He directed me to another guard across the room. One of them gazed at me, searching my face for a clue. The guards traded looks as I spelled out my last name. “Would you happen to know where it is?” They seemed as puzzled at my question as I felt stunned to have uttered such a thing. “I’m told my portrait is in this building,” I said to the guards at the reception desk. But I stepped into the Smithsonian Institution Building (The Castle’s official name) like I belonged there. Now, standing before the red sandstone castle dressed in a Floridian’s bundle of winter garb and dreary walking shoes, I felt unworthy to see the queen. I had just arrived to a snow-shrouded Washington, D.C., dropped my luggage at the hotel, and grabbed a Lyft ride to the splendid Gothic structure that had been on my wish list for more than a decade. Why is Post reporter’s portrait on display at Smithsonian Institution? I was not exactly dressed for The Castle. Portrait from the Permanent Collection Smithsonian National Gallery Washington DC 1 Feb.
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