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06 November 2008 You Have to Go Out It is hard to believe that yesterday morning, just about this time, I did not know the answer. I had gone to bed fairly early on election night, just about the same time President Bush throws in the towel. They say he sleeps the sleep of the just by about nine PM each night, and sleeps soundly. I steeled myself to turn on the radio, since I knew once it was on it was not going to stop, not for years. It was the last moment of the old, and impatient, I stabbed at the button on high-density radio and got on with the future. I am pretty well plugged in now to what is going to be happening in this little company town, and have my bearings. Sea legs are important in a company town, which is a microcosm of the larger world and tougher to negotiate safely. As a sailor, I am proud of the ability to trim my sails and get on with things. First off, there is a part of me that will always be military to the core, and the candidate is now the President-elect, and my prospective commander in chief. He can call me back to active duty for another five years, and in extraordinary circumstances, longer than that. So, the quibbles of the campaign are done. Hail to the Chief. I had an early meeting at the National Harbor resort and convention center, and was on the road early, flogging the Hubrismobile across the District. It is a was an easy commute, since the political side of town was either slow to rise, based on the celebration, or contemplating throwing themselves in the Potomac. They would drift down under the dramatic arches of the new twelve-lane Woodrow Wilson Bridge, which is pretty impressive, and by the impressive National Harbor complex, which is equally stunning. It was designed by the same people who built the Bay Harbor complex up in Northern Michigan, and it has a scope and heft to it that is quite remarkable. They talked about the resort and the new Bridge for the last twenty years, and what do you know, they now both exist in concrete, ready to watch the casualties float by on their way to the Chesapeake Bay and the ocean beyond. Leaving early, I only had a moment to rummage around in the Defense Democrat cruise-box I have in the closet with the rest of the junk from my career. I was pretty tight with some of the appointees in the Department during the Clinton Years, and that is going to come in handy shortly. The transition office has already been established downtown, and the “parachute teams” are starting to drop into the Federal Offices around town. Some of my bunting and materials are a bit dusty, but my pal Phil was tight with Dr. Hamre, who may be back as SECDEF if Mr. Gates departs the Pentagon. I could see Phil as SECNAV, or maybe the Under. I was thinking about that as I wheeled into Arlington National Cemetery just before one o’clock. Old Jack passed away in February, but he had expressed a desire to go to rest at Arlington, and they kept his box of cremains at the funeral home until there was time for him. That happened to be the day after election day, and as one vet to another, I wanted to be there to honor him. Mardy 1 and Mary Margaret were there in Family Room “A” at the Administration Building, and a rasta-grand nephew, and his brother, niece and her formally-dressed husband, an old Service buddy, and a breathtaking delegation from the ComCast Cable company. They dispatched an installation truck to join the formal cortege, since Jack had been a quality control inspector for cable TV before he retired. It was an impressive procession, Jack in the backseat of a black government car, a family-minivan, Mardy I's funeral home sedan and the ComCast truck with full ladders. I was pretty impressed by that, but even more so with the Coast Guard Honor detail, crisp and diverse, and the Navy Chaplain who said a few words before the gun salute from a detachment of Coasties up the hill. Old Jack had been a landing craft operator in the Korean War, a dangerous trade. The Navy Lieutenant summed it up pretty neatly, when he talked about the matter-of-fact unofficial motto of Jack's Coast Guard: “We have to go out. We don’t necessarily have to come back.” They did the whole hog for Jack, even though there were only a few of use, and he had gotten busted back down to Seaman Recruit for fighting before he was discharged. It made you feel proud. I touched the box in its niche one last time, and gave it a salute before we walked back to the car. Driving back along the perimeter road to write some important memos, I saw something disquieting. They are running out of space at Arlington fast, and that will obviously affect those of us who are intending to rest there as long as the Republic stands. I have been watching them grade new burial land along the side of Route 110, and build a fancy new fortress-like wall. I am not sure I approve of the view of the whizzing traffic. What I discovered they had actually done is include thousands of niches for cremains on the inside of the wall. I am not sure I am up for eternity in a highway abutment, but like I say, you have to trim your sails smartly in this town to get by. A free place to sleep is worth what just you paid for it. There is more than a passing chance that one of my old Bosses could come back to replace Mike McConnell as the Director of National Intelligence. He is going to brief the President-elect for the first time tomorrow, though I do not think he will be asked to stay on, or want to do so even if asked. Riffling through mental contacts, I realized I worked a couple levels down from Richard Danzig when he was the Under at Navy- I had a pleasant session with him in a Pentagon copying room one time- so there are all sorts of possibilities. Not to mention my man, Governor Richardson. I am a little concerned about him. I scanned the Post and listened hard to the radio all day seeking portents. He was not mentioned in any of the early speculation about the cabinet, and I wondered it that late sound-byte about the definition of the Middle Class had hurt him. Whatever. We are utterly pragmatic here in Washington. The talk now is “what school for the Girls, Malia and Sasha, is it going to be Sidwell Friends or Georgetown Day?” Jimmie Carter sent daughter Amy to the District’s public schools, but I don’t see that in the cards this time around. Is the new President going to be a night owl, like President Clinton? Could there be a return to some glamorous nightlife? It is too soon to tell on that score, since Senator Obama did not spend much time here in town, and the prospective First Lady has not left Chicago yet to come down here and put her stamp on things. I don’t know that it would have any effect on me personally. Cowboy boots are definitely going to be out, and I think the look is going to be pencil-thin and urban hip. The whole real estate thing is going to turn around in the short term, and it might affect Big Pink. Carl Rove’s house over in Arlington Forest by the dry-cleaners was not vacant long, and the new crew at the White House and the new Congress-people and their staffs are going to need quality affordable places to live. Two Baby Boom Presidents- the ying-yang of Clinton and Bush, and now we are on to something else, another generation. That is one nice thing about Washington. It is a fantasy place that lives on dreams pinned neatly to the future. Whatever is happening out there in the rest of the country, we are moving on with what we do best. Like the Coasties say: We have to go out. Copyright 2008 Vic Socotra |