Touring Obama's Chicago: “"No," the Secret Service agent tells me, his eyes as cold and harsh as this wintry day. Oddly, it's no secret he's a Secret Service agent - 2-inch-high yellow letters scream it across his chest. But he isn't the kind of guy who'd appreciate that irony.
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"I have a press card."
I'm standing in front of a concrete barricade across South Greenwood Avenue in Chicago. A few city cop cars are parked alongside the barrier for good measure, their occupants clustered outside. The Obama family house is just down the street, but there's no way I'm going to get a closer look; the entire block is locked down. "Can we at least take some pictures from here?" Paul, my husband, asks.
We give up and climb into my mother-in-law Alice's car. "I gotta tell you," Alice says from the front seat, "all this security makes me feel very good." I have to agree. But it's also making it nearly impossible for me to answer that question Sarah Palin repeatedly demanded: "Who IS Barack Obama?"”