Judith Kerrins

Judith Kerrins, Education, attended the Jan. 20 presidential inauguration as “an opportunity to reconnect with the beginning of my professional life.” She started her teaching career in the South at a time when schools were resisting desegregation. Kerrins, who teaches Educational Leadership courses as well as Access and Equity in Education, shares her reflections on this historic day:

Inauguration—Being There

By Judith Kerrins

By 5 am Tuesday morning, the TV already showed thousands of people streaming into the National Mall. I rushed to join them and was on the Metro by 6 am—the crowds were filled with excitement and good cheer, and as diverse a group as you could find anywhere. It was about 9 degrees Fahrenheit, and the wind chill made it much colder.

By 8 am, I was in a mass of ticket holders on 1st Street. Imagine a sea of people packed so tightly that it was difficult to hold a camera up to take a picture. This sardine-packed sea stretched for at least six blocks, crammed across the street and sidewalks and pressed into the facades of buildings; it was undulating, shifting slightly foot by foot. Energy radiated and stories were shared—everyone hopeful, and joyous.

Young and old, of all ethnicities and backgrounds: Vietnam War vets, an African American in a Buffalo Soldier jacket commemorating the role of African Americans during the settling of the West, and a mother of three from Alabama who said she simply had to be there.

By 9 am, the crowd had not moved, yet it remained upbeat. We were chanting, “Yes we can!” and “O-ba-ma.” By 10 am, there was a brief surge. By 11 am, we were just a block farther, and by 11:30 am the gate was in sight and we were holding up our purple tickets and chanting, “We have tickets—let us in!”

People were texting and checking the live coverage on their cell phones and Blackberries and shouting out the names of people on stage. A huge roar erupted as Obama entered. We were so far away we couldn’t see beyond a blur and heard even less; there were no Jumbotrons near us. Still, the crowd was delighted. Then came the oath and a massive collective sigh before applause. During the speech, the crowd was hushed. I, like many, was inspired by our new president’s words: resolute with facing the challenge, yet celebratory of this wondrous time in history. Then cheering, hugs, and laughter. We were there.

Being at the inauguration was heartfelt to me because I taught in the South as schools were dragging their feet on desegregation, in spite of the court’s decree to move “with all deliberate speed.” As I was driving home from teaching during the mid–60s, I saw a field in flames and Klansmen circling the fire. The next day in class, I learned that the uncle of one of my students was the Grand Dragon of the KKK, and my student had been there.

I lived in Greensboro, North Carolina, in the aftermath of the lunch-counter protests at Woolworth’s, when violence increased and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was mostly ignored. During my first year of teaching, I was the only third-grade teacher who’d take a black student in her class and the only white who talked with the black librarian. Later I taught in a school outside of Chicago that had a large population of black students. We followed the news stories of Cassius Clay, and together we learned a lot and believed all things were possible.

These beginning teaching experiences and others along the way drew me to the inauguration. It was beyond anything I could imagine—a resounding moment in democracy, in history, in time.