Presidential Roadblock

As I was walking to work yesterday morning, I was surprised to see much of 7th Avenue lined with metal barriers. I figured they were going to shoot a movie along the street and wanted to control the flow of traffic, which often happens. I was wrong, however, as I discovered on the walk home. President Obama visited Barnard to give their commencement speech (read the transcript of his speech here; I thought it was quite good) and his motorcade was scheduled to go along 7th. By the time I got to the area at around 5:20, he had just gone by moments before and the policemen who stood several deep on every corner were beginning to shift the barriers to let people through.

This is the third or fourth time I've encountered the presidential motorcade (if this counts as an encounter). For those who haven't seen it, it's an interesting sight to behold. It's preceded by three motorcycles in a triangle formation. Then there are several black SUVs with tinted windows and then two identical, black armored limousines with small American flags flapping away desperately on either side of the hood come by. There are two so that you can't tell which one the president is riding in, just in case you harbor him any ill will. They are followed by more black SUVs. Any cross traffic, be it pedestrian, bicycle, or vehicle, is blocked off along his projected path ahead of time so the whole procession goes whizzing by at about 40 MPH without ever having to stop or even slow down. It's a rare thing to see any cars going that fast for that long in New York (except along 2nd Ave, where someone did a masterful job of syncing the stoplights so you can get in 25 blocks in a single stretch).

Preparing for all of this is a feat of coordination. Hundreds of cops participate across the city in lining the streets with barriers and helping with crowd control. They are generally stoic at best and rude at worst when this happens. Usually, when word is transmitted via walkie-talkie that the president will be on the move soon, cops block off intersections about 15 minutes before he is expected to pass. Everyone pulls out camera phones and strains to see the street. Then, as the novelty begins to wear off and the impatient New Yorker in everyone takes over, the griping begins. Everyone is annoyed that they can't just be on their way already. No one wants to take an alternate route to their destination by walking over a block; they're already here, thank you very much, and they see no reason why anyone should be so special that he would interrupt their agendas. Just as people start to get really annoyed, the hum of distant motors is heard, heads whip around, and camera phones flash and click to try to capture the oncoming vehicles. In a flash, it's over, the barriers are shifted, and people go on their way as though nothing had happened.

"All this for one guy," I heard one woman muttering to herself after the crowds had been released. She was leaning over some fencing that lined the gutter, photographing the length of the still-empty street. It does seem like an awful lot of hoopla for one guy, but protecting this one guy is a pretty big deal.

This experience really made me think. The prospect of having the streets cleared for me, so I'd never have to wait in traffic or at stoplights, is good enough to persuade me that I'd like to be president someday.