I was a child of 8 on January 20, 1961. We came home from our Detroit elementary school for lunch each day. I knew the Kennedy Inauguration was special. The couple had magnetism and charisma to spare and I was caught up in the magic of the moment. I wolfed down my tuna sandwich leaning against the arm of the couch in our small den, watching as much of the ceremony on our black and white TV as I could before my mother raced me back to school. She bought the Life Magazine at the news stand the next week. I still have it; a prized possession. I poured over it, year after year.

Here are Jack and Jackie, ready to go to the Inaugural Ball the night of the Inauguration. At 31 years old, we forget how young and elegant she was. I adored her. She was fashionable, well-educated, poised, loved the arts, most of all – her children.

It was time for them to depart from their Georgetown residence for the Capitol on a bitterly cold day. She had decided to not wear mink. She claimed she didn’t want to look like a “bear” up on the podium with all the other women, wrapped up in their big coats, so only had fur trim at her neck and a fur muff. She did look different from the other women. The pillbox hat became iconic; her signature.

 

On the podium, Robert Frost tried to deliver a specially-written poem, but couldn’t read it, due to glare. His hosts were concerned. He delivered an old favorite without faltering. JFK gave a speech for the ages, still quoted today. Children quoted it to their parents after the assassination; the adults wept.

The Inaugural Ball was orchestrated by Frank Sinatra, with a heavy dose of Rat Pack fun. JFK’s brother-in-law was Peter Lawford, married to Kennedy sister Pat, so he had serious cred. Jackie could not be out-shown. The cockade flourish at her waist pays tribute to her French ancestry and her love of history, with its echos of symbols worn on 18th century military hats.  It was a dazzling start to the 60s.

On January 20, 2009, I was on a physical therapy table, recovering from a knee injury when the clock struck noon. A TV was on at the far end of the room. I could see the ceremony had not yet begun, but technically, the Bush presidency was over. Tears welled up in my eyes and I felt a huge sense of relief and joy. It began to softly snow outside in Newton. It was bitterly cold in Washington, DC too.

My son David was somewhere on the Mall with the throngs of people, rejoicing. He had been in Ohio, staying with my brother in the days before the actual election, working the phones, getting people to the polls. We called to congratulate him when the state was called for Obama. He sat in a bar with the mayor of Cincinnati. We could hear the crowd cheer around him. Who could have predicted that 12 years later we would be in such dire shape; that someone so corrupt and self-absorbed would be in power; that he cared only about loyalty to himself, defying constitutional norms, making money, punishing his enemies and holding onto power at any cost. He didn’t care about governing or the betterment of the country, so sick and impoverished under his watch. We would literally be counting the minutes until the Cheeto-in-chief was gone.

I sped home and sat in front of the TV for the rest of the day. I loved that Barack Obama was sworn in on Lincoln’s Bible, the first Black president, whose wife is the descendant of slaves, used the Emancipator’s Bible. Perfect.

They really looked happy. Looking back now, we can see how much he aged while in office. Aretha! Queen of Soul, my fellow Detroiter, sang “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” in THAT hat! Wow! How great was that? Michelle wore young American designers to both the Inauguration and the Balls that evening and she rocked it. That color really stood out. I loved that the couple got out and walked part of the parade route and enjoyed themselves.

Like at a wedding, they danced their first dance together, as Queen Bee sang “At Last”. You could tell that this couple loved and respected each other (even if we now know that Michelle was NOT happy with Obama’s decision to run for the presidency and throw their lives in turmoil). The scene of them in each other’s arm was compelling. “No Drama” Obama started by thrilling us all.

The Bidens bid farewell to Delaware from a National Guard Reserve Base named for his late son Beau. He wept as he said when he died, his heart would read, “Delaware”. As soon as they touched down in the nation’s Capitol, they went straight to the Lincoln Memorial, joined by Kamala Harris and her husband, Doug Emhoff, where they led a poignant service of remembrance for the lives of US citizens lost to COVID-19; the first step toward healing a grieving nation. A step his predecessor neglected, bypassed, shunned.

“Hear me out, take a measure of my heart. End this uncivil war”, challenged Biden to those who did NOT vote for him in his inaugural address on January 20, 2021 and the world breathed a sigh a relief. In a most unusual series of events and celebration, marred by the insurrection of two weeks earlier and the pandemic that had killed more Americans than those who lost their lives during World War II, we could begin to get back to normal. There were many highlights, but the unquestionable star was 22 year old Amanda Gorman, the youngest person ever to deliver an inaugural poem. Recent Harvard graduate, she held us spell-bound as she performed her poem. Inspired by Maya Angelou, she wore a caged-bird ring, is now Oprah’s protege and everyone’s favorite poet.

I, personally, used my best Lalique crystal to toast Biden as he took his oath of office, as I know he will take his duties seriously, and usher in an era of transparency, truth and fact-based governing to move this country forward, if the opposition party lets him.

In lieu of the customary balls, a concert and celebration of essential workers and people who overcame challenges was a welcome celebration for all to enjoy. Of special note was 13 year old Brayden Harrington, who, like President Biden, suffers from a stutter. They met on the campaign trail last year. Biden gave the boy his cell phone number and worked with him on ways to overcome the speech impediment, as our president has done. The boy delivered the famous paragraph from JFK’s inaugural address, flawlessly.

Dr. Jill Biden’s ivory coat was embroidered with the state flowers from each one in the union and territories, Delaware’s situated close to her heart. Inside, a quote from Benjamin Franklin, “Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn”, a reminder of her career as a teacher. A fitting tribute to the theme of unity.

It ended with Katie Perry singing her hit “Firework” amidst a massive fireworks display over the Mall. A resplendent end to a glorious day.

 

 

 

 

I had been desperately awaiting this day for more than two months, but the insurrection two weeks earlier had me terrified.
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The day of rededication ... The day of dignity restored ...
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My Heart Remembers My Grandmother’s Hotel

The leader of a writing workshop I took years ago asked us to think back to our earliest memories and write about a place our heart remembers.   I thought of my grandmother’s hotel in the Catskill Mountains in upstate New York where I spent childhood summers.  (See My Game Mother,   The Troubadour and Hotel Kittens)

When I was 11 my grandmother was no longer able to run it,  and the hotel was sold.   Then years  later when the Catskills were no longer fashionable we heard that a developer had taken over the property and razed the buildings to the ground.   But my heart remembers the hotel just as it was those long-ago summers when I was a child,  and so I wrote about it in a child’s voice.

“At my grandma’s hotel we have a hill and I can roll right down all the way to the lake.   And we have a dock and we have four rowboats,  and they have their names on them.   My mother painted the names and one rowboat has my name – DANA!

And there’s a waterfall where the lake gets very small and goes underneath the Neversink Road into the woods.  And at the other end of the lake there’s a special place –  the swamp where the big snapping turtles live.   Sometimes my father takes me there in the rowboat and we sneak up on a big old turtle if he is sleeping on a rock and if I’m very careful my father let’s me tap old Mister Turtle VERY GENTLY with my oar!

And at my grandma’s hotel a favorite place to hide is under the porch.   No one can see me there,  but I can hear the people talking and if it’s before the time to eat I can hear the waiters inside the dining room setting up the tables and the tinkly noise of the glasses and the plates and the spoons.

Then when it’s time to eat my grandma goes on the porch and rings the big dinner bell to tell the people to come,  and all the grownups come to the dining room.   And all the kids come too and we run to the children’s dining room in back of the big dining room.   It’s noisy in the children’s dining room but no one makes us be quiet so it’s fun.

My grandma has a cook and a salad man and a baker and a dishwasher man,  but my father says sometimes they quit or they get drunk or my grandma has to fire them and then my grandma is the real cook.  And sometimes my grandma is the real baker too and she makes apple strudel for the dessert on a big table where she rolls out the dough with a big rolling pin.   And guess who my grandma says is her very best helper?    She says it’s ME!”

– Dana Susan Lehrman