Walking around the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool

When I was six years old, I picked up my first atlas.  I recall that I did not set it down for about four hours, until I had to turn on a light to read.  My first pages of heavy pondering focused on the eastern seaboard of the United States, starting with Florida.  I suppose I wondered just where it was that we would go with all the palm trees and a lack of snow in the winter.  I also recall staring at the inset map of Washington, D.C., and liking water, was fixated on the long blue rectangles and ovals that stood in front of marked buildings.  When we would drive down to Florida from Ontario, I would thereafter always stare at the nondescript beltway embankments while passing through on I-495.  I wondered what kind of wonderful city was there, full of huge pools.  Who cared about the White House or the memorials, I wanted to see that big reflecting pool!  This past summer, I finally got my chance.

Alas, I did not know that it was under construction.  On top of the heat and bursts (and I mean bursts) of rain that were making a romp through the memorials difficult, this came about as a disappointment.  Thankfully the National Park Service, being the great organization that it is, had signs up explaining what was going on.  The pool had become stagnant and disgusting, and instead of spending a lot more money chlorinating water that kept evaporating anyway, plans to connect the pool to the Potomac were instead drawn up.  The pool will use a filtration system that will not only help keep the waters clean, but recycle clean waters back into the river and local water supply.  Such wonderful news about my beloved pool helped me cope with the evils of summer.  Of course, the moment I started ignoring the heat and humidity, which you actually see in the above photograph, rain started pouring down like mad, and I made a mad dash for Mr. Lincoln, who was being photographed and spoken to by throngs of tourists.  

The monument was a bit too busy to fully appreciate at the time, and the fact that I was soaked to the bone did not help either.  I suppose I was expecting such a hot and humid day to kill the crowds a bit and leave the monuments in something of a more solemn state rather than tourist picture taking opportunities.  Instead, there were throngs everywhere, and people seemed to be far more interested in the vendors and their overpriced souvenirs than on the meaning of the words written on the wall to Mr. Lincoln's right.  I was the only person even looking at them.

I was transfixed by the last words there, taken from his first inaugural address.  I took a picture afterwards, which as you can see, came out fuzzy and veiled.  Perhaps this is fitting, as when the shot was taken, and to this day, this nation remains extremely polarized in political opinions.  Granted, that time was no less polarized, but it was different... The first address is a very telling document in the development of this nation; concessions were made to the continuation of slavery, even while Lincoln and his party had strong feelings against the institution.  Some passages are seemingly brutal and indifferent towards human rights, while others, such as this, evoke strong positive emotional reactions.  The downpour gave me the opportunity to stay and ponder the words, almost in a contemplative silence, even while there were noisy crowds nearby.  A NPS ranger noticed me all alone, and probably knew what I had on my mind, because he just smiled, shrugged, and gestured over to the busy crowd.  That's when it hit me... these monuments, the National Mall, all of it, was all about both the noisy crowds and the resonance of the messages the marble structures were supposed to convey.  This hallowed ground of American history was about all the people, after all, and then about being better than we often act.  Here I was, a Canadian, getting misty about the place "our side" torched back in 1814.  The specific words "broad land" echoed in my thoughts as I braved the rain and headed down towards the Washington Monument.  

While he was referring to the United States in speaking of this broad land, he also made reference in what he spoke, both here in Washington and north at Gettysburg, to just what the spirit of the country would mean to the rest of the world.  To act with the right intentions and produce such a morally positive outcome would not only impact the lands from Maine to California, but indeed the world.  Through the trees I could see the Vietnam War memorial that I had earlier passed, and the Korean War memorial.  The history of this nation and its relationship with the world had been a rocky one for some time, and yet these memorials stood there as public reminders that the United States did not forget about the rocky times.  Indeed, the concept here was that the public should never forget about the world, its people, all of its people.  The weary soldiers cast in bronze, and the solemn list of names chiseled in granite received less people the day I passed by them, but each and every person I saw were acting as if they were in a temple or church rather than at a supposed "tourist destination".  The solemnity was very powerful and contagious.  

I approached the end of the pool when sheets of rain started falling.  By this point of the summer, I had become accustomed to how rain makes everything nice and cool out in the arid west.  Here in the lands classified as "humid subtropical", the effect is quite the opposite.  I took refuge in the Park Service kiosk near the World War II memorial.  Under the protective eaves, I saw something rather remarkable happen.  People fled the open areas and the monuments were all empty.  The rain muted the sounds of the city, and the World War II memorial stood silently nearby, pelted by the crying sky.  

Two images came to mind.  One was of the silent ruins of the Roman Forum, a monumental landscape of civic pride that, as part of the classical milieu, partially inspired designs and architecture of the city of Washington.  The other image was of the actual men fighting on the battlefields of that (or any) war, stuck in the mud and with rain pelting their helmets.  In the middle of an extremely political city, while open warfare was being engaged in over the debt ceiling by politicians and interest groups mere miles from this spot, memory stood far larger, and nature conspired with history to bring a brief period of peace to an otherwise charged landscape, past and present.  Politics existed back then, and they will continue to exist as long as ambition and agenda dwell in our hearts.  One day, both the stones of this memorial and the trees, grass, and even soil and air around it shall be no more, but the meaning of what this place represents shall live on.  Lincoln certainly agreed, if his words at Gettysburg are any indication.   

And what of this memorial which sits at the end of the pool, and the war which it asks pause and reflection for?  Unlike the arches and statues of the ancient ruins that came to mind in distant Rome, which stand as testimony to the glory of triumph of an empire, this holy place stands as a testament to sacrifice and defiance of tyranny.  This was a quiet place, and I stood in the middle of it, looking back down the pool of my giddy imagination, I noticed people filling back up into the Lincoln memorial and the other nearby sights.  Here though, the monument was quiet, and the fountains gently bubbled as a slight breeze rustled through the nearby trees.  

Ahead, perhaps the most famous and dramatic of monuments that the pool can reflect, is the Washington monument.  

Ironically, the largest monument in a sea of monuments is dedicated to a man who refused to be crowned a king.  There were more people here, and they were busy and noisy.  By this time, however, I had passed by marble and bronze sculpted in memory of those who had gone before us, and the concept "by the people, for the people" started to have more tangible meaning.  Everyone, you see, was looking up, and the focus for all of us seemed to be something other than ourselves.  A "reflecting" pool indeed!  The Roman Forum was built as a gathering space for sharing opinion and exchanging ideas, even while it ended up being a roadway for the glorification of the state.  The reflecting pool, which is being made more accessible and useful, has also long been a place of gathering, but the grand sights which surround it are dedicated "to the better angels of our nature".  Clearly, I have found the space inspiring, even in weather conditions less than healthy for a cold water Canadian fish as myself.  The beauty about this, and other public spaces, of course, is that we can all decide that for ourselves.  

See you tomorrow for another look at some of that past which led to the creation of this place.