Note:
I have decided to write a reflection of the entire experience, and
not just Charlotte’s performances.
While an important reason for my presence at the concert,
Charlotte was by no means the only reason why I attended this
year. I would like to
give you, the reader, a taste of what it was like for me to be
there on this particular Memorial Day weekend, the first since
9/11.
First
Night: Rehearsal
On
most days, one can freely stroll through the West Lawn of the
United States Capitol, a tract of land that has a “backyard”
feel in the shadow of one of the most visible symbols of American
freedom. A nice
summer day brings thousands of tourists and locals alike to
Capitol Hill, taking in the sights and sounds of the nation’s
capital, as well as thousands of pictures and home videos.
Even after September 11, tourism actually seems to have
increased from last year, perhaps due to a renewed sense of
patriotism.
Tonight
was different. The
Lawn was cordoned off by chain-link fencing, and rows of metal
detectors were erected at four separate checkpoints.
The National Memorial Day Concert is the first such
large-scale event on the Lawn since the terrorist attacks on
America brought unprecedented security to the picnic-like
atmosphere.
The
police presence was noticeably greater than in past concerts,
lending the feel of an armed camp as I approached the Lawn around
6:30 on a very pleasant, partly sunny Saturday afternoon [May 25,
2002]. I went over to
the crowded checkpoint on Maryland Avenue, emptied my pockets for
the police officers, and opened my camera bag before walking
through the metal detector. It
was not that different from entering a courthouse, and with
tensions high after the terrorist attack on the Pentagon in nearby
Arlington and the ongoing war, I didn’t mind, and neither did
the other spectators.
Once
I made my way to the spectator area, however, it changed.
There were police everywhere, but it was the same old
picnic-like atmosphere that we had become accustomed.
People lounged on blankets, beach towels, lawn chairs, and
even sleeping bags as they watched the event staff prep the stage
and audio equipment for the dress rehearsal.
On stage, National Symphony Orchestra conductor Erich
Kunzel gave instructions to his troops as they did sound checks,
dressed in street clothes. Performers
and military personnel in dress blues milled about, though the
show’s headliners were nowhere to be seen.
Three massive Jumbotron screens were erected to ensure that
those up in the Capitol could see the show.
I scoped the grounds looking for prime viewing real estate
until settling in a corner next to an ornate gazebo that would be
used by Ossie Davis, a World War II veteran and the concert’s
master of ceremonies. The
view was unobstructed but for the VIP seating area, but standing
up revealed a great view of the entire front of the stage.
It
was still early, with over an hour before the start of the
rehearsal, but thousands of people had already descended on the
Capitol to take in the show.
At first, I passed the time by doing the word-acrostic in The
Washington Post, but I ended up chatting with the family
sitting next to me. They
were a nice couple with their three children, the oldest of which
was 14 and didn’t really want to be there. Ah,
to be young and dragged by your parents.
As
the appointed time drew near, preparations steadily became more
feverish. Stagehands
and equipment personnel milled about, trying to get everything in
order for the rehearsal. For
the assembled throng, however, it was simply a laid-back
get-together under a warm sun in the shadow of the Capitol.
About fifteen minutes before eight, Ossie Davis strolled in
from the stage area to a table set up next to the gazebo—which
was only about ten feet to my immediate left.
The adjacent section waved and applauded excitedly, and
Ossie smiled pleasantly and waved to his well-wishers and fans.
More
time passed. Director
Paul Miller gave the crowd instructions about being on TV and
showing enthusiasm, and a guy named Ray Charles (no, not that
one) led the crowd in a “practice” for the first act,
where the audience would sing along with Tony Danza.
Finally, after many long minutes of waiting, the rehearsal
began with New York Police Department Officer Daniel Rodriguez’
stirring, now-famous rendition of “God Bless America.”
Besides Charlotte, I was looking forward to hearing Officer
Rodriguez in person, and he did not disappoint.
Next
came Tony Danza’s song and tap dance with other costumed
dancers. At that
point, I was pondering my next move: getting myself into the VIP
area, which was largely unoccupied.
I ended up ditching the family I was talking to when I got
up and strolled into the VIP area with a woman and her son who
wanted to see the NSO’s instruments up close.
I selected a very
choice tract of grass about thirty feet closer to the stage, while
the woman and her son found some seats.
Not willing to push the envelope too much, I stayed seated
on the lawn next to a gentleman who, as luck would have it, was a
professor at my college. At
least that would be my cover story had the police cleared the area
of non-credentialed persons, but somehow they avoided me when they
did make their sweep a few moments later and kicked several people
back into the general seating area.
Tony
Danza’s rather pedestrian routine was followed by a very
moving—and chilling—video montage of the destruction of the
World Trade Center’s Twin Towers on September 11, accompanied
poignantly by the NSO and actor Richard Schiff (The
West Wing). Actor
Joe Mantegna read an essay from John Vigiano Sr., who lost two
sons at the WTC—one a firefighter, one a police officer.
The reading began rather comically as Magntena’s
microphone failed, and stagehands feverishly tried to get it
working. After that
fiasco—it was a dress rehearsal, after all—I and the people
around me sat in silence, many sniffling and holding back tears as
the actor continued with the essay.
“Why
did you decide to come here today,” the professor asked.
I
reflected on the question briefly.
“Because of what I experienced on 9-11, what I saw, what
I felt,” I said, impliedly referring to my own personal
experience of being within earshot of the Pentagon attack.
“I generally don’t go to this concert, but this
year’s different. I
knew I had to be here.” Which
was true—Charlotte or not, I knew I was going to be at this
concert just this once.
Mantegna
was followed by a cellist who played a short version of “Pie
Jesu” as footage of a police officer funeral at the Cathedral of
St. Patrick in New York was shown on the Jumbotron.
After a too-short recognition of the Pentagon attack and
the crash of hijacked United Airlines Flight 93, actor Steve
Buscemi, a former NYC firefighter who spent many hours at Ground
Zero, introduced young actor Caitlin Wachs, who impassionedly read
a moving letter written by a 14-year-old girl named Dana Palmer.
Dana’s letter was addressed to her father, a firefighter
lost at the WTC. I
knew at that point that Caitlin’s reading was going to be a
highlight for the national audience the next night.
However, I was so entranced by Caitlin, who was reading
from the gazebo that was now behind
me, that I didn’t notice that someone had walked onto the main
stage. After Caitlin
finished, Davis replaced her at the podium.
“Ladies
and gentlemen,” echoed Davis’ booming voice as the NSO played
the opening bars of “The Prayer.”
“The noted young soprano, Miss Charlotte Church.”
I
quickly turned to the stage, there stood Charlotte, clad in a
black gown, and her hair tied back in a ponytail.
I got up and snapped a few pictures, then sat down as
flashbulbs peppered the stage.
“To
Dana, and to all the children who lost their parents on September
11th, I dedicate this song to you.”
Charlotte’s
voice resonated throughout, and I could hear it echo from the
Capitol dome a couple hundred yards behind me.
She was joined by Officer Rodriguez, who emerged from the
shadows and strolled onstage for the tenor part of the duet.
Rodriguez seemed far more comfortable singing with
Charlotte than Josh Groban did in the Cardiff concert, and they
performed the song together flawlessly to my ears, receiving a big
hand from the assembled throng.
Up to that point, hearing Charlotte in person for the first
time was the highlight of the evening.
Davis
then introduced Major General Tommy Franks, the chief of Allied
forces in Afghanistan. However,
it being a rehearsal, an anonymous Navy captain read a speech
in the general’s place, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd.
The captain re-introduced the NSO, which performed John
Williams’ triumphant composition “Summon the Heroes,” a
piece he originally wrote as a theme song for the 2000 Sydney
Olympics. That was
followed by Tony Danza’s return for a performance of a song
called “What Does America Mean to Me,” which was followed by
Chicago with their song “Beginnings,” with a montage of
Afghanistan veterans’ homecomings on the Jumbotrons.
Chicago stuck around to perform the swing hit “In the
Mood,” which brought many people to their feet in dance.
A few young dancing couples shared the stage with the
legendary band, which is beginning to show its age.
Following
Chicago’s act, the rehearsal abruptly stopped as the stage was
cleared. A minute
passed, then five, then ten.
Kunzel and NSO got up and went backstage.
The Jumbotrons continuously displayed waving digital
American flags.
“This
is halftime,” said the professor.
“Or
maybe the seventh inning stretch,” I replied.
More
minutes passed. Many
people, either frustrated at the length of the break or thinking
the rehearsal was over, got up and left.
I stayed, knowing that several performers had not rehearsed
yet. So I chatted
with the professor and his family about various things, but that
was interrupted when I looked up…and Charlotte walked right past
me, about three feet away and escorted by stagehands.
I was sitting next to one of the main passing lanes, and
Charlotte used it to track her way across the VIP area from the
performers’ tents.
“Hi,
Charlotte!” I called out, surprised that she was there.
“Hi,”
she called back, smiling, but visibly distracted.
Apparently in
performance mode, I thought.
Meanwhile,
the crowd in the general seating area immediately got excited at
seeing one of the stars, and one veteran requested a picture with
her. She graciously
obliged, and flashbulbs popped.
As she turned to head for the standby table, I pulled out
my flash point-and-click camera and turned it on.
“Smile!”
I called out.
Charlotte
turned and smiled as I took her picture.
“Thanks,”
I said. She nodded
and then walked through the metal barricade separating the standby
area from the VIP section. Once
seated, Charlotte spent the next few moments looking around
contemplatively. I
turned back to my conversation with the professor.
“Well,
at least you got one
star,” he said.
About
ten more minutes passed. Finally,
Davis’ booming voice restarted proceedings, and a montage of
World War II scenes played on the Jumbotrons.
This is also the 60th anniversary of the Bataan Death
March, where about 8,000 American troops died on a 50-mile journey
in horrid conditions in the Philippines after a Japanese attack
and final three-month stand on the Bataan Peninsula.
After their surrender, the Japanese made 45,000 American
troops and Filipino nationals march without food or water to a
Japanese camp, killing and maiming many on the way.
Images from that event flashed on the screen, and the crowd
sat in stunned silence. Actor
and World War II veteran Charles Durning read a letter from Sgt.
Lester Tenney, one of the captured American soldiers at Bataan.
That was followed by a tribute to the honored dead of the
wars of the 20th and 21st centuries, including September 11,
punctuated by the slow playing of “Taps” by a bugler standing
in a cherry picker that elevated him almost to the level of the
Capitol flag just under the dome.
Military personnel and retired veterans stood in silent
salute while the civilians looked on in silence, many with hands
on their hearts.
After
more remarks from Buscemi, Tony Award winner Heather Headley, who
I never heard of before tonight, performed “Just One Dream.”
Then Erich Kunzel let the NSO and the crowd in a rousing
Armed Forces Medley. During
that performance, Charlotte got up and was led by a stagehand to
the center aisle in the VIP area, where she waited with uniformed
members of the Children’s Chorus of Washington.
Meanwhile, that same anonymous Navy captain stood in for
Gen. Richard Myers, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and quickly read
his speech, which re-introduced Headley for the singing of the
National Anthem.
Ossie
Davis read closing remarks, then introduced Charlotte for the
final act—“You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel.
Accompanied by the Chorus, Charlotte walked up the aisle to
the stage, singing along the way.
When she made it to the front, the Chorus assembled behind
Charlotte and accompanied her for the final verse.
Meanwhile
I noticed something very
wrong—my SLR camera continued to advance film though I should
have been out long ago. I
realized the problem: I failed to load the film properly, so it
did not spool upon advancing.
To say I was disappointed is a great understatement, as I
had blown my chance to get good pictures from the VIP area.
I knew that I was probably not going to be able to return
to that spot, with more people and security in force for the
actual concert. I bit
my lip and sat down for the remainder of Charlotte’s impassioned
performance, which got a huge hand from the remaining crowd.
Finally,
the rehearsal was over. It
was well past 10:00 PM, and I was ready to keel over and sleep
right on the Lawn. I
said goodbye to the professor and his family and left by cutting
through the area immediately in front of the stage.
It was a rehearsal, but one I’ll never forget.
However, there was still a concert to be performed for real
on live national TV, and I still had work to do.
Second
Night: Live from Washington
“The
National Weather Service has issued a Severe Thunderstorm Watch
for your area until 800 pm. Stay
tuned for further updates…”
The
words appeared on the emergency WeatherStar crawl on The Weather
Channel early on Sunday afternoon [May 26, 2002].
Doppler radar showed a line of storms approaching the area,
and the talking head reported that a line of severe storms would
be crossing the Washington area “in a couple of hours.”
I had to make a decision: wait it out in the safety of my
apartment, or risk waiting in an open area with severe
thunderstorms on the way. I
chose the former and decided to make haste to the Capitol at the
last possible moment, which tonight would be about 6:00 PM, and
hope for the best. However,
I made a decision then and there that I would run to Union Station
at the first sign of lightning.
Charlotte or no Charlotte, I was not going to risk my life
for a concert.
As
luck would have it, the weather held up well with the line of
storms splitting in two as it approached the area, leaving
Washington and Arlington high and dry.
Nearby areas north and south of the city received flooding
rains. I set out at
around 6:00 as planned. By
that time, the heat and moderate humidity of midday had yielded to
cloudy skies and a gusty damp wind.
But no rain for where I was headed.
In
terms of attending the concert, I knew I was risking the distinct
possibility that I would not get a good location.
The camera trouble the previous night probably robbed me of
my best chance to get choice photos for someone who didn’t have
VIP clearance or a powerful zoom lens, so I had resigned myself to
just doing the best I can with what I had.
I
arrived at the Maryland Avenue checkpoint at around 7:00 PM.
Immediately I noticed a major difference from the rehearsal
the night before—Garfield Circle was completely barricaded, with
rows of black limousines inside the security perimeter.
Tonight’s performance would have various high-ranking
military personnel in attendance, including General Myers.
One had the opportunity to walk alongside the performers’
trailers for the rehearsal; now, it was impossible to get within
one hundred feet if you wanted to.
Furthermore, there were thousands upon thousands more
people than there were on Saturday.
Taking a deep breath, I got in line at the checkpoint and
dutifully obliged the security officers’ requests.
Upon
entering the Lawn, I ran into a major roadblock.
The police had sealed off the main spectator area because
it was full. They
directed people to the grassy areas adjacent to the Maryland
Avenue pedestrian walkway that led to the Capitol, or
alternatively to the base of the Capitol itself.
Dissatisfied, I decided to try to enter from the
Pennsylvania Avenue side of the Lawn.
I followed a group of people who had run into the same
problem and blended in without saying a word to anyone.
They convinced the officers at the entrance that they had
spots reserved in advance, and I slipped through by pretending I
was part of their group.
Once
inside, I made my way toward the same section that I had sat the
previous night—the patch of grass directly adjacent to the
emcee’s gazebo podium and standby table.
However, there were many more people already camped out, so
I settled for a spot about fifteen feet further back from
yesterday, but still only four or five rows from the VIP section.
Still, I felt fortunate that I was able to get in that
section to begin with, though there was no way I was going to get
close-ups of the standby area this time without creating a
disturbance. And with
noticeably tighter security and more attendees, I wasn’t going
to press my luck with the VIP section.
I
sat down and made small talk with the couple next to me who had
brought a friend visiting her parents from Texas.
They gave me a miniature American flag and offered me
cheese and crackers. The
lady even let me try her powerful 300mm zoom lens out, but
unfortunately, it was incompatible with my own camera.
I took a shot of the stage, which had been rain-prepped
earlier in the day, and with an ominous western sky, it appeared
that the rain gear would be tested at some point that evening.
The
assembled crowd was not just a lot larger, but a whole lot louder
and far more enthusiastic than the rehearsal assembly.
American flags of all sizes waved in the air, and people
milled about excitedly in anticipation of the event.
When Ossie Davis took his place in the standby area, now
covered by a picnic tent, the adjacent crowd cheered loudly.
When the PA system began a ten-second countdown, the cheers
grew louder. And when
the concert finally began, over 100,000 people let out a
thunderous roar and became a Star-Spangled sea of red, white and
blue.
I
knew the order of events and
exactly when and where Charlotte would be close to my section, so
my mindset was a little different from the rehearsal.
This time, I concentrated more on taking in the whole
experience and maybe getting on national television for a few
seconds in the process. I
did miscalculate about the amount of emotional impact the show
would have on me.
Daniel
Rodriguez was first up, and his performance of “God Bless
America” was as flawless (and virtually indistinguishable) from
the night before. This
time, however, the huge crowd stood up and sang along while waving
their flags. For many
in attendance, this was the first opportunity to see and hear
“The Singing Policeman,” and he did not disappoint.
After that rousing performance, Rodriguez received a loud
ovation, which continued as the show’s opening credits played on
the Jumbotrons.
Tony
Danza performed his song and dance routine, and then came the
toughest part of the program for the audience.
No one in the audience was prepared for what followed the
light-hearted tap dancing: footage of planes flying into the
towers, buildings collapsing, people dying—all magnified by the
Jumbotrons and accompanied by Mozart.
I don’t remember hearing anyone around me talking, only
soft, muffled sobs and sniffles.
Many wiped away tears as Richard Schiff somberly recited a
short narrative of the events.
The mood continued as Joe Mantegna read John Vigiano
Sr.’s thoughts on his sons, and reached a crescendo when the
somber strains of Andrew Lloyd’s “Pie Jesu” emanated sweetly
from the cello of the NSO’s Glenn Garlick.
Once
again, I was bothered by the short brush-over the Pentagon and
Flight 93 attacks got from the event organizers as a couple of
brief scenes were flashed on the Jumbotrons with the brief
commentary by Schiff. For
a tragedy that hit so close to home for many in the audience,
especially the military personnel, I was quite puzzled by the
treatment of those September 11 events.
Maybe I am biased because I live near the Pentagon and have
to drive past it often, seeing the giant crane rising above the
highway and the continuing reconstruction.
And it is true that there is more of a detachment because
the Pentagon is a military installation, and the World Trade
Center was a more visible symbol of Americana, and its attack was
more dramatic on film. Still,
I wish there was more recognition of the heroism of those who
responded to the Pentagon disaster, especially the Arlington
County Fire, Police and Rescue Departments who responded first and
were the last to leave, and the brave passengers of doomed Flight
93, who apparently took on their attackers and probably prevented
a far greater disaster in Washington.
Indeed, there may not have been
a National Memorial Day Concert in 2002 if not for their selfless
act.
Up
next was Caitlin Wachs’ reading of Dana Palmer’s letter to her
dad, and this time she was unable to hold back.
Her voice cracked a couple of times, and tears streamed
down her face as she read. I
found myself wiping my own eyes as she finished.
The crowd was very silent, save for a few sniffles.
Tonight,
though, I kept an eye on the stage as Caitlin read from the
podium. The lights on
the front portion of the stage remained dark, but I was able to
see Charlotte emerging from stage right and taking her place front
and center. When
Caitlin finished, she stepped off the podium and received a hug
from Ossie Davis. There
were a good ten seconds of almost complete silence before the NSO
began playing the first few bars of “The Prayer.”
Davis got back on the podium.
“Ladies
and gentlemen, the noted young soprano, Miss Charlotte Church.”
Cheers
and applause began slowly, then grew to a crescendo as the
spotlight gradually brightened on stage, illuminating Charlotte
for all to see. The
applause drowned out Charlotte’s dedication.
She wore the same black gown, but this time her hair was
down across her shoulders. The
crowd, already emotional from Caitlin’s reading, hushed quickly
as Charlotte began singing. I
got up and took pictures from my position in the crowd, unable to
get the closer look that I had last night.
The crowd was wowed by Charlotte and duet partner Officer Rodriguez, and it showed its appreciation with the loudest ovation
of the evening to that point.
Immediately following “The Prayer” and before the
audience had a chance to stop applauding, the cameras shifted to
the front row of the VIP seating area, where Caitlin stood with
Dana Palmer.
“Dad,
we miss you. You will
always and forever be a part of our lives,” said Dana.
She
released a balloon bearing the message “Dad We Miss You!!”
which floated into the darkening night sky, barely missing the
front of the main stage tent before ascending to the heavens.
Major
General Franks, for real this time, delivered his remarks to an
appreciative round of applause, followed by John Williams’
“Summon the Heroes,” which brought out the American flags in
force. Tony Danza’s
eminently forgettable “What America Means to Me” followed.
The proceedings seemed to slow down at that time, but at
some point Charlotte walked back in from the backstage area and
through the VIP section as she did the night before.
The section erupted in loud cheers as people rushed over to
get a glimpse and a quick snapshot of the young star.
I, for my part, grabbed my flash camera, got as close as I
could without bothering too many people and snapped a few pictures
as she waited in the standby area for her cue.
When
Chicago appeared on stage, the crowd went wild.
Four rows in front of me, several people lifted a large
“WE LOVE CHICAGO!” banner.
The aging rockers performed “Beginnings,” then got the
audience dancing in the aisles, on the Lawn, and on the Capitol
steps with their version of “In the Mood.”
The band finished with a flourish and received loud cheers
and applause.
The
next part of the program was the tribute to those who suffered
through the Bataan Death March.
This segment, with Charles Durning reading Sgt. Tenney’s
letter, greatly tempered the mood of the crowd, a low following a
serious lighthearted high. When
the bugler played “Taps” for all of our fallen, another full
circle of emotions was complete.
Buscemi
read a eulogy of sorts for the September 11 victims, and then
Heather Headley performed “Just One Dream.”
Following Headley, Erich Kunzel introduced the popular
Armed Forces Medley, which prompted flag-waving and the loudest
cheers of the evening. Whenever
a branch’s color guard entered the stage, the cheers only grew
louder. Coast Guard,
Air Force, Navy, Marines, Army—each was well-represented in the
crowd.
I
made a point to watch Charlotte in the standby area during the
Medley. She sat alone
at the table, seemingly stoic throughout the performance, her face
not betraying what she was actually feeling at the time.
She didn’t stay long, however, as during the Medley she
got up from the standby area and was escorted by a stagehand to
the center aisle to await the start of the final performance.
General
Myers delivered the final official speech of the evening, and then
came the final act. Davis
made a few short remarks reminding everyone to remember the true
meaning of Memorial Day, and then reintroduced Charlotte for
“You’ll Never Walk Alone,” accompanied up the center aisle
by the Children’s Chorus of Washington.
Her performance was memorable, and it brought out the
American flags for the final time that evening.
She finished the song with a flourish and received a
thunderous ovation to close the program.
I spent those last moments using up the rest of my roll of
film on Charlotte and the people around me, but that didn’t
detract from my listening experience in the very least.
However, during the performance, the sky behind the stage
and the Washington Monument began to flash intermittently.
A storm was approaching.
Charlotte
smiled and accepted the applause, and members of the Chorus stood
and beamed proudly with her.
Then, just like that, it was over.
I quickly made my way off the grounds and eventually made
it to the subway station as more lightning flashed overhead.
By the time I made it to my neighborhood, it was raining
moderately with very frequent lightning, making for a rather scary
walk back to my apartment building.
In
all, it was a very memorable Memorial Day weekend in the shadow of
the nation’s seat of power.
For many, 2002 will probably be remembered as a year where
we mourned our dead and feared for the worst.
At least for this brief moment we were able to celebrate
our heroes past and present on a grand scale.
Thank
you, Charlotte, for helping us in our healing process.
05-31-2002
- VAFan
