THE CROWD
So many people. Flags and hats and pins and temporary tattoos. All the Obama paraphernalia peddled on street corners that you thought no one would buy, but they did, and they wore them to the concert. Digital cameras, phone cameras and the old bulky camcorders dug out of the family basement for this memorable D.C. vacation. The crowd is always moving, pressing forward. Those with blankets marking the spots they earned through hours outside have to stand up as the mass closes in on them. "Let's pray nothing happens," a woman sighs as I pass. The approach to the memorial comes to a halt. There are too many people, but a train of proactive crowd explorers drills past me and I follow. We are met with dirty looks. I respond with sorry's and exuse me's.
ELMO AND THE SNIPERS
Elmo, the Elmo, comes on the big screen. "We are," his Sesame Street falsetto yells. Hundreds of thousands of people finish the sentence. "One!" Just above the little red puppet the dark shadows of snipers walk the Lincoln Memorial's white marble ledge.
THE TREE CLIMBERS
Before the concert, the crowd cheers on the tree climbers. It is entertainment for a reality television generation. First a woman tries, hoisted by a swarm of hands below her. She fails. A male with a camera succeeds. The crowd roars. He pumps his fist in the air. The crowd roars again. He singles for the first woman to try again and she does. "Why is this woman so determined?" somebody asks. This is what Obama does to people. The Yes-We-Can factor. The man in the tree grabs the woman's hands and for a moment the crowd watches on as she hangs in the air, her feet scraping against the bark of the tree. The man pulls harder. She makes it (cheers) and more climbers follow. They produce a cardboard cutout of Obama and shake it in the air to applause on both sides of the Reflecting Pool. The cheers peter out as the novelty of people in trees wears off.
IT BEGINS:
A priest comes on the stage. No one can hear him and visibility is low. The jumbo trons are too small and far away.
"Is that Dick Cheney?"
"Hell no it ain't Dick Cheney!"
The crowd chants, "Turn it up!"
His voice slowly fades in and we hear him talking about Obama. "Hold him in the palm of your hand," he says, and then, "Amen." Cheers.
THE CONCERT:
Mary J. Blige sings "Lean on Me." The delay makes it hard but we try to sing along anyway. That's the theme. The delay gives an echo to everything. Even Jack Black sounds majestic when we hear his words twice. The music is chaotic, but somehow, when Garth Brooks sings "Shout," hundreds of thousands of hands shoot in the air in almost perfect unison.
It is part concert, part political rally, and part history lesson narrated by actors of varying fame and credibility. It is a multimedia event, an HBO special, masterminded and crafted, and yet wholly organic in the fervor it produces in these bundled masses, in the excited faces of ordinary people who have made the trek to this American Mecca.
"O...BA...MA."