to go to the rally, she pointed to a pair of freshly-polished men's dress shoes and said, "Those are Obama's shoes!" Then she opined that she hoped he would wear comfortable shoes that evening.) I took the train down to avoid traffic, and joined a host of other folks walking from the Van Buren station to Congress Parkway.
There were two entrances, one for ticketholders and one for non-ticketholders. The lines were just beginning to build, and there were lots of folks with handmade signs asking for a guest ticket. They came from near, and they came from far:
Some ticketholders were selling their guest slots, which I think was truly tacky. I had invited a neighbor who had been waitlisted, but she had managed to get a ticket, so, knowing that there'd be people looking to get in, I had decided that I'd just bring in the first person who asked. That turned out to be a woman from St. Louis, Glen, who had come up on the train with her friend Doris. I couldn't get them both in, but her friend was given a ticket by someone else, so we all went in together. We actually ended up spending the whole evening hanging out, and they were great fun.
In the event, they decided to open the gates much earlier than 8:30. Entry was in three stages. First they checked tickets and photo IDs, and then we waited awhile for them to get the second entry area ready. Then through that, with another ticket & ID check, and finally through the metal detectors, and check of purses and electronics. With the crowd and the wait in each holding area, it took a fair bit of time, but everyone was relaxed and friendly, chatting and making new friends, talking about other rallies we'd attended, work we'd done for the campaign, and our hopes for the night. A woman near us had some leftover Hallowe'en candy and was passing out mini Hershey bars, so we had a bit of sustenance. (Theoretically, no food or drink was allowed in, but "no bag larger than a purse" can cover a multitude of sins!)
And then we entered Hutchinson Field. A lot of folks headed straight for the stage, but the fact is that I didn't want to be in the midst of that crush, and figured I wouldn't see much from that vantage anyway. Glen had recently had knee surgery, was walking with a cane and wasn't feeling too spry, so she decided to go up to the platform that was set up for folks in wheelchairs and otherwise needing assistance, and Doris and I stayed with her. They'd set up a couple of big screens with the CNN feed, so we had a good view, and were near the amenities of food, drink, porta-potties and the Official Obama Store.
There had been much naysaying when the plan was announced. Some people thought it would be a disaster. The weather won't cooperate, there will be too many people, etc., etc. But the weather was utterly gorgeous. I was wearing a lightweight sleeveless sweater and a blazer, and had brought a pashmina if the night turned chilly (as it did, but the shawl was plenty). There were scads of people, but plenty of room, and everyone was cool - no pushing and shoving, no rudeness, but people being helpful and considerate of each other.
So we watched the returns, cheering every bit of good news, booing the occasional bad news. When Ohio was called for Barack, I tried to get my sister on the phone, but she wasn't around. (I talked to her yesterday, and she announced the end of her "I'm not spending money while Bush is in the White House" campaign, which means she will finally get, not only high speed Internet, but a cell phone, which may actually be the most astounding outcome of the election.)
The press, of course, was everywhere. We were interviewed by USA Today, a reporter from Italy, ABC News. Jokingly, whenever a news crew went by, we'd yell, "Over here!" As the returns rolled in, and the electoral votes racked up, the excitement built. And then:
I expect they heard the cheers all over the country. I'm not sure that we really believed it could happen, that it would happen. Many, still cynical from the last two "elections", feared until the end that it might be stolen. But it wasn't. There were tears of joy, laughter, and dancing to the sound of Signed, Sealed, Delivered and, natch, Sweet Home, Chicago. Flags were waved. People hugged whoever was nearby, friend, family or stranger. But, no, there were no strangers there, because we were all family in that moment.
This was the nature of the crowd: when John McCain gave his concession speech, he was listened to with attentiveness and respect. He was applauded, his dignity and grace in defeat were given their due. There was no hatred shown, no vindictiveness. The only boos came at the mention of Sarah Palin's name, and those were slight. The general sense was, "Where was this man during the campaign?"
We waited, now a bit impatiently, for Barack's speech. First, as was fitting, we said the Pledge of Allegiance, and Kim Stratton sang the "Star-Spangled Banner". (What is it about that song that singers always mess up the words?) A bishop, whose name I did not catch, gave a deeply moving prayer (and if anyone can find the text or a video clip on the Internet I will be forever grateful). [EDITED to add: kf_in_georgia located this. Please see her comment below for a link to video of the prayer.] Then he was there, with Michelle, Malia and Sasha. He hugged his family, and then he spoke to us, to the nation, to the world. We listened to history being made:
And then we left, quietly at first, but the celebration spilled into the streets of downtown Chicago. People smiled at each other, and the smiles turned to laughter, and cheers rang out all up and down Michigan Avenue and State Street, and every street. The t-shirt vendors were making out like bandits! By the El tracks, this band was drowning out the trains with their version of FDR's theme song, "Happy Days Are Here Again":
The rally ended shortly before 11:30. What with the walk to the bus, and the rerouting due to the closure of Lake Shore Drive, I didn't get home until 1:00 a.m. (The city did an amazing job of laying on extra buses; I was really impressed.) To paraphrase a famous statement from the Montgomery bus boycott, "My whole body was tired, but my soul was rested."
It's really difficult to describe, to explain, what this moment means to me. I grew up hearing about the DAR refusing to allow Marian Anderson to sing in their hall. I remember the images of Bull Connor and the dogs and the fire hoses, and I remember four little girls murdered when their church was bombed in Birmingham. I remember the March on Washington, and the one across the Pettus Bridge. I remember the Willis Wagons, that enforced de facto segregation in the Chicago Public Schools, and the rocks thrown at Dr. King in Gage Park by those who opposed fair housing. I guess I was raised right, because I never could understand those things. So to see so many different kinds of people working together to see a skinny guy with a funny name and dark skin elected to the highest office in the land moved me more than I can say. Barack spoke about Ann Nixon Cooper, 106 years old, who lived through years when she could not vote because of both her race and her sex. And this year, a black man and a white woman contended for the Democratic nomination for president. It says so much about the distance we have come as a nation, as a people.
Dr. King said, "Let us march on ballot boxes, march on ballot boxes until race-baiters disappear from the political arena." They haven't disappeared (I don't suppose, human nature being what it is, that they ever will, entirely), but their power is gone, crushed, dissolved. So it isn't so much that we have elected an African-American to the presidency, but the fact that we have done so symbolizes the journey that the United States, the people of the United States, has taken. It is the visible sign that tells us what we've done. To so many young folks, it is the visible sign that they can be, can do, anything. And now, they can believe it.
My heart is so full. I am so proud of all of us.