The Capitol statuary hall was filled with the leaders of the land, some seated and awaiting lunch, other standing larger than life in marble.  A gentle wash of language drifted up to the gilded and painted ceilings as they all bided their time, waiting for the moment. Then, on cue, the doorman barked, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States!”  A door made small by the moment opened, and Barack Obama marched out.  The Marine Band struck up “Hail to the Chief”, the President’s own song.  It was Obama’s moment, it was his song, and all those leaders were now his.

That was when the day became real for me.  Up until then every moment was somehow its own, every word suited to the occasion.  But here, with all the trappings of the ages, he still commanded.  It really did happen.  It wasn’t just a fairy tale.

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It was hot under the seats of the old Tropicaire horse track, but no one expected otherwise.  Events like the Around the World Fair are always hot and sticky in the nether reaches of suburban Miami.  I was wearing a long-sleeve white shirt  because the sun would destroy my skin, so white I always said that any paler would be regarded as a skin condition.  So as I sorted through the old books that were tucked away in the rummage section, 2 for a dollar, I was dripping with sweat.  Anyone else would have melted, but not me.  I was on a treasure hunt.  As is the first rule of a treasure hunt, victory belongs to the persistent regardless of how sticky their shirt becomes.  So it was only a matter of time before I found it.

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