Vic Socotra

19 January 2009

The Rising

(America's Promise- AP Photo)

Loudoun- I could feel the rising tide as I crossed delicately into Loudoun County. The plane from New Orleans was due shortly after four. Based on the number of cars, sleek black Livery Limos and stretch monstrosities, there were a lot of them coming into Dulles this slate gray afternoon.

The concert was happening at the Lincoln Memorial as I drove, part of the four-day festival leading up to the Inauguration. There were all kinds of international superstars ready to sing, U2 and The Boss among them, and the crowd stretched all the way up the 2,000 feet of the Reflecting Pool, just like it did the day Dr. King told America- and the world- that he had a dream.

My older boy had called from the Big Easy that morning, seeking a ride back into town. I had earmarked the afternoon for a nap, after a trip to the auto parts store to purchase cup-holders for the Bluesmobile.

I’m trying to upgrade the comfort level in the old cruiser. We have to accommodate our times, after all, and these are a challenge. A big tank of a car that can stand up and scream while burning regular gas seemed like a better answer than the finely-craft German steel.

The hole in the dashboard where the tactical radio once sat cried out for a place to set my Starbuck’s vente-sized coffee, and it is awkward driving around without a place to put it. But I was happy to put that aside and hear about the aftermath of the wedding down in New Orleans. The groom was a Naval Officer, of all things, and headed for duty on a cruiser out of Pearl Harbor.

It was positively eerie- I had done almost the same thing three decades ago.

So, there was a little poignancy in this last ride of the Hubrismobile as part of my own sleek German-engineered private livery service. I checked the flight status before heading out, and had the timing pretty close.

The Boys called as I idled past the sweeping eaves of the main terminal. The place was jammed, cops everywhere. They had just debarked from the jet, and still had the interminable ride to the upswept Saarenin-designed main building from the boxy soviet-style Concourse “C” by bus, and then checked luggage to claim.

I sighed, knowing that would be a half-hour, and followed the signs to the cell-phone waiting area. It is remarkable the things that have changed in the background while so much has stayed resolutely the same.

I shouldn’t be surprised that it took the Airport Authority so long to realize that we are all connected out here and designate a waiting area a few minutes away from the terminal to minimize the crush at the curb. It is the nature of government to be a half-step back and clueless.

I don’t even have a land-line anymore. Do you? The radio told me it might be nice to have one. Cell networks are great, except in times of crisis, when everyone with a mobile phone is trying to get on. 9/11 showed us that. The inauguration, and a million or two extra people in this little town texting each other and sending photos of the exciting events of the transition.

The President-elect rode into Union Station on the train from Philadelphia on Saturday, picking up Smokin’ Joe Biden in Delaware along the way. It was symbolic, of course, since he has already been living at the Hay-Adams Hotel for a couple weeks so the girls could start school at Sidwell-Friends.

The new executive team whistle-stopped along the way. I saw the pictures, which evoked the long-ago traditions of the train. It was intended to be a comfort, and the sign on the back of the carriage read “Renewing America’s Promise.”

It was intended to sound upbeat and comforting. It left me feeling uneasy, though. I wracked my brain trying to think what promise America had ever made, and there was not much fine print to hide it in. The founding documents didn’t guarantee us anything, except to let us alone and pursue happiness. It did not say it was a done deal, or even that we had to smile while we were doing it.

I pulled into the cell-phone waiting area and turned off the high-tech V8 engine. The radio poured out rich sound from the eight speakers, cunningly concealed in the black leather upholstery. I’m going to miss all that.

They say that Mr. Springsteen had quite writing rock anthems with “Born in the USA,” but his effort after 9/11 was pretty good. It was the first album he had done with the E Street Band in eighteen years, and it included "Worlds Apart," a dramatic ballad with Arabic-tinges describing the love between a Muslim and an unbeliever- an infidel.

At the big concert, the Boss chose to start things off with “The Rising,” a song that the President-elect approved. It is about the sacrifice of FDNY Firefighters in the terror attacks, and he performed it with a choir backing him up. I rolled down the window and smoked a cigarette and listened to Bono and U2 sing about Dr. King getting shot down at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis years ago, and the rising tide of optimism.

It was a good concert, and I was in a reverie when the cell phone vibrated in the cubbie in the dash. The bags were retrieved, I was informed, and I could proceed to Door Seven on the arrival level at the terminal and get the boys.

As I slide out of the waiting area, they brought on folk icon and old Bolshie Pete Seeger to perform the classic “This Land Is Your Land.”

I love that song. The lyrics were written by Woody Guthrie in 1940 in response to Irving Berlin's "God Bless America." He considered the lyrics to be hopelessly bourgeois.

Guthrie originally called it "God Blessed America for Me," which is fair enough. The lyrics have varied over time, and Mr. Seegar has tailored them himself to the times and the audience. This one was the non-political version we learned as kids, not knowing what it was about.

What the hell, it is a good song. As I approached the terminal in the dusk, I joined the multi-part harmony at the top of my lungs.

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