Inaugural a Hot Ticket--If You Cool Your Heels

Although their inaugural ball tickets never came in the mail as promised, Carmen and Lanny Pinchuk were assured that they would be available at a will-call center once they arrived in the capital.

So they flew all the way from Boulder, Colo., to attend the festivities, only to be told that the tickets reserved for them had disappeared.

“After flying 2,000 miles, it’s disheartening not to have tickets,” Carmen Pinchuk, a 60-year-old retired teacher who stuffed envelopes and went door-to-door for Bill Clinton during the campaign, said Friday. Harried young staff members at the Commerce Department were trying to make the Pinchuks’ tickets reappear, but after 2 1/2 hours, there was still no sign of them.

“I would rather be at the Smithsonian,” added Mrs. Pinchuk, smiling wanly. “It’s really a poorly organized operation. But I guess it’s just that the Democrats are out of practice.”

The Pinchuks were among dozens milling around and sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs for hours in the ornately decorated hall of the Commerce Department building on Pennsylvania Avenue near the White House. Most of them were avid Clinton supporters who had worked the phone banks or pounded the pavement to help him win the election.

But others had been detached to pick up tickets for their employers, who had won the privilege to attend a ball or gala by making hefty campaign contributions.

“It’s worse than the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles,” groaned Ira Greenspan, 23, an executive assistant at the Jewish War Veterans of the USA who had propped his feet up on one chair and was lounging on another. “I’m here 2 1/2 hours, going on three. But if I don’t get these tickets, I’ll lose my job!”

The scene at the Commerce Department was just part of the ticket pandemonium that has characterized the buildup to the first Democratic inauguration in 12 years. In the Washington Post, scalpers are advertising tickets for sale to various events, even those that are free.

Demand has far outmatched supply. Some 85,000 postcards were received for the drawing that the inaugural committee will hold to determine who gets into a White House open house the day after the inauguration. Only the senders of 2,500 of the cards will receive a coveted pair of tickets. To improve his odds, one man is said to have mailed at least 1,000 ticket request cards.

A record-breaking crowd is expected for the swearing-in ceremony, which requires tickets even for standing-room sections nearly a half-mile from the podium where Clinton will stand. Seats for 26,000 people (holding appropriate tickets, of course) are being set up on the West Lawn of the Capitol.

During the most recent inaugurals, the acceptance rate was low for tickets, but this year, Democrats, delighted to have their man in the White House at last, exercised their option to buy at record rates.

More than 80% of those given invitations responded to the chance to stand in the bitter Washington winter air to hear Clinton take his oath. The result is a real ticket scramble. Senators, deluged by requests, have had to hold lotteries in an effort to distribute the tickets fairly.

While the inconveniences have left some people grumbling, others are trying to take advantage of the confusion.

A lawyer and a banker standing in line at Commerce were grinning in a pleased-with-themselves sort of way despite the wait.

The lawyer, a 45-year-old Republican who supported Clinton, had received an invitation. His 42-year-old banker friend had not. But while the two were waiting in line, the banker had decided to tell the cashier he had forgotten his invitation. Tired or naive, she let him buy two tickets as well.

“Where I come from, if you see a situation as confused as this, you know you can take advantage of it,” the lawyer said.