Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 5: National Security)

I finally had my shirts, but we didn't bring a bag for fear of security hassles. Laden with five shirts and a bag just big enough to hold two patches purchased at the Lincoln Memorial gift closet, we headed to the Holocaust Museum.

According to the map, it was at the intersection of 15th and Independence Ave. I could not, however, find 15th. Colette questioned my map reading abilities, and I questioned my sanity. I handed the map to Colette to confirm that I was both competent and sane. In this particular instance I was both. The street did not exist, at least in this corner of the universe.

"Excuse me," I approached a police officer leaning against his patrol car, "Where is the Holocaust Museum?"

"Right there," he replied pointing to the building across the street. His tone of voice was similar to the one I used as a teenager with the old ladies when I worked at  Food Barn and they would ask me where the peas were. If they would have just turned around, it would have been obvious.

"Do you see the giant Nazi? Yes? Well that is the Holocaust Museum," said the officer.

It would prove to be our most pleasant experience with law enforcement for the rest of the day. As we neared, street sign I noticed the name I was reading was on a brown sign denoting that it was an honorary street name and not reflected on the ten-year-old tourist map I was using for navigation. It was named for Raoul Wallenberg who rescued thousands of Jews from Nazi occupied Hungary. 

Apparently not a Hispanic or a Jew.

There was a line to get in, and a helpful employee of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum informed us that we would not be allowed to take drinks in. She said water was fine, but we would have to consume our Gatorades. 

"There are water fountains inside so that you can refill them," she kindly suggested.

Our Gatorades were empty, but a metal detector awaited us inside the building. As Colette had informed me at every other metal detector, I should not have worn a belt. I told her that a wanding was a small price to pay compared to running around the national mall looking like Lil Wayne.

You can understand why people might be confused.

During the wanding Evan and Colette ambled over to the conveyor belt to retrieve our items. After spending a couple of days wandering D.C. tourist sites, we were familiar with the routine. They attempted to grab the pile of free t-shirts and my keys and phone from the plastic tub.

"Ma'am you're going to have to back up and let me do my job," the guard declared as he placed his arm on her to guide her away. Luckily, Colette did not decide to go all Beatrix Kiddo on him and waited until he handed her our items.

We chalked it up to one guard having a particularly bad day. It was the 4th of July, probably one of their busiest days. Once through security we got tickets for the last possible time slot because we still had to make our way to the Jefferson Memorial so Evan could get his Junior Ranger badge, or at least we hoped that was the case. Our only source of intel was one beleaguered ranger at an information kiosk back near the Lincoln Memorial.

The bald dome of the memorial was visible from the Holocaust Museum like Pike's Peak is visible from western Kansas. The direct route lay through a body of water. While eating the Popsicle we promised him, Evan excitedly pointed out that we could rent a pedal-paddle boat to get there. Fortunately for my calves this was not the case. We would not be able to disembark at the memorial. At least that is what I told Evan.

                                                                 photo by Evan

So we began walking again. Orange plastic fencing taunted all along our path. I'm not exactly sure what they were working on, but it was obvious that like Poseidon pestering Odysseus, the founding fathers were not going to make our odyssey easy. In order to avoid the Scylla and Construction we had to circumnavigate the Memorial

I kept looking for signs of the Junior Ranger Program that I had been promised, and I was starting to worry. Jefferson is the writer of the Declaration but he is morally ambiguous at best.  I'm not sure he was worth the voyage. Even Colette was showing the effects of fatigue.

I felt like Columbus, or Magellan, or that Siberian that decided to get all of his buddies to cross the land bridge (or kelp highway). It was my idea and if we didn't find gold, or a North American vacation home, then I would be sacrificed upon the altar of the Jefferson.

After passing the gauntlet of barricades and Port-A-Potties we would have to make one final orbit before entry. It was as if path had been modeled on the sling shot trajectory of lunar modules.

Nothing phallic about this.

Evan had managed to find a few fellow Jedi whose musings on the Galactic Empire infused his legs with enough energy to bound ahead. So he and I had traversed to the dark side of the Memorial just beyond the horizon of Colette's perception. 

There was no sign of the Rangers which I had been told would be on the lawn. I saw a door leading into the base of the Memorial, and in an effort salvage our expedition (and find a/c) I went in. There we found a table manned by Rangers and living historians. Unfortunately cell phone signal did not penetrate the stone of the Memorial, and it soon became evident that Colette had not witnessed our detour. I got Evan started on an activity and stepped outside to call Colette. She was a little angry like a sailor left on a deserted island or astronaut left behind at tranquility bay, or one of the crew devoured by the cyclops. I have used so many metaphors for this day I am starting to get confused. Suffice it to say she was not happy. 

Not pictured: Colette standing on approximately 20 feet of granite directly above Evan.

We eventually got the Junior Ranger badge and a bag for our free t-shirts. I refilled the Gatorade bottles and prepared for the return flight. 

In an attempt to shorten our voyage by about ten feet we squeezed through some barriers and past a S.W.A.T. van. At the end of the van we noticed several heavily armed police officers geiting out. I was reminded of our trip to Mexico where armed guards stood watch at the borders of the states. I always thought of that as something that happened in other, less fortunate countries, but here they were a the Jefferson Memorial. Of course I realized that I was still in the U.S. because there were two shirtless gentleman taunting the officers as they took their positions. Ahhhhh, freedom of speech.

We finally made it back to the Museum and found our security square dance partner awaiting us.

                                "Take your keys and take your phone."

                                "Put'em in the basket and dos-e-do."

                                "The beep will sound and you turn around."

                                "Put your arms out and let the wand pass."

                                "Along the arms, down the leg, around your beeeeeep"

                                "Do it again and take off your belt."

                                "Look at your partner say 'What the hell'"

                                "You're finally through, no more to do."

                                "If you wouldn't mind sir take a drink."

Hold on, that's a new move. "It's just water. The lady outside said that we could have water."

"Do you mind taking a drink? If you wanted to take a swig of kerosene, I guess you could."

I can only conclude that anti-antisemitism is still more dangerous the radical Islamism. I guess it could be a perfect storm of isms.

The Museum is best experienced in person. My emotions are rarely set off by museums, but this is an exception. By the time we were done most of the other tourist spots were closing. The big three Smithsonians were open until 7:00, but we had already seen them.

The crowds foretold by many had begun to materialize. Though they still didn't seem as bad as those on the Arch Grounds on the 4th. It could be that there were more people, but there was so much more room to spread out that the density was more noble gas than heavy metal.

Colette however was still concerned about Evan's safety and insisted that he walk in a much tighter formation. If Evan's safety was left entirely up to me he would most likely have wandered off with another family long ago. But I was not about to let him wander of with the Hare Krishnas so when we walked past their festival I started to watch him a little more closely. The promise of a return to the McDonald's at the Air and Space Museum however was enough to entice him away from the allure of the "awesome" dancers.

Evan's new family.

After dinner the Gatorade bottles were filled once again. This time with ice tea. I'm not sure if this breaks any moral codes or McDonald's policies (which in some cultures are equivalent), but a desire for caffeine far out-weighed any threat of eternal damnation.

We headed out to claim a position on the Mall to view the fireworks. My eminent collapse clawed at my calf muscles and burned my soles. We had planned to sit on the Capitol steps, but our legs only carried us to the first open spot past the Hare Krishna festival. We plopped down and finally the free t-shirts could serve as something other than a strain on my arms. Five shirts and a plastic bag make a pretty good pillow.

I will probably never understand what happened next. Colette and Evan decided to continue walking. They were going to see the "silver tree" by Roxy Paine. A similar but smaller tree is Evan's favorite art at SLAM. I, rather unselfishly, promised to stay there and save our spot.

I'm not sure it the bars are to keep us out or the sculptures in.

In defiance of Colette's explicit orders I attempted to sleep as soon as they were out of visual range. The air settled over me like damp blanket, but exhaustion soon forced me into a semi-conscious state in which I incorporated snatches of ambient conversation into my dreams.

The dog next to us was a rescue dog.

The guy behind us went to an "amazing" wedding in Michigan.

I'm at gay marriage involving canine participants.

Something struck me in the face. Cooler than the surrounding air and only marginally wetter. Then another strike. And another. Molecules of moisture had banded together in the upper atmosphere and decided to assault my last chance at rest. Rain that we had thus far avoided threatened to drench the centerpiece of our vacation.

After 23 drops had struck my face (yes I counted), Colette called to say that it was raining, and we should move to a location that may provide some shelter. Gathering as much data as possible such as the coloring of the sky, the prevailing winds, and the number of droplets per square inch of face, and comparing to my wealth of meteorological experience, I decided that we were staying put.

It was risky. I was opening myself up to an I-told-you-so, but I honestly thought the rain would hold off. We were in an excellent spot to see the pyrotechnic display, and quite frankly, my legs hurt. To compound the problem further before I had drifted off I purchased a glow necklace from a passing vendor/homeless guy. The Holden/Morton household has a long-standing policy forbidding the purchase of such fripperies, but it was only a buck.

I am happy to say that on this one night everyone lived. The rain never materialized and the glow necklace kept Evan peacefully entertained until the fireworks began.

Soon I will photoshop the guy with the "H" out of the picture and alter history forever.

Except for half-mile hike to the Metro station and half-hour ride back to the commuter lot where we left our car the longest day on vacation had ended, and I wish it hadn't.

Disneyburg

We had come to expect a certain subtlety from ranger stations and visitor centers. I like to think it is because of the well thought out plan to blend into the environment. They are always a welcome sight. Whether they use existing buildings like in Harper's Ferry or Cuyahoga, a low dark wooden structure blending into the forest as in Shenandoah, the barn like structure on the battlefield of Monocacy or the doorway into the hillside beneath the Frederick Douglas home, the rangers within have always been helpful.

The exception was Gettysburg. The monolith that rose before us seemed as out of place as those discovered by early man in 2002: A Space Odyssey and had nearly the same effect on our mood. The sign declaring a ban on backpacks was situated like a Wal-mart greeter at the start of the concrete path from the parking lot to the Cracker Barrel building perched at the end of a slight rise. So while I took our belongings to the car Colette and Evan went on in.

"I really wish I had a white slat-seat rocking chair instead of this concrete bench"

Colette confronted me when I walked in after placing our bags in the car and tells me to deal with the tickets. It is then that I realize that the massive room is dominated by a ticket counter protected by a labyrinth of retractable nylon straps extending so far from the cashiers that I was sure that my 20/20 vision had failed me.

You should know that Colette and I often play the "Craigslist Game" in which she flashes a picture of some piece-of-crap Spanish influenced sofa or an onyx figurine and I have to guess the price. I know she wouldn't show it to me unless the price was extravagant, but I invariably guess over a hundred dollars below the asking price. From the tone of her voice I could tell that I was going to lose the game again. When I saw the prices for the museum, movie, bus tour and something called a Cyclorama, I just assumed I saw it wrong, but no, in order to enjoy any one of the activities offered I would have to pitchfork over $100.00.

House payment, $700 early 90's entertainment center, hmm I just don't know."

The only thing comparable is the ride to the top of the Arch, which our family has never done. The NPS often partners with other agencies. In the case of the ride in the Arch it is Metro, the public transportation system in St. Louis. And in the case of Gettysburg it is the Gettysburg Foundation whose objective it is:

• To preserve, honor and protect the natural and cultural resources associated with the Gettysburg National Military Park, the Gettysburg Campaign, and the Eisenhower National Historic Site.
• To excite visitors about the past, inspire them to want to learn more about the events that have shaped America and prepare them to become better citizens.
• To make sure that lower middle class families can't learn anything. (This last one is kind of implied.)
• To provide the world with a Cyclorama (Big Picture - Wikipedia) of Pickett's Charge.

We did manage to finally find the park rangers tucked away in the corner. We signed Evan up to be enlisted in the UNION army primarily because it was a requirement for the junior ranger badge.

This is not the first time Evan has enlisted in the UNION army. He marched and drilled at Whitehaven for Junior Ranger Day, came under fire at a Civil War reenactment in Mississippi, and shot a musket at the Battle of Booneville. He has visited battlefields at Shiloh, Vicksburg, Wilson's Creek, Pea Ridge, Antietam, Manassas, and Monocacy. If it wasn't for his tendency to confuse The Clone Wars with The Civil War, I would say he was, for an eight-year-old, and expert. (General Grant's brilliant victory at Geonosis is legendary.)

At least we had found the rangers, a respite from the tour-bus friendly commercial cavalcade of cyclorama. At every other battlefield or national park there has always been a free film or a fiber optic map detailing troop movements. Now all we had was a ranger program and the $30.00 driving tour CDROM we purchased at the gift store. Before I go on I should mention that if you ever encounter the TravelBrains CDROMs at any of our national battlefields, you should buy it.

So the enlistment starts with the basic physical requirements. If there is a Civil War school, then there must be an entire class devoted to the delivery of the two-teeth joke. Basically the only requirement for a Civil War soldier is that they have two teeth, one top and one bottom. Though it is never mentioned, these two also need to be within close proximity. Without this rather mundane physical attribute soldiers would not be able to tear open the paper cartridge and load their muskets.

Next came a question and answer session. Evan excitedly announces his favorite fact about bayonets, that they are frequently planted in the ground and used as candle holders. The topic soon turned to food. Since Colette and I are both teachers it was intuitively obvious that the ranger was trying to steer the musket volley of responses so that she could talk about hard tack. (Apparently it is hard.)

Unfortunately, before she could order a cease fire, Evan said, "Goober peas!"

The ranger looked confused, stunned, and to be honest a little shell-shocked.

The pause in the presentation was long than Sarah Palin trying to answer a policy question. I wasn't sure what was going on. Burl Ives had consistently informed us that the Georgia Militia enjoyed, "peas, peas, peas, peas, eating goober peas."

Along with "The Battle of New Orleans," "Goober Peas" is Evan's favorite song on our ipod. I doubt, however, that the ranger had the same play list so she asked Evan to repeat his answer. Still stunned, she then said, "no," and rephrased the question.

"Did the soldiers eat pizza and nachos and stuff?"

It is at this point that Colette and I diverge in our analysis of the situation. Colette insists that the young lady mistakenly thought that Evan had said pizza.

I had a hard time ascribing that level of ignorance to a human being and assumed that the near homophones of "peas" and "pizza" were a coincidence. However, as of this writing I am beginning to doubt myself.

The presentation continued running the new recruits through drills until a cry of charge. Quite to the ranger's surprise, many of the soldiers, including Evan, charged into the head high weeds. Upon returning to the ranks, Evan followed the ranger around assisting that the weeds would have been good cover.

"Come on boys I smell a double pepperoni."

Colette and i had quietly decided that we would talk to the ranger to let her know about goober peas. Historical accuracy is extremely important in our family. I was still making excuses for her. Maybe since we enlisted in the Union (our army of choice) and boiled peanuts were more a staple of the rebels, she was trying to be hyper-accurate as well. Unfortunately, this was not the case. We explained it to her as Evan sang the tune in the background.

She responded nicely enough, "I'm always glad to learn something new."

Colette has since decided that she will only listen to over-weight, gray-bearded guys when it comes to the Civil War. I understand because these are the same guys I look for in the hardware store. Rangers and hardware-store-guys should be teaching me something new and not the other way around.

At least we had the well-reviewed TravelBrains CD. It did an excellent job of creating the action, a cyclorama if you will, at the various locations along the driving tour. Though I should mention that they gave General Grant a fictitious middle name to go with the "S". This phantom initial came about because of a clerical error and stuck with Grant standing for everything from Uncle Sam to Unconditional Surrender.

In another dubious comment Abner Doubleday is referred to as the "legendary creator of baseball." The may or may not be yet another error. It depends on the conotation of legendary. If by legendary the narrator means a fictitious story unsubstantiated by historical data, then he was correct. If, however, legendary means famous, then this would be another error. I'm always willing to give them the benfit of the doubt.