Citizens capture moment in time

Tearful and mesmerized, people in the Philadelphia area watched Barack Obama become president in the crisp brilliance of a brand-new day.

The nation's first African American commander-in-chief raised his right hand and swore to be everyone's president:

That of the Independence Charter School students screaming his name at the Kimmel Center; the "hallelujah"-hollering congregation of Enon Tabernacle Baptist Church in Cedarbrook; and even David Milne of Southampton, Burlington County, who, truth be told, would rather have seen John McCain offer, on the third Tuesday in January, a solemn oath to defend the Constitution.

People repeated the phrase, "Yes, we can," so often that it seemed funny. But maybe, finally, it also seemed real.

Crowds huddled, wide-eyed and euphoric, in parka-wrapped knots on Independence Mall, and students and teachers cried unapologetically at Toby Farms Elementary School in Brookhaven, Delaware County.

Straining to underscore the day's significance to her fifth graders at Fitler Elementary School in Germantown, teacher Rachael Pringle said: "You guys have to understand the magnitude of today."

Apparently, they got that message in Atlantic City, where hairstylist Rennie Hunter took a breath after cutting a customer's hair, then wanted to know: "Don't you got chills through your body?"

Yesterday was a day for the history books, but it was also a time for personal chronicling, as folks noted where they were at noon - realizing that would be an important element when they told the tale five, 10 or 25 years from now.

People took pictures and stared holes in the giant TV screens in the Comcast Center lobby in Center City, working to burn an image in their brain that they would never lose.

Following a suggestion originating on the Internet, women at La Unique African American Book Store in Camden wore pearls to honor Michelle Obama.

And much of the region's business halted - including the corruption trial of former State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo, recessed to give participants the chance to view the swearing-in.

For African Americans, the day held special meaning.

"Now, in classes, they're not going to say [to students], 'You can be the first black president,' " said Kahlief Bussie, 22, of the Willingboro entertainment group Round 1, performing in Trenton yesterday. "They're going to say, 'You can be the next black president.' "

At 11:30 a.m., the crowd in front of Independence Hall suddenly swelled from a few hundred to more than 1,000 - callow high-school students and grizzled veterans of the civil-rights movement, families with their children wrapped up for the Arctic and young couples hugging each other as much for joy as for warmth. The radically pierced stood beside the conservatively suited, the homeless beside a refugee from Nazism.

They gathered on the wide, bristly lawn dusted with snow, 142 miles from the epicenter of this historical Inauguration Day, to stand witness.

As they cheered Obama, their shouts and the thud of padded mittens blended with the muffled thunder rising from the masses in Washington, and it seemed, at that critical moment, they were all in the same place.

From his spot near the back of the throng, Maxwell Pugh, 8, asked, "Why are people taking pictures?"

"To remember this day, Max," said his father, Marlon Pugh, 43, a systems superintendent for Peco Energy.

Marlon Pugh closed his eyes during the ceremony, savoring the words. As for so many African Americans, Obama's achievement had personal resonance.

"I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime," he said.

At Congreso, the Latino advocacy group in North Philadelphia, "Yes We Did!" T-shirts sold briskly in the lobby while five floors up, 40 staff members and volunteers waxed emotional against the backdrop of a wall-mounted TV.

Cries of "Yeah, baby!" met Obama's appearance on the screen. The invocation had barely begun when tears started flowing from Cynquetta Vincenty, 32, who came to America from the Bahamas when she was 5. In Obama, she sees someone whose heritage, like hers, is mixed.

His success, she said, "breaks so many barriers."

While the prevailing sentiment was more pro-Obama than anti-Bush, African American Wilbur Childs, 25, couldn't resist a parting shot at the former president.

"I'm so happy that he is gone and we can start anew," Childs said as the TV cameras focused on George W. Bush boarding a helicopter.

Aretha got them first. Inside Millenium Cuts in Atlantic City, where the inauguration was on two screens, it was the big-bow-hatted Queen of Soul who got the tears flowing as she delivered her blockbuster "My Country Tis of Thee."

There could be no describing, just knowing looks exchanged through tear-filled eyes.

Euphoria erupted midway through Obama's speech, as the new president spoke about America's new standing in the world.

"Strong words right there," shouted Hunter, the hairstylist. "It might be from the heart."

Seniors Melissa Dallmann, 18, and Tyler Riley, 17, watched the inauguration with about 400 other students at racially diverse Burlington Township High School in Burlington County.

At one point, Dallmann turned toward fellow senior Loetta Henry, 18, saying, "Jackie O . . . Michelle O," making a comparison of glamorous first ladies.

"She's so poised," Henry said of the newer one.

"She's so stylish," Dallmann said.

As Obama appeared, Riley and Dallmann clutched each other's hands. For Riley, who is African American, the fear of Obama's being a target nagged at him. "I've been extremely nervous," he said. He squeezed Dallmann's hand tighter.

"I think my hand broke a little bit," Dallmann said.

Staff members and volunteers at the Mercer Museum in Doylestown gathered around a TV in the museum's lobby, where coffee and cookies were being served.

Outside the lobby's plate-glass window, children sledded down a snowy hill.

"Very strong speech," Richard Duvall, 68, a museum volunteer from Doylestown Township, said as the ceremony closed. "His voice grew stronger and stronger, and his words were fantastic."

"But can he follow through?" asked Gayle Shupack, 38, museum public-relations coordinator.

"He can't do it alone," said Molly Lowell, 58, executive vice president of the museum and the Bucks County Historical Society. "Everyone has a responsibility to put all the pettiness aside."

On Main Street in Medford, at the Executive Den Men's Hair Salon, owner Rocky Sorino's scissors flew through Dr. J. Eldredge's hair.

Neither man voted for Obama, but Sorino said, "I've got a feeling that I think he is going to do something good for our country."

Said Eldredge: Obama "seems like he's a very bright person."

Across town, a handful of retirees watched at the Medford Senior Meeting Room, where Obama's voice was the only sound.

Kate Diller, a former schoolteacher, supported McCain. But yesterday, she was taken with the history of the moment. She thought of her 2-year-old granddaughter.

"I look at what she will see in her life. The idea of a black president will not faze her at all."

Shortly after 11 a.m., George Bush ran into his dorm room and jumped on his roommate: "Get up."

The 22-year-old psychology major at Cheyney University, a historically black college in Chester and Delaware Counties, wanted everyone to witness the historic event. It was goodbye to his namesake and hello to the first black president.

Bush has felt a political calling because of his name - he's president of Cheyney's 1,400 student body. Though no fan of George W., he has taken his share of ribbing and has even had to produce his license to prove his identity.

A graduate of Carver High School of Engineering and Science, the young Bush considered running from dorm to dorm to make everyone watch. But then he decided his place was at the Marcus Foster Student Center, among a couple of hundred students and staff members who watched the swearing-in.

"He has the look of a champion," Bush said as Obama appeared. "I don't have many timeless moments, but this is one of them."

After the celebration, as he cut and parceled out an inaugural cake, Bush, who wants to get his M.B.A. and open a construction business in the inner city, said the moment had inspired him.

"I feel like it's a new day. There's a lot more I can do here," he said, looking around at his classmates.

In fact, he plans to see if he can get President Obama to be Cheyney's graduation speaker.

"I know it can be done."

In a place of healing, men and women in green scrubs sidled up to a waiting-room TV to hear words that promised to use that same power to fix what's wrong in the country.

"I think it's a beautiful thing," said JoAnn Rone, who darted between the operating room and a flat-screen TV at Underwood-Memorial Hospital in Woodbury. "What he says comes from his heart."

Rone, an operating-room housekeeping aide and an African American, repeatedly nodded in agreement as Obama spoke. "It's not so much that he's a black man or a white man. He's a man with a good heart who wants the U.S. to climb to the top of the ladder," she said. "It's a beautiful thing to see black and white come together as one."

Rone, a Woodbury resident with two grown children, is 52, the same age as Ken Rozzell, a hospital lab aide who holds a different opinion.

A former Army sergeant and a father of three, Rozzell, of Deptford, believes a military man would make a better president. "I don't know what he [Obama] has done for the country. I don't think he's the right man for the office. But I know he's already started surrounding himself with good people, and things should work out.

"I hope."

Danielle Greenberg, a weight-loss counselor from Media, had tried hard to persuade her boyfriend, Todd Kelly, to schlepp on down to Washington.

"I said, Some day when I'm old and gray, I want to say I was at Obama's inauguration, even though it was a colossal pain . . . ," said Greenberg, 26.

But she could not persuade the guy. Instead, they went to Independence Mall.

"I gave her 101 reasons why we shouldn't go," said Kelly, 35, a real estate agent from Narberth, as the couple set up a tarp, laid down a quilt, and set out a picnic lunch of low-fat cheddar, whole-wheat baguette and V8.

"Getting there would be impossible," he said. "The trains would be packed; we'd be standing out in the cold all day."

"I still wanted to go," said Greenberg, trying not to pout.

"I pointed out that this is the birthplace of democracy," he reminded her.

"He never convinced me. I just knew I was going to lose," she said. "I compromised. And I'm reasonably happy."

"You'll be completely happy once we pop the cork," said Kelly, patting a sports bag by his side.

Inside, wrapped in plain paper, he'd stashed two bottles of champagne.

Obama's inauguration was too important for members of Enon Tabernacle Baptist Church to witness at home alone, said the Rev. Alyn E. Waller.

So the congregation came together as if it were Sunday.

Families came in Obama gear, children carried Obama dolls, and scores of women wore pearls. Flags were waved, hands high-fived, and hallelujahs were shouted.

Terris Wilford, 57, and Lynda Clark, 60, who live across the street from each other in West Oak Lane, watched the inauguration ceremonies from separate tables at the church. Nearly 46 years ago, both were among the crowd at the March on Washington.

Wilford's parents took her to the historic 1963 event, and Clark, now a judicial assistant, attended the march with about 30 relatives and fellow church members.

"My father told me one day in my life I would understand why I went," said Wilford, a manager at a clothing store.

"Today, I understand."