Day 4 -- Marine Barracks

The Marine Barracks Washington

Established in 1801

Our History Vacation continued late into the evening of Day 4. We attended the Friday Evening Parade at the Marine Barracks.

Admission to the parade is free, but it's a good idea to make reservations online. The gates open at
7 p.m. for people with reservations. At 8 guests without reservations are offered the unclaimed seats.

A band member showed us to our seats then asked and answered questions. He was pleased to learn that the son and grandsons are from Texas. He is, too. He answered questions ranging from his duties with the band and as a Marine to how they get those white pants so clean. (Detergent, Oxyclean, and bleach.)

Son John and Grandsons JR and Silas waiting for the Parade to begin.

Established in 1801, the Marine Barracks is the oldest Marine Post in the United States.

Completed in 1806, the Commandant's House (the white house to the left) is  the only original building left in the complex. They light all the lights in the Commandant's House and as night falls the house's floor-to-ceiling windows shine out into the parade grounds. I was struck by how welcoming those lights seem.

I have long bemoaned the fact that the TV-powers-that-be have decided not to show the marching bands during half-time at college football games. Instead they have old football guys talking about other football games, old football games, future football games, etc., etc., ad nauseam. 

     

               The Marines in red jackets are the band.        Those in blue march in formation.

It was a joy to get to see a marching band sans football! Plus, these people are fine musicians.

And, and! The Silent Drill Platoon is amazing. The 24-man rifle platoon performs their drills with bayonets fixed to M1s. The 10.5 pound rifles were standard issue for the Marine Corp from 1936 to 1959. 

The routine ends with much spinning and tossing of the rifles. Where we sat, we couldn't see most of their performance, but we could see the bayonets flashing in the lights as they spun high in the air. To see a Youtube video click on the Silent Platoon Drill.

At the end of the parade, the flag was lowered, the troops withdrew, and a single bugler played Taps from atop the barracks. This reminds us that these Marines are not just for show. In the War of 1812, they fought the British during the burning of Washington, D.C. It is traditionally held within the Marine Corps that, out of respect for the brave showing of the Marines at the Battle of Bladensburg, the British refrained from burning the barracks and the Commandant's house. And these Marines continue to train and are ready to answer the call to arms, should the necessity arise.

Of course, with kids in tow, no experience is complete without a visit to the gift shop. I think everything in D.C. has a gift shop. But the Marine Barracks gift shop was special. We got to meet Sgt. Chesty XIV, the Marine Corp Mascot.

                                               

The Marine looks sharp in his proper white cover.
Silas's squid cover may not be proper but he's pretty cute.
And he scored a stuffed toy Chesty in the gift shop.

On Writing -- Editing

Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series

Years ago -- at least eight -- I tried reading Connelly's police procedurals featuring a main character named Hieronymus Bosch. (Rhymes with anonymous.) Named after the Dutch painter who depicted earth and hell as equally dark and dreadful, Connelly's Hieronymus Bosch pretty much sees Los Angeles like that, a fantastical nightmare.

At that time, I was enthralled with the TV series Castle. Maybe you watched it, too. Rick Castle was a crime novelist who, along with an attractive, New York City police detective solved crimes. Actually, it was probably the very attractive (and funny) actor Nathan Fillion who kept me watching each week. I liked his uncensored mother and independent daughter, too.

Anyway Rick Castle occasionally played poker with real life crime novelists -- James Patterson, Michael Connelly, Stephen J. Cannell and others. I decided to check out those real life writers. James Patterson first. He seemed to be the most popular at my local library. His books went out like hot cakes. I didn't like his books. I read two to be sure. Then Michael Connelly. I read two of his too. Didn't like them either. I never got to Cannell.

I could just never connect with Harry Bosch.

And then. And then. More like now. I've connected with the Harry Bosch character by way of Amazon's series Bosch. Somehow Titus Welliver, the actor who plays Bosch, makes him more likable, more sympathetic. And the series is well enough written that I don't find myself editing the teleplays.

Connelly's books I edit, sans red pen.

This passage is from Connelly's The Overlook. Our little-bit-unlikable hero and his bloodied former lover who happens to be an FBI agent are chasing a bad guy who in the past few minutes has killed two people, tried to kill Bosch, and engaged in a gun battle with Bosch's partner leaving him wounded.

     Bosch turned and saw Rachel come through the door, a smear of blood on her face.
          "This way," he said. "He's been hit."
          They started down Third in a spread formation. After a few steps Bosch picked up
     the trail. Maxwell was obviously hurt badly and was losing a lot of blood. It would
     make him easy to track.
          But when they got to the corner of Third and Hill they lost the trail. There was no
     blood on the pavement. Bosch looked into the long Third Street tunnel and saw no one
     moving in the traffic on foot. He looked up and down Hill street and saw nothing until
     his attention was drawn to a commotion of people running out of the Grand Central
     Market.
          "This way," he said.
          They moved quickly toward the huge market. Bosch picked up the blood trail again
     just outside and started in. The market was a two-story-high conglomeration of food
     booths and retail and produce concessions. There was a strong smell of grease and coffee
     in the air that had to infect every floor of the building above the market. The place was
     crowded and noisy and that made it difficult for Bosch to follow the blood and track
     Maxwell.
          Then suddenly there were shouts from directly ahead and two quick shots were fired
     into the air. It caused an immediate human stampede. Dozens of screaming shoppers and
     workers flooded into the aisle where Bosch and Walling stood and started running toward
     them.  Bosch realized they were going to be run over and trampled. In one motion he
     moved to his right, grabbed Walling around the waist and pulled her behind one of the
     wide concrete support pillars.

Just copying this from the book makes me want to tear my hair out. All these words! But they don't give the reader the feeling of an adrenaline charged, life and death race. William Bernhardt, the best writing teacher I ever had, said, "Show, don't tell." And Hemingway touted the mot juste which means the exact, appropriate word. These rules keep the story so close to the reader, that the reader sees it. Hears it. Feels it.

This passage should be built on short, sharp sentences. And don't insult the reader. "Maxwell was obviously hurt badly and was losing a lot of blood. It would make him easy to track." Really? No shit, Sherlock.

At least Connelly uses adverbs properly. Unnecessarily, but properly. How would I write it?

          "He's been hit," he said.
          Bosch picked up the blood trail on Third Street. They lost it at Third and Hill.
     No one moved on foot through the traffic in the Third Street tunnel. Or on Hill
     Street. Maxwell was gone. They'd lost him.
          Then to the left, a knot of people ran out of the Grand Central Market.
          Bosch and Walling ran toward the hulking two-story building. They picked
     up the blood trail again. They followed the wet, red stains inside. The stench
     of old grease and strong coffee hit them like a wall. Noise filled the cavernous
     hall. Guns held at their sides, they followed the blood. Through the maze of food
     booths and produce stands and retail stalls, the trail flickered in and out. It
     threatened to disappear beneath the crowd's milling feet.
          Ahead, shouts and two shots stopped time. Then shoppers and workers
     stampeded, screaming, toward Harry and Rachel. He grabbed her and pulled her
     to safety behind a concrete pillar.

And you can probably figure out an even better way to write it. It needs to read fast, raise the reader's heart rate, leave them breathless.

After finishing the 13th Harry Bosch novel -- four of them in the past two weeks -- I'm taking a break. Patricia Cornwell's The Last Precinct, also a crime novel, but it's safe to say, I'll be checking more Connelly/Bosch books out of the library soon. And I'm looking forward to the 5th season of Bosch.

Day 4 -- National Museum of Natural History

           

                      The Rotunda of the Smithsonian              Me with that famous 14-foot tall elephant.

                         Museum of Natural History                  The hide, weighing two tons, was donated by 

                        (photo taken from the 2nd floor,             Hungarian Josef J. Fénykövi. When it was 

                         home of the Minerals and Gems            unveiled in 1959, it was the world’s largest 

                         section, and the Hope Diamond)           land mammal on display in a museum. 

Founded in 1846 with funds from and according to the wishes of Englishman James Smithson  “under the name of the Smithsonian Institution, an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge.” The museum opened in 1910. It was among the first Smithsonian buildings constructed exclusively to house the national collections and research facilities. And it is one of my two favorite Smithsonian museums.

It has information and exhibits on everything -- the oceans and ocean creatures, dinosaurs, gems and minerals, human origins, a live butterfly pavilion, mummies, a living insect zoo, and much more. This was my third visit and I still haven't seen everything.

The two must-see sections for me are the Gems and Minerals and the Human Origin sections. So the plan was to get there early, before all the school kids show up and see Gems and Minerals first, then lunch in the museum cafe, and finish with Human Origins.

Gems and Minerals first because the Hope Diamond is in that section and everybody wants to see that so it gets crowded pretty early. The 45.52 carat blue diamond pendant surrounded by white diamonds is beautiful.

At least as impressive is the world's largest, flawless
quartz sphere.
It is 242,323 carats, weighs 106.75 lbs.,
and measures 12.9 inches in diameter.
For comparison an NBA basketball has a diameter of 9.55 inches.

        

And if you like amethyst, they have a huge geode chock full of the lovely purple gems.

Minerals naturally come in all shapes, sizes, textures, and colors.

 

                                         Copper                                     Gypsum

 
Willemite and Willemite, Calcite

The museum's cafe was not operating at full capacity and only had packaged sandwiches which would not do, so we hit the street looking for food. There are, of course, food trucks but one of the guards at the museum suggested a food court not far away.

As it turned out, the food court is in the Ronald Reagan Building which is right next door to the William Jefferson Clinton Building and they're both across the street from the Trump International Hotel D.C. How's that for Washington being a small town?!

On the way to lunch, we passed the Environmental Protection Agency.

 

Keep in mind that Washington D.C. is beautifully landscaped. There are well-tended flowers and shrubbery and trees everywhere. 

The infamous EPA head, Scott Pruitt had not yet gathered his marbles and gone home. Remember he's the guy who contracted for a $43,000 phone booth in his office and a dozen pens for $1,560 among other boondoggles. 

These are the planters outside the EPA building.

Impressed? No, neither were we.

Oh, well, we had a good lunch.

I had pastrami and corned beef on rye. The grandsons had chicken sandwiches, which were apparently not too different from their routine Chick-fil-A usuals, so they were pleased. I don't remember what son John had, but, as I remember, he was pleased, too.

Then it was back to the National Museum of Natural History. 

I found a seat along the side of the Rotunda and people watched, visited, and rested while the boys checked out the exhibits they wanted to see.

I joined them for the Human Origins exhibit. I have long been fascinated with the study of hominins. Once many years ago we took a vacation to Houston to see Lucy's bones. Lucy is Australopithecus afarensis. She lived about 3.2 million years ago in what is now Ethiopia.

I learned lots that trip, not the least of which is I do NOT drive in Houston. Public transportation makes D.C. a wonderful town to visit.

NMNH's Human Origins exhibit is the best I've seen. There are numerous bronze sculptures of various hominins. This is a Neanderthal offering son John a bit of roasted meat. 

Although generally accurate, this sculpture is much smaller than Homo neanderthalensis. The average height for males was 5' 5" and for females was 5' 1". The depiction of them cooking their food, is, however, accurate. 

What I especially like are the forensic reproductions of heads. They are accurate and set on pedestals at their average heights, so you can look them in the eye, as it were.

This Homo erectus female would have been about six feet tall. So I looked up to her.

Like all the Smithsonian museums it is open to all, free of charge.

Day 3 African American Museum

The Smithsonian Museum of African American
History and Culture

The Museum of African American History and Culture is the first building on The National Mall that you come to after the Washington Monument, if you're coming from the west -- where the Lincoln Memorial is. 

We arrived there after walking and exploring everything on the Mall. Actually not everything at all. Not the Martin Luther King Monument. Not the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Monument. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Son John and the grandsons were doing pretty well. I however was hungry, thirsty, and tired -- conditions that conspire to make me impatient at best. But I knew all the museums have cafes. So approaching the doors gave me hope that relief was at hand.

However, the guards at the door explained that you have to have tickets to get inside. They're free, but you have to get them before hand or at the door. Not the door where we were. It was for people who already had tickets. The door around on the other side of the building. Not a small building, nor a short walk. Hope dashed. 

I didn't know exactly where we were, but I knew there were more museums close by and all we had to do was go to the next one. But I needed to sit down and rest a bit. While John checked his phone for what was near us, two young African American women approached the guards at the door. They would be let in. As it turns out, they had extra tickets -- four extra tickets. Some of their friends had not been able to come with them. The boys and I -- count us. Four! The young women generously gave us their extras.

Saved!

The cafe there is wonderful. Sweet Home Cafe serves food representative of four regions in the U.S. the Agricultural South, the Creole States, The North States, and the Western Range. Considering I love all things Louisiana (one of the Creole States) I had a catfish po' boy and two big glasses of water. 

Fed, watered, and rested, I thought I was ready for the Museum.

The cafe is on the Concourse which is one level below street level, so we hadn't far to go to start exploring the museum. There are two more levels down. The lowest begins with 1400 and follows through to 1877, "Slavery and Freedom." The next level up explores the years 1876 - 1968, "Defending Freedom, Defining Freedom: The Era of Segregation." The third level up is "A Changing America: 1968 and Beyond."

I didn't make it all the way through the lowest level. The subject matter is so intense and the rooms felt confining to me. I had to get out. A member of the staff helped me to the elevator and went with me to get out into Heritage Hall which is at street level. Apparently, I am not the only one who reacts strongly. The top-most level below ground, is the Contemplative Court -- a quiet place where people can reflect and decompress.




The boys made it through and I'm glad they did. They should know what happened. Plus, they got to meet Joan Trumpauer, a Freedom Rider, and hear her speak.


Click on the photo so the text is large enough to read. It was the young people then who made a difference.


Society so often depends on the courage of the young. On their courage and, what some may call, naïveté. They haven't yet been indoctrinated with what us oldsters believe is impossible.

Here was Ms. Trumpauer, June 7, 2018
a small, white-haired lady -- one of many
to whom I and America owe a debt of gratitude.

The museum is not all sad and distressing. It celebrates African American culture from music to literature to art. The upper floors are filled with beautiful things and good feelings. And, I'm glad to say, the place was awash in adolescent Americans of all colors and backgrounds.

Just one of the beautiful things, a tapestry by Romare Bearden

Reflection Pool

I grew up in the Jim Crow South where drinking fountains were marked "white" and "colored," where black children did not swim in public pools with white children, and white people did not eat in African American restaurants. Churches were segregated. Schools were segregated. Towns and cities were segregated.

To see people of every color together in a museum dedicated to African Americans is an inspiration and an affirmation that the future is bound to be better.

Day 3, Part 2 -- The National Mall

This is looking east along the National Mall

from the terrace in front of the

Lincoln Memorial toward the Washington Monument

and my grandsons, J. R. and Silas

The National Mall is 1.9 miles long. It is anchored on the west by the Lincoln Memorial. The Washington Monument rises from about it's midway point and the Capitol sits at the east end. It and the Capitol Dome are the two most identifiable objects you can see when coming in for a landing at D.C.'s airport, Reagan National.

Between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument are the national memorials to the military people who have died serving The United States of America.

A bit northeast of the Lincoln Memorial is the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. I didn't go there with the boys. Nor did I go when the girls and I took our History Vacation seven years ago. I saw it some twenty-five years ago while on a work assignment -- my first trip to D.C.







As you can see on this diagram, it angles slightly to its center point. The highly polished, black granite wall is cut into the earth. It tapers from less than a foot to ten feet deep at it's center. It bears the names of people killed in that war. Not listed alphabetically, but chronologically by when they died, They are named with those who died with them.





The walk follows the wall as it goes below the level of the ground behind the wall. Away from the wall, the ground rises gradually so you don't feel like you're entering a tunnel. For that matter, it doesn't feel like you're walking down into the ground, but more like the wall is rising above you.

The diagram shows how near the streets are to the Memorial. And they are busy streets. You would think traffic noise would intrude, but the way it slopes down into the ground, the earth dampens the noise.

When I visited that morning so many years ago, I was the only one there. The newly risen sun shone on the names of the fallen. Most of them from my generation. I wept for them in the days when they were dying. Then I wept again when I saw the wall. I do not need to see it ever again to remember them.





Southeast of the Lincoln Memorial is the Korean War Veterans Memorial which includes statues of American GIs wearing ponchos and carrying full battle gear.

The statues are taller than grandson John Riley and son John at six feet and six-three, respectively.

A foggy, misty day could render this tableau more than a little frightening.






At the east end of the Reflecting Pool is the World War II Memorial. White granite arches stand on either side of a large oval pool with fountains. One commemorates victory in the European Theater of War and the other the victory in the Pacific Theater of War. The 56 pillars stand for the 48 states, the District of Columbia and the then territories of Alaska, Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, American Samoa, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and the Commonwealth of the Philippines (as of the 1945 end of WWII.)  The Philippines became independent in 1946.

It seemed like the walk from the World War II Memorial to the Washington Monument was all uphill. But by that point I was more than a little tired and very thirsty. You'd think that living in the High Plains Desert that is Denver's setting would have had me carrying my water bottle everywhere. Silly me, I left it at home and didn't think to get another one.

Standing at 554 feet, 7 11/32 inches, the Washington Monument is the world's tallest stone structure and tallest obelisk. It is also fenced off. It has been closed off and on for various and sundry reasons including, but not limited to, security upgrades following 9/11 and damage from a 5.8 magnitude earthquake in 2011.

After the Washington Monument, we were all ready for lunch. A late lunch and a break!

Day 3 -- The Lincoln Memorial

The Lincoln Memorial was Number One on Grandson John Riley's priority list, so Day 3 found us making our way there. Inside is a huge statue honoring our 16th President.

As we face the statue, to our left is inscribed the text of the Gettysburg Address. To the right is his Second Inaugural Address. On March 4, 1865, during the final days of the Civil War and only a month before he was assassinated he ended his address to a war-torn nation with these words:

                         "With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness
                          in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to
                          finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to
                          care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow,
                          and his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just,
                          and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations." 

Seated, he is 19 feet tall. Given the same proportions, he would be 28 feet tall if he were standing. At 6 feet 4 inches, President Lincoln was indeed tall, but no where near that tall! Considering his character, perhaps 28 feet tall is not too great an exaggeration.

Two of my favorite Lincoln biographies are Carl Sandburg's which is divided into two The Prairie Years and The War Years and Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals which is a more politically in depth focus on his presidency.

While the boys took their time inside the Memorial, I sat near the top of the first set of steps and looked east from the Lincoln Memorial, across the reflecting pool along The Mall toward the Washington Monument.

As I sat there, a teacher talked to her class seated on the bottom three rows of steps. She talked about the building of the Memorial -- how long it took, how much it cost, where the stone came from to build it.


I thought about the Civil War, the bloodiest war in our Nation's history. The war that could have destroyed The United States which by that time had stood as a constitutional democracy only seventy-two years. Enough time to see a person into old age, but as a nation, only as many years as to bring it into adolescence.

We deplore the divisions wracking this country today, but it is nothing compared to that. The Nation survived that. The Constitution survived that and civil rights were nominally expanded to all men. Not enough, but a beginning.

There were scattered groups of people milling about. I met a couple from Switzerland using the Memorial as a landmark, a place well-known and easily identified, to meet friends. There was a tour group of Asians, another of Spanish speakers, another of Middle Eastern people, and more and more -- people from all across the nation and from around the world. There were families and couples and singles scattered about the grounds. But there were spaces between the groups.

I sat just feet away from where Dr. Martin Luther King addressed the nation so many years ago. When Dr. King spoke, there were no spaces between the people gathered on the Mall. It was a sea of people -- so many, so many. As far down the Mall as you could see. In his I Have a Dream speech he gave our Nation his vision: 

                 "I say to you today, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today
                  and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the
                  American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up,
                  live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident,
                  that all men are created equal.'"

That was August 28th, 1963, in the midst of a nation divided by the same questions of civil rights for all our people. It was less than three months before another president was murdered -- President John F. Kennedy. A difficult time. A difficult time.

Since then, we have made giant strides forward, but there is still a ways to go. We will endure this current setback and advance civil rights still further for all people and "live out the true meaning" of the American Dream.

Day 2, Part 2 -- SCOTUS

Grandsons John Riley and Silas

That's the U.S. Capitol in the background.

And the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) is across the street in front of them. This is an area known as Capital Hill, and it was a pretty uphill trek from the Metro's Capitol South Station. Nothing like my Green Mountain at home though.

The thing about Washington, D.C. is that wherever you look, there is something beautiful and/or amazing to see just from the street. Our walk to SCOTUS took us past the Library of Congress's Thomas Jefferson Building. As a writer, this is a big deal for me.

 

                             Thomas Jefferson Building,              King Neptune and his court,   
                        one of three Library of Congress                     at the base was                   
                             buildings on Capital Hill                sculpted by Roland Hinton Perry           

The Library of Congress is the largest library in the world and the oldest federal cultural institution in the United States. And, no, I didn't get to go inside. I didn't go inside the Capitol, either. We just didn't have time. One week is not enough to see everything I want to see in D.C. Guess I'll have to take another History Vacation. "Don't throw me into that briar patch!" she cries.

So many things in D.C. seem so big to me. Now, I live at the foothills to the Rocky Mountains. Believe me, I understand "big." But all this human-made big takes my breath away. The sculptures at the base of the Library of Congress, the Capitol Dome, the portico and columns of the Supreme Court building.




This is the Great Hall in the Supreme Court Building. It runs from the giant sized bronze front doors to the court room. The door there in the back opens into the court room. The court room itself is not huge. It's a good two stories tall, and lushly appointed with classical friezes depicting powerful men, patrons who administer the law and portion out justice. The women figures seem to be supplicants rather than patrons. Beautiful, but a little testosterone driven for my tastes. Of course, this building was completed in 1935 barely 15 years after the 19th Amendment guaranteeing women in the United States the right to vote.

And marble and bronze and more marble everywhere!

   

        Behind these bronze doors is an elevator                               This is the entry to
        complete with an actual human elevator                                 the women's room
        operator. I remember from my childhood                               on the third floor.
        when all the elevators had human operators!

We had lunch in the cafeteria there. My
barbecue ribs were excellent, and       
I know from good ribs, because         
   my husband makes the best.                    

After lunch we caught the last lecture in the courtroom. It wasn't long, but the young woman giving it was personable and knowledgeable. There were many young people in the audience. Along with some adults in attendance, they asked perceptive questions. 

It seems that finishing the 8th Grade bestows on American students a school trip to Washington D.C. The city was awash with them. Very fitting, now that I think about it. John Riley just finished the 8th Grade, too.

We left the Supreme Court under threatening skies. Little did I know just how threatened our Supreme Court would soon become. Justice Kennedy, I don't begrudge you your well earned retirement. I just wish you had waited at least until after the mid-term elections.

Back at the hotel John and I left the boys watching TV. They don't have regular TV at home, so it was a draw for them. Cartoons, cartoons, cartoons.

John and I went out for dessert. Remember that Irish pub we saw the evening before in the square "within walking distance" from the hotel. Sine Irish Pub and Restaurant, to be exact. He had a Guinness Brownie and I, Bailey's Cheesecake. Each topped with enough whipped cream to sink a ship or my diet.