The distant thunder of Vietnam, a hazy, hurtful memory for most Americans, came roaring to the White House today in a large scale protest. But the object of scorn was Vietnamese President and Communist Chairman Nguyen Minh Triet meeting with President Bush to sign a trade agreement. Several thousand Vietnamese Americans from across the country milled at the edge of Lafayette Park penned behind waist-high barriers, shouting across Pennsylvania Avenue facing the White House:

"Free All Political Prisoners"
      "Down with the Communists"
      "Democracy"
      "Murderer"

I waded through the orderly, noisy protesters, noting they were all ages: older men, some in their Vietnam War uniforms; younger men, one wearing an AC/DC rocker T-shirt, many wearing printed T-shirts, "Stop Kangeroo Court in Vietnam...Human Rights for Vietnam."  Women were as boisterous as men, taking up the cadence of the increasingly incendiary chants:

"VC (Vietcong)" the leader would yell into a bullhorn...
      "Liar" the crowd would yell back
      "VC...Terrorists"
      "VC...Mafia"
  "VC...Go to Hell"

Protesters waved some American flags, but mostly Vietnamese flags, not the Communist Star flag, but a flag of yellow background with three horizontal red bands adopted in 1948. Many carried banners with pointed barbs, "Freedom of Religion or Death,"..."Triet and his Gang are Big Liars,"...and the most common, a blow-up color photo of Catholic Father Nguyen Van Ly at "The People's Court in Hue City, March 30, 2007," an activist for religious freedom reportedly sentenced to 8 years in jail. The crowd repeatedly shouted:

      "Free Father Ly"
      "Free Father Ly"
      "Freedom for Vietnam"

As I marveled at the freedom of assembly, the freedom of speech within earshot of the White House, I began to notice how Americanized these Vietnamese-Americans have become. Ironically, while they were outside cursing what they describe as tyranny, President Bush was inside meeting cordially with the Communist President of Vietnam, and exchanging views on religion and human rights. The Presidents may not have heard, but the sounds and sights I will long remember, especially the hats worn by the protesters. All kinds of hats: a few traditional Vietnamese conical hats, a straw cowboy hat, but hundreds of baseball caps celebrating the vitality of America: 

      Sports caps: "Boston Red Sox" ..."New York Mets"..."Carolina Panthers"
      University caps:  "Notre Dame"..."UCLA" ... "Virginia Tech"
      Designers: "Tommy Hilfiger"..."CK Jeans"..."PHAT"
      Cars: "Lincoln LS" ... "Fairway Ford - Greenville, SC"
      Parks:  "Disney World" ... "Sea World"
      Beer:  "Bud"
      Cities:  "New Orleans" ... "Chicago" ..."Atlanta"
      
And more hats:

Nike, Addidas, Nautica, Izod, Mickey Mouse, camoflauge, berets, Michael Jordan, USA, Vietnam

It was a vigorous protest and a Mad Hatter's tea party. My two favorite toppers were a women who gave me the evil eye wearing a "Monster In-Law" ball cap, and a man inexplicably wearing three caps stacked on his head. I had to look twice at that to be sure. After several hours of shouting and socializing the crowd dissolved away on a sunny, summer day.

The protesters never saw Chairman Triet or President Bush or know whether they were even heard. Before leaving I saw a small group of demonstrators sitting in silence directly across from the White House. They had duct tape over their mouths and had laid a strand of barbed wire on the ground with a sign, "We Want to Speak Up - Help Us." They were heard.

In the end, justice came down to this: 2 1/2 years in prison and a $250,000 fine for lying and obstructing an investigation into who leaked Valerie Plame's secret CIA identity in 2003. The defendant, Lewis "Scooter" Libby didn't flinch, showed no emotion. Minutes earlier, Libby had quietly appealed for leniency, "It is respectfully my hope that the court will consider along with the jury verdict my whole life." Libby's attorney, Theodore Wells added, "he has fallen from public grace, a tragic fall."

I witnessed the three-hour courtroom drama, which was sobering and surreal. It's as if you could hear time ticking and the noose tightening.

Act One
9:10 a.m. The drama begins as Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald, with deep-set eyes and wearing a gray summer suit, clicks open his briefcase, and then, pencil in hand, begins flipping through a legal note pad.

9:18 a.m. Scooter giving a tight-lipped nod to a supporter as he and his defense team enter the courtroom. Libby's wife, Harriet Grant, dressed in black with a pale blue scarf, takes a seat in the first row behind the rail, brushing her silky brown hair back from her face, and fidgeting. I am seated about six feet behind her, about 15 feet away from Libby.

9:19 a.m. Scooter checks a message on his Blackberry before making sure its turned off.

9:25 a.m. Fitzgerald and Wells approach the court clerk, not like gladiators, more like baseball coaches at the big game, but neither chewing gum.

9:27 a.m. U.S. District Judge Reggie Walton enters and is greeted by Fitzgerald and Wells saying "Good morning" in unison. Judge Walton says the "first matter we need to address is the calculation of appropriate guidelines" in imposing sentencing.

For the next hour, attorneys and the judge parse words, case law, numbers such as, "17-19" or "30-37" and otherwise wrangle over legal parameters. During this mini-marathon, Scooter takes a long drink of bottled water, and screws the cap back on. His attorney, Wells grabs another bottle of water and swigs it in his mouth as defense co-counsel addresses the Judge on the finer points of 'cross-referencing.'  Prosecutor Fitzgerald is head-down in his notes, not drinking.
Libby's wife is calm, casually sweeping her hair off her face.

Sensational hypotheticals are discussed as defense attorney William Jefress argues, "to have a defendant sentenced as if there was a murder that he was aware of is simply irrational."  Translation: Libby didn't know Valerie Plame was working undercover when he outed her to reporters.

10:03 a.m. Libby looks much like Rodin's scuplture,"The Thinker," resting his chin on his fist as he sits at the defense table.

10:07 a.m. Fitzgerald has adopted, "The Thinker" position as well. 

10:08 a.m. Judge Walton says to defense counsel Jefress, "It's one thing if you obstruct a petty offense, it's another if you obstruct a murder ... I conclude that cross-referencing does apply." Translation: Libby faces more time in the slammer.

10:26 a.m. Libby's wife is sighing, brushing her hair. Prosecutors are slugging bottled water, but not Fitzgerald.

Voices are at times rapid, but not loud. Defense and prosecution are tagging in and out of the ring.

10:31 a.m. Prosecutor Fitzgerald says "Mr. Russert [NBC] is the best example of Libby's persistent lying causing us to spend great effort and expense to find the truth."

10:32 a.m. Defense attorney Wells is rubbing his eyes, and swivels in his chair.

10:35 a.m. Scooter with his right hand is writing briefly on his legal pad, wearing a lustrous, gold wedding ring on his left, and a bulky, black "diver's" watch on his wrist.

10:37 a.m. Judge Walton declares recess to give the court reporters a break. Whew. Scooter's wife is smiling.

After a 10-minute recess, Act Two begins
We are about to learn that Scooter Libby is, in his supporter's eyes, a superhero. Having determined sentencing guidelines, the drama pivots to what the sentence should be. Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald is at bat.

10:48 a.m. Prosecutor Fitzgerald does not recommend a specific sentence but says, "make a clear statement that truth matters ... and one's station in life does not."

10:55 a.m. Libby unscrews the bottle cap, takes a big drink, and rescrews the cap.

10:56 a.m. Slowly and deliberately, defense counsel Wells is warming up, agreeing that "truth matters" and that Mr. Libby should not be treated differently because of his high status.

11:00 a.m. Judge Reggie Walton has now adopted, "The Thinker" position.

Defense counsel Theodore Wells asks the court to give significant credit to Mr. Libby "for his exceptional public service, that would not be giving him a break."  Wells has submitted 160 letters of support to the court, and begins reading testimonials.

11:05 a.m. Wells is reading a letter from a Four-Star Admiral, "(Libby) worked 7 days a week ... to ensure our war fighters had the right support to win."

Judge Walton interjects, "I have read all of these." As the recitation continues, I notice the stillness of an American flag (in the front of the courtroom) reflected in the darkened 42-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall near where I'm sitting. I am fascinated by the shadowy, patriotic image.

Wells reads in a second letter, "the key role that Scooter played to end the Cold War without the spasm of violence."

In all, Wells reads excerpts from six letters and one award from the defense department. Wells again asks the court for a "sentence of probation as opposed to incarceration," and Mr. Libby speaks briefly as to his punishment.

11:48 a.m. A stern Judge Reggie Walton after reciting the key issues of the case, finds that Scooter Libby's great service to the nation is balanced out by the seriousness of the offense, "We expect and demand a lot from the people we put in those positions. Mr. Libby failed to meet the bar in this situation ... that is extremely troubling."

Act Three
As Judge Walton announces the sentence, Scooter Libby stands stoically, emotionless, but then moving with his head up to the defense table where his wife comes forward and whispers quickly in his ear. Scooter takes another sip of bottled water, and puts his hands in his pockets.

Within minutes of leaving the court, sirens are wailing on Pennsylvania Avenue. It's not for Scooter Libby, it's Vice President Cheney's motorcade making its way to the Capitol.

Those of us who witnessed -- either first-hand or on television -- the devastation from Hurricane Katrina still remember the images of residents suffering along the Gulf Coast. So we took notice of today's Washington Post, which reports that, in the wake of that disaster, the U.S. government either turned down or lost track of hundreds of millions of dollars worth of aid from foreign governments -- everything from medical supplies to search-and-rescue teams to cash. Why would the U.S. turn away help when so many of its own were in need? NBC's Martin Savidge, who reported from New Orleans in the aftermath of the storm, will explain and bring us reaction from the Crescent City.

Meanwhile, in Oakland, Calif., a massive fuel-tanker explosion overnight has literally melted away a highway overpass leading to the Bay Bridge, causing big headaches for the estimated 280,000 commuters who used that road everyday. (Officials say it could take months to fix.) The explosion is also raising questions about the integrity of America's highways -- and the delicate missions so many truckers run on a daily basis: transporting hazardous chemicals along our increasingly crowded roads. We'll get an update from NBC's Cheryl Hurd, who's on the scene tonight.
Finally, chances are you've downloaded one of those quirky home-video clips now famous on YouTube -- or know someone who has. It turns out some of those "web celebrities" are now raking in big dollars and media contracts even in their short brushes with fame. We'll close out the broadcast tonight with that report from our own Rehema Ellis.

Getting to 30 Rock tonight was an adventure, and it wasn't because of the traffic. Those of us in the Northeast are finally getting a first-hand look at the storm system that has already wreaked havoc in the Southern Plains. The so-called "nor'easter" is bringing coastal flooding, storm surges and wild winds. It's predicted to be the region's worst storm in 15 years, and its surprisingly slow track means it could be causing trouble for the next 48 hours. We'll wrap up the developments tonight and get an outlook on how air travel could be affected. We'll also get a forecast from NBC Weather Plus's Bill Karins.

We have two reports from the front lines tonight. Richard Engel tells us how some Iraqis are coping after a weekend of deadly bombings. Also, Jim Maceda has made his way to Afghanistan to report on the new "spring offensive." Tonight, he'll bring us the first of several reports he plans to deliver over the next month.

Finally, chances are you've spent at least part of the past week thinking about race -- and the way it shapes the debate in America. Tonight, Peter Alexander will help us remember Jackie Robinson's first appearance with what was then the Brooklyn Dodgers. It was 60 years ago today. As you may know, Robinson changed the face of sports and opened the door for generations of athletes. We'll look at how Major League Baseball today remembered "number 42."

We hope you'll join us tonight.

The sun is setting over the top of the Superdome. I am in shorts and a T-shirt, going for my first jog through New Orleans since returning to this city nearly a month after covering the first days of Katrina's aftermath.

It's a gorgeous night.

The weather is cooler now. I have to watch for cars, but at least they're cars and not camouflaged Humvees with National Guard troops eyeing me suspiciously. When I left New Orleans on Sept. 10, it was a chaotic city seemingly without hope. Tonight, downtown is quiet, with just the faintest evening pulse.

As I run along Poydras Street -- one of the main strips here with big hotels that once fed the city's convention business -- I get the occasional awkward stare from cops and relief workers. Do I run funny? It's as if they have to remind themselves why someone might actually be running down a city sidewalk. "Oh my God, he's -- he's EXERCISING!" These are things people here have taken for granted for a long time.

I take a right on Loyola Avenue.

Traffic is largely made up of buses tonight, carting loads of Latino workers back to their temporary housing after a day of cleaning the nastiest parts of the city. Today, we met two dozen Brazilians scrubbing the meat locker of an empty retirement home. The meat inside had sat rotting for 20 days. They receive $10 an hour -- nearly double the laborer's wage in their hometown of Dallas.

Still running. I begin to see sights familiar to me from the flood's early days: a Chevron station I once couldn't get near without wader boots is closed, but finally operational. The French Market, a local square, was an eerie no-man's land last time I saw it; tonight, three teenage skateboarders are practicing tricks along the curb.

As I start heading back to the hotel, I cut through the heart of the French Quarter, and that's when I realize: if you look at New Orleans in just the right spot, you'd think it were back in business. Bars are hopping, the patrons once again drinking beer in plastic cups out on the sidewalk. Souvenir shops are literally "open" for business -- their front doors propped ajar, letting the air-conditioning and Zydeco music spill outside. They sell shirts that read "I Survived Katrina." Another features a hurricane symbol and says: "Forget Iraq. Rebuild at Home."

Some of the folks on the street tonight are probably reporters, or maybe FEMA workers. But as I run past a young couple, holding hands, I think to myself, "Now, they have GOT to be on vacation."

It strikes me that New Orleans has become a "company town" -- just as Everett, Wash., once was to Boeing or Flint, Mich., to General Motors. Everyone here now works for the same organization: that nameless entity intent on restoring what was here before. Tonight, running past them, I'm reminded that normal-life activities CAN come back to this place.

They already have.