CONWAY, Ark. — Circumstances kept My Beloved and I away from our inaugural plans. With a rough idea and a bit of luck, though, we became better witnesses to a slice of history. The Shady Hill manse is 959 miles from the Washington Monument so the biggest piece we could expect was a dieter’s sliver of American mom’s apple pie. Worked out to be memorable.
We wanted to be together, never mind work, so we chose to meet about 10:30 at the Fayetteville Public Library, which scheduled a community TV viewing in its biggest meeting room. That would comprise an early lunch hour, the noon oath and speech being 11-11:30 for us. The plus would be being in a crowd, though a small and polite one. It’d be possible we’d miss some words, being in a group, but that’s what the Internet is for, later. Bet the poem will need reconsidering in any case.
That route was knocked out when we realized we had need to be on the road and be most of the way across Arkansas, 178 miles away in Pine Bluff, by 1:30 that afternoon. We aimed to pull into Conway just after 10 a.m. Previous towns on Interstate 40 likely would not have restaurants with mounted TVs. M.B. saw our best bet as a sports bar or the bar part of a Chili’s or similar. We kept pace thanks to well-organized, live coverage by National Public Radio. The drive from Interstate 40 toward downtown Conway revealed Olde Chicago Pizza (no online presence) in a renovated brick building.
M.B. ran in while I kept the motor running as it was already 10:35 and we might have to move on. Earlier, one pedestrian assured us of a Chili’s, though we had driven right by where he indicated. She did not come out. Then she did. The manager was on the phone, didn’t care to look up right away. Then he said one of their dozen flat screens could be used by us. We could come in but not yet order, as they would not open before 11, he said, friendly enough for Christy to beckon for me to park.
A waitress saw the table we picked and worked a TV remote. Then an assistant manager stopped her, scolding us, “We’re not allowed to have anything but sports broadcasts.” It was a sports bar pizzeria. The waitress explained the boss gave the OK, and he grunted. Two more groups came in, each with a similar request. Soon, 10 of the 12 big screens were showing the Washington crowds and the last dignitaries walking down the steps from the a door in the Capitol.
I thanked a waiter, who shrugged, “We all wanted this, too, a lot.” Maybe not the assistant manager.
We chose the pizza buffet (much better than expected) — for if we weren’t on the road by 11:30 we could not hit our Pine Bluff deadline. We saw and heard speeches and oaths and commentary throughout the dining room and bar in dizzying echoes. The staff put on four different channels among the 10 screens, and evidently the media pooled no common cameras or microphones. The audio of each was not in sync with the others, with each cutting away at times to different reaction shots. There’s a change right there from how things had been done in D.C.
We caught almost everything: Obama’s speech being key, the prayers before and after, Aretha singing, the main event with the chief justice flubbing the oath. The place by 11:10 was about half full, and only one table of patrons diligently ignored the screens and talked throughout. The rest watched the screens.
I’ve read some transcripts since; we indeed got most of Obama’s speech between bites of crunchy thin-crust. Elizabeth Alexander’s poem reads much better than it speaks. It’s still too sermony. And “declaim” is just wrong. Last: Too much Whitman and Sandburg — a century and a half is enough to wear out the welcome from endless lists! They’re not so much inclusive as it indicates trouble making up one’s mind. Poet: Use the best-for-now single word, object or metaphor, and push on. Miller Williams keeps the prize for understanding back in 1997 how to make an “occasional poem” — written for a specific occasion — effective: “If we can truly remember, they will not forget,” referring to children.
Over the day, every news outlet filled the gaps with Man on the Street interviews (which included women of course, but the phrase is authentic). As a card-carrying journalist, perhaps I should have polled the pizza eaters. Man on the Streets though are filler, always have been, unless someone sees crime or history then they’re eyewitnesses. M.B. and I had our thoughts then conversation. Those other people had theirs. No news here. Back to what you were doing, celebrating America on TV or on the road.
