Rick and me in 1965, a few years before this adventure took place
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9/14/26
“Sightseeing in Washington with Aunt Joan”
I can’t remember my parents ever taking us kids sightseeing. They enjoyed family picnics, the swimming pool, and boating. Aunt Joan, on the other hand, loved to take in the sights with her young’uns. My cousin and quasi brother, Rick, usually persuaded Joan to include me on those excursions by persistent badgering. I remember going along with Rick and his siblings to the National Zoo, the Gettysburg Battlefield, Luray Caverns, the C & O Canal, Sugarloaf Mountain, and I don’t know what all. On nearly every one of those jaunts, Rick and I managed to escape from her watchful eye and create our own tour that was sometimes far removed from her plan.
I don’t know how the bug got planted in Aunt Joan’s ear, but in the fall of 1969, she suddenly decided that she had been remiss in never taking her kids to the Smithsonian Institution. So, she looked at her calendar on the wall and wrote “Smithsonian” on the next free Saturday. Rick and I started our plea, but found that it was no longer necessary, as both sets of parents had resigned themselves to my inclusion. The chosen date happened to be October 18th, 1969.
As the big day approached, the nightly news began reporting on the Moratorium to End the Viet Nam War that was scheduled for October 15th. Thousands of young people were converging on Washington to protest the war. Mom, Daddy, Uncle Dick, and several other adults tried to convince Aunt Joan to reschedule the outing, but Joan was determined to go. She had written it on the calendar in ink, after all. Joan called the Smithsonian and found that they would indeed be open for business that Saturday, so that settled it.
Three days after the Moratorium, the National Mall was still packed with young people. As we were threading our way through the crowd, Rick and I pulled our disappearing act. We didn’t want to see bones and arrowheads and whatever else might be in that museum, we wanted to hang out on the Mall amidst the throng. Shortly after we slipped away, we found out what sightseeing was all about. We saw couples having sex on the ground, lots of people smoking weed (it was called pot then), women’s body parts that we hadn’t seen before, singing, guitar picking, preaching, and vendors selling peace sign pins, bandanas, anti-war and anti-Nixon tee shirts. You name it, we saw it. We didn’t see any other kids our age, anywhere, but that didn’t bother us. There were park rangers on horseback who, amazingly, weren’t busting anyone. What we didn’t see was any violence or unrest. I found out later that there had been some vandalism, but we didn’t see any sign of it. At some point, we’d had enough. I mean, once you’ve seen...
It was still early afternoon, so we looked around for a new adventure. There it was, 555 feet high, right in front of us. We headed for the Washington Monument. I think there’s now a requirement to get tickets in advance to tour the monument, but not in 1969. And it was open, with a relatively short line. I suppose most tourists had exercised better judgement and stayed home that day. We entered the lobby and queued up in the back of the line, but we overheard someone saying that it cost a dime to ride the elevator to the top. We couldn’t afford it. Rick suggested bumming the money but just then, someone exited a door to the stairwell. Rick grabbed the door before it slammed shut and we started up. The stairway wound up and around the perimeter of the monument. Every few feet, there were engravings with the names of those who had donated toward the monument’s construction effort more than a century earlier. That was cool beans. We finally made it to the top, gawked at the city and beyond from on-high for a while, and learned that there was no charge to ride the elevator back down.
Once we landed, it was time to find Aunt Joan, but how? We started toward the Smithsonian and within fifteen minutes, she and Rick’s siblings found us. I think moms have some kind of inherent radar for such things. Aunt Joan asked, “Do you know where we just came from?” It sounded like a trick question, and I was afraid the answer would be the police station or something. Me: “The Smithsonian?” Joan: “After that.” Rick: “No: Ma’am.” Joan: “We went to get burgers and milk shakes, and I brought you boys something.” She tossed each of us a package of saltine crackers and huffed toward the car with us kids in tow.
When each of us arrived at his respective home, we got lectures from our fathers and had a few restrictions slapped on us. Before long, we began planning our next adventure. All of this may seem horrifying to you parents, but I’m here to tell you that in those days we were having the times of our lives, and I wouldn’t take it back if I could.
Rick and me in 1965, a few years before this adventure took place
The Washington Monument on October 15th, 1969
Tom Mindte
September 2026