Bureau of Engraving and Printing
After breakfast, my first stop was the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, which had not been high on my to-do list. Part of that was that they didn't really seem very welcoming, like they didn't want tourists poking around. They are only open for tours for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon, and if you arrive outside those two windows, then tough luck.
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| This is one way to make money (photo from capitolescapes.com) |
But Lorelai seemed rather excited for me to visit the place where money is made. For her sake, then, I walked down to the Bureau and took the tour. It lasted 30 minutes, said very little in addition to what we learned during the intro video, and cynically dumped us in the gift shop at the end of the tour. I was unimpressed, and they didn't even let us take photos to make the lackluster tour worthwhile.
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| Obviously, not my photo (photo from capitolescapes.com) |
Vietnam Memorial, Again
After having visited the Vietnam Memorial the day before, I had been thinking about the many men and women who visit the wall looking for the name of a loved one. I had been wondering for the last 24 hours what that must be like. I had an hour to kill before I needed to be on the metro to the Pentagon, so I decided to walk back to the wall and recreate the name-finding experience for myself.
At each entrance to the memorial, one can find a number of pedestals with glass enclosed cases. Inside each case is an index of the names on the wall. I flipped the pages and found a half-column of Barretts. I chose a name that was similar to that of a brother, noted the location of the name, and set off to find him.
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| Andrew Barrett's name on the wall |
After finding the name, I sat down on a nearby bench, and looked him up on the Virtual Wall, a web site with additional information about the names on the Vietnam Memorial. I looked up my name and read a little bit more about Staff Sergeant Andrew Ryan Barrett. He was born in 1949, only seven months before my father. Sergeant Barrett was from Minnetonka, MN and was an infantryman in the army. He started his tour of duty on May 26, 1970. Three months later, in Phuoc Long Province, he was killed by enemy gunfire. He was 21 years old.
I slowly rose from the bench, and walked to the Smithsonian metro stop. I contemplated the little I knew of Sergeant Barrett's life--what was it like, and what would it have been if not cut so short? Would he have had kids had he survived the war? If so, they would be close to my own age. How much larger would my own generation have been, if not for all those potential fathers who were killed in Vietnam? I now have a specific, emotional connection to the wall.
Pentagon
I arrived at the Pentagon an hour before my scheduled tour was to start. This was the recommendation of my confirmation e-mail and it turned out to be overly generous. I ended up sitting in the waiting room for half an hour.
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| I didn't take this photo (photo from Wikipedia) |
As I left the Pentagon Metro stop, I noticed some advertisements for a company that I don't normally see advertisements for. But, I reasoned, if this company were to advertise, this would be an excellent spot for it. Since I have friends who work for this company, I snapped a few pictures of the ads. They might get a kick out of them.
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| I bet I know someone who made that missile |
Before I could enter the building, I had to pass through several security checks. Ahead of me in the line were a couple of ladies who thought they could walk up to the Pentagon and walk right in for a tour. They were very disappointed to learn that they had to submit their request at least two weeks prior, in order for the proper security checks to be performed.
The Pentagon tour was one of my favorite things about my D.C. trip, and the content of the tour was only a part of the reason. Another part was just the excitement of being INSIDE the PENTAGON! And yet another reason was the quality of the tour guides.
Pentagon tour guides are selected from among the Honor Guards in the various branches of the military. That day, our guides were Air Force Honor Guards. They dress in full formal uniforms, complete with white gloves. They have amazing lungs and great sense of humors and are expert at walking backwards.
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| My tour guide kind of looked like this guy (photo from airforcelive.dodlive.mil) |
Much of the tour was dedicated to the history of the five branches of the military, and various bits of trivia concerning the same. The high point of the tour was the 9-11 chapel and memorial. The names of the fallen, both military and civilian, are etched on large plaques just outside the chapel. Our guide pointed out the names of the youngest victims: Dana and Zoe Falkenberg, ages 3 and 8, who were flying with their father on American Flight 77 on that fateful day.
The tour wrapped up in the main commercial center of the Pentagon. Workers here can find just about anything they need: a chocolate store, several red box kiosks, a jewelry store, and even a Best Buy. Once you enter the Pentagon, there's no real reason to leave until the work day is over, and sometimes not even then. The tour guide pointed out a store where, if the chocolates and jewelry fail to get one out of the relationship "dog house," a Pentagon worker could buy a pillow and sleep in his office.
Museum of American Art
I returned to D.C. proper, and started thinking about lunch. The Pentagon tour had started at 1:00, so I hadn't eaten since my square bagel (a squagel) at Cosi earlier in the morning. I was tempted to give in and eat at a McDonald's that I knew was near my next metro stop.
As I was leaving the station, though, I was confronted with a row of food trucks, one of which sold cheese steaks. It was a sign from God, I reasoned, and he didn't want me to waste my vacation budget at a fast food chain restaurant. I sat on the steps of the National Portrait Gallery, ate my cheesesteak sandwich, and then went to McDonald's to top it off with a Powerade.
The National Portrait Gallery is actually housed in the same building as the American Art Museum. The two are actually fairly well integrated, with the portrait gallery on the 1st and 3rd floor of the east wing, and on the 2nd floor of the west wing, and vice versa for the American Art Museum. It's impossible, therefore, to visit one museum without at least walking though the other.
On my previous visit to the building, Ray and I had focused mostly on the portrait gallery. On this return visit, though, I focused on the American Art Museum. By the time 4:00 rolled around, I had barely scratched the surface of the second floor and had not even ventured onto the third. I had to be content knowing that I would come back in eight or nine years, and I would force my kids to enjoy the museum so I could finally finish what I had started.
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| We the People |
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| A statue commissioned by Henry Adams for his wife's grave |
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| A garish piano, once owned by Teddy Roosevelt |
I finished my visit with a quiet contemplation of an Albert Bierstadt painting, the same one that hung on the wall of my parents' home for many years. I want one for my own home.
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| I want to go to there |
I met up with Shane, and we walked down to the designated slug line for our park-and-ride on Highway on 234. Shane and I tried to get in the same car, but by the time I was first in line, the next car only had room for one rider. Shane let me go first and promised he'd be right behind. Within minutes of my leaving the area, though, traffic in that part of D.C. shut down completely as the motorcade of some important individual (the president, maybe?) passed nearby.
Shane eventually got in a car, and made good time on his way to the south. I only ended up waiting for him for a few minutes at the park-and-ride lot.
Dinner
Dinner that night was a home-cooked meal of enchiladas, pinto beans, and guacamole. After several days of fast food and junk food, it was heavenly.
Before moving to D.C, Shane had been the ward mission leader in the Sahuarita First Ward for four years. His wife had served with him as a ward missionary. They missed the calling and were continuing in their member missionary work. That night they had the full-time missionaries over, along with a family that was currently taking lessons from the missionaries.
Byron and his wife, Joyce, are a couple from Ghana. Byron teaches history and geography at a state prison and Joyce teaches at a day care. It was obvious that they placed a high value on education, and they continued to address Shane as "Dr. Shane" throughout the evening.
Byron and I really connected that night. As the evening concluded, the missionaries shared a spiritual thought on faith. I shared some additional thoughts and could tell that my words touched Byron and Joyce. As we said our good-byes, Byron clasped my hand and said, "You inspire me, brother." It was a very uplifting evening.
Shortly afterwards, I retired to the guest room on the third floor and fell into bed. Although this day had been lighter than the others (only eight miles on the pedometer), I was still quite exhausted. It was the same exhaustion I used to feel at the end of a particularly great week on my mission and it was with weary contentment that I drifted into sleep that night.
Hello,
ReplyDeleteI know this is a quite old post, bust still... I found myself not so good in English, because I can't clearly understand what is said by those car number plates...