I'm thinking what happened is that the Rose Garden ceremony was canceled because of unsettled weather. So, they divided the ceremony into the signing and the speech. I wasn't invited to the Rose Garden, but when they moved the speech to the Department of Interior auditorium, they suddenly had empty seats. So they called me, because I had been cleared recently for a previous White House event and they thought that since I'm a shameless political groupie, I would drop everything to go on virtually no notice. And they were right.
So, off I go.
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After being checked off no fewer than four times on the list of the invitees (yes, the Salahis live), I enter the large auditorium and take a seat pretty close to the stage. It's pretty evident that many of the 600 seats are filled with congressional and White House staffers who worked on the health care bill. Everyone is very excited.
It turns out that I'm not the only one who was a little confused about the nature of the event. A nice lady from North Carolina, a state senator, and her friend, another state senator, also thought they were coming to the real thing. "I canceled all of my appointments and paid $600 for a plane ticket," she says glumly, looking at the huge monitor where we were going to watch the signing. "Don't get me wrong, but my email says attend the signing." She shows me the email. "Where did you come from?" I told her I came from Bethesda. It didn't make her any happier.
"Look," I say. "There's Al Sharpton." I jump up to grab a photo. "Here comes Eric Holder." I had read an article about Holder in the Wall Street Journal on the Metro on the way in. Some civil liberties type had compared him to Alberto Gonzales. Alberto Gonzales!! I figure the Attorney General could use some support. I go up and shake his hand and say that I think he's doing a great job. He smiles and seems genuinely pleased. "Thanks very much," he says. I'm about to say he's better than Alberto, but decide the better of it. Anyway, Peter Orszag, the budget director, is coming in, and I get in position to snap another photo.
The place is getting really crowded and it's about time for the signing, so I go back to my seat. "Are you sure Obama is coming here?" my state senator friend asks me. "I'll be really upset if I flew here to watch this on a monitor." I reach into my pocket and take out my email invitation. It clearly says he's coming to the rally. She's slightly mollified.
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The place gets very quiet and everyone turns to the monitors. First, the vice president speaks and speaks some more and speaks some more and finally introduces the president. The place roars, so I don't hear the "Big F---ing Deal" comment. Obama speaks and the auditorium is roaring. Then he starts signing and signing and signing, but no pen for me.
The lights come on and everyone is alive with excitement, but nothing to do but wait. Hilda Solis, the labor secretary, comes out and says she's going to fire up the crowd. Sorry, her speech is a snoozer. Even, "Si, se puede," falls flat. The labor secretary needs more work on her speechifying. Tom Vilsack, the agriculture secretary, comes out and he's much better. Everyone is getting excited. "Yes, we did," he shouts. Everyone roars.
Finally, the luminaries who had attended the East Room ceremony start entering. It's the mother lode. Kathleen Sebelius, Henry Waxman, Charlie Rangel (feel sorry for him; he seems slightly out of sync), Chris Dodd, Tom Harkin. Snap, snap, snap.
"Who's that sitting next to Valerie Jarrett?" my friend asks. She seems to be getting into the scene.
Finally, Vickie Kennedy and some others come on stage, including a cute kid. Obama and Biden come out and the place erupts. "Yes, we did," people shout and jump from their seats. Biden gives another introduction, and seems more circumspect in his comments, on and off mike. Obama comes to the microphone and the place is roaring. "Yes, we did," people are shouting and rhythmically clapping. It's wild.
Obama gives another great speech. "They say Armageddon is coming," he says, and everyone laughs. "Well in a couple of months, look up. We'll see."
He looks over at little Marcelas Wallace, the 11-year-old whose mother died without health insurance and then began a crusade for health care in her memory. "You're looking real sharp," the president says, noting that his tie and the boy's are the same. I'm thinking, what was I doing when I was 11. What have I done with my life?
Back to the speech. The President kicks into his close. Everybody leaps up. The place is rocking. It's electric. Even my friend is up on her feet. "Please give me a copy of that picture of all of them raising their hands over their heads," she says excitedly.
"I didn't get it," I said sheepishly."But I got a nice picture of Marcelas," I say hopefully. She doesn't seem too interested.
Obama starts down the rope line and I try to make it up up front to shake hands with him. "Yes, I can," I say to my friend as I try to wend my way to the front. But the president turns to leave before he gets to my spot. I'm disappointed but not too disappointed. Shaken his hand before. It's just part of the game.
I turn to take some more photos. Marcelas is right in front of me so I take another shot. Quite a kid.
The place begins to clear out quickly and I go back to grab my coat. OK, now what do I say to everyone I told I was going to the actual signing? I'm thinking, maybe I can fake it. No one will ever really know.
Nah, this wasn't bad at all.
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