Beck and Call Glenn Beck’s rally on the Washington mall was scarier than you’d like to think

By CHRIS FARAONE | August 31, 2010

Washington, DC — Glenn Beck maintains that he didn't purposely schedule this "Restoring Honor" rally on the anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. I say bullshit. He wants nothing more than to lead his people to the promised land.

I know, for today I am among his legionnaires.

The troops are decked in their combat best, sporting Old Glory in her every form along with such prized accessories as autographed NASCAR hats. Some of their motto tees are cute and familiar ("THE CONSTITUTION: I READ IT FOR THE ARTICLES"), while others are ironic choices for guys wearing sensible cross-trainers ("I'M THE COLONIAL REVOLUTIONARY THAT YOUR HIPPIE FRIENDS WARNED YOU ABOUT"). Many younger attendees have on shirts advertising their unaccredited colleges, while senior citizens wear visors and a look of permanent disgust.

I find myself blending in: back in Boston, the camo shorts and yellow T-shirt were just an outfit, but here, from a distance the latter looks like a "Don't Tread On Me" flag. I decide to go with it, telling folks that the scroll tattoo on my right forearm represents the Constitution. In a momentary redneck transformation, I go so far as to join in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, lifting my voice for the "under God" part.

I have no choice. It's a matter of survival. Or at least the difference between my taking notes in peace, and having to argue with the idiots who are beleaguering other journalists who roam beyond the press box. I feel especially bad for one telltale liberal blogger, who might as well have worn an Obama-Biden hoodie to complement his Merrell boots and Nalgene jar. Beck's titanic power base might seem like old news, but not if you consider the rally coverage. Blinded by stubborn denial, left, middle, and mainstream outlets are still unwilling to concede that the Fox News charlatan has soldiers at his beck and call. In its Honor Rally wrap-up, cnn.com reports in the second paragraph that "tens of thousands of people showed up" — even though the article notes further down that counts ranged from 78,000, to quack Minnesota congresswoman Michele Bachmann's not-so-conservative estimate of more than one million.

I'm not often afraid of dummies. Even "tens of thousands" of them. But the energy here is more alarming than any health-care town-hall hysteria I've witnessed, and there's a much larger draw than at the NRA rally I covered here four months ago. I spent last night with other smug progressives, all of us mocking Beck's tendency to exaggerate turnout tallies. But as I watch hordes of wretched retirees and their ugly children descend toward the Lincoln Memorial, I'm absolutely dumbfounded.

My awakening to growing trends of mob-style "independence" actually began in Greater Boston, where I've spent much of the past year studying Beck and the local spawn of his slogan-happy clan. Following my first Tea Party rallies in the commonwealth this past April, I mostly ogled from a distance, viewing Fox voraciously, and, more recently, interviewing Alexander Zaitchik, author of Common Nonsense: Glenn Beck and the Triumph of Ignorance. I ended up riding the Amtrak down to DC with Zaitchik, who convinced me that it's impossible to comprehend the Fox zeitgeist from my soap box in Massachusetts.

Zaitchik's crowded reading at Brookline Booksmith this past Thursday attracted just a single outspoken critic. Considering how horrified local lefties were by that unhinged gadfly's attack on Zaitchik's facts, I can only hope they turned to cable news for comforting accounts of what transpired in the capital. My observations are too foul for them to handle. Here in DC, some anti-Beck operatives have set up an impressive art installation and counter-rally on the Mall to (actually) honor King. Their protest consists of broadcasting the reverend's speech and a cute black children's choir — but passing Beckheads heckle them as uninvited pests.

For the record, Beck's supporters aren't all white. There are more black people here to cheer Beck than the left would like to think — and far less than Tea Partiers cite in defending themselves against charges of racism. Critics make the point that some in this crowd aren't here for Beck, but rather they're confused tourists who share the Tea Party's affection for fanny packs. Regardless, I'm stunned by the militia chic milieu; in my eyes, flocks of self-labeled patriots shouldering folded red, white, and blue lawn chairs like shotguns is a chilling sight. More sinister are the monied underwriters, wearing Ralph Lauren flag threads, who leave the safety of their VIP enclosure to check up on the peasants.

I'm especially amazed by how docile these so-called independent activists are; from what I can tell, they left their signs at home because Beck told them to. According to advanced literature: "The Restoring Honor Rally is neither a 9/12 nor a Tea Party rally . . . Please refrain from bringing signs (political or otherwise) as they may deter from the peaceful message we are bringing to Washington . . . There will be absolutely no politics involved." A park ranger tells me that he's had to inform numerous Fox groupies that protesters are legally allowed to hold signs despite Beck's directives.

Following some song and prayer, Beck's first high-profile "non-political" guest is Sarah Palin, who is here not as a failed vice-presidential candidate or gubernatorial quitter, but instead as the mother of a combat veteran. Though I watch both Beck and Palin's speeches closely, I'm not sure what the fuck either is talking about, which I suppose helps me assimilate. This is not a thinking bunch; the joy with which they embrace Beck's pious bombast is an indicator, but I settle any doubt on that matter when they don't boo Palin for announcing that we all came for no reason: "Though this rally is about restoring honor for these men and women," she says, inexplicably, "honor was never lost."

Playing the crowd, I notice dozens of folks queuing at the first toilet cluster on the Mall that people see when walking toward the action from the Washington Monument. Knowing from experience that there are rows of available potties nearby, I announce to everyone on line that they can promptly relieve themselves at the next bathroom bank. But not a single one of them has enough strength to break from the group, and they all stay waiting together with their knees knocking. Translation: if and when Beck directs his cattle into battle, you should hide in your bathroom. And if Palin tells them to reload, well, let's not go there.

Looking back from a barstool in DuPont Circle, remembering the part of Zaitchik's book where Beck is sniffing coke in his DeLorean, I can't help but think that my dreamy romp with his flag-clad minions was similar to when Marty McFly tells Doc Brown in Back to the Future that the Gipper is president of the United States in 1985. "Ronald Reagan — the actor?" the inventor laughs, retiring his geodesic headgear. "Then who's vice-president? Jerry Lewis? ... I've had enough jokes for one evening. Good night, Future Boy."

It's dismayingly surreal to escape my modern Boston bubble and discover that Beck is not merely a "fabulist thespian," as I once painted him, but rather a full-fledged Biff Tannen cult leader pining for Hill Valley nostalgia. As for the vice-president of his movement, which filled and spilled beyond the National Mall for "Restoring Honor" — let's just say she's no Jerry Lewis.