Purely Human Moments Amid Capital’s Pomp

It came at last to one austere moment in this clean, spare place on a hilltop high above the nation’s marble city.

In that moment and in this place, the radiant-white west front of the Capitol building, the massed powers of the country pledged once again to set aside their divisions and bind their passions to 35 spoken words that transfer the whole rich, armored might of the United States from one pair of hands to another.

William Jefferson Clinton--a minute early, for once--pronounced the 35 words written more than 200 years ago in the plain language of the deists and, like many of the men before him, fervently appended to them “so help me God.”

Stretched out before Clinton on the Mall, a record quarter-million people who had mashed themselves into subways and along sidewalks to stand here for this moment shushed one another to hear his words amplified down the Capitol’s steps. The sound ruffled the birds floating in the Capitol reflecting pool, and echoed off the granite and marble monuments, and when Clinton finished, their cheers welled back up toward him.

Hillary Rodham Clinton allowed herself a little “phew” of relief when she turned to sit down after the oath, holding the Bible that had belonged to her husband’s grandmother. It was open to a New Testament passage: “For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.”

And with the world’s press grinding out countless images of her son, Clinton’s mother, the earthy Virginia Kelley, pulled out her own little camera and preserved the moment for herself. And a cop balanced his walkie-talkie in one hand and his own camera in the other to save the instant.

Out on the mall where he once protested the Vietnam War--the same war that the man up on the platform had protested, too--42-year-old Gary Shellehamer strained to hear the first words of this first President of his generation. “I went through the same things he went through,” Shellehamer said.

Nine times in 14 minutes, Clinton spoke the word “change.” Each of them was sweet to Almenta Kennedy, 44, who had waited for hours to hear Clinton, to hear poet Maya Angelou, and now that she had, she was taking her worn-out grandson home. “The speech was wonderful, the poem was wonderful. . . . He said it’s time for a change.”

Judy McDonald, up from Fayetteville, Ark., was surprised to find that, like the folks at home, Washingtonians embraced Clinton’s youth “in a way they can’t relate to these more fatherly figures.”

Wednesday’s proceedings were what campaigns and victories, the shirt-sleeve days and sequined evenings, are all about. Yet any occasion of high solemnity is interwoven with telling moments of humanity, instants during the inaugural itself that presaged the parade to come, part Rose Parade splendor, part Doo-Dah Parade antics:

--Texas Democratic Rep. Jack Brooks, a 40-year congressional veteran and chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, wore his Stetson and puffed at his cigar in the moments before the oath.

--Loyal Arkansans, at a lull during the ceremony, hollered out the Razorback “wooooo-pig, sooie” cry.

--Chelsea Clinton, tired from a late night, yawned as she sang “The Star-Spangled Banner,” along with soprano Marilyn Horne, then bent to collect the name cards at each chair on the dais before going into the Capitol to lunch with her parents.

--Supreme Court justices warded off the chill in black silk skullcaps like their 19th-Century predecessors wore, a practice revived by Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist for the inauguration four years ago.

--The Marine Band rendered the Aaron Copeland tune, “Fanfare for the Common Man,” before a VIP audience whose members would be just about the last people in America to admit to themselves that they are common.

--Senate aides, who shrug when the vice president of the United States goes by, were all atwitter over the movie star contingent, and wondering why Kathleen Turner was having a bad-hair day, today of all days.

--Attorney General-designate Zoe Baird wandered down Pennsylvania Avenue with a military officer escort, apparently looking for a parade-route seat and carrying her 3-year-old son in her arms.

--One obvious climber on the power elite ladder, hearing Clinton chasten people like him in this “place of intrigue,” to “give this capital back to the people to whom it belongs,” was bristling: “ That’s not going to go unnoticed in this town.”

For the crowds, as for the Clintons, the sun rose on the best January weather Washington can offer: in the mid-40s, bright and very fair--much the way the nation’s new guard likes to think of itself.

At an interdenominational prayer service at the century-old Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal church, Clinton--of whom it has been said in jest that he cries at ribbon-cuttings--was moved to a single heartfelt tear as he sang “Holy Ground” and swayed to the sacred music.

“This morning was the first time that a President has ever gone to a black church” on Inauguration Day, exulted Amtrak porter Mark Taylor. “He broke the trend. I don’t know why he did. It just shows that he cares about people in general.”

Now, it’s true the Republicans spend more money--here he was, not earning a single tip as Democrats streamed by him on the way to the swearing-in--”but it doesn’t matter, because a whole lot of people are better off this time.” It’s “so different from the last 12 years,” he told his partner, “it makes you nervous.”

Afterward, the crowd surging down from the Capitol flowed into the crowds heading for the parade. Once they arrived, and the limousines rolled past, they chanted, “Walk, walk!” to urge the new President out of his car.

Clinton, unable to resist a handshake or a hug, did get out, finally, hailing the crowd with his clenched-fist wave and the half-smile trick of biting his lower lip.

The Clintons got out of their car just outside the Hotel Washington, known as the Hotel Arkansas this week because all but 13 of the rooms in the 10-story hotel are booked by Clinton’s fellow Arkansans, who waved and shrieked their delight, then laughed at themselves for getting all worked up over seeing people they’ve known for years step out of a car.

Times staff writer Matt Marshall contributed to this story.