Grabowski: My Birthday Party with Barack Obama

I had just returned home from work when I heard that Air Force One was in Chicago, and President Obama was going to celebrate his 50^th birthday at the Aragon Ballroom, a mere mile from our apartment.

The President of the United States that close by — hell yeah, I was in!

Since it was a pleasant summer day, I decided I would ride over on my bike and check it out. Having never seen a president in the flesh, I figured it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I was really excited.

Riding south on Winthrop, I encountered a police blockade two blocks away from the Aragon. So I detoured west over to Broadway and south to Lawrence.

Blocking the street there, in the middle of summer, was a huge snowplow. Keeping the terrorists out, Chicago Style!

I locked my bike up, walked under the L tracks and towards the entrance to the Aragon.

There really weren’t many people congregating yet, but Chicago’s Finest didn’t want anyone stopping anywhere near the entrance. “Keep it movin’,” they growled out on repeat.

I found out I was too late to see The President arrive, so I would have to wait until his party was over to catch a glimpse of him leaving. No big deal, my wife was out of town, so I had no reason to get home.

Grabowski and the president….

 

There was a spot on the sidewalk at the nearest intersection where a few camera crews had set up shop, maybe two hundred feet away from the entrance. I figured they knew where the best vantage point was, so I hovered behind them for the next few hours.

I didn’t want to change spots because the cops apparently thought I was with the media, as they kept kicking all the common folk back behind caution tape.

I guess I looked like a media type. You know: me and Mike Flannery were allowed back in there. And Mary Ann Ahern or Carol Marin, I can’t remember which one.

As I stood gazing at the entrance to the Aragon awaiting The President’s exit, my mind began to wander. I saw myself back in high school in the late 80s/early 90s, waiting in line for concerts with friends.

There was one night in the dark and dead of winter when we weren’t wearing jackets, of course, because when we got inside it would be hot as hell and we would be jumping around in a mosh pit. Coming out of that show, our clothes drenched in sweat, shocked by the frigid air, we ran back to the car only to find out someone had smashed in a window and stole all our jackets.

B. Obama — partying down on St. Patrick’s Day.

 

Then I recalled my brush with The President back in 2003 before he was anybody.

I was watching the downtown Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade with some friends. A man walking down the edge of the parade route paused for a moment in front of me, slapped a campaign sticker on my chest, shook my hand, and introduced himself as Barack Obama.

I had never heard of him before, but I found out that he was in the Illinois Senate campaigning for a US Senate seat, the same Senate seat he vacated to become President, and the same Senate seat Blago tried to sell for money.

I was hanging with the rest of the TV stars….

 

Three out of six Illinois governors have been sentenced to prison terms during my 38 year life. I don’t know, would that make a kid these days want to get into politics, or stay away from them?

I was snapped out of my daydreaming by a steady build up of activity nearby, and all around me. Secret Service Agents were coming out of the woodwork like roaches. They were crawling everywhere. Decked out in military gear, their war-faces were serious and stoic and stout. They were ready for anything. You could tell their one and only job in life was to protect the President.

Then, faster than you can tell yourself, “Yes We Can” or “Yes We Did,” about twenty SUVs and police cars and limos came speeding east down Lawrence Avenue at fifty miles an hour towards Lake Shore Drive.

In the planned chaos I was actually able to see two Presidential limos. In each, it appeared to me that there was a skinny black guy in the back seat surrounded on both sides by multiple beefed-up bodyguards. There was no way to tell which limo Obama was even in. And in a flash it was all over.

What — are you kidding me??!! No slow strolls out in the public, no shaking of hands and smiling at the people??!!

I mean, I can believe that I wasn’t able to shake his hand, but I thought I would at least be able to SEE him!

Then it dawned on me. All the times you see Obama on TV giving a talk at a school or a business, his every step is so choreographed and planned out to the second, that there is no chance for a regular guy to get up close.

My how life has changed for Obama since last I saw him.

Happy belated birthday, Mr. President.

Editor’s Note: Grabowski‘s last post for The Third City was A Wedding Gift from Oprah….

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