What better place to stage the star-studded grand finale of what's teetered between a cheesy TV reality show and a battle-to-the-death for America's mortal soul than where it all began, in front of Independence Hall in Philadelphia?
The nation's most famous clock atop that Georgian spire read 9:10 p.m. on Election Eve when Hillary Clinton _ backed by two presidents and the reigning king of rock 'n' roll _ took the stage.
But to a Philadelphia throng estimated at 33,000 people who'd been swarming toward the grassy Independence Mall for hours, and to an anxious nation watching on TV, the Democrats' final pre-election plea felt more like a midnight mass, a prayer in the darkness for something decent to emerge at end of the ugliest election in nearly a half-century.
"I know it's been a long campaign and there's been a lot of noise," President Barack Obama told the large crowd, adding that "at times it felt like a reality show or even a parody."
Obama, his wife Michelle, former president and potential White House spouse Bill Clinton, and possible two-time First Daughter Chelsea took turns portraying the contest between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump as one between a steady public servant and a reckless man who doesn't respect women and whose aides no longer allow him to post on Twitter for fear of what he might say.
Hillary Clinton spoke last, her red outfit melting into the stars-and-stripes backdrop as her words carried south toward Independence Hall over the bobbing human sea, many of her fans waving red or blue cards that read simply, "USA."
She portrayed the choice in Tuesday's voting as whether "to believe in a hopeful, inclusive, big-hearted America _ an America where everyone has a place, everyone is included, everyone has a chance to live up to their God-given potential."
The mood among her supporters last night on the crowded, car-choked streets of Center City was like nothing I'd seen in more than a year of chasing this endless campaign _ lacking the giddy rebellion of Bernie Sanders' tent revivals or the unvarnished anger and freak show that followed Donald Trump like a traveling circus.
The fury that had brought occasional fistfights and chants of "Lock Her Up!" to the presidential trail simply wasn't there; a lonely "Dump Trump" button on a teenager's hat was one of the few overt signs of anger toward the bombastic GOP nominee.
Instead, this multitude seemed purposeful, almost solemn, as they waited for hours to see the current president, a past president and the woman hoping to become America's first female commander-in-chief. Every thirty feet or so, grade-schoolers on their dads' shoulders surfed above the humanity, on the cusp of a unique experience they might tell their own grandchildren about decades from now. Reportedly, thousands at the end of the line who were turned away by Philadelphia police by the end of the night didn't even complain much.
Turns out that even the megawatt star power of Bruce Springsteen isn't as big a draw as history. That and, according to the folks I spoke with before the rally, a final chance to show respect for what Barack and Michelle Obama have accomplished in the White House, and also for the campaign that Hillary Clinton has run until now.
But especially Michelle Obama.
"She set the tone," said Pamela Baines _ a retired Philadelphian who'd been anchoring the front of the long line, at 5th and Chestnut, since 9 a.m. _ when asked about the role that the current first lady has played in trying to lift up the campaign dialogue. "She's the standard."
A few feet away, 71-year-old Gloria Oliver of Mount Laurel, who'd waited patiently all day with her daughter, son-in-law and a grandson, said she was hoping that this rally could offer the same kind of uplift that a certain baseball team provided much of America last week.
"Like the Cubs winning _ even though we're not Cubs fans _ because it brought people together," Oliver said with a laugh.
The idea that America was just might be 24 hours away from shattering a glass ceiling and electing its first women president was present, yet somehow bobbing a bit under the surface.
If nothing else, the final hours of the alternately frustrating and fascinating presidential race etched a deep contrast for voters.
Trump remains more determined than ever to go it alone _ a strongman who still claims he entered the race because he can fix America's problems in a way that not one of its other 320 million citizens could. "I'm not a special interest," he insisted yesterday in Florida. "My interest is you."
Clinton instead closed by offering the nation a kind of political version of Woodstock, a celebration of a common, ever-rising culture with a lingua franca _ rock and pop music _ and a shared commitment to an increasingly diverse America.
Surrounded by the icons of that culture from Springsteen to the Obamas to basketball's LeBron James, Clinton has strived at the end to make today's election about more than just her mighty personal ambitions.
But practically ending her campaign (she flew to North Carolina afterwards for one last midnight rally) on American democracy's most hallowed ground was also a chance to connect this final surge of fun and music to the nation's greater ghosts.
The battles that have been fought right here on Independence Mall _ over who can become an American citizen, over how much that black lives matter (once, shamefully, 3/5 of a white life), over a free press and whether religious minorities (like Muslims) can be singled out by the government _ are coming to a head yet again in the balloting that takes place today.
"We don't want to shrink the vision of this country," Clinton told her audience, noting that the delegates who came to Philadelphia in 1776 from "13 unruly colonies" manage to forge a common vision for an American experiment that has been tested again and again and again.
"You can't start a fire ... can't start a fire without a spark," sang Springsteen, ending his three song set that preceded the political onslaught with his signature 1980s hit, "Dancing in the Dark.
This time tomorrow, we may have a better idea if Philadelphia's unforgettable 240-year-old fire of democracy is really an eternal flame, after all.
ABOUT THE WRITER
Will Bunch is a columnist for the Philadelphia Daily News. Readers may email him at bunchw@phillynews.com.
