I went to see Gerald Ford's last departure from the U.S. Capitol this morning. Below, a near stream-of-consciousness journal entry written while sitting in a cafe in Georgetown. With pictures! I went all second-person on you near the end, my apologies.
So. Notes on the funeral. I got to the west side of the Capitol Building around 8:45am this morning and joined the thin crowd of people in the morning sunlight at the edge of the street. I think it was 2nd Street but really have no idea. We waited quietly for the procession at 9:30. It was chilly, but the sun was warm, and the Capitol policemen in their blue parkas rode around on their bikes and told us to stay back on the curb (see photos below). A couple of reporters tried to get in but they turned them away, and one foolhardy photographer got yelled at when he set his tripod up in the street.
The whole ceremony took maybe 30 minutes. A fleet of Capitol Police motorcycles rumbled in to the grounds, and DC Metropolitan Police (MPD) officers were present as well. The Capitol dome stood grey-white against a clear blue sky, and the leaves rattled in the trees when the wind blew.
The Capitol motor pool and one of the officers making sure we behaved ourselves.Finally, the honor guard appeared on the steps. I had a horrible angle and so could only see a few of them in the distance, plus the shiny tubas of the Marine Corps Marching Band, but they stood outside for a long time (as the coffin was carried slowly down the steps, from what I saw later on CNN). There was a 21-cannon salute (I’d assumed they were rifles but they were definitely loud as cannons) from the trees behind us, making everyone jump and one little girl nearby start to cry momentarily. The smoke from the cannons drifted past us and floated towards the Capitol as we stood out the steady cannonfire.
More people had arrived after I did and they took vantage points on the steps of the Russell Senate Building; they may have had a better camera angle but I’ll never know for sure. I was shooting black and white film as well as digital, and the solid click of my camera was a welcome long-lost sound. I’ve neglected film in favor of digital but there’s really nothing like it.
Anyway. The vehicles. While we were waiting, a set of chartered buses came through – probably with the Congresspeople on board. Then the Capitol motor pool lined up in the street and pulled out just before the main procession, after the ceremony had finished (see below). It was an endless stream of police cruisers – Capitol and DC police – and black sedans and SUVs. Protection details are made up of black Suburbans. Many had tinted windows, many more had the red and blue add-on lights. There’s actually a shop out in Falls Church, Virginia, that installs LCD lights for official vehicles.
The black SUVs and the rather scary-looking bike cop.The cars pulled out of the Capitol entryway at a decent pace – SUVs first, sedans, more motorcycles, then finally the hearse itself, flying small American flags from its fenders. There was a black SUV with a camera crew directly in front of it, the camera aimed out the open back window at the following hearse.
The second hearse. I shot the first one with film.One person near me asked why there were two hearses, when the second one passed by us – I shot the first one in film and the second one on digital. It’s in case something happens to the first one. A breakdown, or worse - you never know, even at a funeral – and many of the black Suburbans are empty for the same reason. I didn’t see Betty Ford, but I believe she would have been in the car directly behind the hearse. If memory serves, that’s where Nancy Reagan was, at her husband’s funeral this past June. President Reagan’s procession had the same long line of vehicles: two hearses and a motor pool escort.
This ceremony was amazingly simple and quiet, except for the police radios; one homicide earlier that morning, we heard; and the Star Spangled Banner played faintly from the Capitol steps. The contrast of the cannon salute was startling, especially without the usual noise of traffic.
Once the last car had passed, traffic was allowed back on the road. I had time to put my cameras away and cross the side street, but I stopped to snap a few photos of the Marines returning to their buses with their instruments. As we all headed down the hill towards the Mall, some of the Capitol cyclists passed us, telling each other to stay to the right because car traffic had resumed. It was quick and somewhat anticlimactic but a fitting and simple procession for an unpretentious President.
I walked away from the Hill past the Department of Labor, where Ford’s name was etched into the marble on a General Services Administration plaque (see below). Oddly fitting. As I headed down Pennsylvania, another procession came towards me: MPD cruisers flanking a set of nearly-empty Metro buses. Was it Congress returning to the Capitol? I have no idea; it was probably too early for the end of the funeral. But the police sirens were on and the caravan was speeding.
Gerald Ford honored with a GSA marker on Pennsylvania Avenue.The contrast between Reagan and Ford was almost startling - the departure procession alone was evidence of their vastly different final wishes. Last June, I stood with the MPD honor guard along Independence Avenue in a dreary summer drizzle; they stood at attention and saluted when the hearse passed by. Ford had no such guard, and his procession went quietly up Pennsylvania Avenue instead of back down Independence.
There’s much more detail online, but the two processions into the city were very different as well. Reagan had the flag-draped caisson, the riderless horse with the boots turned backwards in the stirrups, the full parade march down past the buildings and monuments. Ford had a hearse that paused at the WWII Memorial to honor his service, and his coffin was carried past both House and Senate before it rested in the Rotunda.
A few words about the lying-in-state: if you go, it’s an extremely quick visit after a wait in line. The velvet ropes are arranged in two semicircles around the coffin, and you only get to walk about halfway around the circumference before you have to turn and walk back and exit the Rotunda on the same side. The guards tell you quietly to keep moving, and the honor guards stand still and straight in their places at the head, foot, and sides of the flag-draped stand. There are flowers in wreaths – not many, but some. The atmosphere inside the great dome is oppressive, solemn, but somehow peaceful. People are there to pay their respects and no one speaks above a whisper. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to take your companion’s hand – for strength, for compassion, and to affirm in some part that you’re not alone.
When you leave the Rotunda, you’re directed down the stairs into the space beneath the dome. It holds museum cases and various photos and memorabilia, but you don’t notice these because you’re allowed to sign the condolence books. You take the Bic pen and try to add eloquent words to the scrawls of others before you, but it’s difficult when you’re leaning over a table with strangers next to you scribbling their own names in the other books.
And finally you emerge into the rainy day, clutching a card they gave you that you didn’t read, opening your umbrella against the light rain that you’d stood in for about an hour before entering the Capitol. You feel strangely content, like you’ve done your duty as a citizen respectful of the office of the President. It’s a part of history and not an unpleasant way to spend New Year’s Day, 2007.
Flags will be at half mast for 30 days.
