After a day of “being Bill,” by wearing a pink dress, matching heels and a pink purse to the Peace March in DC, I decided it was time to get a bit riskier. My legs were almost broken from marching in the heels all day, so now it was time to break the law.
Breaking the law is a tricky thing to do, even when it’s just a little law, such as sneaking onto someone’s property to play an innocent prank (and get a great photo). I was scared to death (well, almost) when I trespassed on the yard of Bill and Hillary Clinton’s DC home to hang a banner on the front door of their house with the rest of the campaign staff at Bill-for-First-Lady.com. I stood in front of the banner that read “Move the Clintons Back In! Bill-for-First-Lady.com 2008” And our photographer snapped photos, unable to see in any direction but straight ahead – sweating, my heart pounding – wondering if we’d get out before the Secret Service or Green Berets stormed us as we stood on the former President’s, current Senator’s and future President’s home.
(a photo from Saturday’s Peace March)
We were doing this to, in the words of our spokesman (and my pal) Luke, send a message that “There’s no place like home, and 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. is where the Clintons belong. Our message is ‘Don’t get too comfy in this house, we want you back in the White House.'” (read the release on today’s event)
We checked out the Clinton home when we arrived in DC on Friday. We must of looked suspicious checking out the house, since as we looked a “neighbor” with his dog came by. The man casually walked past the house with a happy little lab on a leash and then turned around at the end of the street. As he walked past us again, I looked out of the corner of my eye to see what looked like our friendly neighbor talking into his hand. Then a bike rider slowly passed us. And later a white sedan with uniformed Secret Service officers inside drove down the block-long dead end road, just as we were leaving the area ourselves. (It sure was a busy street for a one-block road with a dead end.)
Knowing how much we were noticed for just standing at the house and checking things out, we got a bit nervous about how we’d actually pull off hanging the banner on the house. So this morning, as I changed into my pink dress and matching high heels, the knot in my stomach started to feel worse than my aching feet from yesterday’s 5 hours of marching with the pro-peace movement in front of the White House. I’ve done activist things before, and I’ve never liked the feeling that I have just before an event. In truth, I don’t like doing anything that’s direct, confrontational or risks any run-in with the law (I am, after all, a former kindergarten teacher). Worst-case scenarios raced through my head. Would we make it up to the house, have time to get the banner up, get the photos taken (and get to keep the camera) and manage to get out without any arrests? An arrest wouldn’t be that bad, but it might throw off our entire schedule for the week.
We practiced in front of a brick wall near our Chevy Chase Holiday Inn in Maryland, just outside of Washington, DC and a ten-minute drive from the Clinton home. Passersby were a bit perplexed as to why we were hanging a banner on the wall of a bank, across from a sleepy park in quiet neighborhood of mostly senior housing. One woman walked up to us, excited to show the mail she was carrying to the post office. On the top of her pile of mail was a yellow letter addressed to Friends of Hillary (Hillary’s 2006 Senate Campaign Election Committee). The beaming woman, who must have been in her late seventies, was tickled pink to see what we were up to. But not everyone in the posh Chevy Chase neighborhood is a Democrat. A big SUV raced by, driven by an angry driver who told us to “fuck off, faggots.”
After practice, we went back to the hotel, packed up our materials, checked the battery on the camera and went to the lobby to wait for the car taking us to the Clinton home. The hotel’s wonderful staff has already met First Lady Bill, so they wanted to know what he’s up to next. We told them and they wished us luck. We walked out to the car, and drove to the house. By this time I was about to throw up, which would of sucked big time considering that I’d be puking inside the mask. Thankfully, I had not eaten yet, so I kept it all in. We turned onto the Clinton’s street, stopped the car and opened the doors.
Luke and Emily moved fast. The banner had been pretaped in back, and both had extra tape for corners stuck to their jeans. I stayed in the car, hoping to not draw too much attention to us as Luke and Emily were attaching the banner to the Clinton home. When the banner was up, out came “Bill” in a pink dress and matching heels, ready for the photos to record the day’s event. Now I was more nervous, feeling totally exposed as I stood in front of the house, just waiting to get arrested wearing a pink dress (how would that go in jail?). The photographer kept looking for the best angle, for the best shot. I just wanted him to take the picture and tell me it was time to go. My heart raced, my stomach tightened up and my palms got sticky wet. I tried to get my mind on other things, but that’s not easy when you’re being directed where to stand, where to place your hands and at what angle your pearls show be placed on your chest. Another friendly neighbor on a bike passed us, and I knew that we were doomed.
Quickly we wrapped things up, before more (we presumed) agents would be stopping by. We packed up and drove off, in the still running car. Just as we turned off the road, we noticed what looked like the minivan from the other day, with more than one uniformed officer inside. I guess since all we did was take a photo, no one chased us down. But I was still nervous until we made back to our hotel.