Rick Hampson

USA TODAY

WASHINGTON — We try to assess Barack Obama’s legacy by squinting into the murky future — debating the durability of his policies and programs, wondering what the new president will do to them.

But when we measure the 44th president’s accomplishments, do we recall where and when he started? Remember what the nation and world were like the day he took office? Imagine what might have been without him?

In his farewell this week, Obama himself cited the advice of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view. Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.'’

So go back to the hours before Obama became president. Walk in his shoes, sit in his pew, ride in his limousine. Then, judge.

Tuesday, Jan. 20, 2009, 12:01 a.m.

In 12 hours you become president — first since Roosevelt to enter office in an economic crisis, first since Nixon to enter office in wartime, first ever to enter during both. In your inaugural speech, you call it “The winter of our hardship.’’

That’s putting it mildly. “Business is just shutting down,’’ according to Mark Zandi, the economist. “Everything is going wrong.’’ He said that a month ago; now, things are worse.

A third of the nation’s lending capacity is frozen, and the value of its housing stock has dropped from $13 trillion to $8.5 trillion in less than three years. The average household has lost a third of its net worth. A trillion dollars in stock values are gone.

Two foreign wars have killed more than 4,800 Americans, strained military families with repeated deployments, and, according to a new Congressional Budget Office report, could wind up costing $2.4 trillion.

Bin Laden, the most wanted man in U.S. history, is still at large. Gay soldiers and sailors are still in the closet.

The Israelis and the Palestinians are winding up another war that destroyed much and settled nothing. Putin, having frozen southeastern Europe for weeks in a spat with Ukraine, has turned the natural gas back on.

Newtown and Ferguson are not yet synonyms for catastrophe and conflict. No one except capitalists occupy Wall Street. The Tea Party is just the name of an obscure website. The Arab Spring, and the chaos that follows, lie ahead.

7:16 a.m.

The sun rises on the capital of a nation of 306 million, 44 million of whom lack health insurance.

Another day, another 8,219 foreclosures filed, 2,373 homes confiscated, 4,658 vehicles repossessed and 16,700 people thrown out of work. At this rate, Americans will buy 17,000 fewer vehicles today than three years ago.

At Blair House, you’ve been up for more than an hour. After a workout you shower and have breakfast with Michelle and the girls.

Yesterday, Homeland Security alerted you to a “credible threat’’ — four Somalis who’ve spent time in terrorist training camps have slipped into the country from Canada and might be planning an attack at the inauguration. You canceled a speech rehearsal session.

At 47, you’re the first president to come of age after the Vietnam War. You have not a gray hair on your head.

You put on a dark suit, white shirt, red tie. You practice your salute.

Five hours from now you will be commander in chief of 179,000 troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. You’ve vowed to get out of the former and straighten out the latter.

But overnight there have been two bombings in Baghdad and an assassination in Mosul. The supply route into Afghanistan through Pakistan, our supposed ally, is so perilous Petraeus is today announcing a new route through Uzbekistan.

You’ve promised to talk with our enemies. But North Korea and Iran are hell bent on getting nukes; North Korea already has enough material for six warheads. Our embassy in Havana has been closed since before you were born. Your last predecessor to visit Cuba was Coolidge.

Overseas markets are down.

8:47 a.m.

You step into the back of the new presidential limousine for a 90-second, two-block ride to St. John’s Church, across from the White House, for the traditional pre-inaugural service.

You slide into the front pew and hear the preacher say, "God always sends the best men into the worst times. The problems are mighty and the solutions are not simple. But you are all fired up, sir, and you are ready to go. And this nation goes with you.’’

But maybe not the market. The Standard & Poor’s 500 stock index opens at 849.76, down .36 from Monday’s close.

Despite the crisis, most Americans are excited about the inauguration of the first African-American president and optimistic about a post-racial, post-partisan era in politics. By nearly 6-to-1, Americans surveyed today in a USA TODAY/Gallup Poll say they’re more hopeful about the next four years.

Maybe too hopeful. On the National Catholic Reporter website, the Jesuit Thomas Reese, a student of such things, worries that Americans expect a miracle and that that hopes “far exceed anything that is humanely possible to fulfill.’’

The text of your speech says, “That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood.’’ In fact, most people don’t understand how bad the crisis is or how bad it could get.

Even you don’t. You don’t know that unemployment will rise to 10% or that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac may hold $2 trillion in substandard loans.

9:48 a.m.

You leave church and get back in the limo, known as “The Beast.’’ It has 5-inch armor, tires that can roll when flat and a sealable interior in case of chemical attack.

Even The Beast is a reminder of the crisis. Its maker, General Motors, says that without an infusion of government cash it will be broke in two months; the reorganization plan that’s part of its application for a bailout is due in a month. The head of the auto workers union calls the deadline “unattainable.’’

You ride across the street to the White House for coffee with the president, who greets you at the North Portico with a hearty, “Sir!’’

The S&P index is down, at 832.57.

10:48 a.m.

You and Bush get into The Beast and ride off down Pennsylvania Avenue. Through the bulletproof glass, you can see sharpshooters on the rooftops. You cannot see the P-3 Orion flying recon above The Mall.

In the time it takes to reach the Capitol, 16 Americans will lose their homes, 120 will be thrown out of work, and 32 have a car or truck repossessed.

Regulators are sorting the wreckage of banks that failed last week in Berkeley, Ill., and Vancouver, Wash., the first of 140 such institutions that will fail before the year is out.

This is shaping up as the worst inauguration day ever for financial stocks. Bank of New York-Mellon reports that its profit fell almost 95% in the last quarter. The State Street Corporation, one of the world's largest institutional money managers, announces a 71% drop, sending its share price down 59%.

The S&P is down, at 827.96.

11:01 a.m.

The motorcade arrives at the Capitol. In a holding room, you rehearse the oath of office.

You’re handed a statement to read in case the Somalis’ attack seems imminent and the crowd must be dispersed. You stick the paper in your pocket without looking at it.

Overnight, Spanish police have arrested six men, several of them Pakistanis, for diverting funds from telecommunications businesses to terrorist groups.

U.S. intelligence has just learned that bin Laden’s son Saad, long detained in Iran, has fled to northwestern Pakistan, where an area size of New Jersey is a haven for attacks across the border into Afghanistan.

11:42 a.m.

You stand alone — head back, eyes closed — in the Capitol doorway, waiting to be announced.

It’s bright and cold — 28 degrees, wind chill 17. But the globe is warming. A government report released four days ago says summer ice cover in the Arctic shrank to a record low in 2007, and was almost as scant last summer. And last week the EPA reported that sea levels on the mid-Atlantic Coast are rising faster than the global average.

11:45 a.m.

Pastor Rick Warren, in his blessing, says, “We celebrate a hinge-point in history.’’ Aretha Franklin, in a hat with a huge bow, sings My Country Tis of Thee. A quartet, including Yo Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman, plays a John Williams composition that recalls the classic Simple Gifts.

Watching on TV a half continent away, Eileen Hall tears up. "Oh, a Shaker tune," she says. "We've got some peace people there. My great-grandmother was a Quaker. She would be pleased."

Hall, 54, is an African-American resident of Ferguson, Mo., where this year Michael Brown turns 13.

12:05 p.m.

With your right hand on the bible Lincoln used at his first inauguration, you take the oath.

The S&P, which had dipped below 827 at noon, rises to 829.82

In Longmont, Colo., nearly 1,000 people are at the funeral of Sgt. Justin Bauer, 24, killed in Iraq 10 days ago by a roadside bomb. An officer reads comments from Bauer’s men: “Best NCO I ever had,” and “I would have followed that man anywhere.”

A fire engine is ready to take him on a last ride through his hometown. The route goes past Berthoud High School, where Justin played football and met the girl who five months ago became his wife. She recalls him as a model husband and “a son who never gave his family any problems.’’

The A&W Root Beer stand marquee says: “Justin Bauer: Gone but not Forgotten.’’

12:08 p.m.

You begin your speech, “My fellow citizens ...’’ and someone in the crowd replies, “Yes, sir!’’ (Again, that word.)

It’s night now in Gaza City. Much of it is dark from weeks of Israeli bombardment. But Israel completed its withdrawal yesterday, and earlier today Ban Ki-moon toured Gaza and southern Israel. The hospitals say about 1,300 Palestinians are dead, two fifths of them civilians.

In Syria, there were street protests — against Israel’s invasion of Gaza, not Bashar al-Assad, who quietly encourages such protests. In an interview published yesterday, he expressed hope for the new American president and called for the U.S. to withdraw from Iraq.

He should be careful what he wishes for, although at the moment what the world will know as ISIS exists only in embryonic form, the Islamic State of Iraq.

12:13 p.m.

You say, “The state of our economy calls for action, bold and swift.’’

Our economy, still growing slightly last fall, is now shrinking at an annual rate of 6% — the road to a depression.

As you speak, companies are shutting down or cutting back. Gottschalks, the nation’s largest publicly traded regional department store chain, is going out of business after 104 years. Macy’s is closing 11 stores in nine states and laying off almost 1,000. Eaton, a big diversified manufacturer, is announcing the elimination of 5,200 jobs — 6% of its workforce. Even Google is laying off 100 recruiters.

Your proposed solution — $787 billion in government spending — is more than the New Deal but less than your more liberal advisers say is needed.

And it comes on the heels of the $700 billion authorized to save Wall Street from bad loans. “The money will have to be borrowed,’’ notes an editorial this morning in USA TODAY, “and no one knows the implications of such massive borrowing.’’

12:27 p.m.

As you finish the speech, you look across The Mall toward Lincoln’s statue. But you cannot see the troubles ahead.

You know that today China is complaining about U.S. arms sales to Taiwan. You do not know that the Chinese Navy is about to harass the USS Impeccable, a surveillance ship in international waters in the South China Sea.

You know that Ben Ali, the Tunisian president, is securely in power after two decades. You’ve never heard of Tarek el-Tayeb Mohamed Bouazizi, 24, who scratches out a living selling fruits and vegetables in the street in Sidi Bouzid.

In Libya, Gaddafi is enjoying the global respectability that followed his renunciation of terrorism six years ago. His nation has a seat on the UN Security Council for 2008-09, and next month he becomes president of the African Union.

Bowe Bergdahl is in Alaska with his Army unit, preparing to deploy to Afghanistan. Bradley Manning is in upstate New York with his unit, ready to go to Iraq.

Edward Snowden is working for the CIA in Geneva as a computer network security specialist, although some officials are starting to suspect him of unauthorized hacking into agency data.

Chris Stevens is U.S. deputy chief of mission in Tripoli.

12:40 p.m.

You leave the stage as the band plays The Stars and Stripes Forever.

The Somali plot will turn out to be a false alarm. The day’s biggest security problem will be children separated from their families.

The S&P dropped 3.80 points while you were speaking. At day’s end the index will have fallen 5.3% to 805.22, the worst Inauguration Day performance since World War II.

Alec Young, equity strategist at S&P, is philosophical. "There is only so much,’’ he says, “one man can do."

Contributing: Adam Shell, The Associated Press

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