September 16-22, 2004

slant

A New Nation

A misplaced stroller leads to thoughts on freedom.

by Nancy French

It all began innocently enough, when I decided to take my guests visiting from Kentucky to see the birthplace of freedom, Independence Hall. We maneuvered our jogging strollers through the maze of security and patiently waited while almost every one of us set off the metal alarms. The detectors — apparently more sensitive to metal than Tom Cruise is to gay rumors — picked up my kid's dental work. The security guard ushered him through without inspection, saying, "It'd just be cruel to search a 3-year-old."

After seeing the Liberty Bell, I took the kids home so my pregnant friend could tour without listening to the kids' alternating squeals of joy and angst. I left her with an empty stroller — which she promptly forgot to bring home — and instructions to have a nice relaxing day learning about freedom. But I was the one about to learn a lesson.

The rangers were closing the park when I arrived to pick up her stroller, but the guard at the gate kindly allowed me to enter without going through the usual security measures. I darted over to the park bench where she left it, unlocked it and began rushing out the entrance. Suddenly, I heard a voice commanding me to stop.

"Is that your stroller?" said one of several officers surrounding it.

As soon as "No, sir" escaped my lips, I realized I looked suspicious and momentarily considered borrowing a kid from a nearby tourist family.

"Come over here so I can ask you a few questions," he continued. I rolled over to him, preparing to explain the situation, figuring we'd laugh about it afterward. "The bomb squad is on its way. We've been here for the past hour guarding this abandoned stroller."

His tone — somewhere between contempt and rage — had my heart start racing. I tried to explain how my kids, despite my best educational efforts, were more enthusiastic about Batman than George Washington. The officer didn't seem too convinced.

"This area is protected by the Department of Homeland Security, and it is against federal law to leave unattended objects here. You have committed a crime."

I just said, repeatedly, "I am so, so sorry," as he lectured me about appropriate behavior in a post-9/11 world. I hadn't been lectured like this since junior high when I scored two points for the opposing basketball team. The officer even mocked my Southern accent and angrily explained the nuances of living in a big city.

"At least that's how we do it here," he said. "I don't know where you're from."

I resisted the urge to say, "Four blocks to your right." Then, to add insult to injury, a man in a "John Kerry for President" hat waited awkwardly beside us so he could ask the ranger a question. The Democrat looked at me sympathetically as if to say, "This is the America that John Ashcroft created for us."

Still, I feared that my status as a conservative hawk was being challenged as I stood there blinking back tears under the steely gaze of a park ranger. To be consistent in my pro-America, anti-terrorism beliefs, I almost demanded he arrest me. Almost.

My lessons learned?

First, never try to help forgetful pregnant ladies. Second, if you ever approach a stroller surrounded by angry-looking officers, just look at the ground and keep moving. Third, I had a newfound appreciation for the complexity of providing security for a place like Independence Hall. In one day, one security guard ushered my dentally challenged son through metal detectors without inspecting him closely. Another allowed me to enter without going through security in order to retrieve a lost stroller. And the last made me want to throw myself into traffic — had the security barricades not been there. I found it poignant that all of this happened at Independence Hall. In the Assembly Room of that building, George Washington was appointed commander in chief of the Continental Army in 1775. In 2004, citizens are shoved through metal detectors and the bomb squad is notified because of forgetful mothers.

Earlier, I'd read a sign at the Liberty Bell that explains that the bell, like liberty itself, is imperfect and fragile, yet has weathered many threats and endured for more than 200 years. Throughout that history, the defense of freedom has demanded courage and vigilance.

I realize now that it requires patience, and more than a little grace.

Nancy French is a novelist from Center City. If you would like to respond to this Slant or have one of your own (800 words), contact Brian Hickey, City Paper interim editor, 123 Chestnut St., third floor, Phila., Pa. 19106 or e-mail hickey@citypaper.net.