Memorials

Although I have visited DC a couple times in the past, yesterday was the first time I have been to the Lincoln Memorial. Margaret was gracious enough to take me around to the various sites at the National Mall, and as we strode up the stairs towards Lincoln’s statue, every film clip where I had seen Lincoln’s Memorial, from Martin Luther King JR’s speech to Planet of the Apes (and every other film I can’t instantly recall), fell from my memory, discarded like a sleepy child haphazardly drops a trail of clothes across the floor as he climbs into bed. There was Lincoln in all his marble majesty, a man who had an unmistakably profound impact on our nation. To physically experience his seated countenance in a Greek Doric temple eclipsed any concept I could have experienced vicariously through the inadequate medium of film. I entered the memorial, and although I was surrounded by hundreds of people, I felt alone for the first time in DC. Not so much in front of the statue despite the profound impact it had on me, but because I turned left and read the Gettysburg Address. I don’t know how many times I have read the Gettysburg Address, but I do know that yesterday was the first time I have experienced it: “[G]overnment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” Not from the United States, but from the earth. And then I crossed the chamber to the other side and read his second inaugural address. At that moment I felt truly alone as I embraced the moment and listened to Lincoln’s words as I read them to myself. I had not intended to take the time to read the entire address, but his words held me captive, and I felt that if I didn’t read everything, my visit would be incomplete. I am glad I did. Brilliant. There is too much to go into in this blog, but if you have never read it (as I am ashamed to admit I had not), then I encourage one to do so. It is worth the read.

As we headed back towards the Metro station, we walked by the Vietnam Memorial. I have never been there, and I must admit to my shame that it doesn’t move me like it does most of the nation. I am bothered by this, but I have a feeling it is a defense mechanism. I walk by it seeing little. Maybe it is because I refuse to look. I don’t see the 57,272 names inscribed upon the black granite. I see myself. I see other people. I use the reflections to create a distance, using the depth of the mirror image to foster an odd detachment. Instead, I think of a poem by Ezra Pound called “In A Station of the Metro” published in 1913, and wonder about its seemingly perfect applicability to that moment, having arrived at the Mall via Metro just an hour earlier. I walked on looking, but not seeing. There was an old beret left at the base of one panel and tourist after tourist scrambled forward out of the passing crowd to rotate their camera lens, focus properly to their best aesthetic sensibility and snatch an image of someone else’s painful memory. All around us there were intramural softball games that made me smile. Tourists were watching the games and taking pictures of them with what seemed to be just as much interest as they had the memorial…

The sun was setting and what had been a scorching hot day began to cool off into a pleasant mugginess as we strolled back towards the Washington Monument. This monolithic structure seemed to dominate every picture I took. From the Museums by the Castle, I snapped a picture of it in the distance. From the WWII memorial, I took great pains to maneuver around the beautiful fountains so that I could get an American flag, a fountain, and the Washington Memorial all in the same shot. From Lincoln’s Memorial, I stood on the steps and took a picture where the Washington Memorial blocked out the Capitol building. The reflecting pool is drained and under construction, but as we passed the nearby pond I enjoyed the view of lovely weeping willows and the spire of the monument peeking over their heads. And as we finally came abreast of it, the flags that encircled the monument suddenly made me think of service to country, the twilight of my own career, and my fallen comrades. I allowed myself and my thoughts to be distracted by the appearance of a late afternoon moon. Because the Washington Monument had intruded on every other view, it seemed perfectly appropriate and quite natural that is should share the same space.

I haven’t talked much about the World War II Memorial, but I couldn’t end this entry without saying I find it breathtakingly beautiful and worth its own space in writing when I get the chance.

                                     

~Shawn Neely