Mr. Porter Goes to Washington. Impressions of our capital,
A first journey to Washington DC stirred many emotions for me. I haven't had the chance to visit many places on our East Coast, and I was excited about the opportunity to see and experience icons of our culture I had only seen in movies or heard about. My work schedule was going to limit the amount of free time I had, so I reminded myself not to create expectations I couldn't meet. I flew in on Wednesday night, had meetings on Thursday and Friday, and scheduled myself an extra day on Saturday to sightsee. One of my goals was to see the National Aeronautics and Space Museum. I remembered hearing my dad talk about seeing the Spirit of St. Louis hanging in space in a gallery there and marking it as something I wanted to see too.
Layered over the work calendar and the sightseeing, I was also encouraged to make contact with relatives who lived in DC, cousins I hadn't seen in forty years or even met. I was primed for a pedal to the metal experience.
The reality unfolded in ways unexpected as well as predictable, and I came home charmed and glad. My memories are more snapshots than a narrative, and I will express them that way. The airports both coming and going were highlit by young men and women, barely adults, in uniform in wheelchairs, in groups full of bravado. solitary and quiet. In Denver a half dozen heavily tattooed youngsters joined our flight, Marines going to a ceremony at the White House where the Medal of Honor was to be given to one of their comrades, not present. And the world of ordinary affairs swirled with only a cursory glance around these reminders of our national challenges. Arriving late in Reagen National, I found the shuttle for which I had a voucher. There was only one other passenger, a man slightly younger than myself, who railed with wry humor at the shuttle driver's attempt to get just one more fare while we waited. The other passenger, a resident, was open and cheerful and Black. I found myself thinking after three days that people appear to act with truly race-neutral behavior on the streets of DC. I liked that.
One of our first meetings was scheduled at the National Building Museum, an institution whose name was a cipher to me. To my wonder, the building is the Army Pensioner's headquarters from the 1880s. It is an architectural marvel with a giant, open interior surrounded by four stories of offices. It also had an incredible exhibit on green building practices. A treasure and totally unexpected. My lodging property was only three blocks from the White House, on the Farragut Metro Stop, and reasonably priced as well as comfortable. Again, an unexpected pleasure.
When I was able to seek out the Washington of legend, I found it worthy of my serious regard. The Mall and the Washington Monument are substantially bigger than they appear in the movies. Awe inspiring fits. The METRO system of transportation is easy to understand, clean, fast, and fun. Driving out to my cousin's for dinner two nights running, I had a chance to see some of the neighborhoods at the north end of the City. I liked what I saw. Small shops. Diverse restaurants. Parks. People on the streets. My cousins were the kind of people everyone would like to have as cousins.
On Saturday, our adventures took us past "the Castle" where the Smithsonian originated. Its gardens are lovely, even in winter. We navigated our way to the National Museum of American Art. Truly a treasure. The Portrait Gallery collection of paintings of all the presidents is amazing. Abraham Lincoln's life masks are moving. The current exhibit on American Impressionists gave me a close up of Singers and Hassams that I had only heard about. Of course, the galleries were full of even more. Bierstadt's landscapes including one the size of a typical living room wall. So much that is "ours", Americans heritage. After the art, I was driven to head for the Aeronautic & Space Museum. Upon arrival, I found that it was closed for the day due to a water pipe breaking. Drat! Thousands of other disappointed folks milled about and bought hot dogs and took their pictures with cinematic backdrops.
I wandered across the girth of the Mall, trying to ignore the itch which a pickup soccer game nearby caused, and stood at the foot of the steps of the National Gallery. I knew the day would be gone once I entered that space. Having had the chance to see the Brit, the Tate, the Louvre, and other great art repositories, I decided to head for something I could only see here. I went to the National Archives nearby and stood in line for forty minutes with thousands of my fellow citizens and other visitors to see the bedrock documents of our American culture. In the Rotunda, the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and a copy of the Magna Carta are all displayed. Though I did hear whispered comments about National Treasure, I was moved greatly to see how many people were making this, our secular pilgrimage, to closely examine the words that drive our country. And there was great interest and respect exhibited on every side.
Leaving the Archives, where other things were unfortunately closed, I marched doubletime down Connecticut Avenue to the Washington Monument, cut right at 17th, and made a beeline back to my digs. Ahead of me was a long flight home, Ice and snow in Denver, and much to ponder. But Washington DC? I will go back. And I found myself reflecting on it with both pride and pleasure. This indeed is the kind of place I would have for a capital.
Layered over the work calendar and the sightseeing, I was also encouraged to make contact with relatives who lived in DC, cousins I hadn't seen in forty years or even met. I was primed for a pedal to the metal experience.
The reality unfolded in ways unexpected as well as predictable, and I came home charmed and glad. My memories are more snapshots than a narrative, and I will express them that way. The airports both coming and going were highlit by young men and women, barely adults, in uniform in wheelchairs, in groups full of bravado. solitary and quiet. In Denver a half dozen heavily tattooed youngsters joined our flight, Marines going to a ceremony at the White House where the Medal of Honor was to be given to one of their comrades, not present. And the world of ordinary affairs swirled with only a cursory glance around these reminders of our national challenges. Arriving late in Reagen National, I found the shuttle for which I had a voucher. There was only one other passenger, a man slightly younger than myself, who railed with wry humor at the shuttle driver's attempt to get just one more fare while we waited. The other passenger, a resident, was open and cheerful and Black. I found myself thinking after three days that people appear to act with truly race-neutral behavior on the streets of DC. I liked that.
One of our first meetings was scheduled at the National Building Museum, an institution whose name was a cipher to me. To my wonder, the building is the Army Pensioner's headquarters from the 1880s. It is an architectural marvel with a giant, open interior surrounded by four stories of offices. It also had an incredible exhibit on green building practices. A treasure and totally unexpected. My lodging property was only three blocks from the White House, on the Farragut Metro Stop, and reasonably priced as well as comfortable. Again, an unexpected pleasure.
When I was able to seek out the Washington of legend, I found it worthy of my serious regard. The Mall and the Washington Monument are substantially bigger than they appear in the movies. Awe inspiring fits. The METRO system of transportation is easy to understand, clean, fast, and fun. Driving out to my cousin's for dinner two nights running, I had a chance to see some of the neighborhoods at the north end of the City. I liked what I saw. Small shops. Diverse restaurants. Parks. People on the streets. My cousins were the kind of people everyone would like to have as cousins.
On Saturday, our adventures took us past "the Castle" where the Smithsonian originated. Its gardens are lovely, even in winter. We navigated our way to the National Museum of American Art. Truly a treasure. The Portrait Gallery collection of paintings of all the presidents is amazing. Abraham Lincoln's life masks are moving. The current exhibit on American Impressionists gave me a close up of Singers and Hassams that I had only heard about. Of course, the galleries were full of even more. Bierstadt's landscapes including one the size of a typical living room wall. So much that is "ours", Americans heritage. After the art, I was driven to head for the Aeronautic & Space Museum. Upon arrival, I found that it was closed for the day due to a water pipe breaking. Drat! Thousands of other disappointed folks milled about and bought hot dogs and took their pictures with cinematic backdrops.
I wandered across the girth of the Mall, trying to ignore the itch which a pickup soccer game nearby caused, and stood at the foot of the steps of the National Gallery. I knew the day would be gone once I entered that space. Having had the chance to see the Brit, the Tate, the Louvre, and other great art repositories, I decided to head for something I could only see here. I went to the National Archives nearby and stood in line for forty minutes with thousands of my fellow citizens and other visitors to see the bedrock documents of our American culture. In the Rotunda, the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and a copy of the Magna Carta are all displayed. Though I did hear whispered comments about National Treasure, I was moved greatly to see how many people were making this, our secular pilgrimage, to closely examine the words that drive our country. And there was great interest and respect exhibited on every side.
Leaving the Archives, where other things were unfortunately closed, I marched doubletime down Connecticut Avenue to the Washington Monument, cut right at 17th, and made a beeline back to my digs. Ahead of me was a long flight home, Ice and snow in Denver, and much to ponder. But Washington DC? I will go back. And I found myself reflecting on it with both pride and pleasure. This indeed is the kind of place I would have for a capital.
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