Dad and the Dome

People really can surprise you, especially those you think you know best. I just recently found out a good friend of mine, an old circus pal, is a Republican. I don't hold it against her, not at all, these things do happen, however inexplicable they may be.

Take my father, for instance. One of the smartest cats I know, always has a tidbit of information I've never heard before, still thinking clearly and cogently about deep things even into his 70's. When I was a young un', and not yet hipped to my Dad's wily ways, he managed to put a sense of wonder into my brother and me that still lingers, just by walking about 60-70 feet.

The family was on a visit to Washington, DC, where Dad had spent a good few years growing up and working his first jobs, most notably at the Pentagon (the world's largest office building). So the visit was a return to old haunt for him, and he showed my mother, my brother Eric, and me not only all of the expected sights, but a number of little things that most people would pass by all unaware.

The cool trick came when we visited the capitol dome. This was back when the hoi-polloi were allowed to simply wander through the building at will. We looked at the paintings, the statues, the frescoes, and the amazing frieze that runs around the rotunda, and enjoyed the odd open feeling that comes from being inside such a huge covered space uncluttered by supports and pillars. After a bit, Dad pulled Eric and I over to a painting, god knows which one.

"I want you guys to look at this picture," he said, "Because there's something wrong with it, and I want to see if you can spot it."

So Eric and I scrutinized the painting, searching it closely, trying to divine what the error might be. After a minute or two of this, Dad spoke up.

"Don't see it, huh? Well, that's all right turn around and look at this."

We turned towards Dad's voice, which had seemed to come from right behind us. But, lo and behold, he was clear across the rotunda. Our faces, all covered in surprise, must have been clear even at the distance he stood from us.

"What's wrong?" Dad spoke innocently, and still it seemed like his voice came from someone within arms reach, not a good stones throw away.

He explained it to us, after he got done enjoying our bewildered expressions. The huge dome acted as an acoustic reflector, carrying sound, clear and unmuted, from one end of the dome to another, as long as you were in the right spots. There are plaques on the floor, showing where some of the famous early legislators had had their desks, and Dad showed us where one crafty politico had his workspace situated so that it stood in the sweet spot to listen in on the plotting of a rival group that gathered on the other side of the dome.

That is still one of the neatest things I've ever seen. Thanks, Dad.