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.

Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 4: The Sweet Smell of Free Shirts)

I unsuccessfully scanned the field for piles of shirts or wild throngs of people snatching 100% cotton manna from the sky. Nothing.  So I was forced to confront the next pack mule burdened with a pile of schwag.

"It's that way. You see the stage?"

I did.

"There's another stage just past that."

We continued.

Past the first stage.

No shirts.

We continued.

To the Washington Monument.

No Shirts.

We continued hugging the curved wall retain the patch of grass surrounding the monument.

"Hey, you. Hey, hey. Where did you get the shirts? Evan, stay there. Hey, you with the shirts. Yeah, you. Where did you get the shirts?"

By the benefit of my periscopic height I was aware of our destination before Evan and Colette. The shirt stage was our El Dorado, our Fountain of Youth, and the crew would not mutiny. I picked Evan up and placed him in the crow's nest. "Shirts Ho!" Let the pillaging begin. And of course by pillaging I mean I got shirts for everyone and politely asked for a couple of extras so we could give them out as gifts.

Only six hours remained until the fireworks, and we still had plenty to do. We didn't bring a bag for fear of security hassles. So now laden with five shirts and bag from the Lincoln Memorial gift closet just big enough to hold a couple of patches I was ready to head off to the Holocaust Museum.

Oddly enough, nobody asked me where I got the shirts. Go figure.

Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 3: We Go To War)

"Excuse Me, where did you get the shirts?"

"They were giving them out just over there."

He pointed in the general direction of the Washington Monument. I was on a mission. These were better than my collection of radio station, movie promo, volunteer worker shirts that I had collected over the years. These were souvenirs. I could avoid paying $30.00 for one shirt and get three free ones instead. I was going to get these shirts.

However, there was business to take care of on this end of the mall. I glanced longingly into the reflecting pool, or I wish I could. It was currently under repair and was just a mud pit behind chain link fence. The shirts would have to wait.

Colette was already on the phone with her parents. We were going to the Vietnam War Memorial, and she had called to see if her dad had any names that he wanted her to look up. As is the case with almost all conversations with her parents over the phone, or in person, this one was leading to more confusion than when Celine Dion opened for ICP.

The collaboration soon ended when Joseph Bruce felt Celine dissed him in her song It's For You when she said, "Quelques fois je dis des mots bizarres."

Her dad was working on the lawn so her mom had answered the phone. Somehow the message shouted over the roar of the hedge trimmers became somewhat confused as it was relayed to Colette. A call would be forthcoming that would clarify the situation. 

We decide to eat lunch and during the sandwich and chips meal we ordered at a snack shop the phone rang. Colette's mom thinks she finally got the name right so Colette takes the last few bites of her sandwich and heads back to the memorial to find the name in the directory. Meanwhile I watched Evan chase pigeons and trying to feed them his lunch. As soon as I said that we were going to find mom, his legs began to hurt again. If only the pigeons would follow my lead. 

We eventually found the name on the wall which turned out to be an old neighbor of Colette's mom, and not a war buddy as we had thought.

Nothing funny to say here.

While all of this was going on I was also on the prowl for a park ranger. I found one at an information kiosk. Though he had no information on the free t-shirts I did learn that the Junior Ranger program was happening at the Jefferson Memorial so we wanted to make sure that Evan got there. Colette kept insisting that she wanted to go to the Holocaust museum, and all I could think about was that there were now less free shirts than there were half an hour ago. 

I plotted a path on the map of the mall that would get us to all three locations, but as far as I was concerned the free t-shirt was the primary objective. Who cares about the experience if you don't have a t-shirt to commemorate it? 

This path first took us by the Korean War Memorial depicting a number of soldiers marching with heavy loads. Evan of course was fascinated with the soldiers, but the irony of their marching juxtaposed with his aching legs was lost on him. 

Honeycutt and Hawkeye never had to walk this far.

Next on the trek, once we passed the interminable fence blocking our view of the reflecting pit, was the WWII Memorial. 


The buzz of insects swarming my face formed a cacophonous melody with the plaintive whine of Evan's discomfort like a preschool marching kazoo band being followed by fire engine sirens in a parade honoring aural assault.

Not pictured, the fire engines.

For the next leg of our journey Colette set a pace faster than any Kenyan in a marathon and was quite a distance ahead of us. So much so that it would make more sense for me to call to her on a cell phone rather than disturb the other tourist with my hollerin'. I followed, frequently looking back to insure that Evan hadn't collapsed on a bench next to Bummy McNopants. I had given him a map of the mall to distract him from the torture of his calf muscles, but now he was trying to find himself on the map using a public restroom as his reference point.

We finally made it to the WWII Memorial which consists of a column for every state surrounding a shallow pool. Many people were soaking their feet, and Evan asked to do the same. Though the only thing either of us said out low was, "Well, uhhhhh," both Colette and I were debating whether is was disrespectful to soak your feet in a memorial honoring fallen soldiers. Is it acceptable or would it be like roasting marshmallows over the eternal flame at Kennedy's grave?

"Mmmmmmmmm S'mores"

They had died preserving our freedom, but Evan was working our nerves. Eventually, we decided that the soldiers would understand.

Just like a day at the beach.

I was soon ready to go. We were close to the Washington Monument, and I had still not see the free t-shirts. We could contemplate freedom later, now we needed to concentrate on free-shirts.

Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 1)

For the benefit of the readers this next essay will be broken into chapters. What follows is part 1 of an interminable series of events culminating in 4th of July fireworks on the National Mall.

"My legs hurt. I can't go on," exclaimed the pathetic little voice clung to my back slowing our progress. Evan had collapsed on a bench incapable of, or at least unwilling to move.

Ironically we hoofed it more in our five days in the nation's capitol than we did in our two weeks in Colorado and Utah. Perhaps the density of hiking and severity of foot boo-boos just made it seem as if that was the case. Evan's sandals had rubbed an eraser size red spot on the back of his foot. However, the howling for a band-aid would have led any casual observer to believe that we were the meanest parents on the face of the planet. They would have been certain of it after Evan's proclamation at  Lincoln Memorial. A passing priest immediately began performing an exorcism. Clara Barton rose from the dead to attend to the battle wound. A passing lawyer offered his card and told Evan he could sue for emotional distress. Former President Clinton jogged by and said, "I feel your pain." Even Colette and I began to empathize it had been a long day and we still had about nine hours until the fireworks.

Evan's Boo-Boo under only moderate magnification.

We had again bought a day pass for the Metro with the intention of hopping on the train periodically throughout the day. Unfortunately, this is not practical. By the time you walk to the train station you might as well have walked to your destination. We did make one transfer to the blue-line and arrived at Arlington station, our first stop of the day. Upon reaching the surface we asked a local family which way to go to get to the cemetery. Our main goal was to visit Arlington House, Robert E. Lee's residence before he became a traitor and current NPS site. We were pointed in the right direction but before we headed off she suggested that we take the walk across the Potomac to the Lincoln Memorial.

"It's just  lovely. It's a little hike but worth it, " she coerced.

Of course when on vacation you should always take the suggestions of locals. And if George Washington could through a silver dollar across the thing, then we could walk it.

Washington had one hell of an arm.

We walked to the cemetery visitor center and realized that Arlington House was at the top of a hill overlooking the cemetery. The entire property at one time belong to Lee. Built by his father-in-law George Washington Parke Custis, Lee and his wife Mary Custis lived there until Virginia's secession. Lee was often gone due to military obligations in the Mexican war, however he was in residence to deal with the estate after the death of his father-in-law, and thus was available to deal with the disturbance at Harper's Ferry and capture John Brown.

This of course was while he was a Colonel in the federal army. After succession and Lee's resignation the property was seized by federal troops under Brig. Gen. Irvin McDowell and several military  fortifications were built.


Later in order to prevent the Lee family from ever taking possession of the home againBrig. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs appropriated the grounds for a cemetery. 

"If we can't kill his confederate ass at least we can haunt the heck out of it." ~Brig. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs

We began the march up hill and it was evident that it would be a long day when Evan asked if there was going to be a shuttle. There was not. The path to the top is a who's who of dead people. We stopped at the eternal flame commemorating John F. Kennedy where it became evident that Evan was not in the mood to be respectful.

We continued on to Arlington house only to find that it is currently under renovation. You can still tour it and look at placards of what the rooms should look like, but the actual rooms had been stripped of any wallpaper, paint and furniture. Finishing the junior ranger book was a struggle. Evan couldn't sit still and the bugs were beginning to dine on our sweat salted shins. He did finally get his badge.

Pictured: The calm before the storm.

A glance at the map revealed that the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier sat just a short distance away. On the map it appeared to be less than an inch. The sight of the guard ameliorated Evan's disposition and the stairs offered a brief respite from our stroll as we watch the sentry.

The return trip though equidistant was significantly more pleasant owing to the fact that we were now going down hill, and soon we were at the bridge across the Potomac. Perhaps it was the humidity or maybe the warm front of over-stimulation colliding with a cold front of exhaustion that had moved in this morning formed the squall of foul temper in Evan. Whatever the meteorological explanation may be the thunderclap of attitude would flare up as we crossed the river.