Chapter 7 #2
As soon as we’d finished eating, we went exploring.
None of us could get over the beauty of the Blair House.
We wandered from room to room admiring every detail.
The Jackson Place Sitting Room had a gorgeous mural of white clouds and green trees arrayed around DC landmarks.
The library had more than a thousand books of US history, as well as displayed gifts from foreign delegations.
We gazed at a particularly gorgeous pale green wallpaper with a floral and avian motif—Was that a robin?
Were those carnations? At last, we all admitted we were exhausted.
Many of us had to be up before dawn for hair and makeup, so we all went to bed early and sank into our fluffy beds.
Early the next morning, the women gathered in Blair House’s salon. We sat drinking coffee in our bathrobes as the blow-dryers whirred. In another room, Joe was going over his speech one more time.
Once everyone was ready, we went to the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle for inaugural Mass.
That’s where we joined friends and other members of the family.
Throughout the church, I spotted members of both political parties, including Nancy Pelosi, Mitch McConnell, Chuck Schumer, and Kevin McCarthy.
The Mass began promptly, and it was a solemn one.
Father Kevin O’Brien, whom Joe and I had known for fifteen years, preached on our duty to take care of those in need.
“We have much to look forward to as a country because of your and Kamala Harris’s leadership,” he said to Joe.
“Every day, you will strive to heal our nation’s wounds and reconcile differences and bring us together.
You know too well the challenges ahead and the cost of service. ”
The opera singer Renée Fleming sang “America the Beautiful” and “Ave Maria.” A young singer from the cathedral choir sang Joe’s favorite hymn, “On Eagle’s Wings.”
The traditional tea at the White House for the incoming and outgoing presidents was not being offered, so we went right from the church service to the Capitol.
As the time of the inauguration approached, my emotions built.
Everything was timed down to the minute.
The climactic moment came for Joe and me to stand behind the double doors of the west side of the Capitol building.
Through the wood, we heard the triumphant sound of the military honor fanfare, four ruffles and flourishes; then, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president-elect of the United States, Joseph Robinette Biden Jr., and Dr. Jill Biden.”
I could feel a swelling within my chest, like how it feels right before you start to cry. I caught myself before the tears came and stayed calm. The doors opened; the light hit our faces. Smiling behind our masks, we proceeded to our seats.
The skies were gray and there were flurries of snow, but as the inauguration unfolded, the sun began to shine. Senator Amy Klobuchar, chair of the inauguration committee, spoke in her introductory remarks about light breaking through into the darkness and warmth coming in the coldest moments.
In a bright yellow coat and red headband, Amanda Gorman delivered a moving tribute to democracy, “The Hill We Climb.” I was thrilled by what she did, and relieved that it had worked out.
Her face was radiant, so full of life and energy, and her poem was moving but also accessible.
I loved how young she was, only twenty-two, and yet so confidently commanding the crowd.
Lady Gaga was phenomenal in her Schiaparelli ensemble, including a poufy red silk skirt and a massive dove-of-peace brooch.
Joe and Gaga had built a relationship years before when she asked him, as the author of the 1994 Violence Against Women Act, to introduce her at the 2016 Academy Awards when she performed “Til It Happens to You.” She sang the national anthem.
Then J.Lo performed “This Land Is Your Land”—another stunning performance.
We had known her since the vice presidency, and she’d endorsed Joe in October 2020.
Finally, Garth Brooks sang “Amazing Grace,” then hugged the Bushes, Obamas, and Clintons with enthusiasm.
When he accepted the invitation, he said that he’d wanted to sing there even though he’d been a lifelong Republican, as a statement of unity.
We felt so much pride when Kamala was sworn in, with Doug standing by her side as their family looked on.
Joe had kept his promise and given the country its first woman vice president.
Mike and Karen Pence stood by respectfully watching her take the oath.
Carrying forth traditions keeps a country stable and whole.
Then it was time for Joe’s swearing in. Just eight years earlier, I’d been standing where Doug was, and now there I was, where Michelle Obama had been.
It seemed at once like a dream and also so natural.
A lifetime coming. It came later in his life than Joe had hoped, but maybe this was always meant to be the time he was called to serve—when the country needed wisdom, calm, experience, humility.
It was a time of national grief, and this was a man who’d known more than his share of grief.
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places,” wrote Ernest Hemingway. I believed that was true of Joe. For all he’d been through, he was stronger. His pain made him empathetic, and his empathy made him better able to lead.
Watching him take the oath of office, I believed with all my heart that Joe had a pivotal part to play in America’s history.
He had the character, fortitude, and empathy to move the country forward.
There was so much fear out there—of threats to democracy, of the virus, of the chaos. Joe could fix it, if anyone could.
As the ceremony ended, Joe, Ashley, Hunter, and I hugged. If only Beau had lived to see this, I knew we were all thinking. I heard myself say it out loud: “Beau is here with us.” We pulled each other closer.
As we walked up the front steps of the White House, I felt the weight of history on us.
The mahogany doors closed behind us, and the president’s military band began to play.
We passed through the enormous Roman columns and stepped over the marble threshold.
Turning around, I saw the crystal chandelier reflecting off the marble floor, and the grandeur of the front hall made me catch my breath.
The presidential seal above the Blue Room served as a powerful reminder of the journey ahead, and the legacy of those who had come before.
We resolved to create a new beginning for the country after four years of toxic politics, now compounded by pandemic anxiety.
Because of COVID, we couldn’t do the usual balls and parties.
This was the first inauguration held during a pandemic in a hundred years, and the feeling of isolation was felt by everyone.
There was no real celebration of what we’d all achieved together.
We were unable to host our supporters as we had at the end of every other campaign.
We could not even shake the hands of the people who’d helped get Joe elected, much less host them in Washington for a gala to show our gratitude.
To mark the moment, the inaugural committee created a TV special called Celebrating America.
Tom Hanks hosted, and we showcased heroes and musicians all over America.
Bruce Springsteen sang “Land of Hopes and Dreams” at the Lincoln Memorial.
Jon Bon Jovi sang “Here Comes the Sun” on a Miami boardwalk under a cloudy sky at daybreak.
The night and the special ended with Joe, me, Kamala, and Doug watching as fireworks were launched over the National Mall and Katy Perry sang “Firework.”
Those songs’ lyrics all spoke to the spirit of that day: We’d leave our sorrows behind.
Faith would be rewarded. The vaccine would be distributed nationwide.
Schools would safely reopen. Joe’s rescue plan would go into practice.
Poverty rates would plummet. There would be more jobs.
The country would remember how good unity felt and how much we could do if we stuck together. The sun would come out.
That first night in the White House, Joe stayed up late walking the grandkids from room to room, exploring. Ashley joined me in front of the fireplace, where I had a glass of wine and tried to take it all in.
Following an inspirational prayer service at the National Cathedral via Zoom the morning after the inauguration, my team got right to work.
We’d scheduled online calls with teachers to thank them for all their help and to make sure they knew that this White House would support them as the schools continued to navigate reopening—and ideally not with students inside their own little individual plexiglass boxes, as was the case in some schools early on.
On that first day, I sent the National Guard a video thanking them.
Because Beau had served in that branch of the military for a dozen years, I knew how hard they worked even in more peaceful times.
Since the insurrection, they’d been enduring countless hardships.
I made sure to go and hand out baskets of chocolate chip cookies to troops stationed nearby as a token of appreciation for helping keep the city safe during the inauguration, and to acknowledge how much they’d been through.
Wayne Gretzky, the famous hockey player (I’m a Philadelphia Flyers fan), once said, “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.” After eight years as Second Lady, I was prepared to get to work right away. I felt like I knew the role, and I hit the ground running.
I’d taught English in public high school for thirteen years, so I knew how crucial it was that the person “at the top” understood the challenges of classroom teachers and school employees.
When I came home from work, I was truly exhausted after not only teaching five classes a day but also filling in for cafeteria duty and study hall, fielding calls from parents asking me to help their children with their college applications, and breaking up fights between students.
How many times had we been asked to spend time at meetings or fulfill other obligations that just weren’t possible with several classes of thirty-five students each?
Where did they think we’d find extra time?
Joe had made a campaign promise that he would appoint a secretary of education who had been a teacher in the public school system.
I was thrilled when he nominated Miguel Cardona, who’d started out as a fourth-grade teacher and become the youngest principal in Connecticut.
Teachers seemed excited about the appointment—one of their own would have a seat at the table.
When Joe was VP, Michelle Obama and I had worked with military families through the initiative Joining Forces, and I wanted to get the project back up and running right away.
I knew how important it was, for example, to ensure that kids with special needs could transfer their individual educational programs (IEPs) from one state to the next rather than go through testing every single time the family was redeployed.
As First Lady, I sought to make it easier for military spouses to work.
They wanted to continue with their careers—not to mention it’s tough to raise a family on a single income.
Spending so much time with military families, I saw how difficult it was for service members’ spouses to carve out their own lives when their partners’ jobs required them to pick up and move so often.
They lived with so much uncertainty around the timing of deployments.
We often talked about ways they could nurture their own interests and if there might be work they could do that had meaning for them.
Along with various chambers of commerce, I encouraged companies to step up and increase the number of military spouse hires as part of the Hiring Our Heroes initiative. Several big companies did just that.
In small and large ways, we hoped to make a real difference.
People’s lives would get better. The task seemed impossible, but I felt like Joe could do so much to help the country—by supporting researchers and doctors in fighting COVID, by trying to lower prices, and by leading with humility and compassion.
That’s something I worry people may have forgotten in all that came after.