From the Trail

Final Essay

I was sure I wasn't going to get the position at Rock the Trail. So, when I got the call, I was ecstatic. This is what I had been dreaming about: An opportunity to show the world my stuff!

Within a week, I was on a plane to Washington to meet the Rock The Vote staff. Before too long, I was covering the most historic election of my generation.

Whenever people talk about a big event in modern history, they always ask, "What were you doing?" "What where you doing when the towers fell?" "What were you doing during the 2004 elections?" It's rare that you're ever watching or reading the news at those moments. Instead, you say, "I was washing a dish," or, "I was calling Movie Phone." It's always the banal human things that lead up to the big event.

When the states started closing their polls in the 2008 presidential election, I was in a hotel in Denver brushing my teeth, trying on jeans and answering text messages. I was on my way to a Rock the Vote event at the Hard Rock Café in downtown Denver.

A few months before then, I was in Denver covering the Democratic National Convention. Donny Lumpkins: The new hot-shot reporter in town (at least in his mind), complete with so many gadgets it would make Inspector Gadget and James Bond jealous. The energy in the air was unlike anything I had ever felt. We were all strapped into a rocket heading straight for the Milky Way and could barely stand the waiting. There were no whispers in Denver that week; everything was said proudly with fists clenched.

On the last night, when Obama accepted the nomination, I did my best to keep my journalist hat on and not get wrapped up in the moment. But I must admit, when the wave rushed around the stadium I threw my hands in the air and yelled like the rest of the crowd. By the end of that night, any cynicism about Obama's rise to popularity was lost on me, and I'm sure a number of other people, too.

Reporting for Rock The Vote and WireTap took me to many places, including St. Paul. I remember a Ron Paul supporter, a nice middle-aged woman, offering me a ride from the airport into town on the condition that she could tell me about the wonder that was the Ron Paul revolution. Downtown Saint Paul was a fortress. I half expected to see fire-breathing dragons swooping down over the heads of the thousands of cops outfitted in riot gear. The authorities had turned the Minnesota city into a cage to keep people in and out. The resounding sentiment from the collective force was, You are not welcome. I quickly accustomed myself to the downtown maze, walking up two blocks and over eight just to get across barricaded streets. On the night Sarah Palin spoke, I stood outside the Xcel Center and watched a star being born.

These memories all flashed before me as I sat in Denver at the Hard Rock Café, eyes fixed on the TV screen as states were called. A man ran into the room screaming, "New World order!" quickly emptying his glass of beer. The waiting was over. All systems were go, the thrusters blazed, propelling America into the stratosphere. On the streets of Denver that night, hundreds of people crowded the streets, chanting, smiling and hugging. They looked dazed but vindicated.

I'm not sure what comes next in history, but one thing is certain: We Americans will continue to hope, dream and strive for better lives for ourselves and the people we love.

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