The Watergate

Its name is synonymous with the kind of slow-burning, excruciatingly public decay only a vintage Beltway political scandal can deliver. Of course, it was here where our disenchantment with the Presidency began in earnest; where the events that would eventually unravel both the political career and sanity of Richard M. Nixon were set in motion. 25 years later, a young White House intern at the heart of another major scandal that rocked the foundations of American politics would spend months in veritable hiding at her parents’ posh suite in the upper reaches of the South building.

Before the Watergate became infamous, it was famous. Its stark modernity and sophistication, which pervaded everything from its aesthetics to residents to clientele, garnered the Luigi Moretti creation international praise. Today, this sleekness has given way to an unshakable sense of irrelevancy - The architecture and décor is drab and dated, silver-haired residents toting toy poodles routinely go weeks at a time without leaving the grounds, the once luxurious hotel is indefinitely shuttered, and only a handful of stores remain in what was once an exclusive enclave of street-level boutiques. The sheer number of politicians, lobbyists, and social elite that called the Watergate home once lent it the nickname ‘White House West.’ Today, Cheney’s motorcade screams down Virginia Avenue in a daily blur while an endless stream of cabs carries well-heeled tourists to something newer, trendier, and generally more pertinent just around the bend in Georgetown. Even the incessant air traffic to and from Reagan National, just downriver, lends an unshakable feeling that time has passed this place by.

The splotchy grey concrete mirrors the inherent dreariness and melancholy of overcast days. And after the sun dips down over what has become a crowded Rosslyn skyline just across the Potomac, this feeling becomes palpable. It seems like every tenant turns in by 9pm; on this evening in particular, the flickering blue light of a television left on in some penthouse is about the only reminder that the building even exists. This certainly provides a contrast to the arresting luminosity of the adjacent George Washington University graduate dorm. Perpetually adorned with Christmas lights and homemade political signs, the building exudes youthful optimism (and, judging from the steady take-out delivery traffic, bad eating habits).

This contrast has not gone unnoticed by long-time Watergate residents, and on long lines at the Complex’s basement Safeway, they can barely contain their contempt for the encroaching youth. As annoying as the 'GW World' card and the havoc it wreaks on the store’s ancient cash registers can be, it is no reason to mutter curses under your breath; treat the cashiers in a sub-human matter. What is most striking about these daily passive aggressive battles is the fact Watergate residents are not ignorant to the all-inclusive deterioration, just indifferent. In a vestige of what once was, a sense of entitlement mixes with the quiet desperation of old age and we get a somber yet familiar view of what both the Watergate and the people who inhabit it have become – D.C. veterans unraveling before our very eyes.