31 December 2006

Departures

My son and I went down to see Jerry Ford's third-third-to-last motorcade yesterday evening. It is a special event, based on our connection to the 38th President, and certainly the last time we will see him in motion.



The former President was on his way to the Capitol to lay in state under the dome. on the way to the Capitol late yesterday afternoon. We were going to take the Metro and avoid the street closures in the District, so we stopped to fortify ourselves at O'Sullivan's, a little neighborhood pub in the Clarendon neighborhood.

We each got a nice pint, and enjoyed the fact that the place was empty.

The bartender turned out to be an English Major, which is to say that he was already at his maximum earning level before graduating. He said that business was OK, but this was a quiet night. “The amateurs are staying home, getting ready for their big night tomorrow. They don't want to over-party and take the edge off.”

I snorted. I turned to my son and observed the contrast between the golden amber of my Harp lager against the deep woody color of his Guinness. “There have been a lot of departures this year,” I said. “Coretta Scott King, Robert Altman, Ann Richards, William Styron, Caspar Weinberger, Jeane Kirkpatrick, Red Buttons and Augusto Pinochet. It is a pity Castro didn't join the General, but I have every confidence that we will be talking about him next year, In'shallah. More than eight hundred American kids in Iraq, and thousands of Iraqis. But things happen in threes.”

I lit up a Lucky, contemplating the fact that bars and restaurants in the District are going smoke-free after the new year, second-hand smoke being another casualty of enhanced sensibilities. “Three on a light, for example, is describes the process by which a sniper alerts, aims and pulls the trigger on smokers sharing a match. It is as good a reason to stop smoking as any, I guess.”

My son looked at me sideways, concentrating on the football game on the plasma screen over the old wooden bar. “You oughta get on that, Old Man. But you will be able to smoke in Virginia until they stop growing tobacco downstate.”

“I suppose that is a comfort,” I said, "But with all the celebrities who died in 2006, the three that are going to be remembered strolling up to talk to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates are James Brown, Saddam Hussein, and Gerald Ford."

The bartender leaned over, waiting for the punch line. As an English Major, he hopes to be a critic someday.

I looked at him blankly. "No, there isn't one, yet. But think about it. There will be."

We looked at the clock. The President was supposed to arrive at Andrews Air Force Base at 5:25PM, and in order to intercept the motorcade at the World War Two memorial we had to get rolling. We told the bartender we would be back, maybe, and finished our pints. He was noncommittal on our non-commitment.

Walking along Clarendon Boulevard we passed several storefronts that were ominously vacant. Another high-rise mixed-use complex is undoubtedly on the way.

Connections downtown were good, and the train inbound from the Virginia was packed with Redskins fans headed for the game with the Giants at FedEx Field. We stood until the stop at the Smithsonian, and walked into the full darkness toward the Washington Monument.

There is a new security belt of granite that surrounds the hill on which the great spire sits, which is an improvement from the concrete Jersey barriers that were placed there right after 9/11. I guess that is an improvement, prudent but a little sad.

Walking down the slope from the Monument, the WWII Memorial was at our feet. A crowd of dignitaries was in place to greet the motorcade, with a ceremonial color guard. We stopped at the snow fence that prevented us from walking on the grass. A couple thousand people were on the grounds, perhaps, and there were mounted Park Police and the whinny of horses in the darkness.

Blue lights blinked in the darkness. We were just in time.

The sirens began after only a few minutes, and the flashing lights and motorcycles racing in from the Memorial Bridge across the Potomac. The cops ran a flying wedge of side-car equipped bikes, followed by white police cruisers and then the stark black armored DUVs and Lincolns. They did not slow and raced past the gauntlet of the massed Eagle Scouts, flags, aged veterans and banks of brilliant lights for the television cameras.

I looked at my son, a little mystified. “Not much of a stop,” I said. “The family must be in a hurry.”

I packed up my camera, when a single bagpiper began to play “Amazing Grace.” More sirens echoed from the direction of the Potomac, and another phalanx of vehicles screamed across the river, rolling past the Lincoln Memorial and up the boulevard.

More motorcycles and cruisers, another black armored limousine, and then the long black hearse. Mr. Ford had arrived, and the vehicle stopped in front of the flags. He had been a Navy man in the great Pacific war, and the high-pitched sound of a Bo'suns pipe echoed up the hill.

They piped him over the side in the old Navy way, and I shivered a little at the sound. I felt a tear run down my cheek. He had been a good man, a steady man, and he was there when we needed him at the end of a losing war and a mad presidency.

I vividly recall President Ford going to Congress with his young Defense Secretary Don Rumsfeld to present our military options to dissuade the North Vietnamese from completing their armored offensive against Saigon in 1975. A little more power applied, they said, might do the trick. The Peace Accords had been violated, and it was the right thing to do.

The Congress listened, a little embarrassed, and did nothing.

Mr. Rumsfeld wanted to be here for the ceremony, but he is out of the government now, and is snowed in someplace out West.

After a minute, the convoy departed, heading for a pass by the White House and eventually the Capitol, where he will remain in state.

President Bush did not cut short his vacation in Crawford for the ceremony. He and Laura are scheduled to return to town on Monday to pay their respects before the formal state funeral at the National Cathedral on Tuesday.

We walked back up the hill, past the illuminated shaft of the monument, which for a brief moment had been the tallest man-made thing in the world. We did not have to wait long for a train, which was good, and we were able to get seats, since most folks were at home watching the Alamo or Chik-Fil-A football games.

Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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