It was a frigid Saturday afternoon in January in Connecticut. I hurried along the east side of the Capitol between the snow banks, bracing myself against the wind. It was already 1:15 pm, and I was late. Preparing my speech had taken longer than I intended. The gun rally started at noon. Pressing on around the corner, I was shocked to encounter a massive wall of people extending as far as I could see. It was a crowd so enormous that it overflowed from the Capitol’s steps in a solid shivering block of people sweeping across the large open terrace, its wide walkways, and flowing equally to the east toward me and west and north into the parking lot beyond. Rising far beyond the seemingly endless winter coats and parkas, the Capitol’s north steps were overflowing with organizers, speakers, supportive organizations, microphones, cameras and media.
I pushed my way bit by bit deep into the crowd. At last, I emerged, in front on the steps. As I climbed, the air felt different. It felt as if I was high on a hill looking out over what seemed at that moment to be the entire people of State of Connecticut a people finally stirred a people finally awakened from a very long and deep sleep.
