Crazyworld

It’s been a while, I know.

At first, it took a few days to decompress, to go over in my head the whirlwind three days photographer Alex Hicks and I had just experienced. And then, as often goes in newsrooms, things happen, stories break, meetings pop up and suddenly an entire to-do list is on the back burner. But now, almost two weeks after the inauguration of President Barack Obama, here goes my take on the slice of history we were able to be a part of.

I had grand plans for our coverage of the event. We were, for lack of a better term, “embedded” in a group that totalled 65 people. The trip was hosted by the Spartanburg County GOP. It was the first planned trip I’d heard about late last summer, and jumped on the chance to be on board. When Obama won, the number of actual Republicans on the bus dwindled, and we ended up with, I’d say, a pretty diverse group. Probably 50-50 Republicans and Democrats.

Going in, I knew the paper was planning a special section. I wanted to profile everyone on board, even if it was just a couple of paragraphs. I wanted to get to know everyone, their life stories, their reasons for going to Washington, their political views... everything. I wanted to tell stories about the teens who were going, about the senior citizens, about the Republicans, the Democrats, any possible way to slice the bunch so as to bring to light another angle, that’s what I wanted. I wanted to pass around my laptop and let people blog about the trip right there. Collect all the voices.

It might have been a tad overambitious.

On the eight-hour ride up Sunday, Alex and I began talking about our game plan. We’d met some of the people on the bus beforehand, which made things easier. We knew that Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, was a free-for-all, with the various families and friends and other groups splitting up, scattering around the capitol. So, the first order of business was to find a family (or a couple of families) to tag along with. That was the easy part.

By the time we got to our hotel room, we began going door to door, collecting -- again, for lack of a better term -- “family portraits” of everyone, so we’d at least have that. Get names. Get faces. Get to know everyone.

We were lucky that first night. Got about 4.5 hours of sleep. Suffice it to say, the crushing realization of the time crunch we were going to face made blogging and micro-blogging (via Twitter) the first casualties.

That’s OK. Still lots of stories to tell.

Later that morning, we got off our bus and attached ourselves to a group of nine people from Spartanburg. A couple of families plus a few non-related individuals. By the day’s end, they were all friends, though.

We knew everyone who was going to the S.C. Inaugural Ball needed to meet at Rep. Bob Inglis’ office by 3 p.m. We’d hoped to bounce around between some different groups, but as the day progressed, it became obvious that a tighter focus on a smaller number of people would make for a better story. (At least, I think it did.) It took awhile, because I kept looking for “the moment.” Maybe it would be the children getting to see the Lincoln Memorial (which they couldn’t, up close at least, because when we were there the stage from a concert the day before was still being dismantled). Maybe there would be some great mother-daughter bonding. Something. It took time to realize that there wasn’t going to be some shining moment to tell a story about. The entire day, the series of little moments, that was the story. Occasionally, strangers would begin talking to one another, or someone would spot a person from Spartanburg that they had no idea was in DC. Little moments.

Monday was crowded, but nothing like how it would be in a mere 24 hours. (Less than that, actually.) I’ve been to DC a few times, and it’s a cool town. It’s also always been cold. Never been in the spring or summer. This time, the entire reflecting pool leading to the Lincoln Memorial was frozen. We saw a guy with a giant tank of coffee strapped to his back, and we grabbed a cup of hot chocolate from a street vendor. I gained a new appreciation for hats and gloves. We hit a couple of exhibits, the best one being photographs from the civil rights struggle -- and that was the one room we went to where flash photography wasn’t allowed. But it was still an exciting experience. I looked at the police report filed when Rosa Parks was arrested, and chatted with the young black woman and her daughter next to me about it. We weren’t just seeing it through different eyes, we were seeing it through different lenses.

(I should point out how struck I was by the various children in the group who, when asked if they’d studied this civil rights figure or that in school, the answer was most often, “Not really.” Maybe some Martin Luther King Jr. love on his birthday, and a couple of short lessons during Black History Month, they said. That, to me, spoke volumes.)

Alex and I decided to break off from the group around 2 p.m. We actually ran into one of the families I’d written about the week before shortly after that. I’d been carrying around my laptop all day in hopes of finding some time to write. (I think, at that point, I still thought I could blog or Tweet.) I called Spartanburg GOP Chairman Rick Beltram, who was coordinating things, and told him we were on our way to Inglis’ office. I’d figured that would give Alex time to go over photographs and me time to start writing the next day’s story. Once back at the hotel, we’d only have an hour or two to finish things up and get ready for the ball. But I’d figured wrong. Beltram told me there was a three-hour wait to even get into the congressional office building. Everyone was meeting a couple blocks away. Ok, no problem, right?

I can’t remember how long we were waiting for the bus -- mind you, Monday and Tuesday were freezing, especially to those of us who had lived in the Southeast most of our lives -- but eventually the bus came around, I found a seat, and started cobbling together my notes. There was no room for the bus to park, so it drove around the block a couple of times, waiting for all of our crew to arrive. We got back to the hotel around 4 p.m. I was about halfway done with my story, and Alex was ready to send photos. Panic began to set in when Alex’s laptop started acting up. He had dozens of great shots. I think we were able to transmit two or three by the time the computer was working again. No time for a shower, but we quickly dressed and headed back down to the bus for the ball. Wait, had we eaten anything since the just-add-water eggs at 6 a.m.? No time now.

The traffic going back into DC -- we were staying in the Mount Vernon area -- was horrendous. We got to the Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum, but all the right turns were blocked, and the bus had to park on the other side. Alex and I got off the bus and walked a few blocks to get there. (We could hear a crowd cheering behind an MSNBC stage off in the distance.) I think everyone else on our bus ended up doing the same. Two in our group actually landed tickets to the Illinois ball, which was awesome, I’m told. Again, I had my laptop with me, and again I was too busy to write anything. Alex was shooting photos for the upcoming Spartanburg Magazine, and I was hunting good interviews. I remember we ran into Kim Nelson (former Spartanburg County Councilman Rock Adams’ daughter) at the ball, and we chatted a while. The music and food were so-so -- we’re not supposed to eat at these things, but we decided to throw caution to the wind and have a couple of hor’devours -- and the people who made repeated trips to the free bar seemed to be having the best time. I did land a quick interview with Reps. Jim Clyburn and Bob Inglis and former Gov. Dick Riley. (A week later I opened the e-mail saying Clyburn was holding a “media availability” at the beginning of the ball and would not be taking any questions after that. Oops.)

We got back to the hotel at about 11:30 p.m. I spent some time with a few members of Beltram’s family, who were more than happy to share his childhood secrets, perhaps explaining the way he is today. (I mean that in the nicest way, Rick.) Shortly after midnight, it was time to start writing. Alex was working his photo magic -- his laptop was back in order, at least enough to get the job done. We finished at about 5 a.m., which left us just enough time to get ready for the big day. Alex made a quick run to the 7-11 next door for sodas and chips. Those unmade beds looked inviting, but history was calling. And everything had to be packed and on the bus, because by the time we’d be back on it, it would be past the checkout time. We got on the 6 a.m. bus -- most of our group had gotten on the 5 a.m. bus -- and headed back into DC.

Our plan all along had been to find the largest number of Spartanburg people and attach ourselves to them. Going up, it looked like there wouldn’t be enough tickets for everyone -- the ticketed area was closets to the U.S. Capitol, but even there, the best view was on the Jumbotrons -- so we thought we’d have Spartanburg people to surround ourselves with. But then, a miscommunication, and it turned out everyone had tickets except us. (Between Alex and I, we had been granted a single press ticket, but we declined that because we needed to be together and there was no guarantee that would have placed us near local people.) I’d talked to my editor the night before, and we came up with a contingency plan. There was 100-plus Spartanburg High School students at the event, and most of them didn’t have tickets. So, we’d just hook up with them. No problem, right?

(Only 32 people in our group got tickets -- and many of them weren’t able to get in, anyway, because of chaos and lack of planning on the part of the inaugural committee -- we’d find out later. Most of the rest of our group watched the event on television in Sen. Jim DeMint’s office, and a few others stayed at the hotel and watched it on television there.)

When our bus dropped us off at the Huntington metro station, the driver announced on the speaker, “This is going to be tough.” Huntington was the first stop, so the train was relatively empty when we got on. By the time we arrived at the mall, though, each car was bursting at the seams. When the doors finally opened, people spewed out, with clapping, cheering and chants of “O-bam-a!” going up after turning a corner or seeing the stairs or some other small checkpoint. Already, you could only move in baby steps. I’m talking shoulder-to-shoulder, front to back, just you and a few thousand of your new best friends.

One surprising thing was at how happy everyone seemed to be. I mean, everyone was in a good mood. Most people had slept little (or, like me and Alex, not at all) the night before, and it was cramped and cold and really, the day had all the symptoms of being miserable. But everyone was happy. Excited. There was a thrill in the air on top of the chill. It was hard to explain. People were counting down the hours -- and eventually, the minutes -- before President George W. Bush would leave office.

When we got out onto the street, we were able to pull ourselves out of the stream of people and take a look around. You basically had to stand against a building, a tree or a street vendor or risk getting caught up in the current. And all the cross streets, in every direction: full of people, sidewalk to sidewalk, just like it had been getting out of the metro station, just more. Lots more. Alex grabbed a honey bun and me a hot dog (OK, OK, two hot dogs) from a vendor for breakfast. I found a cheap toboggan -- a hat, for our northern friends -- and turned it inside out. We’re not allowed to wear anything political, but it was really, really, cold. And everything had Obama’s name or picture on it. We did find one vendor with a box of McCain-Palin T-shirts. She said she’d sell us the whole box for $5. We were going to get them, kind of a as a gag, for Beltram, but decided we didn’t want to lug them around all day.

Throughout the morning, if I had to take my gloves off to write something or record someone, I swear I could feel little ice crystals inside them when I put them back on. We were about 30 minutes ahead of the Spartanburg High School delegation, so we tried to figure out how we’d find them in the massive crowd. We stepped in to the river of people, which was eventually steered toward Independence Avenue. We passed every kind of street vendor imaginable. People had bought cases of hand warmers and were selling them like they were going out of style. We passed a guy selling Obama air fresheners. His sales pitch, and I’m not kidding, was “Smell like Obama!” But you couldn’t really stop and deal with these guys. You pretty much had to have your money ready and hand it to them, get your goods, and continue to be pushed forward. The momentum was unstoppable.

Occasionally, there were places where you could detach yourself from the crowd, stand against a barrier blocking a street, and get your bearings. I had the bright idea of heading toward the Washington Monument (the only other option, really, was to stay where we were). At the time, it seemed logical. When we heard from the Spartanburg High group, we’d try to meet them there. I mean, you can see it from anywhere in the mall. It is the tallest structure in Washington, D.C. So, we got back into the stream of people and allowed ourselves to be carried forward. The next break, when we could jump out and stand still, was around Independence and 15th. We’d soon find out this was the point of no return. Along the long walk, Alex and I started trying to figure out Plans C and D, just in case Plan B fell through. It was looking like finding a small group of Spartanburg people in this sea of people was going to be impossible.

We were corralled into an area in front of the Washington Monument. The ground dipped down, which Alex called a “fishbowl.” Don’t get in the fishbowl, he kept telling me. Don’t get in. We won’t get out.

We ended up in the fishbowl.

It was around this point that I heard from our Spartan High contact. He was with a small group of students in one of the ticketed areas -- about 14 blocks away. He wasn’t sure where the nonticketed students were -- again, a miscommunication, I guess -- but said they likely weren’t going to get in, anyway, and we could still tag along with them. We still had cell reception at this point, but it was spotty, and my battery was draining quick, even though it had charged all night. We’d soon have to resort to texts, as calls quickly stopped going through.

Anyway, the problem then was it would have taken us at least 30 minutes to get out of the fishbowl and probably two hours or more to get back to the point they were at. The inauguration would likely have been over by the time we got back. And people were starting to stake out their position. The stream of people was becoming as solid as the reflecting pool had been. Immobile. It got to the point where literally taking one step forward or one step back would have required a tremendous amount of effort, some negotiating and goodwill -- especially if the person you were trying to go around thought you were trying to get in front of them. We were stuck, and the closest Jumbotron was quite far away. I could generally see it good enough if I stood on my tip toes. If I could feel my tip toes. And the crowd went on behind us as far as I could see.

Still, the mood was good. Alex and I had gotten our third or fourth wind, and we tried Plan C.... Is that what we were on? His idea: Talk to as many people from as many different places and get a single quote: What does this mean to you? Sounded easy. We got through about a dozen people -- interesting people, too, from Birmingham to Los Angeles to New York to DC -- before it became simply impossible to move. I suggested we dig in, watch what we could, and collect reaction quotes back on the bus. (That last part was always a contingency plan. Easy enough for a story, but there was no visual component to this. Alex began shooting pictures of anything interesting he saw. And he got some damn good photos.)

The ceremony was pretty much as you saw it on television, except apparently it was difficult to hear people booing the Bushes. From where we were, it was deafening. And it wasn’t just once. It was every time they showed the 41st or 43rd president (or anyone in their family) on the Jumbotron. Frankly, it bothered me. I mean, I’m all about people being able to disagree with those in authority, but this just felt... wrong. These were presidents of the United States, an office that deserves respect. At one point, I turned to someone booing beside me and said, “This must be that unity I keep hearing about.” He stopped.

The other thing that bothered me was about two-thirds of the way through Obama’s inaugural address, everyone decided they needed to start leaving or at least be making their way to a place where they could leave easily. But it was gridlock. People were claiming their 80-year-old grandmothers had to go to the bathroom or that they had a child with autism who was a few rows away. (Who would let their autistic child roam freely in a crowd of more than 2 million?) But it didn’t matter the reason. No one was moving. Not by choice, really, because we didn’t have a choice. No one did. Until the outer layers of people started moving away, and then the next layer, and the next layer, etc., everyone and their 80-year-old grandmothers and autistic children were going to be stuck just like we were. By the end of Obama’s speech, more people were facing away from the Jumbotrons than toward them.

Around the benediction, the crowd began to shift. It was happening. I tried to pay attention, but by the end of it I was basically letting myself get carried backward. (I was still facing the Jumbotron.) Alex said he kept calling out my name -- we got separated, and quick -- but I never heard him. He even tried to use the flash on one of his cameras to get my attention. But we were separated. And we would be for the next hour and a half, two hours... It gets fuzzy.

That hour and a half was not fun. There was no time to think about what we’d just seen, just heard. There was only 2 million people scattering. Getting routed one direction and then turned around and routed back the way they came. I was able to pull myself up to the signpost at 15th and Independence and light a cigarette -- man, that was a really good cigarette -- but for some reason the only call I could get to go through was to our city editor back in Spartanburg. Nothing else worked. I told him I was at 15th and Independence and he said Alex was working his way toward the yellow line. (That’s the train back to Huntington.) Apparently, he was able to get through to our boss, too. So I asked a military officer where the closest train station was and they said Foggy Bottom, which was a heckuva a long way away. At least, it was when a million other people were all trying to get there, too. My phone had died, or at least cut off because of low power. I was able to turn it back on and use it for a minute or two every now and then, and realized I needed to save those precious minutes. So I went with the flow. The next place I was able to wrest myself from the crowd and grab some standing-still room was a block or two in front of the White House. (Just an aside, every now and then, when I passed a military or police officer, I’d ask them the way to the closest train station. Every one of them gave me a different answer.) Miraculously, I was able to get Alex on the phone at this point. He was at Independence and 15th -- about 30 minutes away, at least at the pace I’d been traveling at. So I waited and we eventually hooked back up, with Alex having an officer call my name through a blow horn. I was just on the other side of the police car. That’s how thick the streets were with people.

So we made it back to the train station. And we eventually made it to the yellow line to Huntington. When we finally sat down, we realized we had been either standing or walking for eight hours. Suddenly, we remembered we hadn’t slept at all the night before. It was coming back. On the train, we met a guy who was involved in establishing Leadership Spartanburg, so that was interesting, but at this point we were focused on what we needed to do as soon as we got back on the bus and got our equipment.

We were the last ones on the bus. Apparently, it wasn’t allowed to back to the train station, and everyone was taking public buses back to the hotel, where it was parked. Rather than wait -- and hold everyone up even longer -- we took a cab. Not sure what I’d spent the $60 in my wallet on in two and a half days, but between me and Alex we were able to cover the fair with less than $1 tip. We apologized profusely, but the cab guy was nice. We’d told him up front how much cash we had, and he said he’d make it work.

When we got on the bus, everyone cheered. (It was about 4:30 p.m. Technically, according to the itinerary, we were still 30 minutes early.) Alex began going through photos and I began going around and talking to people about their experiences. When I had enough for my stories -- one general reaction story, one on our ticket holders who ended up watching the inauguration on a laptop, or on a television in a cafe outside of the district -- and then the last few profiles I wanted to send, it was dark. It had been for a while. I did my last interview in a Wendy’s with a guy waiting in line. And I was able to charge my phone for a few minutes. Ended up eating a hamburger with one hand, sorting through notes with the other. I think by this point I’d filled up four notebooks. I started writing after dinner. The editors began calling just before I sent my first story... second two soon followed. I’m not sure when everything was filed. I think we were about an hour north of Charlotte.

And then we got home. Alex and I had worked 40-plus hours straight with no sleep. In the last hour or so of the trip, when I could actually socialize with people who were still awake, I told them I hadn’t had a weekend like that since college. Alex, a former Navy chief, told them he hadn’t had a weekend like that since the second time he was deployed to Saudi Arabia.

Yeah.

But it was fun. Exhausting, but fun. Since we’d only had two “real” meals on the whole trip, we met at Outback the next night to debrief, talk about what we’d done, what could’ve been done better or different, and any loose ends we wanted to tie up. I wished we could’ve done more, Alex thought we’d tried to do too much. So I guess we hit the mark, coming in somewhere in the middle.

And part of me was glad we got separated from... well, from everyone. We were sent to tell their stories. But the selfish part of me realized that we had one of our own.

I plan on starting a Facebook group called “Spartanburg 2009 Inauguration Alumni.” I’m open to suggestions for a better name, if anyone has one. But this would be open to everyone from here -- turns out there were at least three school groups from Spartanburg at the event, not to mention bunches of families or individuals who went up on their own. I figure it will get some attention at first, and then die down. But in the years to come, it will be a place to go back to, to reconnect with people, to reflect on the experience after some time has passed... and it’s free and easy, so there’s that.

I’ll post the link in a separate entry a little later on so it won’t get lost in this lengthy post. I realize this probably seemed a little disjointed and stream-of-consciousness and rambling and hectic, but that’s how our experience was.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Thanks to The Herald-Journal for allowing Alex and me the opportunity to cover this event.

Photographer Alex Hicks and I just boarded a bus with 54 other people headed to Washington, D.C. The trip is hosted by the Spartanburg County Republican Party, though the crowd is hardly all Republican. I'd guess it's at least 50 percent Democrat. It's a very diverse group, in terms of race, gender, age and party affiliation.

Everyone held hands in the parking lot of Bethel United Methodist Church for a quick send-off.

"On Jan. 1, 1863, Abraham Lincoln set the stage for what we're going to see Tuesday," GOP Chairman Rick Beltram said.

State Rep. Steve Parker added, "You are setting a major precedent that Democrats and Republicans are coming togehter for the betterment of our country. ... Let's go see our president!"

Family members hugged their loved ones as they boarded the bus. Despite the freezing cold, this is probably the warmest it is going to be from now until the end of the trip.

The bus is full except for one seat. A few others are meeting their respective families in Washington.

It's a pretty hectic time for me and Alex, who want to meet, talk to, interview and profile as many people as possible. There could be one or two stories from this trip, or there could be one or two dozen. We're kind of playing it by ear. I've got some ideas as to how to give the spotlight to as many different voices as possible.

I'll be trying to post short updates here and at www.goupstate.com/twitter. For the Twitter elite, I believe #scinaug is the hashtag for micro-blogs about the inauguration.

In the meantime, if anyone has any questions for me, Alex or anyone on the bus, post here, and we'll see if we can get those questions answered. Even though there will be subsequent blogs, this is the entry I'll keep checking for questions.

Looking forward to an exciting, but busy, three days. Goodbye, giant peach.

Been a busy couple of weeks. Here goes a few links I picked up off Twitter. I was going to comment more on each one but that's just going to further delay putting them up, so here they go with just a quick description:

The Twitter Wind Storm. A very brief account of one way journalists can use Twitter to reach readers during fast-paced, breaking news.

Five Essential Web Tools for Political Operatives. Still going over some of these, but they sound helpful.

The Internet is TV. Twitter is the Internet. By Patrick Ruffini. Beginning the discussion on the ways people (mostly political) use Web 2.0 versus those who say they use Web 2.0. A really good, quick read that should help generate discussion.

Six Social Search Engines to Start 2009. Still haven't read this one, but it looks intriguing.

And don't forget to check out SC Tweets, which feeds all the elected officials and politicos on Twitter into one handy site. Not only is this a good aggregate, but hopefully officials -- those already using Twitter and those yet to start tweet their first... umm, tweet -- can look it big-picture-wise and determine what's worthwhile and what's not, letting it become part of the learning process of being better communicators.

There's more, but this is the stuff I've left open to remind me to post. Hoping to have a good discussion about the use of social media sites as forms of two-way communication (versus one-way) in the near future. Also wondering how many RNC candidates will stay active on Twitter once one is crowned chairman. And I'll post about the state Republican Party chairman's race whenever I get the interviews completed.

Right now, I'm busy getting ready for the trip to the inauguration. I think we'll be able to give our readers something they'll want to keep. And our online community may be in for a treat. (or tweet). But I think I've secured permission for people on the bus trip to DC to post guest blog entires. Should be a variety of different voices.

Click here to see a list of comics shipping this week, courtesy of The Tangled Web.

"Final Crisis" will dominate this week, but I'm cautiously optimistic that IDW's relaunch of "G.I. Joe" will do that franchise justice.

Our story on the seven county officials being sworn into office last night focused primarily on the two newcomers to local politics. But I'd be remiss not to mention one of the returning officials -- Solicitor Trey Gowdy, who was unopposed in last year's primary and general election.

There's long been speculation that Gowdy will seek the job of attorney general. In fact, after his brief speech last night, four people made comments that he seemed to be fueling that.

Gowdy spoke about the need for "a broader conversation" regarding the criminal justice system in Spartanburg and South Carolina. He touched on the problems with repeat offenders, the dropout rate and vehicular homicide. Later, during an interview, he added the high rate of domestic violence to the list, along with the need for "truth and transparency" in sentencing and in the way grand juries operate, and that he opposes mandatory minimums for drug cases.

"We can have a criminal justice system that is a model for the rest of the country," he told the crowd.

And, later, "If you agree with the presmise that public safey is the preeminent function of goverment, and see that we rank as poorly as we do, don't you think it's time to take a systemic ... review?"

Gowdy said that he didn't mean for his remarks to sound like a precursor to a stump speech for attorney general. He said it was simply a version of a speech he often gives.

When asked about his future aspirations, he said much of the speculation has come about because people see that as the next rung on the political ladder. He pointed out that sitting Attorney General Henry McMaster hasn't announced that he's giving up his seat to run for governor ("Yet," I told him). And he said the well-being of his family was first and foremost in his mind.

He would not rule out a future run. But, he did say, "You don't have to be in a statewide office to start a statewide conversation." And, "The notion that I'm the only person to lead this conversation is ridiculous."

He named a few people in politics he respects -- Walt Wilkins, Reggie Lloyd, Tommy Pope -- and said that he valued his friendship with them more than he did any higher office.

"Friendships don't often survive political campaigns," he said.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see how this plays out.

Sorry I missed a week. Was out of town and tried very hard to stay away from anything work-related.

Anyway, click here to see a list of comics shipping this week, courtesy of The Tangled Web.

I'm a little skeptical about DC's "Faces of Evil" stunt. At this point, I don't plan on buying any issues that aren't already on my pull list. Of course, that could change.

Marvel's "Dark Reign," at least the portions I'm reading, has been handled well so far. Invincible Iron Man has quickly become a must-read title. Writer Matt Fraction -- who worked at Heroes Aren't Hard to Find in Charlotte, once upon a time -- is at the top of his game.