Chapter 7
In every image we saw, we scanned the crowd. I caught a glimpse of Delaware Representative Lisa Blunt Rochester crouching behind some chairs. We learned that at least one person had been shot. I prayed for the police officers, guards, and staff, so many of whom we knew well.
To Joe, the Senate was practically a holy site. He had so much respect for the institution’s history and its protocols. I saw the horror and pain on his face as he watched the footage of rioters trashing the place, threatening the lives of his colleagues.
As the protesters ransacked the Capitol building, the president tweeted that Mike Pence “didn’t have the courage” necessary for what had to be done, which was to block or reject the certified electoral votes.
This amounted to rejecting America’s legal election of Joe.
In the building, rioters began hunting for Vice President Pence, calling him a traitor.
A chant went up: “Hang Mike Pence!” Outside on the lawn, gallows were erected. This was unbelievable.
We got on the phone to friends and staff members in DC to see if they were okay and if there was anything we could do.
We begged them to stay alert and to be careful.
I was terrified for them, and for the country.
Was this a coup, the end of democracy? Was it possible Joe’s election wouldn’t be certified, and even though he’d won the election, he wouldn’t become president?
All day, we watched the television, stunned.
Finally, the Capitol Police received reinforcements from the DC police, the FBI, and eventually the National Guard. By the time the sun set, order was restored. Even after the city came under control, though, so many of us remained on edge—shocked by the day’s violence.
Vice President Pence, despite very real threats to his own life, chose to remain at the Capitol rather than fleeing so that once it was safe, he could do his constitutional duty and oversee the congressional certification.
He and so many brave officers, aides, military members, and politicians on both sides of the aisle thought fast and behaved with phenomenal courage.
They protected our shared democracy, and they saved lives.
As the National Guard established wider perimeters around landmarks and the mayor enacted a curfew, Washington felt safer but remained shaken.
Joe was to be inaugurated just two weeks later, on January 20.
Creating a festive atmosphere was hard under the circumstances.
Many of the people we invited to perform were scared of getting COVID or of being attacked by a mob.
At the height of a divisive pandemic, after an insurrection, Joe wanted his inauguration to be focused on unity and joy, and it was.
One beacon of joy was the young poet Amanda Gorman, whom I was glad to have chosen.
During the planning phase, Joe had been sitting in the sunroom talking on the phone to his friend Secretary John Kerry, and John had made a recommendation for a poet to read at the inauguration.
Joe had so many decisions to make. He said, “Okay, I’ll consider it. ”
When he got off the phone, he turned to me and said, “You know poetry. Help me with this one.”
I went online to check out John’s recommendation.
His poet had a Harvard affiliation and seemed to be a good choice.
But in going down the rabbit hole online after finding that person, I somehow wound up watching a young poet speak at the inauguration of Harvard’s president in 2018. She was electrifying.
I reached out to Amanda to see if she’d be willing to read at Joe’s inauguration, and she was.
Then she almost canceled on us because she had security concerns due to the insurrection.
Everyone was nervous. We had to persuade her, as well as Lady Gaga and Jennifer Lopez, that it would be safe enough for them to be there.
We believed there were enough protocols in place to ensure everyone’s safety, but we also didn’t know what surprises there might be.
Before I left for Washington on January 19, I taught my class over Zoom from Wilmington. The second semester at Northern Virginia Community College was beginning the week of the inauguration.
I’d always loved the first day of school, and even in this modified format, I looked forward to getting to know a new batch of students. I always wondered: What had brought them to college? What did they want to do? How could I help them do it?
Every class had a different dynamic. I might have a group that was predominantly made up of quick-witted young men, and we’d joke our way through the class period.
Another might be mostly women returning to school following years of caregiving, and I’d notice how voraciously they read, how delighted they seemed to be doing something for themselves.
When COVID separated us physically, we had to find new ways to reach students who needed mentoring and guidance.
I was moved to see that students still got themselves to show up every day, in spite of all that they were dealing with.
Now, with many of their own children at home and attending school virtually, those hardships were compounded.
I noticed that semester’s students trying to carve out spaces in their homes to attend class online, even with children hanging on their shoulders or scooting behind them.
When I asked one student to turn on his camera, he said he couldn’t because his guinea pig had chewed through the wire. Good story, I thought, and let it go.
In that first class, I went over the syllabus and gave them their first journal assignment.
I told them they’d have to do a research paper but encouraged them not to be intimidated by its length.
We’d take it one paragraph at a time, I said.
It would be okay, even fun. I wanted to ease any anxiety they had about writing so they felt that it was within their ability.
From there, I headed to the airport, to begin the inauguration festivities.
Joe and I arrived at Joint Base Andrews at dusk and were driven straight to the Lincoln Memorial.
On the way in, I stared incredulously at the way the city had been transformed by the events of January 6, not two weeks earlier.
The National Guard stood sentinel. We saw tanks set up on street corners.
Non-scalable fencing had been erected everywhere.
There were extra layers of security at every turn.
The streets had already been emptier than usual because of COVID, but they seemed even bleaker now.
Once we arrived, I walked arm in arm with Joe toward the Reflecting Pool.
I’d chosen to wear a purple coat, the color of unity, with butterflies on the lining as a symbol of hope.
Next to us, by the water, stood Vice President–Elect Kamala Harris and Doug Emhoff.
Off to the side at a respectful distance stood aides and the Secret Service.
Everyone was masked. The mood was solemn as night began to fall, and the air grew colder.
Standing at a lectern, Cardinal Wilton D.
Gregory, archbishop of Washington, and the first-ever Black Catholic cardinal, took off his mask and began his invocation: “At this twilight hour, our beloved nation reverently pauses in supplication to remember and to pray for the many thousands of people who have died from the coronavirus during this past year.” He talked about finding comfort in the memory of our lost loved ones.
Kamala described the pain of losing a loved one who was your whole world, and about how in coming together, we could comfort one another. Lori Marie Key, a nurse who’d become famous online for singing during a shift change at the COVID-19 unit of her Michigan hospital, belted out “Amazing Grace.”
Then Joe spoke. He praised nurses, and then said, “To heal, we must remember.” Behind him, four hundred lights illuminated the water, honoring the four hundred thousand who had died of COVID in the United States.
As we stood and gazed out at the lights on the water, remembering those we’d lost, the gospel singer Yolanda Adams brought us home with “Hallelujah.”
After the ceremony, we drove to Blair House, the official White House guest residence where foreign dignitaries typically stay.
Made up of four connected townhouses on Pennsylvania Avenue and facing Lafayette Park, Blair House is breathtaking, with more than 120 rooms, including fourteen guest rooms, each with full bathrooms. Because it’s reserved for diplomatic use, I’d never spent time there before and was as dazzled as everyone else.
While thawing out from our time in the cold, we had a rehearsal for the swearing-in ceremony, and then we were told that Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter were on the phone.
Joe and I took the call in the sitting room outside our bedroom.
As they congratulated Joe, the Carters sounded elated.
That call meant a lot to us, and it made the whole thing feel more real.
With that, we were released to our family.
When we walked into the Lee Dining Room, with its lush blue-and-white window treatments, crystal chandelier, and gilt mirror (we were told this was the informal dining room), we were surrounded by people we loved.
We hugged the kids and grandkids who’d gathered for Joe’s last night as president-elect.
Everyone seemed giddy, from Joe to Hunter’s son, Baby Beau, who was just ten months old.
As I scanned the assembled group—Hunter and his daughters Naomi, Finnegan, and Maisy; Naomi’s future husband, Peter; Melissa; Baby Beau; Ashley; and Beau’s children, Natalie and Hunter—all talking a mile a minute, eating pasta, and smiling, I said a prayer of gratitude for how happy everyone looked that night.