A new perspective
A Monumental Day
For a monumental city
On this day of symbolism, national monuments, deep exhalations, a Lady Gaga concert surrounded by a lot of important speeches, poems, and fervent testimonials, I’ve been shedding tears all afternoon. Tears of relief, most likely. Happiness, joy, restored faith in the system, whatever. Good tears.
And when I finally finished crying, I started laughing out loud, focusing on the televised visuals of our nation’s capital, and reminded of my many years of living in DC. It looks quite different today. But that’s not what made me start to giggle.
Years ago, when I worked in the Pentagon, my girlfriend Nancy came to visit and I gave her a personal tour of the inside of what we used to call the Puzzle Palace—or sometimes Fort Fumble. I thought she’d be impressed. It’s a powerful, commanding, awesome place!
But no. As we were leaving the building, she asked me, in her deep southern drawl, “So, Dee, how big around is this building?” I told her it was one mile in circumference, and that the female civil servants (mostly secretaries back then) put on their sneakers at noon and hiked the E-ring—the outermost of five concentric corridors of offices—for exercise.
She wasn’t interested in that. She continued with her next question: “So, Dee, how many men work in this building?” I launched into an explanation of how the number of military and civilian men was about 25,000, but increased to more than 100,000 during the day with visiting defense contractors, lobbyists, and tourists… but she wasn’t interested in that either.
I could see the wheels turning, index finger to her chin, lips pursed, eyes skyward. And she said, “Well, ya know, Dee, if we assume an average of six inches per man, and you lay 25,000 penises together in a line, it would wrap around the Pentagon about 2.5 times. So think about stepping over THAT every time you go thru security!”
It’s an image you can never unsee. It haunts me to this day, as you may have guessed.
Still hoping to impress my southern friend, I raced her off to walk the entire city, from the Sewell Belmont House—home of the late Alice Paul, my former landlady—to the Capitol, the Mall, the Washington Memorial, the White House, and finally to my home in Georgetown, to which my then-husband gave such helpful directions as “Just go to 30th and P.” (Read that last bit aloud for full effect.)
The Washington Monument was the literal high point on our walking tour. As we debated whether or not to climb to the top, Nancy asked, “So, Dee, how high is the monument?” Again, I launched into the details—555 feet or exactly 10 times higher than the width of the base, three stories tall, 896 steps to the top—but, no. Not interested in those factoids.
The gears were turning again. “Hmm,” she said. “Well, Dee, if the Washington Monument were built by women, it would be a hole in the ground 555 feet deep and 55.5 feet across, with monkey grass planted all around, and people would come from around the world, and they’d look down inside and say, ‘My, my, my, how deep is that?’”
Having carried these memories and images around for decades, ever hopeful that one day there might arrive some female energy to this testosterone-infested town, today I celebrated Vice President Kamala Harris’ inauguration.
I cried, I laughed, I celebrated. The tide has turned. And perhaps FLOTUS Dr. Biden will plant some monkey grass around the place when she restores the rose garden. ❤
Thanks for reading! For another tidbit about this amazing city, on Capitol Hill, adjacent to the Hart Senate Building, is the former center of the National Women’s Party, founded by Miss Alice Paul, author of the Equal Rights Amendment and my former landlady. Read more just below.