Perhaps my longest entry ever...

With my friends at work, I decided I�d spend my last full day in the D.C. area on a self-guided walking tour of Washington. My plan was to take the Metro from Matt�s place to the Capitol, then walk west along the Mall, stopping in museums and monuments as I wished, and see about getting some good photographs along the way.

And so it begins.

I stepped from Matt�s hallway into Monday morning at 8:52 a.m., walking to the White Flint red line Metro station. Everclear�s �Unemployed Boyfriend� and Lisa Loeb�s �Stay� were spinning in my head simultaneously: This is gonna sound a little insane ... I can leave, I can leave, well I was wrong ...� I have no idea where the words came from � other than the drive down two days ago, I haven�t heard Everclear, and I can�t tell you the last time I listened to �Stay.�

At 9:40 I emerged from the Federal South station behind the Cannon House Office Building on Independence Ave. As the last round of government employees exit the station and scatter onto the streets, the sidewalks become rather quiet. It�s early in the day, and there aren�t too many people out yet. Coming up to the Capitol, I look over at the Library of Congress, then turn up toward what I guess might actually be considered the front side of the Capitol Building. The statue on top of the dome faces east, the direction from which I approach. The parking lots are on this side, as are the aforementioned library and the Supreme Court, and the tour groups assemble to the east of the building.

Or the statue just faces to the back.

While photographing the building from the east side, I take what I expect to be my first of several photographs of a couple touring D.C. A man asks me to take a picture of him and his wife or girlfriend (or mistress), and after I handed the camera back to them, I had a scary feeling that I might have cut off the top the dome in the photo � just the statue at the top, but still part of it. Oops.

I debate whether to go inside, to join up for a tour, to see the Rotunda again and walk the halls of Congress for the first time since the 8th Grade Trip To Washington in hot, humid, June 1990 � back when I had the cast on my left arm from the baseball injury. But I decide I don�t want to commit myself to a tour so early in the day; I don�t want to go somewhere from where I can�t leave when I want to. I don�t know if I�m going to finish the ambitious route I�ve laid out roughly in my head, but I don�t want to jeopardize the expedition so early into the journey.

So I walk around to the front (back) side facing the Mall, taking the southern route around, the House of Representatives side, where a short line of people wait to enter the chambers to view the day�s proceedings. The Capitol porch is rather empty as well, with two cops looking down upon the steps and Mall, and a scattering of other tourists walking around. I look down the steps at the grass, the reflecting pool, imagining the inauguration which took place a little more than a month ago � and every four years since 1801, when Thomas Jefferson first took the oath of office on the Capitol steps. It�s a sunny and somewhat warm day � in the 50s � and I�m wearing a long sleeved shirt and fleece vest. But the wind, especially up on Capitol Hill, makes it a little colder.

At 10:16 I�m sitting, relaxed at the base of the marble statue to the west of the Capitol. It�s the centerpiece to the Grant Memorial, a series of statues alongside the reflecting pool. I�m on the steps, leaning against the pedestal to the equestrian statue of our 18th president. It�s quiet here, I�m protected from the wind and the sun shines warm on me, reflecting off the white marble, comforting me from all sides. I can hear the wind blowing across the pool, the water lapping against the concrete like water on the lakeshore.

I spend some time shooting the monuments of the Grant Memorial, some closeups and wide-angle views of the statues and freizes that depict the General�s career. Two men are nearby, off to the side of the memorial where there is an unobstructed view of the Capitol. One has a Hassleblad medium format camera on a tripod and is shooting the building.

I walk around the south side of the reflecting pool and onto Jefferson Ave. and the Air and Space Museum. It was always the highlight of any trip to Washington as a kid, to see the airplanes and spaceships, both original and replica: The Wright Brothers� plane, the Spirit of St. Louis, the Apollo capsule. The main entrance, the one on the Mall with the high glass windows which held Lindbergh�s plane, is under renovation, so the Spirit of St. Louis has been moved to the west end of the building. At least that�s how I remembered it. So I walk in at 10:41, entering right into the Air Transportation exhibit, the one that chronicles the evolution of e-ticketing � the development of TWA, American Airways, United Air Lines, and our nation�s air carriers. Above me is congested air space: six planes hang from the ceiling or sit on platforms, all within close range.

Facing a westward window, the Wright Brothers� plane and Lindbergh�s Spirit of St. Louis hang above a slab of Moon rock available for touching. It�s kind of a weird combination. I gaze from below for a moment, then walk up to the second-floor overlook, staring at the wheels of St. Louis just above my head.

On a bench nearby, a woman with a southern accent � always attractive � talks on her cell phone, leaving a long, elaborate message detailing the day�s plans: �We�re going to the White House at 3:30, after we do the Capitol. Later we�ll be at Arlington ...�

I decided on the Air and Space Museum first, figuring I�d cross the Mall and have lunch at the National Gallery, where there would likely be fewer children in the cafeteria. But after wandering through exhibits on Exploring the Planets, Apollo to the Moon, Art Gallery Temporarily Closed � oops, not that one � it�s already 11:50 and I decide to grab lunch, since I�d not eaten all day and the cafeteria � the entire museum, actually � was not at all crowded.

Noon in the sunlit atrium of the Air and Space Museum, I take a window seat looking southeast at the corner of 4th St. and Independence. I thought of the presidental progression leading up to today: Nixon resigns, giving way to Ford � Ford loses to Carter � Carter loses to Reagan, who wins reelection with Bush in 1984 � Bush beats Dukakis in �88 � Clinton/Gore beat Bush/Quayle in 1992, then reelection in �96 � and W. Bush beats Gore in 2000. Let�s hope Al keeps it going in 2004.

After lunch, I stop into the Looking at Earth exhibit, which features satellite and aerial photos of the planet and how they�re used for geological surveys and all other kinds of stuff I wasn�t interested in reading about. I just like how towns and cities look from the air. One kiosk had a touchscreen on which you could call up your region of the country. The background display photo already showed New York City and Sandy Hook, N.J., but I still selected New Jersey and the Sandy Hook photo. It was a little more closely cropped than the display picture. I also bought a neat little cartoon drawing map of D.C. because I�ve always liked those pictoral maps.

Back out into the Mall at 12:35, I cross the grass to the National Gallery. I�ve never been there and after seeing a Van Gogh print on Matt�s wall, I figured I�d add the museum to my tour of the Federal City. But just inside the doors, a security guard tells me to take my backpack off my shoulders; I figure he�s going to check it before I enter. Then he tells me I have to carry it in my hand around the gallery, so I comply, but after meandering aimlessly through two rooms and a skylit courtyard, I�m uncomfortable and return to the rotunda and sit on one of the cusion-covered marble benches.

I change my mind about looking at pictures inside on a rather beautiful day. Sitting on the bench, I take some pictures of the statue (or was it a fountain? I�d see so many sculptures and monuments during the day, they�d all begin to run together � but I think it was a fountain) and watch the people walking by. I decide an art museum would be another good place to meet a woman � several that passed were dressed nicely, and you know they�re intelligent and interested in the arts if they�re spending the day at a gallery.

One o�clock on the Gallery steps, warm sun bounces off white marble and the light breeze feels good, refreshing beneath the sun�s rays. It�s a quiet Monday on the Mall � at 10 a.m. it was virtually empty, the Capitol steps free of pedestrian traffic. Even now, few joggers and walkers line the paths and the streets run rather quiet � at least less bustle than I�ve seen.

Walking toward the National Museum of Natural History, I stop by the skating rink across from the National Archives at 1:10 p.m. A man in a shirt and tie and a woman in red sweater and gray skating skirt are among those gliding to �Free Fallin�� and �I Won�t Back Down� coming over the speakers. It�s a warm enough day to be out on the ice without a coat or hat � a few kids are even skating in t-shirts and one in rather large, baggy shorts. Some wear gloves, for the falls to the ice.

The woman in the red sweater and skating skirt practices some turns � at times it looks like she�s going to attempt a jump, maybe just a hop, but she never does. The man in the tie glides around in large circles, arms out for balance and form. He hops and turns backward, continuing his circuit around the rink. I shoot a few wide shots of the rink, with the Archives in the background, then step back to a bench and switch to the zoom lens, catching closely cropped pictures of this interesting pair.

At 1:30, I�m walking through the giant squid exhibit at the National Museum of Natural History � which I had mistakenly entered because of the big banner advertising the American Presidency exhibit, which was next door at the Museum of American History � and I hear a short snipit of a conversation in which a woman was saying something about marinara sauce.

While at the natural history museum, I look at a few dinosaur bones and glance at the Hope Diamond, taking a moment to remind myself why this jewel is so rare. I also think I�ve seen it before, but don�t remember being in the natural history museum in Washington. Maybe it was on loan in New York, or I actually had seen it here. I�m always fascinated in natural history museums: reading about rocks and fossils, theories and studies. I�m reminded of how large the Earth is and at the same time, how small it is within the immense universe. How far away the stars are, and how close that makes Jupiter. And how tiny carbon atoms can be so deep in the Earth that the pressure compresses them into a diamond to the point it takes on a blue hue, the rarest of all, and it survives today, perhaps a billion years later, having survived the volcanic rise to the surface and centuries of evolution, advancement and greed of mankind.

So on to the National Museum of American History for the American Presidency exhibit. I�ve planned on a stop here all along, if only to check in on the conservation efforts of the Star-Spangled Banner, the actual flag that hung from Fort McHenry during the War of 1812. The special exhibit, �The American Presidency: A Glorious Burden,� remains only until the middle of March, I believe, so I�m lucky to have caught it. And on a relatively light Monday, there is no wait for the free tickets � required only to control the flow of visitors to the exhibit. Had I not been planning an ambitious tour of the Mall for the day, I�d have spent more time here, perhaps chronicling a memento from each president. I don�t know if they have an artifact from all 43 � it was new enough to include a picture of George W. in the timeline at the beginning, as well as a few campaign buttons and other mementos � but they must have come close.

I saw Bill Clinton�s sax, Warren G. Harding�s season-long National League pass for entrance into any baseball game, Thomas Jefferson�s portable desk (upon which he wrote some Declaration), Abraham Lincoln�s top hat, a compass from the Lewis and Clark expedition, a pair of Lyndon Johnson�s boots, FDR�s top coat. There was a deck of cards, a box of M&M�s and a notepad from Marine One, the cards and pad used in a game of hearts played by Clinton, press secretary Joe Lockhart and the deputy chief of staff on a flight back to the White House from Maryland. (Clinton led 30-31-39 after four hands before they landed.)

I looked closely at the assassinations section, of the display on James Garfield, who was shot in Washington, then transported to New Jersey to recover along the Shore. But he died in Long Branch. I read the actual teletype release � saved from Northwestern University � announcing JFK�s death. I saw the dress worn by the actress starring in �Our American Cousin� the night Booth shot Lincoln. One cuff is displayed, showing a few tiny brown spots, believed to possibly be Lincoln�s blood. The actress rushed to his box after the shot was fired and gave the dying president water to drink. Also on display were the items in Lincoln�s pockets that night � a pair of reading glasses and their case among them.

Around a corner sits two touchscreens with a survey question on each. One asks what is the president�s primary responsibility � something like national leader was leading the seven choices in a landslide. The other asked which president accomplished the most in his term in office. I voted for Andrew Jackson, partly because he is among my favorites, and partly because he is the last president to eliminate the national debt.

The screen on the wall shows visitors the top seven responses. I imagine the primary objective of this exercise would be to spark discussion, and I can certainly see how that would happen. The first topic of discussion might be the median age of those responding, or the scope of their knowledge and/or memory. The results, with 54,432 votes cast as of 2:04 p.m., Feb. 26, 2001:

7. Thomas Jefferson. Sure, doubling the physical size of the country in a single $15 million transaction is quite an accomplishment, not to mention sending out a well-run expedition that not only mapped and surveyed the new tract of land, but returned two years later with all the important information they�d set out to find. But most of what Jefferson is most known for came before he set out for Washington � again, that whole Declaration, Atlantic Coast Conference basketball, etc.

6. George Bush. Senior, thank God. But give this survey a few more months, and somehow Dubya will make it on the list. Not only will there be a need for a recount, but a short intelligence test before allowing people to vote in the survey. Anyway, G.H.W. Bush did manage to kick some Iraqi ass, and there probably were a few other things, but I was only starting to understand politics from 1988-92, so I don�t remember too much. I kind of remember Bush for not really screwing anything up too badly.

5. Ronald Reagan. The question was phrased, �which president accomplished the most during his term ...� It did not say whether the accomplishments had to be positive or negative, so tripling the national debt over the course of eight years has to be worth something (Yeah, like trillions of dollars. HA!). OK, I know there are a great several good things Reagan did, but all that sticks out in my mind are things like �Reaganomics,� �Iran-Contra,� a deteriorating environment, the debt. But I don�t know what�s worse, that Reagan had eight years in office, or that Dubya is beginning his tenure with a look back at Rappin� Ronnie Reagan�s Greatest Hits. The best thing may be that time when Reagan cited Springsteen�s �Born In The U.S.A.� in a speech � maybe even a campaign speech in �84 � and Bruce wrote to him and told the president he might want to actually listen to the song, because Reagan was misinterpreting the lyrics.

4. FDR. Probably in everyone�s top seven, if not the top four. The fact that he governed for 12 years by the will of the people � not by force � says a lot. As does getting America out of the depression and out of World War II. Yeah, Truman dropped the bomb, but in the minutes or hours between Roosevelt�s death and when Truman was told about the bomb, there were probably a dozen people who knew more than the new president.

3. Abraham Lincoln. The Civil War defined America in many ways. (Reading that last sentence, I feel like I�ve just begun a seventh-grade history paper.) This period in American history is the only one that defined the country more than Jackson�s presidency (during which America began to find its true identity, severing its last ties to England � particularly the accents). That Lincoln kept the country together and then was revered as a martyr certainly attests to his accomplishments.

2. William Jefferson Clinton. I know, I laughed too, and I voted for the guy. But as Brad would say later, �If Clinton could have kept his penis in his pants, they�d be building a monument to him now.� But based on the reports that came from traditional and unorthodox sources over the last eight years, Bubba could certainly get things done. He was a multitasker. As the Ladies Man said one Saturday Night Live, �I commend you on doing your job while having a job done to you.�

1. George Washington. I relate this one to that factoid I heard about a growing baby: he or she will learn more in the first year of life than the rest of his or her life combined. It�s all cumulative: every presidency is based on those before it. Imagine if Clinton had been the first, instead of the most recent. Washington set the standard, he made the presidency, he was the presidency. Nevermind that maybe 20,000 of the responses to the survey might have been pre-teens on class trips and were just excited to play with the touchscreen, selecting the one president every American schoolchild can name. His job was harder than that of any to follow in his footsteps, and he managed to establish a firm foundation that has lasted more than 200 years.

Now, perhaps even more astounding than the list is the votes:

Washington � 19%, 10,566 votes
Clinton � 19%, 10,536
Lincoln � 14%
FDR � 13%
Reagan � 7%
Bush � 5%
Jefferson � 4%

And while I was sitting there jotting down these results, a man came over and cast his, boosting Clinton to 29 votes within Washington.

I spent a lot of time in the presidential exhibit � leaving at 3:04 � and stopped by the conservation lab where the work on the Star-Spangled Banner continues. One man was in the lab, lying on the flat platform that crosses over the width of the flag, allowing the workers to get up close without touching the artifact. The signs said they�re at the stage of removing the linen backing that was added to the flag early in the 20th Century.

On the way out of the museum, I noticed a small gift shop across from the main one. It was a music shop, selling CDs and tapes of some historical significance. Compilations of presidential campaign songs sat next to a CD of baseball tunes. Judy Garland and Elvis Presley posters hung from the walls. Soundtracks from movies and musicals were available too. �These Boots Are Made for Walking� plays over the song system and is in my head later as I walk along the Tidal Basin.

From the American history museum, I turn toward the Washington Monument, which I find is closed again (still?) for renovation, so I walk up alongside it, gazing across to the White House, and back to the south to the Jefferson Memorial. I take a few pictures � but not the shot everyone else seems to be capturing, standing near the base of the monument and looking straight up. I�ve done that, like 10 years ago when I was 14. I don�t need any more.

I descend the hill southward, heading for the Tidal Basin and walk clockwise over to the Jefferson Memorial. Two helicopters fly low over the basin, one clearly displaying the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA along its tail.

I pass only three people on the trail, and see no more than a half a dozen along the steps outside the memorial. As I approach the steps while I look to the north, back to the Washington Monument, I drift closer to the memorial, stumbling, nearly tripping over the steps and somewhat gracefully recover and half-jog up six or eight steps until I regain my footing. I imagine it looked slightly ridiculous, but not as bad as if I�d fallen and possibly opened a gash on my head requiring stitches.

I read the inscriptions inside, exerpts from Jefferson�s most famous writings, and think of the episode of �The Simpsons� when Lisa witnesses corruption and goes to the Lincoln Memorial for advice, but cannot be heard over the queries of a dozen others. So she heads over to Jefferson to ask him, but TJ is first offended that she came to him second. So funny.

But I do love how Jefferson stands, confidently, facing the Mall and the Washington Monument, the White House. The rotunda of the memorial is open on all sides, allowing in more light than the Lincoln Memorial does. And it�s not as popular, not visited as often, certainly not as crowded.

At 4 p.m. I�m off toward the new FDR Memorial, which I�d visited last year with Jamie. Having already been through it, I don�t worry too much about chronology: I enter from the end of the fourth term and walk back in time, ending with the Depression and New Deal years. My feet aching more frequently, I head back toward the Mall, and come across Washington�s least popular monument, as in least visited, far as I could tell. I base this observation on the fact that I�d never seen it before, never knew it existed. Set among the trees along Independence Ave. near the Kutz Memorial Bridge sits an empty rotunda dedicated to the district�s war veterans. Steps lead up into the white marble structure. It�s hardly visible from the Mall side, and though open to the Independence Ave. side, there�s nowhere to park, so those who see it from the road probably don�t stop to see it or walk back to it from the Lincoln, Korean and Vietnam memorials just off to the west.

I stop near the Korean War Memorial along the path to the Lincoln Memorial, resting on a bench looking toward the throngs of school kids who�ve made the manditory stop at the Lincoln Memorial and walked up to the Korean. Lincoln sits to my right; over my left shoulder I see the Washington Monument, the Smithsonian castle and the Capitol dome, far off in the distance. The dome actually looks closer than the Lincoln Memorial appeared from the top of the Hill. Planes from National Airport take off overhead and the flapping of our flag snaps in the breeze.

The buses line the road, yellow school submarines and clothed-seat motor coaches. The teens and children at the memorial are the grandkids of Korean vets and they run around the flag and the dormant fountain screaming and carousing, posing for people pictures like it�s the prom � �He�s hitting me!� � in what should be the most solemn part of my day, it�s the most boistrous. I�ll see more people at this stop � Korean and Lincoln memorials (not so much the Vietnam, as it gets later) than I did the entire rest of the day outdoors. Inside the museums, naturally, is another matter.

Rested, I walk up the path leading to the heart of the Korean War Memorial, passing alongside the life-sized statues of comandos in fatigues creeping through the shrubs, the underbrush, looking ahead, to the side, over their shoulders. A graphite? granite? smoked marble? wall lines the south side of the pathway, on the other side of the soldiers from where I�d walked up. Walking out, I gaze into the faces of veterans in a collage that runs the length of the wall. Ghosts of the Korean War, it seems, are etched into the wall, smiling, looking confidently out toward their compatriots and the visitors on the Mall.

Over to Lincoln, I walk down toward the Reflecting Pool first and shoot back to the east at Washington and the Capitol. I turn around and walk up the steps to the memorial, stopping at the top and resting on the penultimate step, leaning against a pillar. It�s not quite the end of my journey, but the turnaround point, the furthest spot from my start behind the Capitol. Joggers finish their workouts with a sprint up the steps, �Rocky�-like a hundred miles south of the Philadelphia Art Museum.

At the American Presidency exhibit, I read that Lincoln�s second inaugural address was the shortest; William Henry Harrison�s in 1841 was the longest � and then he died a month later from pneumonia from being out in the cold too long. So after learning that Lincoln�s second inauguration address was the shortest, I stood there reading it on the wall in the fading light of the Lincoln Memorial as the sun set outside. On the other side was the similarly short Gettysburg Address.

5:36 and the setting sun is cooling the day. Over at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the granite slabs hold in the day�s heat � they�re warm to the touch in the cool air and standing close to the wall, I feel the heat emanating as if from a campfire. Only a few visitors walk along the wall, gazing at unfamiliar names, stopping at the one that means something. The Vietnam Women�s Memorial lies south of the wall, up the hill along the path. It was my last stop on the walking tour of the Mall.

Back toward the Smithsonian and the Metro, I strolled along the Reflecting Pool, glancing back at times to check on the colors cast by the setting sun behind the Lincoln Memorial. I took a few shots for a panoramic mosaic stretcihng from the Washington to Lincoln memorials, then continued on up past the obelisk again. The colors in the sky behind the monument are like those in mid-summer � low blue, middle pink and a lighter blue lingering high in the sky. The flags flap at dusk and the lights of Washington come on � The Capitol, the White House, Jefferson Memorial and Lincoln � while the orange sunset burns away. There, on the hill at the base of the Washington Monument, I stopped for one last look at the center of the city, gazing north at the White House, east to the Capitol, south at Jefferson. Then a look west, and the sky glowed orange behind Lincoln�s pantheon, and the camera came out once again. I knelt at a bench to steady the camera for a better shot and might have been lucky enough to come away with one good one out of a dozen. Leaving the hill, I walked at the base of the Washington Monument, touching the marble, casting tall, dancing shadows on its side as I pass by the spotlights.

I am relieved at 6:26 as I find a seat on the Metro at the Smithsonian station. Minutes before, while walking on the Mall, Brad called, checking where I was before we met at the Park Bench for dinner and the Notre Dame/Connecticut basketball game.

�Hey, where are you?� he asked.

�I�m in front of the Department of Agriculture,� I said. �I�m about to get ont he Metro.�

�Very cool.�

Then a pause because of the bad connection of our phones.

�I think that�s the first conversation where someone�s said it�s �very cool� to be in front of the Department of Agriculture,� he said.

Tired and weary, I descend into the Park Bench at 6:46 as the last light of day disappears above ground. A man and a woman are at the bar; he�s the cook who will later grill up my dinner. A minute after arriving, the first sip of Sierra Nevada passes through my lips.

Nine hours and 54 minutes elapsed from the time I set foot from Matt�s building until I entered the pub. I pull out my map of the District and using a rudimentary, unscientific method of holding my fingers an inch (= 1/4 mile) apart, I estimate my Mall journey to have covered five miles.

Brad and I discuss my day, baseball, the presidency, then get into a conversation about Notre Dame. The woman who was at the bar when I walked in turned out to be a 1989 alumna who hadn�t been back to campus since the fall after graduation. She knew nothing of the new West Quad, the redesigned South Dining Hall, the new bookstore and the building that replaced the old one. She had no idea Holy Cross Hall, a men�s dorm on a hill by the lake, had been torn down without warning. We filled her in on the details while watching Connecticut outplay our Irish.

Five pints and two shots of Irish Mist later, I stand back in the Cleveland Park station, waiting on the platform for the train to White Flint. It�s 10:44 p.m. On the ride from Cleveland Park, I�ve never heard a more sexy voice on public transportation: a soft, friendly voice like a young kindergarten teacher reading to her students. �The next station is ... Adams Morgan, Woodley Park ... The National Zoo.� She sounded at first like a recording announcing the next stop, but then changed cadence and inflection when making identical announcements, and I eagerly awaited each call of the next stop.