* And a new president.
My wife and I tossed ourselves onto the currents of history yesterday, without passes or badges, our only tickets the two we had for the 7 a.m. D.C.-bound Chinatown bus.
We debated the prospect of going, right up to the last minute. On CNN at 5:30 a.m., I was watching the Mall fill with thousands of people rushing across the grass, exhibiting an eagerness reminiscent of the moment when holes were knocked into the Berlin Wall. But we got on the bus at Boulevard and Broad, with warm 7-11 breakfast biscuits, committed to the day.
The exit names on the route up I-95 are redolent with the nation’s history, from Fredericksburg, where President James Monroe practiced law, to Occoquan, where in 1917, women protesting for their right to vote were forcibly arrested and some tortured.
Being of a historic bent, I thought of John Mitchell Jr., the Richmond editor of the early 20th-century African-American weekly newspaper The Richmond Planet. A courageous person, an eloquent writer and speaker, and a capable businessman, Mitchell’s experiences mirrored those of other blacks of accomplishment. During the 1890s, he sat on the city’s board of aldermen, but by 1911, he was restricted from voting (though he ran for governor in 1921), and the city sought to divest him and others of real estate they held that was considered to be in “white” neighborhoods.
Mitchell exhorted his readers toward self-sufficiency and community involvement, similar to his colleague Maggie Walker.
The bus usually stops in D.C.’s Chinatown, but we got re-routed to the Fort Totten Metro station, quite a bit farther from our hoped-for destination. Then two separate incidents of people falling onto the tracks occurred, one at Judiciary Square and the other at Gallery Place. This caused a snag in travel. 
While getting coffee and an Annandale scramble, we found ourselves seated at the same table with somewhat tarnished pundit Armstrong Williams.
Around his neck were badges and indications of his place and rank. He had a front-row seat to history. He described through his cell phone his passel of permissions for assorted functions: “I have a good package. No, my package is excellent,” then adding, with a wry chuckle, “as befits a king.”
We took the peon pedestrian route from Union Station, everywhere confronted by massive and enthusiastic (but cold) crowds. As the moment of swearing-in approached, I realized we weren’t going to make it to the Mall or even anywhere close to a Jumbotron.
Thus, at D and 7th streets N.W., in front of a FedEx Kinko’s, we witnessed the event. This was close to the Wooly Mammoth Theatre, with banners for the current production — Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind — in evidence. A woman named Debbie gave her handheld Casio television to another woman, who held the device so that almost a dozen of us could see the newly minted president as we heard his voice ringing against Washington’s marble walls, albeit with a slight delay on the wee TV’s visuals. It was a United Colors of Benetton group.
The strands of John Williams’ "Air and Simple Gifts," played by Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman, wafted over the crowd and called our attention more than any other voices; serious, even somber music, with a tribute to “Simple Gifts,” the Shaker hymn immortalized by Aaron Copland in Appalachian Spring.
“What is your opinion of all that’s going on here today?” I was asked. And I replied that it was a momentous occasion, unlike any other day in the history of the United States.
Almost immediately after the inaugural address, the temperature plummeted, and an icy air began hitting us in the face as though somebody had left a door open in Alaska.
And the city’s streets, within a few hours, looked as though downtown D.C. was coming off a weeklong bender, which, in a way, it was. Papers blew everywhere, soldiers in camouflage appeared, and thousands of people, many of them grinning or hugging, wandered around hoping to glimpse something.
We collapsed into a pile of unmet expectations and heavy winter wraps at the Corner Bakery at 14th and F streets. We joined a collection of people hoping to catch a glimpse of the new POTUS in the inaugural parade. Amie couldn’t pick up the WiFi on her iPod Touch; there were just too many people vying for a signal.
Outside, a woman perhaps my mother’s age clung to a tree while balancing on a short, narrow iron fence. She stood there for the better part of two hours, smiling, her face getting redder as she got colder. She never saw anything, near as I know, because we certainly did not.
We decided to try and reach a better viewing spot and managed to get across 14th, against one of the locked gates where, I’d later see on television, the president and first lady emerged from their limousine to walk and wave. Before we left, all we saw was a soldier dressed in 18th-century-style garb carrying a halberd.
Later that afternoon, later than we wanted due to conflicting directions from police and badge-wearing (and seemingly intoxicated) volunteers, we arrived at the house of friends living in the city’s northeast quadrant. On our way there, we walked past the looming offices of Douglas Development Corporation, the company of Douglas Jemal, who has bought and is restoring a number of Richmond buildings.
Our friends fed us hot soup, let us prop up our feet and allowed us to watch what we didn’t see on their television. Our hike back to Chinatown was frosty — and Starbucks denied us potty privileges.
The bus arrived at its customary location at around 10 p.m. — 15 minutes later than scheduled due to traffic — and went in circles trying to get out of town.
That I had the opportunity to be among the throngs on this Jan. 20, 2009, was gratifying. At home, I watched the president and first lady taking their turn on the dance floor at various balls.
But now, the party is over, and there’s work to be done.
