My grandmother’s maiden name is Hancock, and the family line goes back a looooong way. With that in mind, we made a little stop in Hancock, Maryland, on the way home from our adventure. It’s in the thinnest part of western Maryland and sits on the upper Potomac River and C&O Canal. It was HOT but worth the stop!
We had to run an errand today but felt so stir-crazy from being stuck home and so happy to be out in the sunshine that after we finished, we just kept driving south on the GW Parkway. We had the soundtrack of Hamilton playing because that’s the only thing we’ve listened to since it got released on Disney+ (it’s a daily question in our home: “So what random song or line from Hamilton is stuck in your head today?”), and we happened upon this sign just as we passed Mount Vernon. We clearly stopped to take a picture, nerded out about it, skipped to “Yorktown” (1781!), and proceeded to drive home along the parkway. We pulled over at one of the scenic overlooks for a moment because it felt so nice to be close to the waters of the Potomac River when LO AND BEHOLD, a GD bald eagle soared by RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. Peak ‘Merica, I tell you.
Today is Juneteenth. I almost decided to rant about why more people don’t know about this day, but I think I’d rather focus on the incredible experience I had instead.
I’ve mentioned a few times that B and I have really focused our efforts this summer on getting more involved with our local community. We want to find ways to support and get involved with our neighborhood, not just DC in general. Along those lines, we jumped at the chance to try to participate in the Juneteenth/Black Lives Matter march for our community. I didn’t have the day off work but B did, so she went over to the start of the march a few blocks away, and I worked outside from our porch since I knew the march route would go through our park.
The group marched to the Frederick Douglass House (have I mentioned how much I love living a block away from that?) and then came to our park. I thought they would just march through, but they stopped for some reflection, so I ran across the street to join and listen. The gentleman who had the megaphone talked about the incredible leaders and freedom fighters who strolled up and down this lane on their way to and from Frederick Douglass’ house. He talked about the fact that this park – Old Market House Square – was in fact a working market, which means enslaved people were bought and sold here.
He then told us he would say the names of people lost to police brutality and gun violence, asking us to respond “Say their names!” after each one. Eric Garner. George Floyd. Sandra Bland. Tamir Rice. Breonna Taylor. Trayvon Martin. Ahmaud Arbery. Philando Castile. Freddie Gray. He kept reading, and we kept responding. At one point he got so emotional (and he wasn’t the only one … many of us were opening crying) that he had to pause, at which point someone in the crowd yelled a name, and we all responded. People kept shouting names, and we kept responding “Say their names!” Some of the names I knew, some I didn’t and wondered if they were neighbors, family members, friends. So many people gone, taken too soon from this community and others.
We then knelt or sat in silence for 8 minutes and 46 seconds to honor George Floyd. That was the longest almost 9 minutes of my life. It was the same as the march, thinking about the discomfort and the time passing. But as I got close to the 8-minute mark, I thought about how he had less than one minute to live at that point, and it just crushed me. I wept and wept, for George but for everyone in the Black community who has been touched by countless injustices throughout their lives. It was heavy, and rightfully so. It was celebratory, and also rightfully so.
The moment passed, and the crowd moved on, marching another block to one of the busiest streets in the area. I know that because I could hear all the honks of approval and solidarity from my house for the group as they marched down the street. This Juneteenth affected me so profoundly, and I feel immeasurably blessed to live and grow in this community.
Equestrian statue of General Jose de San Martin, gifted to the United States by Argentina in 1925. This was the first sculpture gift to Washington, DC, by a foreign nation. Located at Virginia Avenue and 20th Street NW.
Fascinating story, really. Mary Surratt’s boarding house in downtown DC served as a meeting place for John Wilkes Booth and other co-conspirators prior to the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Surratt herself is said to have handled some of the logistics of that operation and was hanged with her other co-conspirators in 1865. For her role in the plot to kill the president, she became the first woman executed by the U.S. government.
The building now houses Chinese restaurant Wok and Roll, and I had some veggie fried rice in what may have been one of the rooms where the secret meetings took place. Wok and Roll also has private room karaoke.
Forgive the less-than-stellar photos, but B and I spontaneously came across this amazing building today. She and I have talked a lot lately about the history of some of the larger residences in DC, and then we found this gem:
Washington Conservatory of Music and School of Expression: 902 T Street, NW DC
The Washington Conservatory of Music and School of Expression, which operated in this building from 1903 until 1960, was one of DC’s earliest African American arts institutions.
Harriet Gibbs-Marshall (1868-1941), the first African American to graduate from the Oberlin Conservatory of Music, founded the school to inspire and train African American musicians and to preserve the rich heritage of African American music. Mary P. Burrill (ca. 1884-1946), a native Washingtonian, directed the school and taught from 1907 until 1911. Burrill is credited with writing the first feminist play by a black woman, They Sit in Darkness (1919).
Text taken directly from the historical marker signage outside the building.
The Liberator Simón Bolívar monument, a gift from the Venezuelan government, located on Virginia Ave NW.
The Octagon, reportedly one of the most haunted houses in DC. Sounds like I need to go on a tour.
I found all sorts of goodies when I sorted through all my books. Some postcards from Cape Cod, and a card from one of my favorite restaurants in the North End of Boston. Obviously that book traveled to Massachusetts with me, although that doesn’t explain my business card from a job I had eight years ago.
Today I got to enjoy a beer at a legendary DC institution.
Continuing my love affair with all the old fire call boxes in DC.
While chatting with some friends a few weeks ago, we decided we wanted to get out and do/see/learn more stuff, especially things unique to DC. We toasted our newly founded Culture Club (I already have a category for blog posts with that same name, so it’s the most convenient thing). Not long after that, B came up with our first field trip: to see the Kara Walker exhibit at the Smithsonian!
Activity highlights:
In 1933, Dietrich was traveling across the Atlantic on a steamer bound for Paris, wearing a white pantsuit. When the Paris chief of police got word, he announced that if she wore trousers in Paris, she would be arrested. (Until 2013, it was technically illegal for women to wear trousers.)
Dietrich doubled down. For her arrival in Paris, after docking at Cherbourg, she she chose to wear a [TWEED! – my edit] suit, men’s coat, beret and sunglasses.
I still don’t know the difference between the National Portrait Gallery and the Smithsonian American Art Museum – maybe they just share the same building?! – but hey! I still feel more cultured than I was before the day started, and soon we’ll have a Google doc full of places to go and things to learn.
Ell Gee Writes 