What it's like to be a part of history

I went to the inauguration of the 44th president of the United States, Barack Obama, and I'm not sure how to put that experience into words. But I'll try. (I shot 80+ minutes of video, and I'll add a clip as soon as I have it edited.)

I've never been in a sea of people before. I've been in big crowds, but nothing like this. According to media reports, almost two million people attended. I have no idea, but everywhere you looked, there was the sea of humanity. And what was truly astounding was that I saw no meanness, no unkindness. I only saw people being polite and considerate. I saw people trying to help people who were infirm, making way for others in wheelchairs, being kind and gentle to other people's children.

I saw the hopeful, happy faces on the old, the young, and the in-between. I saw happiness and joy. When I first entered a main artery of the District, I was shooting video, smiling like a maniac myself, in awe at the sea of people, and I was overcome with emotion. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I couldn't help myself, and I didn't want to. I was uncontrollably happy too.

I'm 60 years old. I didn't think I would experience such an event in my lifetime. It was more, much more, than an individual, blended African-American being sworn in to the highest position in my country - our country. This was America. This was the melting pot. This was democracy. THIS was the will of The People.

I arrived at Washington National in the afternoon of January 19, boarded the Metro (it was the only way to get around in the District), and found my way (with the help and kindness of a Washington business connection) to a hotel. I then went to the hotel's men's room, locked myself in a stall and changed into my tux so I could attend the Texas delegation's Black Tie and Boots Inaugural Ball. I re-boarded the Metro and went to another station where a shuttle was taking attendees to the ball (approximately 10,000 attended this event), which was being held at the gigantic Gaylord Resort and Conference Center. Sparkly surroundings, sparkly people. Numerous ballrooms, name entertainment, including Asleep at the Wheel, Gary P. Nunn, and many others.

I met another kind, considerate business connection at the Gaylord, and spent the night in her guest room of her house in Bethesda. The next morning, she took me to the nearest Metro stop. I had my suit bag with the tux and painful boots, a bag with a video camera, and a computer bag. These I planned to check at another hotel near the National Mall. The Metro was unbelievably crowded, but I shlepped the baggage, faltering only at the station near the hotel when I had to climb what seemed like hundreds of steps because the escalators were shut down. True to the spirit of the crowd, a thoughtful gentleman helped me get my baggage the rest of the way up the steps after my legs protested near the top.

After checking my bags, I started walking toward the mall, but I had made a false start. I had gotten a standing room ticket from one of my connections the night before, and I was walking in the opposite direction from my destination. Another kind person informed me of my error. I reversed direction and was finally on my way toward my designated checkpoint.

When I finally reached the checkpoint, I found - along with hundreds of others - that we were, inexplicably, being refused entrance by three authority figures. We waved our tickets and chanted, "We have tickets . . . let us in!" For comic relief, I began chanting "Attica, Attica!" Finally, I said to others around me, "I know what we would have done in the '60s - there are a lot more of us than there are of them." The next thing I knew we were doing just that . . . going for it. We broke through the flimsy barricades and wound up where we were supposed to be in the first place - standing on the shore of the reflecting pool, opposite the Capitol Building. We witnessed history that day. And we are all changed for it - in the best way imaginable.

I didn't even mind that I couldn't get out of D.C. until 8 p.m., missing my foolishly booked 3 p.m. flight. I found a place to stay - again, through the kindness of a stranger. The next day I successfully flew standby. I'm back home . . . and my life has been enriched in a way I never dreamed possible.