Bigger than a Matchstick

Last night, I was among the crowd at the Obama rally.

WAITING IN LINE
I arrived at 5th and Market street at about 5:30 or so. I was moved and fascinated by the unofficial looking t-shirts and buttons so many local people were wearing. Some carried framed portrait posters of Barack and Michelle Obama that reminded me of souvenirs from the wedding of Charles and Diana or those Kennedy or King wall cameos. This is the type of hopeful, homely expression that I rarely see while I'm working on campus or even walking through my particular patch of West Philadelphia.

First I wound up waiting in line between some white baby boomers--one reading a copy of Candide, another comparing the number of Obama cookies to the number of Hillary cookies that he'd sold at his bakery--and two female Temple U.(I'm pretty sure that's what they said) students --one white, one black-- who discussed, among other things, the finer points of cashiering, how to tell if attractive men were worthy of receiving one of their Obama stickers and the career of Tyra Banks. Our little section of the line wasn't exemplary sample of the crowd, except that it showed that it was a pretty mixed group. We were standing near Benjamin Franklin's grave, waiting patiently.

WAITING ON THE MALL
Shortly after they opened the temporary gates to Independence Mall around 6 p.m., we made our way to the grass. (I tried not to think of it as a grassy knoll, although one student near me did call it that later in the evening.) I was separated from my line mates. I came across a clump of seated white people who were about my age. One of them complemented my shoes. (She too was wearing Clarks, or so it appeared). They recommended that I have a seat, but I feared getting stiff, so stayed upright. I staked a claim to a little patch of grass between a Benetton ad like cluster of Penn Students, a white mom and her Sudoku-playing son, and two black women. We were in the middle section of grass. There was no way for us to get into the first section of grass where the stage was. I was able to get through a chapter of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle before things got too tight for me to read comfortably.

THE OPENING ACTS
Unlike the Kerry rally that I went to almost 4 years ago, there was no roster of regional political hot shots to keep the crowd warm. A man and a woman got on stage. The woman asked the crowd to "be Obama," which, of course, didn't win much applause. Then they invited some volunteers to come up and be thanked, so we clapped for them.

The dude who sings that "the angel opens her eyes" song performed a few numbers. Pretty much everyone sang along when he played "Imagine." He was joined by another more famous dude who's name escapes me. For some reason, a few people thought Will Smith was going to be there. Of course, there was talk of John Legend making an appearance. These were two of many little rumors that zipped through the crowd.

The live acts exited and we were entertained by our own speculations and a series of popular hit recordings. In the section in front of us, I watched children of all colors clasp hands and dance in circles. It was like a Unicef Christmas card. Of course they were happy and harmonious--their parents had scored better seats. If that site didn't warm my heart, others did. For instance, nothing can move me in quite the same way as watching a 55-plus year old white guy with a white beard and a Hippocrates baseball cap getting down to Aretha Franklin's rendition (but is there any other?) of "Respect."

One of the taller, lankier Penn students would occasionally shout "I'm so hungry. . .for change!" He and his friends regretted not bringing a pizza. Their group didn't seem too unhappy as they chatted and texted and made plans for the rest of the night. The announcements for the rally said not to bring bags, so I only brought my purse, never mind dinner. The Independence Mall museum people were selling water and snacks, but there was little to keep me going except the oldies hits, curiosity and enthusiasm.

PO PO, PO PO, and PO
The mall was crawling with all kinds of law enforcement from park rangers to secret service. Police on Segways kept zipping back and forth in front of the barricade between our section of grass and the one in front of it. Thick necked men in suits stood their ground. We pointed out the men in black, posted on nearby rooftops with enormous binoculars and weapons. Even though I didn't see anyone get searched or any confiscated bags, the area seemed pretty secure, especially when they shined the enormous lights on us as the sun went down.

LOW POINTS
The lights were the worst part of the experience. I didn't feel the need for sunglasses until the sun was gone and they blasted us with these kleigs from hell. I shielded my eyes behind one of the taller Penn kids. Also somewhat disturbing was this toe-headed little boy sitting on some adult's shoulders who would randomly yell "Barack Obama!" with a fierce passion. He reminded me of that movie "The Tin Drum." I also didn't appreciate the guy who decided to wear a ball cap with the word Pimpin' emblazoned across the front.

THE SPEECH
At last, a new announcement from the loud speaker. A voice asked us to welcome. . .some lady. I felt sorry for this woman. A few people actually booed her. She was probably all excited to have this opportunity to introduce Barack Obama, only to get booed for not being him. That's Philly, I thought. I guess it was around 9 p.m. when Obama finally hit the stage. From where I stood, he appeared to be slightly bigger than a match stick. As expected, he didn't say anything completely new. Still, we clapped and called out at the appropriate moments. A couple of guys marveled out loud at how well he elicited response from the audience. A few older women decided to start leaving early to avoid the possible crush. It was all over in thirty minutes or so. One of the Penn boys said something like "Yeah, we hung out on the grass for a few hours. It was a good time."

TAKIN' IT TO MARKET STREET
The most amazing thing occurred after the speech. I was a bit anxious about my exit strategy. Could everyone leave the mall in an orderly fashion? I decided not to head straight for the El, thinking that it would be choked up and the turnstiles. I would walk a bit. Things seemed to be going smoothly, no bottlenecks anywhere, then I noticed that huge numbers of people were walking westward on Market Street, not the sidewalk but the street. It seemed that the rally had taken over the westbound lane! I thought maybe the city had decided to close that lane to motor traffic, but no. I'd never been surrounded by so many happy people, especially not so close to the Gallery. I'm not used to feeling like a part of such a group, or any large group. I can't say I was fully swept up in it. I did stay on the sidewalk. Someone waved a Change sign in front of the Allentown-bound motorcoach that was preparing to turn onto Market, but the driver just smirked and shook his head. I felt bad for the driver and the cabbies that were trying to move through. This was not some protest which warranted the disruption of business. The people who remained on the street appeared to be a bunch of oblivious college kids. The west bound cabbies honked in frustration, but the east bound cabbies were honking and waving in unity with the crowd. Maybe this is what Philly would be like if one of our pro sports teams won a national championship.

I entered the trolley system at 13th and Market. As I headed down the steps, I heard some teenage boys complain that Obama didn't say anything at the rally that they hadn't already heard before. Poor guys. I got on the trolley and everyone seemed especially friendly. People were giving up seats for moms, the elderly, and even for completely able-bodied men. Some passengers had been at the rally, others had not.

MORE POLICE
Unfortunately, shortly after the trolley got to West Philly and reemerged from the tunnel, a cop car pulled ahead of it, lights and sirens blasting, and stopped. The conductor announced that we might as well get out and walk because this train wasn't going anywhere anytime soon since "Philadelphia's finest" was at work right in front of it. As I stepped out of the trolley car, I saw a line of police vehicles parked on Chester Avenue. One of the passengers grumbled about how the police always ruin things, as if these cops had parked in her way in on purpose, never mind their bust or whatever they were doing.

So the euphoria faded somewhere between 45th and 48th streets. It was cool while it lasted. How many people will take the spirit of the rally and act on it this coming Tuesday and beyond remains to be seen.