An Old Glory Kind of Day in Washington : The Inaugural: Bill Clinton’s assumption of power was one of those unusual times when television, a medium of the moment, waxed historical.

“Were you ever little?”

The question, so refreshingly innocent and free of guile, was relayed to Bill Clinton on Tuesday by America’s preeminent youth maven, Mister Rogers himself. It came from a child during a kids-quiz-the-President-elect telecast on the Disney Channel that was the most heartfelt event in the long, noisy stretch of pre-inauguration activities.

Having fun, Clinton admitted to his mainly young audience that, many years ago, he had indeed been little.

He is, in fact--despite the Lincolnesque anecdotes obscenely lavished on him during Tuesday night’s inaugural gala on CBS--the only Chief Executive in recent times you can actually imagine having been a youth. But you can understand how, from a child’s point of view, they might be skeptical, given the size of the office Clinton was acquiring and the pomp and the partying that accompanied his assumption of power.

The final stage of that process--Wednesday’s swearing-in and its four hours of foreplay--was one of those occasions when having access to television was essential. It was one of those unusual times when television, a medium of the moment, waxed historical. It was also one of those rare instances when the medium integrated religion into its agenda without snickering.

You felt yourself glowing along with the new President and his family. And the moment--arcing the morning like a rainbow--was exhilarating.

It’s true that the inaugural, at its core, signified the tight braiding of politics and government. The real world, away from the fun and pretentious rhetoric, intercedes immediately. Plus, the connection between a successful inaugural and a successful presidency is traditionally “very slight,” political scientist Barbara Kellerman noted Wednesday morning on PBS.

Yet there was something unique being unfurled on eight channels, an Old Glory kind of day that transcended mere spectacle. “What you have just witnessed,” ABC’s Peter Jennings observed eloquently about the serene transfer of power, “is the envy of the world.” Well, at least most of the world.

Television’s early morning overture began with coverage of the Clintons and Gores attending music-filled, interfaith services at the Metropolitan AME Church in Washington. In the presence of music of any kind, Clinton is inevitably reduced to a quivery mass. Heaven help the United States if Saddam Hussein ever learns to play the trumpet.

Inside the church, Clinton validated this reputation, responding to the music euphorically, his body swaying, his jaw thrust forward, his mouth open as if he were in some sort of trance. “It’s like he’s catching flies,” pesidential impressionist Jim Morris joked later on ABC’s “Good Morning America.”

Are these humanizing episodes truly unguarded moments on the part of Clinton, or are they performances, the stagecraft of a man who can sense television’s eye scrutinizing him? One doesn’t know. In any event, you found yourself searching for small things, nuances. At the church, NBC’s camera caught a tear rolling down Clinton’s cheek. At another point, he reached over and grasped the hand of his wife, Hillary.

After a rousing sermon, moreover, an emotional, seemingly moved Gore shook his head and muttered “Whew” himself. He instinctively started to rise to his feet to lead a standing ovation, then appeared to hesitate, as if not wanting to stand before Clinton, then rose anyway, followed by Clinton.

Later, after Clinton and still-President Bush had chatted at the White House and their motorcade had finally arrived at its destination, there was a feast of people watching, including government bigwigs galore and Hillary Clinton and Tipper Gore, almost mummified in their heavy winter outfits. And even Jack Nicholson was in the vicinity of the platform, having made the ultimate sacrifice by choosing the inauguration over Wednesday night’s Lakers home game with the Seattle Supersonics.

It was also a feast for lip readers. “I love you,” Clinton said to his daughter, Chelsea, after being sworn in as the nation’s 47th President.

If his speech seemed almost anti-climactic, the rest of the day--from Maya Angelou’s electrifying inaugural poem to the traditional inaugural parade--applied a big, bold exclamation point to the history that was being made.

Meanwhile, a chopper carried George and Barbara Bush to Andrews Air Force Base, where they boarded Air Force Two. Soon they were off to Texas--flying away from the burdens of the White House, away from the editorial page caricatures, away from the comedians’ impressions and one-liners--heading toward a life of relative serenity and writing memoirs.

And like Angelou’s river that “sang, and sings on,” Clinton was off to his new career, off to join the parade, off to greet the throngs lining Pennsylvania Ave., off to the evening’s inaugural balls, called by history to cure the nation’s ills and right its wrongs.

Little no longer.