The East Wing of the “People’s House” stood for dignity and compassion. It was the part the school children toured, the room that grieving Gold Star families were handed flags. It was the wing that Americans could visit and enter and be welcomed. I miss the beauty of the Rose Garden and the peace of the East Wing. I miss all the previous occupants who understood they lived in “The People's House” for just a while, and that the house represented more than their own egos. No one voted for this; no citizens, no congressmen. Just one man imposing his tastes over years of dignity and tra