Jim Pagels, Hit & Run - Merrymaking insurgents struck a major victory in the War On Fun
Thursday, sledding to their hearts' content on the Capitol Hill
West Lawn and forcing the police into a retreat.
Cops kicked off sledders two weeks ago, and ahead of Thursday's snow, Capitol Police Board chairman Frank Larkin said he would not temporarily lift the Capitol's sledding ban. This prompted outrage from politicians and the Capitol Hill community, and I set out this morning determined to join my fellow citizens in protest.
I began the day sledding—or at least attempting to—in my makeshift "sled" (i.e., a recycle bin). Not a cop or other sledder was in sight. This whole civil disobedience thing was seeming pretty disappointing, to be honest.
I was eventually joined by two other families, neither of whom was aware of the ban.
After 15 minutes of sledding, three Capitol Police officers appeared at the bottom of the slope, begrudgingly approaching the criminals they would have to accost. The officers jokingly asked to play rock paper scissors to determine who would have to be "the bad guy."
"We don't want anyone crashing into a tree, busting their head open," said one officer before brandishing [a] flyer.
I informed the officer I didn't actually have a sled—as specifically noted in the ordinance—and was thus not breaking the law. This complaint didn't seem to get much traction.
"If these cameras weren't here, I'd go down with you," quipped one officer after telling us we had to go—but not before agreeing to snap a photo for one of the offending families.
While we spineless morning sledders dutifully adhered to our police masters, though, the crowd that arrived later in the afternoon had no such intentions.
The "sled-in," organized on Facebook, again drew the Capitol Police.
When a cop approached the crowd to inform them of the ordinance, sledder Tim Krepp—surrounded by a swarm of media—told the officer he appreciated his concern but would ignore the rule and continue sledding with his kids.
This seemed to be enough to deter the officer, who retreated back down the hill.
Cate MacGregor, age 8, was not to be fazed by the law, either: "This is my first time on this hill, but I'm really enjoying it," she said.
Asked if she thought the police wer right to kick people off, she said, "No, because this is a public space. It's kind of hard, because there aren't that many hills on Capitol Hill. This is a city, so it's not that easy to find a really really really good hill that's really near."
By this point, the 40 or so sledders were outnumbered by roughly 60 reporters, photographers, and cameramen. The police were nowhere in sight.
As far as I could tell, nobody was arrested or fined. It was only later that I learned, via a tweet from D.C. representative Eleanor Holmes Norton, that the police had agreed not to enforce the sledding ban.
Cops kicked off sledders two weeks ago, and ahead of Thursday's snow, Capitol Police Board chairman Frank Larkin said he would not temporarily lift the Capitol's sledding ban. This prompted outrage from politicians and the Capitol Hill community, and I set out this morning determined to join my fellow citizens in protest.
I began the day sledding—or at least attempting to—in my makeshift "sled" (i.e., a recycle bin). Not a cop or other sledder was in sight. This whole civil disobedience thing was seeming pretty disappointing, to be honest.
I was eventually joined by two other families, neither of whom was aware of the ban.
After 15 minutes of sledding, three Capitol Police officers appeared at the bottom of the slope, begrudgingly approaching the criminals they would have to accost. The officers jokingly asked to play rock paper scissors to determine who would have to be "the bad guy."
"We don't want anyone crashing into a tree, busting their head open," said one officer before brandishing [a] flyer.
I informed the officer I didn't actually have a sled—as specifically noted in the ordinance—and was thus not breaking the law. This complaint didn't seem to get much traction.
"If these cameras weren't here, I'd go down with you," quipped one officer after telling us we had to go—but not before agreeing to snap a photo for one of the offending families.
While we spineless morning sledders dutifully adhered to our police masters, though, the crowd that arrived later in the afternoon had no such intentions.
The "sled-in," organized on Facebook, again drew the Capitol Police.
When a cop approached the crowd to inform them of the ordinance, sledder Tim Krepp—surrounded by a swarm of media—told the officer he appreciated his concern but would ignore the rule and continue sledding with his kids.
This seemed to be enough to deter the officer, who retreated back down the hill.
Cate MacGregor, age 8, was not to be fazed by the law, either: "This is my first time on this hill, but I'm really enjoying it," she said.
Asked if she thought the police wer right to kick people off, she said, "No, because this is a public space. It's kind of hard, because there aren't that many hills on Capitol Hill. This is a city, so it's not that easy to find a really really really good hill that's really near."
By this point, the 40 or so sledders were outnumbered by roughly 60 reporters, photographers, and cameramen. The police were nowhere in sight.
As far as I could tell, nobody was arrested or fined. It was only later that I learned, via a tweet from D.C. representative Eleanor Holmes Norton, that the police had agreed not to enforce the sledding ban.
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