I’m not a crowd person—in fact I like my space. So why on earth would I want to go from 80 degrees to below-zero to stand with two million people to welcome the Obamas to the neighborhood—when I could watch it from the comfort of my home with a nearby bathroom? Well, it all began eight years ago. Stop. Let’s think positive. I’ll start with the present then whip backwards.

While the world is broke, my first challenge was to get to the inauguration on a dime: free flight, cheap car, inexpensive motels (considering) and the promise of a ticket to the inaugural ceremony—which I’ll tell you about soon.

I boarded my free flight (mileage) from LAX at 84 degrees wearing my subzero outfit: cheap long johns and fashion- designer -to- the- stars (and me) Deborah Lindquist’s gift of cashmere scarf, gloves and really cool (really warm) sweater with doves on it. Everyone wants to be a part of this wonderful historic moment…a moment that begins a new era of inclusiveness, fairness and justice—at least the hope of it. In other words, change.

So with three more hours of flight time I ponder what got me here. Rewind to eight years ago as I stood on the corner of Westwood and Wilshire Boulevards, screaming with tens of hundreds of others: ‘Count the vote! Count the vote!’

The media wasn’t there to cover. So I dislodged my cell and called the newsdesks, “There’s hundreds of thousands of people out here demanding to count the vote…oh my…what just…what’s goi–,” and I’d hang up. Well, Fox showed up and interviewed the couple of Bush supporters. That was about it. And the guy got in….

Then 9/11. My parents called and woke me up—they were grounded in Canada. Everyone was grounded except the bin Laden relatives—go figure. Well, it was time to make someone pay. So we (I mean “they”) targeted the Iraqis. Okay, back out on the streets: ‘No war for oil!’ And we (I mean “they”) attacked the bad guy who had nothing to do with 9/11. Fine. Hey, some folks made a killing there: Haliburton, KBR, Blackwater….

In fact the Big H went from near bankruptcy to a billion dollar company on our tax dollar and then moved their headquarters to Dubai so they didn’t have to pay taxes back to us. At least that’s my take on it…and I’m sticking to it until proven otherwise – I mean, you don’t see them bailing anyone out….

D-Day: Getting the Ticket

So here’s the story. I tried going local. Phoned and emailed my congresswoman in Los Angeles but never heard back. So I went national: I first had my dad phone and email his Senator in Oregon—to no avail.

Then I went red. Idaho. But my friend Ro never heard back. Then I went really red. Cheney land. My friend is a cowboy in Wyoming.

After all, I can’t imagine people beating down the door in Cheneyland trying to get Obama tickets.

It worked. On the morning before the inauguration, I went to the Senate Office and nobody was there. I walked right in, told them my name and they handed me the most coveted ticket in town—it was actually the world to me!

It was that unbelievable feeling, as though I deserved it, but had gotten away with my biggest coup. I skipped down the hall…but then heard this “click, click, click” behind me.

I ducked into a hall where I knew there was a restroom. Click. Click. Click. I opened the ladies room door and headed towards a stall I could shut and lock….“Ms. Murphy, Ms. Murphy?”

“Yes?” I said feeling I’d been busted. You know that feeling that you get when you crash a party and someone asks ‘who do you know and why are you here’ and usher you out the door?

She said, “You forgot to sign out the tickets and I feel so bad that I chased you into the bathroom.”

“Oh, that’s funny, of course I’ll sign out the ticket—if you let me videotape it.”

I videotaped myself signing out the most coveted ticket on the planet—blue section, mind you.

I jumped for glee when she left and I haven’t stopped smiling since!

A Change of Season: Inauguration Day

The adventure begins with a wake-up call for 4 a.m.—the same wake-up call apparently for two million other people.

Here’s the bottom line: to be a part of the masses…is no easy feat.

So, 4 a.m. The cab that was called never comes. The bus is late. Get to the subway…the masses begin to converge.

Peoples’ faces are smashed against the windows as the metro pulls up…it doesn’t look pleasant. We manage to get squished into the last train. A woman looks at my purse and says if I have a ticket I won’t be able to get in (because of security precautions). I’m looking for ways to pocket my stuff and ditch my purse. That’s my main panic as the atmosphere heats up and I begin to get very claustrophobic… arm to arm, chest to back, smashed together. I’m not a crowd person. I find a very coveted seat and start to peel my layers. I look to the ceiling and breathe. The train is stopped and stuck. Masses of people are passed up, and the train refuses to stop at some of the stations because of capacity overflow. In fact it passes the Capital SW station we were supposed to exit. We get to the next stop and have to hoof it back blocks and blocks in the freezing cold.

Finally we find our line to the Blue Gate. I had envisioned a line, a check point and a seat. What a joke. This was a line that never ended, around many blocks. Finally found the end and waited forever. Met a “fellow” Wyoming ticket holder, except she was actually from Wyoming. I just took advantage of an underpopulated red state and asked my cowboy Republican friend to score a ticket, which seemed rather easy. Hours of waiting in the freezing cold to just move. Then the gate opened at 8 and we finally began to move. Then it stopped and we inched forward in what seemed to be a hundred-people thick. The purse got through, but I was searched four times from all the stuff I’d stashed, batteries, pens and lipstick.

The seat wasn’t actually a seat. It was a standing area— although looking at the bright side… not as far back as the Silver section, which is what I would have gotten from Senator Feinstein.

We did have a straighton view of the podium, and if I zoomed in with my camera I could get a medium shot of Obama’s swearing-in. Everyone was friendly and a woman next to me gave the commentary of the Who’s Who on the monitor. Our faces were warmed by the sun, but our feet were freezing and killing us.

The heat turned way up as Obama made his way to the podium and gave a speech that felt as though it inspired the world.

That was the moment we’d all been waiting for and working so hard to see. But let me tell you—all those little dots of people who make up the millions stretching from the podium to the Lincoln Memorial— all of us are freezing and tired and achy. But we will always be able to say “we were there.”

Now if I had the choice of watching it next time from my living room with a bathroom nearby…I’d probably stay home. But this was the opportunity to be out with a sea of humanity witnessing a wonderful piece of history and I’m glad I did.

By the way, getting home was even harder….But right now I’m warm, I’m happy and I’m sitting. Happy New President’s Day.

Now let’s get up tomorrow and help this man make us a great nation again.

Return to: Inaugeration Fever Keeps Them Warm

This is part of the January 23, 2009 online edition of The Mountain Enterprise.

Have an opinion on this matter? We'd like to hear from you.