I was invited by my sister, Marilyn, to accompany her and her family to Washington, DC for the September 12 March on the Capitol. My other sister, Pauline, her son, Nathan, and Marilyn’s sister-in-law and nephew were also slated to join us. I eagerly accepted the invitation as the cause behind the March is something deeply significant to me. That cause is Freedom--the preservation of the principles embodied in the United States Constitution for every man, woman and child in the nation. The 912 Project, initiated by Glenn Beck and taken up by common Americans across the country was inspirational to me as well and I wanted to be a part of this historic event. That same passion impels me to make a record of the trip and how it has affected me.
DAY ONE, September 10, 2009
My flight from Cody departed at 6:00 am, requiring me to arrive at the airport at 5:00 am. An hour drive from home to Cody meant a departure from home at 4:00 am which, in turn, required me to plan on waking up and preparing to leave at 3:00 am.
As it turned out, we had Ana’s daughter, Sarah visiting with us. I ended up staying up late visiting and decided it was safer to just stay awake rather than to risk sleeping through the alarm at 3:00. I then made the drive to the Yellowstone Regional Airport (“Why not YRA?”) punctuated by minute naps on the long stretches of straight road.
Once there, I went to the ticketing counter and dropped off my single bag to be checked. In Cody, they rifle through everything because they need to feel needed. I noted that the TSA folks have exchanged the white shirts for baby blue ones, no doubt a reflection of the Dear Leader’s peaceful intentions. I then went to the counter only to be told I had to check in through the new high-tech kiosk that has been installed since my last flight out of YRA (though I’ve used them many times out in the world. Luckily, they had a person behind the counter to both direct us to the kiosk and also to step out from behind it and read the instructions to me as I navigated through a largely self-explanatory process. Again, a reflection of the hand-holding society we’ve evolved into, it seems.
Nevertheless, I was quickly completed with the process (and charged an extra $20 for having the audacity to actually check a bag!) and directed to the screening area to disrobe, leaving only portions of skin and other integumentary tissue on my person. This left me only about 30 minutes to re-attach the tissue and locate and put on my clothes before take-off. I was able to accomplish the feat in about 20 minutes.
Happy to be taking off from Cody and not landing, for the time being, I had an enjoyable flight to Salt Lake City. I had an empty seat next to me and a friend who was sharing the connecting flight gave me a granola bar to munch on while I wondered if I would have time for some sleep on the hour-and-a-half flight.
In Salt Lake City, I had time for some breakfast. I opted for a timeless favorite, sweet and sour chicken and fried rice from the concourse ptomaine post. I was impressed with how something so colorful to taste so bland and how the chicken could be sizzling hot on the surface and cool in the middle. I choked it down, perused some magazines at the news stand and boarded my flight to DC.
At this point, for those who don’t know me, I should point out that I am a fat guy. I’m not big boned, I’m not “husky,” and I’m not “a little heavy.” I’m a fat dude. I never really feel that way until it’s time to squeeze my behind into an airplane seat. That said, I had the extreme good fortune to be seated next to two other fat folks. Prying myself into my window seat forced my body into a posture foreign to me--with my shoulders pushed up over my ears and the back of my hands pushed together between my knees. I also found that the cushions were not designed to hold my behind off the hard parts for more than 30 minutes. The good news was that apparently this position allowed surprisingly comfortable sleep without having to shift in any direction, with my pillowy pecs holding up my chin and optimizing air flow into my lungs. I also found that this situation prevented my seat mates and me from expelling any “paradise gas,” an obviously good thing. It also came in handy later at the baggage claim when I needed to clear an area to retrieve my lone bag.
I enjoyed the monitor on the seat in front of me that featured GPS tracking of our flight, informing me that we traveled at about 500 mph ground speed and at an altitude of between 37,000 and 40,000 feet and that it was about -45 C outside the plane. As of about 11:30 am I had passed the former easternmost point in the nation to which I had ever traveled before, Nashville, TN.
I also found that one of my seat mates, a gentleman from Pocatello, ID had left his business for the week to make the trip to join with me and unknown others in protesting the reckless and thoughtless government activity that has placed our nation and our livelihood in danger.
Almost 2,000 miles later, we touched down at Reagan National Airport, which I took as a tremendously good omen--to be making my first ever visit to the nation’s capitol with a longing for the days of Reagan and having my first point of contact with the city in the airport that bears his name. As I reflected on the character of Reagan in the face of withering opposition to his deepest convictions and his unwavering faith in the institutions and people of this nation I felt the beginnings of a new resolve to honor his legacy in my time and place--within my sphere of influence--to the best of my ability. For the first time I began to wonder how many others, like me, would be making this trip for this purpose. So far, I knew of our group of 8 and the man on the plane. I hoped that the fact we were seated so closely together was an indication of many on that flight being with us and that it was not merely a coincidence.
I met the others in our group, we gathered our bags and caught the shuttle to our hotel in downtown DC. Once settled, we made the 2-3 block trip to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse for dinner. We were seated in a side room and apparently got the best waiters in the place. They were extremely personable and helpful. We learned from them that Sean Hannity typically ate in that room and that he usually was seated where my brother-in-law, David, had been seated for our meal. The effect was visible and I pointed out to the waiter that David’s eyebrows were darkening and growing together as he sat there! It seemed appropriate that David, who had made the trip possible for me, should be seated in the chair of one who has been so passionate in his defense of those things that have made our nation great.
We had a fantastic time visiting with one another, joking, discussing what had brought us all here. We ate like kings and left the restaurant feeling like this was only the beginning of a truly remarkable journey for each of us. For me, I felt anxious and apprehensive about the impact our efforts would have, if any. I had begun to allow some doubts to creep in and to wonder if the American people really did prefer slavery with low-quality security to freedom and the promise of excellence in many areas of life as well as the risk of failure that always accompanies liberty. But, those fears took a back seat for a time that night, in that place with those people--both in our group of 8 and those we met in the hotel and in the restaurant.
I slept very well that night.
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