mall

My wife and I spent the weekend knocking around a mall and its environs. We had a ball.

By “a mall” I mean the National Mall in Washington, D.C.

For those who don’t know, the National Mall is not a shopping mall. It is a mall in the older – but not oldest – sense: it is a large open walk bordered by trees (and buildings). In fact, it’s quite broad.

And just as capital is the heart of a shopping mall, the National Mall is the heart of the American capital. You can knock around it pell-mell, from gallery to museum to monument to capitol. The gavels of law and justice knock down at one end; along its side various buildings – mostly neoclassical – have been knocked up; in the middle is the obelisk memorializing the city’s eponymous general and president (a giant number one, easy to look out for); at the far end Abraham Lincoln is seated at the top of a large set of heavily populated steps. And however exalted and vaunted and even “sacred” the building or place is, with the exception of the monuments themselves they all have gift shops. Just in case you were afraid there could be no shopping on the Mall.

Well, fair enough. America is, in its eyes (and the eyes of many others), the apotheosis of a capitalist democracy. Power to the people – may they all learn the great lessons their great hero presidents have taught them, especially George Washington, who chose to be a president and to represent the will of the people, rather than to be an emperor. These are the messages that the texts and guides and placards tell you. America is the land of the free – and, indeed, all of the museums and monuments and great buildings (except for the privately owned ones) are free to enter, as long as you don’t consider having your bag inspected a cost, and as long as you don’t factor in the taxes every American pays that support them. Instead of paying money for goods, you pay attention and pay your respects to culture and history. You can spend all day there without spending a dime.

Unless, of course, you like buying souvenirs, such as a capitol dome in chocolate or a pencil printed with all the presidents. It is your free choice to buy such things, but if you do, you pay: currency, the free (as in unrestricted) symbolic exchange of value, is the heart of capitalism, in the capital as elsewhere. Free enterprise is the American way, and by “free” we mean “free to charge people as much as you can get them to pay.” But we also mean that other people are free to compete with you (usually).

As it happens, my only souvenir was a Jackson Pollock tie from the National Gallery. Plus a large number of photos and memories. (See the photos in my flickr album.) Oh, and – least lasting of all – a blister on the ball of my left middle toe. Because we walked a lot. A mall is a place you go on foot, whether it’s a shopping mall or the old kind of mall. Or the original kind of mall.

What is the original kind of mall? An alley or similar long narrow space wherein the game of pall mall is played. By pall mall I obviously do not mean cigarettes. (Nor do I mean the candy taste that Pall Mall brings to me because it was the brand printed on packs of candy cigarettes I devoured as a child.) It is a game, sort of like croquet, only the balls are a foot in diameter. The mallets are correspondingly larger too. The name comes via French from Latin roots cognate with ball and mallet. The aim is to get the ball through an elevated hoop at one end in as few strokes as possible.

I wonder how many strokes it would take to get from one end of the National Mall to the other. It’s a bit of a walk, as it happens, nearly 2 miles from one end to the other. But that’s nothing for us. On one day, we walked from Foggy Bottom to Georgetown, through there and over the Key Bridge to Rosslyn, past the Marine Monument and into Arlington Cemetery, around there a little and then across the bridge to the Lincoln Monument, and then along the National Mall… and beyond, northward to dinner. A total of about 15 kilometres.

Oops, sorry, about 9 miles. Americans do love traditions, and one of them is the almost Harry-Potter-esque system of weights and measures that everywhere else (except Liberia and Myanmar) has been replaced by the tidier metric system. (I grew up with Imperial in Canada, then we switched. I still use it for a few things because I am of that age. Anyway, it’s good for cooking because it does fractions well. But when I go to the mall, I buy everything in metric… but not in an American mall.)

The National Mall is of course not the original Mall. In London there is Pall Mall and there is The Mall; in Paris there is a rue du Mail, and in Hamburg a Palmaille. These were all originally places (or near places) where pall mall was played. Then the balls and hammers were pushed to the sides and the name retained as each place became a long public stroll. A pall mall is a nice, orderly place, nothing pell mell; indeed, pell mell has a separate etymology (perhaps with a little cross influence) and an unrelated meaning.

The National Mall was never a place to play pall mall; its name is just another part of the USA’s British heritage. The Americans didn’t throw out British invaders, after all; they were British invaders and their descendants, and they just decided to go it alone without paying taxes to a distant figurehead. They’d rather spend their money their way, and look up to their own heroes and create their own mythos – a mythos available around the National Mall in the form of a lot of free masonry.

Have a look at some photos from our sojourn in DC if you so desire.

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