Weekend in Washington D.C., Part 3

We awoke the next morning to sunshine and a chilly wind. After seriously considereing the potential rigors of the day's itinerary and we came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to proceed without (you guessed it) a substantial breakfast. Hey, it was complimentary at the hotel. The Old Curmudgeon doesn't get out much and so he was amazed that there is such a thing as a Starbuck's coffee machine that grinds the beans and brews a genuine cup o' Starbucks Joe right into the cup of your choice. What will they think of next? Deciding to save a few morsels for the other guests, Jerry and I finished up and returned to our room to suit up for another extended period of weather exposure. The lack of rain was considered a genuine blessing. We hiked through the lobby, out the front door and began the trek to the Vietnam War Memorial, near where we were to assemble prior to walking to the main gathering site. I thought it might be nice to arrive early and visit the memoriall. The Old Curmudgeon had visited this site a few years ago and found it to be a moving experience. Imagine our surprise to arrive at the vicinity and find that we couldn't even get close! The entire area seemed to be cordoned off by orange snow fence. The snow fence entrance was clogged with "counter-protesters." Getting in without some kind of confrontation with leather-clad folks looked unlikely. To The Old Curmudgeon it looked something like a motorcycle gang rally. Many (if not most) of the counter-protesters seemed to be wearing biker garb. Some had "Rolling Thunder" emblazoned on the back of their jackets and vests. I later learned that this group actually is a motorcycle club of sorts (used by Don Rumsfeld as security for some appearances a la The Rolling Stones!). These folks were being held back by police and Marshals as they pushed toward the area cordoned off for our group. One Marshal had his hands full trying to calm a few of these fellows who were threatening the gathering protesters. They were not a happy looking lot!

We watched these interesting dynamics unfold as more marchers arrived. Eventually the word was quietly passed that it was time to walk to the "staging area", a much larger space with stage and PA system, from where we would begin our trek across to the Pentagon. The counter-protesters were aligned on both sides of the sidewalk. Some had large American flags attached to poles, held in a way that caused them to hang in front of us like curtains. Others stood in the middle of the sidewalk with arms folded. As Mr. Rogers might have said, "Can you say 'intimidation?' Sure, sure, I knew you could." All the while we were subjected to some of the most vile and obscene language The Old Curmudgeon has heard in quite a while. Nothing he has not heard before, mind you, but impressive in it's enthusiastic vulgarity. One clever gentleman had a sign that informed us that 'Peace Sucks." There were rhythmic chants of "U-S-A, U-S-A. etc." Others, who were not so loud told marchers that they had fought for their right to protest. The Curmudgeon believes that these men were the actual veterans in the larger group of counter-protesters. They had a good point. The Bill of Rights of the United States indicates that among our basic rights is the right "peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances." Others among this group informed us that we should thank a veteran for the freedom to march in this way. The Old Curmudgeon did thank them, although there seemed to be a certain amount of ambivalence being expressed in the instruction. One of the men on the sidelines asked if any had been in the military. This question sounded accusatory, rather than inquisitive, however, Jerry and a few others answered in the affirmative. As a matter of fact, there were several veterans groups represented among the marchers. Of course, there is no dichotomy here. To be inclined toward peace, or to bringing troops home is not to be against those troops or against one's country.

After a short time we arrived at the staging area (around which there was an identical orange snow fence) and I must say it was some relief.

Beyond that, at moments it was like a trip back in time.









There were even some young "Flower Power" enthusiasts.




Several dog protesters were present










































Members of the different factions had a quiet word with each other over the fence. See, we can get together.


















People continued to arrive at the staging area in various sized groups. At last, the signal was given and we started to move away from the Lincoln Memorial and onto the bridge to Virginia.

Now, here is where one may notice a theme developing. As we crossed the bridge we checked our watches and noted that if we were to catch our plane back home, we would need to get back to the hotel to grab our stuff soon. Reluctantly, we peeled away from the mass of humanity moving forward. We retrieved our bags and made it to the airport on time -- only to find, after a while, that our flight was delayed, and eventually canceled because our flight crew was stranded in New York due to snow. There were no flights out the next day. It seemed we were in a bit of a pickle. We gathered into a long line at the service desk for USAir and hunkered down for what looked to be multiple hours of queuing. And then inspiration struck: why not mosey to the head of the line and hear what the airline representative was saying/offering to we stranded travelers. Using this technique we discovered that they were offering absolutely nothin' (say it again, now). We had been chatting with a couple of fellows who were on a layover in D.C. on their way to Indy from their Florida vacation. We hatched a plan. Within a few minutes Jerry had a rental car booked. Within an hour we were listening to the feminine voice of the Hertz GPS system talking us to the interstate. As we drove back home and talked in more detail, we learned that one of the two gentlemen traveling with us was a Viet Nam veteran. We had several hours in the friendly confines of a Mercury Marquis to discuss perspectives and get to know one another. These fine gentlemen were each preparing for their wedding day, in which they were to marry a mother-daughter team. In one ceremonial pronouncement, they would become stepfather/stepson and in laws all at the same time. It's more than most of us can say we have accomplished.

We arrived safely back home again in Indiana (etc.) on Sunday afternoon with memories to last a lifetime. The Old Curmudgeon is grateful for Jerry's invitation and the opportunity to tag along with such a seasoned traveler.

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Note: some of the photos (like the two above) are by Jerry.

Weekend in Washington D.C.-- part 2

That's Jerry in the yellow
After our tour of FCNL, Jerry and I marshaled our resources, dressed in layers and made our way to the National Cathedral for the 7:00 pm service . A candlelight march to the White House was scheduled after the service with all attenders invited. Shuttle busses were to be provided for those unable/unwilling to walk the four miles. The plan was to encircle the White House with praying Christians.



We arrived at 5:45 and joined the queue on the steps, trying to find shelter from the sleet and wind. After a short time officials told us we could not wait on the steps and herded us all to a close by St. Alban's school building. They assured us that we would not lose our place in the line if we just waited for them to take us back at 6:45. One thing can be said for old age, and that is that if you live long enough you develop the ability to smell baloney from afar. Jerry and I didn't enter the main part of the building with the majority of the crowd but bided (bode?) our time in the entry area for a while before easing out the door and striding back to the cathedral. Sure enough, another crowd was gathering at the doors. We soon joined them and gained entry well before the unfortunates who followed directions.

The cathedral is (of course) huge. Being used to more plain places of worship, the Gothic architecture and vast openness were awe-inspiring. The gallery was full of news cameras. The floor was filled with about 3000 people. The service was powerful. Participants at the service included representatives of:
Adventists
Alliance of Baptists
American Friends Service Committee
Church of the Brethren
Disciples of Christ
Episcopal Church USA
Lutheran
Mennonite Church USA
National Council of Churches
Pax Christi
Presbyterian Church USA
Pentecostal Charismatic Peace Fellowship
Roman Catholic Church
United Church of Christ
United Methodist Church



Highlights for me were the rousing messages brought by the Reverand Doctor Raphael G. Warnock of the Ebenezer Baptist Church and by Jim Wallis. Here are two excerpts from Rev. Wallis:

By our deepest convictions about Christian standards and teaching, the war in Iraq was not just a well-intended mistake or only mismanaged. This war, from a Christian point of view, is morally wrong – and was from the very start. It cannot be justified with either the teaching of Jesus Christ or the criteria of St. Augustine’s just war. It simply doesn’t pass either test, and did not from its beginning. This war is not just an offense against the young Americans who have made the ultimate sacrifice or just to the Iraqis who have paid such a horrible price. This war is not only an offense to the poor at home and around the world who have paid the price of misdirected resources and priorities … This war is also an offense against God.

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I believe it will take faith to end this war. It will take prayer to end it. It will take a mobilization of the faith community to end it – to change the political climate, to change the wind. It will take a revolution of love to end it. Because this endless war in Iraq is based ultimately on fear; and Jesus says that only perfect love will cast out fear.

Hear his complete remarks here.
Streaming video of the complete service here.

By the time Jim Wallis concluded his remarks, big snow flakes were falling and beginning to blanket the Capitol. Upon surveying the situation, Jerry suggested that we take the shuttle bus to Lafayette Park for the vigil. Our inerrant sense of direction soon had us lost. One would think that a thing as big as a shuttle bus would not be so easy to hide. After wandering around a while, we found our way back to the hotel utilizing alternative transport. We were entirely out of sync with the rest of the participants and arrived at a deserted Lafayette Park way before the crowd on foot. We stood alone in the park gazing at the "beautiful White House" wondering what to do in a situation like this. The answer eventually came to us: Find a restaurant (of course). This involved another significant hike. By the time we had consumed some more seafood, we realized returning to the park would involve the hike back and we (being longer of tooth than some and starting to feel our ages) decided that it would be prudent to turn in and rest up for the rigors of the following day.

Later that night, 100 dedicated peace activists (obviously way more dedicate than us) were arrested for praying in front of the White House. Jerry and I never intended to get arrested, merely to take part in the vigil.

Next: Part 3

Weekend in Washington D.C.-- part 1

The Old Curmudgeon and pal Jerry spent this past weekend in D.C. to join in the Christian Peace Witness for Iraq at the National Cathedral and the March On The Pentagon. Jerry felt a strong leading to attend these events and invited me to accompanying him.

We arrived Friday afternoon to cold and rain. In order to fortify ourselves for the upcoming rigors, we opted to seek out a little something to tide us over. We would need to be at the Cathedral at about 5:00pm and were not sure when we would have another opportunity to eat. When feeding times are not certain, the only logical thing to do is eat big when the opportunity presents itself. We sat down to a fantastic lunch at the Old Ebbitts Grill. After cups of seafood gumbo and a crab cake, we again considered the uncertainty of supper and decided it would only be prudent to have some pie and ice cream. In these uncertain times, one cannot be too careful. Having satiated our unruly dietary instincts, we continued our adventure by paying a visit to the Friends Committee on National Legislation. FCNL is the largest peace lobby in Washington. It was established in 1943. We have been supporters for some time and enjoyed meeting the staff and seeing the operation in person.

That's Jerry posing in the lobby.

Shortly after our arrival, Jay O'Hara was dispatched to show us around. We were given a tour of the remarkable building and met the staff.

The building itself is a Civil War era structure that has been renovated and is now a "green" building, utilizing a number of innovative features that conserve energy and decrease the energy impact on the environment. There is a roof garden, a "light scoop," bamboo floors, low-emissivity windows and geothermal heating, to name some of the features designed to have a lighter ecological impact.

Jerry and Jay are standing on the glass plates that transmit light across several stories via the light scoop.

Here is a look at the geothermal heating/cooling system. There is a 350 foot deep well beneath the parking lot. Fluid is circulated into the well and these units transfer heat/cold for building climate control.

We were told that the only two of the "green" features added to the cost of the project: the roof garden ($20,000) and the solar shading devices ($8,000). FCNL expects to recoup the extra expense in five years.

The FCNL staff were most gracious in taking time to greet us and speak with us, in spite of the fact it was Friday afternoon and they were all busy. It might be that they experienced some slight sense of relief when we finally left and they were able to get back to their jobs.

Having succesfully impeded the important work of the biggest peace lobby in Washington, we returned to our hotel to prepare for services at the National Cathedral that evening.

More about that later...

Happy Birthday Grif!

Time Flies! The Old Curmudgeon vividly remembers the cold March day twelve years ago when Grif was born. His maternal grandfather, Dick, was present and it was all so spectacularly exciting! In the first few seconds after birth he was a dead-ringer for his grandfather Clark; and at the same time, had all the forehead wrinkles of his father. Interestingly, as the swelling and redness reduced, Grif looked less and less like Clark and those forehead wrinkles disappeared. Poor guy.

Our schedules are so full that Grif had a brief birthday breakfast this morning and opened some presents. He and his mother and sister will celebrate tonight with a gourmet alfresco dinner at Frosty Boy after piano lessons this evening. Tomorrow, Mom will prepare the meal he has requested and he will blow out the candles on his birthday pie (he can think outside the box!). The birthday sleepover must wait until the early-Saturday-morning baseball clinics are finished. More details later as we continue to follow this developing story.


















As you can see, Grif shares some of his father's musical taste.

Like Father, Like Son?

Grif recently attended the Blue & Gold Banquet for the Cub Scout pack that is associated with his Boy Scout Troop. Part of the annual event is a ceremony of "crossing over" for the older boys that are going to transfer from Cub Scouting to Boy Scouting. Hence, Grif's attendance at the feast as a member in good standing of Troop 41. When I picked him up afterwards, I noticed some (initially) quiet moaning in the car. The volume and frequency of the moans increased as time passed. Grif explained that he had earned the unusual title of "Food God" by exhibiting a prodigious ability to ingest a staggering amount of food in a short amount of time. As you can see, he started with a rather impressive first pass at the banquet table. If you didn't know he was a Williams, you might guess his bloodline based on this photo alone. He proudly notes that this picture does not entirely display the full array of his gluttonous course. After the initial glorious acceptance of the honors bestowed by his incredulous peers, Grif spent a rather uncomfortable night.

I don't want to take away anything from Grif's triumph. He earned the dumbfounded admiration of his peers. But, I could not help reminiscing about a time, long ago, when another young man had similar ambitions...


Of course, being a Food God was more difficult back in the old days. Why, to even begin to be taken seriously, a fellow had to begin with a hearty supper prior to engaging in competitive eating.

And, unlike young Grif, who seems to have over-loaded his gastro-intestinal system merely to draw attention to himself, there was a time when we food warriors were considered to be competitors.

It wasn't all fun and games.

As Frank Sinatra might say:

"There were times I'm sure you knew,
when I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out."



In other sports, reference is often made to the importance of the fans. They are frequently considered to impact the game. It is customary to consider, at times, that the crowd itself has the impact of an extra player. No one knows that more than The Old Curmudgeon. Yes, even when he wanted to quit, encouragement expressed by the many sophisticated academics who had gathered renewed and invigorated him to press on to victory.

There are no pictures of the revelry following this hallowed contest -- the triumphant march to Nelson House to be greeted by a pajamaed Dr. Sease and Mama; gathering in the New Dorm bathroom for the purification ritual and some sympathetic emesis by Dave Lofland (an unforgettable duet) and the lighting of the incense by Ronald Garner (eerily foreshadowing priestly function) just before his cowardly retreat to seek lodging in a region of the dormitory with a less sulphurous atmosphere.

Of course, as with any event of this magnitude, there was media coverage. No doubt, choosing to cover this event was a wise career move for the young Rolf Peter Noot. The journalistic notoriety gained by his fair and balanced reporting no doubt brought him to the attention of his present employer. Is it just a coincidence that he is now the Publications Director for the University of Indianapolis (nee ICC, ICU)? I think not!

Well, old men do seem to enjoy reminiscing. I admit it has been pleasant to recall old faces and events (carefully and selectively arranging the memories in a way most acceptable to me).However, the future belongs to the young. I have had to retire from eating spectacles like this. As I pass the mantel on to Grif, I wish him much success. To the rest of the family I can only say: Try to get in line in front of him at the reunion.