The 700,000
©2014 by LeeZard
Let’s see, the last time I was in a crowd of any
size was November 1999. It wasn’t nearly as much fun; the air was filled with
pepper spray and I was dodging rubber bullets fired by the ill-prepared Seattle
Police Department during the WTO riots – but that was “only” about 50,000
people.
In 1979 I joined 300,000 to cheer the NBA
champion Seattle Supersonics. I’d have to go back another 30-years to the
original Woodstock and a pair of massive anti-war marches on Washington, D.C.
But those crowds were “only” about half-a-million.
This week I was at the heart of The 700,000, The Seattle Seahawks
screaming, cheering, adoring fans, their storied 12th Man, massed
for the team’s Super Bowl parade through downtown Seattle. I love big events. I
go as much to observe – and write about – the people as I do for the event
itself. This one provided plenty of fodder; it was a singular life experience.
I knew as soon as the final whistle blew on
Seattle’s thrashing of the Denver Broncos that I would go to the Hawks’ parade.
In 1979 I casually arrived about two hours before the Sonics’ parade started
and ended up about a block from the route on Fourth Avenue. I saw nary a Sonic
but screamed and cheered with everyone else. This time, I would not be
thwarted. I had The Plan.
I popped out of bed at 5am Wednesday, ready and
rarin’ to go. Phase One of The Plan was the dress code. It’s unusually cold
this week but I was ready with long johns, two pair of wool socks, two layers
of shirts topped by a heavy hoody, my winter hiking boots, heaviest jacket,
knit cap, and a thick pair of ski gloves.
Phase Two of The Plan was to drive south, away
from Seattle, and park for free at the regional transit light rail station in
Tukwila, eliminating certain traffic and parking distress. I wasn’t alone in my
foresight; even at 5:45am I was lucky to grab one of the final slots in time to
catch a 6am train. Regular commuters were drowned in a sea of blue and Hawks
green. It was standing room only.
By the time I arrived at the downtown Westlake
Station 40-minutes later the streets were already abuzz but not overly crowded.
Addressing Phase Three of The Plan, I quickly scouted out a choice curbside spot
in front of Westlake Park at the corner of Fourth and Pine next to a KING-TV
news crew and up against the temporary steel crowd barrier. After chatting up
the crew for a few minutes and dropping a few names of former colleagues still
at KING, my spot was safe and secure.
The Starbucks right across the street at
Westlake Center was already slammed with a line snaking out the front door.
This being caffeine-fueled Seattle, I strolled a short two blocks, passed two
other jammed Starbucks and walked right up to the counter at a third store
tucked away on a side street. It was but 16 degrees and my first thermos of hot
java was gone.
I nursed my coffee and read the newspaper for
about 45-minutes before taking up my frozen vigil. It was a few minutes before
eight, only three hours until the scheduled start of the parade. The crowd was
starting to build, by now about six or seven deep.
Everywhere I turned there were flags, banners, posters and blown up pictures of favorites.
Traffic was still flowing north on Fourth, most
of the vehicles sporting Seahawks colors and/or flags and honking their horns
to the raucous delight of onlookers.
By nine o’clock Phase One of The Plan unraveled;
the tips of my fingers began to go numb. Thirty minutes later my toes also
numbed, painfully so. The minutes began to drag by and at about 9:45 I ever so
briefly considered bailing as the cold slowly seeped deeply through my entire
body. I quickly rejected the idea, even before I turned my head and saw there
would be no escape as the sidewalk was now shoulder-to-shoulder full from the
curb to the building line. Luckily, Hip Hop fate intervened.
At precisely 10 o’clock the large speakers at
Westlake Center boomed, “Hellllllooooo Seattle!! I am Supreme La Rock, official
DJ for Seattle Seahawks.” He immediately followed with the
familiar call and response chant that haunts opposing teams at Century Link
Field, “SEEEEEEAAAAAAA – HAWKS, SEEEEEEAAAAAAA – HAWKS.” And the real party
started.
As if he couldn’t drive the crowd any wilder, La
Rock boomed, “I just got a text from Beast Mode, Marshawn Lynch, with a request
for his favorite song,” and spun into a rap about Lynch’s now famous quote,
“’Bout that action, Boss.” Before I knew it my frozen feet were dancing and my
bones were rattling to the beat. I could hear my kids’ voices in my head, “Dad,
you are such a dork!” I didn’t care; I could feel the feeling coming back into
my frigid digits.
La Rock continued to DJ tunes I’d never heard
before while the surrounding (and much younger) crowd mouthed every lyric. But,
there I was, the 66-year old dork rockin’ to the Hip Hop beat with many
thousands of my new friends. What a blast!!! It was a good thing too; what we
didn’t know at the time was that the parade would step off more than 90-minutes
after its scheduled 11 o’clock start. Not that it mattered. The beat gave us
the heat with all discomfort forgotten. Party on, Dude!
Finally, at 12:30pm, even louder roars from the
crowd to our north signaled the parade was approaching and my front row spot
suddenly became about a tenth row spot as hundreds started climbing the
waist-high steel barriers and filling the Fourth Avenue roadway. Seattle
police, with help from surrounding jurisdictions, tried in vain to
firmly/gently move people back toward the curb. Eventually they were able to
make enough room for the caravan to move by. Thankfully, they also got the
people in the street to sit down so my prime viewing lines were preserved and I
prepared my trusty old Nikon CoolPix digital camera to record it all.
And, this is one of those rare times when words
nearly fail me. The players/coaches were riding atop both military vehicles and
in those high amphibious vehicles that usually haul tourists around The Emerald
City hither and yon. The collective euphoria, joy, love and gratitude enveloped
everyone there. While the aroma of semi-legal marijuana wafted through the air
(it is not legal except in private settings) this was not a drug-fueled
Woodstockian Love-In; this was pure and raw mass emotion and it was thrilling.
Suddenly, just a few yards in front of me was a
hatless and black overcoat-clad Pete Carroll pumping his fist and grinning like
a Cheshire Coach, Beast Mode standing on the hood of an amphibian tossing
skittles into the mass of fans and Russell Wilson waving necklaces of shiny blue and green beads. The Legion of Boom took up two vehicles but, of course, Richard Sherman stood out with his trademark dreadlocks.
As each position group rolled by I snapped away
as quickly as I could to capture as many memorable moments as possible. In
return the players were taking pictures, shooting videos of us and joining the
dancing party. WOW! DOUBLE WOW!
Then, like a finely cooked gourmet meal that
took hours to prepare, the historic moments were much too quickly consumed and
digested.
Phase Four of The Plan was getting out of Dodge
as quickly and safely as possible. Again, using past experience, I knew the
bulk of the masses would linger to revel and party some more. A good number of
us, though, quickly turned east as soon as the last amphibian passed and tried
to move away from Fourth Avenue – no easy feat even with fleet feet. We were
salmon against the flow of a powerful human river and it took about 20-minutes
to get from Fourth to Fifth Avenue.
Along the way, I noticed what I consider a
brilliant crowd control tactic by event planners and/or law enforcement.
Halfway between Fourth and Fifth several rows of police buses were parked
tail-to-nose with about two feet between each row, forcing the masses to
separate into orderly lines with little or no shoving/pushing that could cause skirmishes
and injuries. Miraculously, there were no arrests the entire day. Think about
that! Almost a million people crammed into downtown Seattle without a single
arrest. Only the 12th Man could pull that one off.
It was jam packed standing room only on the
light rail ride south to Tukwila but nobody cared; the euphoria of the day drifted
through the air like intoxicating incense with ongoing whoops, chants and
camaraderie. For me, it was time for a quick reflection to organize and gather
my thoughts for this piece. It wasn’t very difficult; every image, sound and
emotion is seared forever in my mind. The Plan was beyond successful.
Finally, I want to offer a couple of quick props.
First, to all the policemen/women assigned to crowd control. It could’ve led to
a near impossible, if not disastrous, conclusion with one overzealous
nightstick swing or harsh command. Instead, the police presence was there but
not overwhelming, maintaining a balance between firm control and threatening micro-control.
Finally, join me in a round of applause, please,
for my 66-year old prostate. I remembered reading stories of people in Times
Square for last New Year’s Eve wearing adult diapers because they would be
standing for hours with no place to go – literally. Thank you Mr. Prostate for
standing down, at least for one amazing and historic day.
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