It was getting late, and for two days I had not gotten much sleep. So I headed back to the hotel to get some rest. We had decided that we needed to get up at 6:30 the next morning to give us enough time to get ready and get some breakfast. Tomorrow was going to be the big day. I wasn’t anxious. I was tired. I wanted some rest. So, as I got back to the hotel, I plugged in my phone and camera battery to charge. I wanted both to be ready. I checked my camera equipment to make certain I had everything I would need. I had just bought a new camera, but I did not buy a backup battery or memory card. Had I left either back in the hotel the next morning, I would have freaked. I showered, got into bed and went to sleep.
I woke up just after 4:30 Saturday morning. I don’t sleep much while traveling. I rolled the desk chair close to the window and looked down onto the street. D.C. is never really quiet. I could see people outside already. I wondered if rain would fall on us that day. The forecasts I had seen called for 30% chance of rain but a high temperature of 77 degrees. Good weather for a protest. Great weather for a march. I tried to stay quiet. It was still two hours until my phone alarm was set to turn on, and I didn’t want to wake Jennifer. I began thinking of the day ahead. It occurred to me. The schedule of events for that day called for everyone to gather at Freedom Plaza beginning at 8:30. We were to begin that march at 9:30. And the Tea Party itself was to begin at 1 PM. But the Tea Party was only scheduled to be two hours, from 1 to 3. Why would all of these people have come from across the country for just two hours of protest? I understood that people had come in from Hawaii and were at the physicians’ protest. The day before, I had met a lady who had met people who had driven in, yes, driven, from Alaska. Was this event that important? Why would people put their lives on hold, however briefly, spend whatever amount of money they did, just to be here? Hawaii? Alaska? I thought having met people from Utah and California was impressive, but reality hit me that this healthcare legislation, the direction of this nation under this administration, were bringing people together in a way I had never seen. I’m 39, and I’ve been following politics since Ronald Reagan had run for the presidency in 1980. I remember watching the election that year and seeing that beautiful sea of red from coast to coast. A sweep across the nation, hands down. That moment peaked my interests in politics. But now, there were more than just Republicans here. Democrats, Independents, moderates, conservatives, union workers… who would be here?
We had gotten ready, got our things together and set for the day. Jennifer dressed up in her Wonder Woman costume. She would do that to make a political statement – fight against corruption. So, out the door we went. We headed back to the Renaissance Hotel to meet her friends, the people with whom we had dinner the night before. People along the street were yelling out “Wonder Woman!”. She was used to it. I had told Jennifer that we would grab something to eat on the way to the hotel. I had seen a McDonald’s earlier, I just didn’t remember where. We made it to the hotel, no McDonald’s in hand. But the hotel was serving breakfast, thank goodness. When we walked into the lobby, we could already see most everyone awake and moving around was going to the Tea Party. More than the past two days were people showing their pride. Ladies with sun hats, tea bags hanging from them, big red, white, and blue ribbons adorning them. Men with red shirt, American flags on them or on their caps. T-shirt with slogans, names of the states from where they had come. The lobby was buzzing with excitement. We headed for the buffet and ate a hearty breakfast. Much better than a sausage biscuit. And the first breakfast I had eaten while there. People kept staring at Jennifer’s outfit. I would have thought with all of the other people dressed up over the past few days, like the several people dressed as Death, the crowds would have been used to costumes for the event. I was wrong.
After breakfast, we waited in the lobby for Jennifer’s friends. People were walking up to her asking to get photos of and with her. I had sat on a couch and began speaking with a man. He was there for the Tea Party. We discussed how big the turnout was estimated to be that day. I had told him what Sean Hannity had said – a hundred thousand. He told me he had heard that morning on CNN the expected size of the crowd would be two hundred thousand. This was getting bigger than I had thought. I got up to look around. More people were gathering in the lobby. Groups were gathering. I suspect those who had come in together or met over the past couple of days were pooling together. More signs in hand, more American flags being carried. Behind the couch were three gentlemen and one lady. They were looking in Jennifer’s direction, who was still being asked to pose. All of them were smiling and trying to get one another to have a photo taken with her. I told them she does not mind and to get their picture taken. The youngest of the three men and the lady walked in Jennifer’s direction. The other two were joking about the third man. One of them said, “Look at that rascal. They just had a baby three months ago”. I said to the man who had said that he should have his picture taken with her. He told me he couldn’t because he was a preacher back home, which happened to be in South Carolina.
People began leaving the hotel, and I heard some of them saying they were going to the plaza. I wanted to go along, but we were still waiting for the people we met the night before. They made their way down to the lobby. All went to get coffee, but I really wanted to go. Remember, a kid in a candy store. I did not want to miss a moment of this. I began following others who were leaving. I didn’t have a map with me. One, two, three people in groups, making their way down the street to the plaza. I wondered if we would run into any resistance on the way to the plaza. I thought of what the lady in bar last evening had told me about ACORN and Code Pink. I was ready for any “encounters” I may have. Cameras aren’t just for taking photos, I thought to myself. More and more people were coming from the side streets. There was definitely going to be a gathering today. A little closer, but plenty of more people showing up. Then, I could see the plaza in front of me. The police had already closed the streets around Freedom Plaza, so as the crowds began getting closer to the gathering point, people were walking in the streets. I was one of them. I turned on my camera but worried about the battery life. With one battery, I did not know how long it would last. With no backup, cloudy skies, I knew the flash would pop every now and then. One general rule of photography is to take multiple shots of a subject so that later, the best shot could be chosen for use. I could not do that today. I didn’t plan ahead by getting another battery.
I made my way into the crowd. Oddly, one of the first people I meet was a gentleman I had met him San Antonio. Mike T. A very nice man. We had a good conversation in San Antonio at the Tea Party Express about this movement. It was good to see a familiar face. But throughout the morning, I met others in D.C. whom I had previously met. More people from Texas were here. More Texas flags. Big flags. Group of Texans gathering all over the plaza. As I made my way through the crowd, I worried less and less about using up my battery life. There were so many people moving around, taking multiple shots of a subject was next to impossible. I could take only one. So I had to make each shot count. I don’t ask people to pose. I don’t want them to. It’s not genuine, especially at an event such as this.
This crowd was like none I had ever seen before. This plaza was not big enough to hold everyone. I had shown up about 8:15, and it was already packed. What stood out this day were the signs. So many different signs. Some were as simple as a marker on poster board. Others were ordained with decorations, cut outs, ribbons, glitter. You name it. If it could be bought in a craft store, someone most certainly had in on his sign. Most of the statements I had never seen before. All crafty. All eye catching. This is why I love photography. People were also carrying their state flags. New Mexico, California, South Carolina. Today was the day the entire nation converged on the seat of government to speak out against the direction this nation is headed, and the states were well represented. Over the past couple of days, I had met people from the following states: California, Oregon, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Texas (of course), Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Tennessee, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maine, Colorado, Montana, Massachusetts, Maine, New York, New Jersey, Illinois, Michigan, Idaho, Iowa, Ohio. But that morning, I had met more people who met others from Alaska. How many other states were here that I did not meet? Since buses were still pulling into Union Station, the crowd continued to get larger. And for those who were still arriving that morning, I’m sure that seeing their fellow statesmen was a welcomed sight. I almost cried. Honestly. I welled up with emotion at seeing all of these people, exchanging pleasantries, hearty handshakes, and saying hello. These are total strangers who may never see each other again. But one would not have known that by listening to them. The politeness of the crowd was so incredibly noticeable. All that morning at the plaza one could hear people saying “pardon me” or “excuse me” when bumping into one another. I heard and said it so many time that I became so impressed with my fellow Americans. Here in Texas, it’s not uncommon to hear such manners, but being exposed to others from across this nation opened my eyes to the lack of differences we have. We’re the same. We are one people.
Some people had shown up with extra garbage bags for all of the trash that would be left behind that day. I heard one lady say that we were going to leave the place the way we found it, not like when the democrats were in town for the coronation, I mean, inauguration, in January. We were going to leave the place clean. I kept making my way through the crowd, speaking with more people and taking more photos. As happened before, people seemed taken by the fact that I am a Texan. More people who want to move to Texas. While speaking with one gentleman and asking where each other is from, he said to me about Texans, “you guys are everywhere”. We were. We, like everyone there, want our nation back. I kept moving around the crowd, now getting email addresses of people who wanted to see the photos I had been taking. Freedom Plaza is not too big, but it had taken me a half hour to move from one side to the other. And once I got to the other side, the crowd started moving. We were supposed to leave the plaza at 9:30, but it was just before 9 when the plaza began to empty out. People had begun to move down Pennsylvania Avenue to Capitol Hill. Even though the crowd was moving, people kept showing up into the plaza. I trotted along to get into the crowd so that I could get some shot of people on the march. I could not help but taunt the crowd with some of the rhetoric we have been hearing from the left and their leaders. “Move it along, you mobsters!” I yelled into the crowd. They laughed. Some had been talking to one another about the name calling we’ve had to endure. I walked alongside with the rest of America. I was happy I had made the trip. There were photo opportunities all along the way. Some people were lined up on the sidewalks. One man propped himself up on two concrete planters with a sign that simply said “LIAR”. One of the better photos I had taken was of a girl who had a monkey on her back holding a sign which read “Big Government”. Get it? A monkey on her back? I was surprised someone her age would even know that saying.
I did not know it until I had heard it, but a man dressed in colonial garb was walking to the left of me. He had a fife and began playing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”. I stopped photographing and listened for a moment. The camera I have now records video, so I turned to him and began recording. Another man on his other side was carrying a bullhorn, so he put the bullhorn up to the fife. His playing reminded me of the flight into D.C. Reagan National Airport is right by the Potomac River, and when I had looked down onto the river, I remembered the famous painting of George Washington crossing the Potomac. I thought to myself, “how in the hell did they do that?” How did Washington and his militia fight an entire nation to found our country? How did they not fold under pressure? All the while there in D.C., Jennifer had told me that the streets were laid out to as to confuse the enemy. One street could be name 1st SE, another could be named 1St NW. I admit I got turned around a couple of times. But here we were, the people, not lost, destination in sight, and more than 200 years later, marching once again to face down a government. His playing gave me a great sense of pride. And now I can’t stop whistling that tune.