On the day after The Day, there was hope, no longer a mere election-year cliche but a sense of something lasting and real. For a black man in a Washington, D.C., barbershop who feels “it” has actually happened; for the tribal leader in New Mexico and the Hispanic lawyer in Texas, who believe a door has opened for them, too.

There was also relief. The elderly woman who was grateful to be able to turn on her television without seeing another biting ad, who can quit ignoring the incessant ringing of the telephone.

And there were still others who never supported Barack Obama and were clinging to the idea that the nation made a mistake. That concern — anger, for some — is just as persistent and real.

The speeches are done. The parties are over. The signs are coming down. But feelings endure about an election that was as ugly as it was inspiring, as monotonous as it was momentous. As Americans shift from the prospect of a black president to the reality of it, it is coming home in different ways.

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View from the barbershop: ‘It’s real’

At the Edges Barbershop and Beauty Salon on Washington’s U Street, once known as America’s Black Broadway for its thriving black-owned shops and theaters, a group of men chatted about Obama’s win.

“We got a saying around here: It’s no longer a mystery, it’s history now,” said manager Vincent Poree, 43, who said that before Tuesday he’d never voted because he didn’t think it would make a difference.

“It’s real, man,” said one man.

“It’s finally happened,” another chimed in.

Inside the small, linoleum-floored shop, a television was tuned to CNN and an Obama campaign poster still hung on a wall. Outside, a man was selling Obama T-shirts.

Akil Wilson, a 27-year-old barber, said he looked into his 2-year-old son’s eyes Wednesday morning and told him it’s a different world now.

“I was like man, yo, you never have to think like I thought — that there’s never going to be a black president,” Wilson said.

He said Obama’s achievement had motivated him to go back and finish his college degree in political science.

“You feel like you can get a little bit farther than you felt you could have before,” he said. “I have no excuse anymore, and I really see that now.”

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Applauding postelection peace and quiet

For the first time in nearly a month, 76-year-old Beverly Chambers is looking forward to being able to watch her favorite daytime Bible show and answer her phone.

The campaign attack ads she saw in Wake Forest, N.C., became so frequent and vitriolic that when it came time for a commercial break, Chambers simply muted the television, closed her eyes and waited until she thought three minutes had passed. Eventually, she just turned off and tuned in another way — to her favorite classical music station.

“I have never been called as much as I have and seen as many commercials for the candidates as I have this year, and it’s just been overwhelming, I think,” said the retired preschool operator, who suffers from fibromyalgia and takes a three-hour nap every afternoon. “I’ve been under the weather, and I just needed to have peace and quiet.”

She’s grateful for it now.

Though his man lost, Shawn Turschak is also feeling some postelection relief. He had so many McCain-Palin signs swiped from the lawn of his home in Chapel Hill, N.C., that he decided to wire one into an electrified pet fence and tape the results. His surveillance video of a 9-year-old neighbor boy fleeing after receiving a gentle jolt got the attention of the national media — and authorities.

“I’m glad I don’t have to keep driving to the McCain headquarters to replace them,” said the electrical engineer, who wasn’t prosecuted for his anti-theft methods but turned off the juice after the story broke.

Even Tina Fey, the writer and actor who won raves for her impression of GOP vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin, said she wanted “to be done playing this lady Nov. 5.”

Of course, not everyone’s happy the mayhem is over. Some, like political analyst Larry Sabato, awoke Wednesday in the throes of “postelection depression syndrome.” Yes, he assured, it’s an actual recognized condition.

“We’re junkies,” said Sabato, director of the University of Virginia’s Center for Politics. “It’s a shock. You’re used to seeing 20 or 30 new polls every day, and there aren’t any. I mean, it’s withdrawal.”

Sabato’s therapy? He’s throwing himself into a book on the 2008 election.

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At the American Legion Hall: A ‘bit of fright’

It was drinking as usual on Wednesday at American Legion Post No. 155, a magnet for vets in Crystal River, Fla., a sport fisherman’s town along the Gulf of Mexico where John McCain was the big winner on Tuesday night.

Drinking as usual until the “C” word popped up, anyway. Change.

In this hall, “There’s probably a lot of concern, maybe a little bit of fright over the change that we have coming,” said Clinton Anderson, the canteen’s manager. “This is going to be a helluva change … hopefully for the better.”

Anderson, 63, is a registered Democrat who went Republican this year. Why? Anderson will tell you he’s no fan of welfare, what he calls “giveaway programs,” and he worries Obama will favor them. And, “of course, you have concerns about the man, Obama — where he came from, how he got here.”

He sighs, thinking hard. “The first thing you saw yesterday on the news is that Kenya is planning a celebration if Obama wins. Well, that’s great for Kenya. But I’m not concerned about them. I’m concerned about us.”

He listens to a story about a veteran in eastern Florida who was so furious about Obama’s victory, so furious that America had turned its back on a war hero, that he hung the American flag upside down in his yard.

Anderson shakes his head.

“Would I turn my flag upside down? No. … Mine flies every day, right side up, like it should. I am a Vietnam veteran. I am still an American, and I’ll always be one no matter who’s in the White House.”

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For an American Indian a door has opened

It took only two words in Obama’s victory speech to put a lump in Everett Chavez’s throat: “Native American.”

“… young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled … We are, and always will be, the United States of America,” the president-elect told Chicago’s Grant Park, and the world.

Chavez watched the speech from his home on the Santo Domingo Indian Pueblo in New Mexico, after spending the day talking with tribal elders about why they needed to make their voices heard, and then taking his own 84-year-old father to the reservation’s community center to vote.

He lives in a place and comes from a people who have long felt left behind, ignored rather than included. A place of dirt roads and mobile homes that needs better housing and health care, more economic and educational opportunities.

Now, said Chavez, a door has opened.

“Here is a man who is truly aware of all of the people that make up this great country … not just the whites, the blacks, the Hispanics, but he also mentioned the Native Americans. That is an acknowledgment of all people,” said Chavez, 56, a former tribal governor who helped register voters and believes turnout among his community of 5,000 reached new heights.

He called the election of Obama a victory not just for black America but for the rest of minority America, too.

Those like Alejandro Soto, a 64-year-old attorney in San Antonio, who said of the nation’s first minority president: “I’ve always believed that we’ve shared not the same experience but similar experiences: of being left out or experiencing discrimination, being economically disadvantaged.”

And Abbas Ammar, 23, of Dearborn Heights, Mich. An Arab- and Muslim-American who was born in this country — and a Republican — he backed Obama because “it’s a race for breaking barriers. … It shows we’re really progressing in the U.S.”

Gratification. Affirmation. Validation. Chavez awoke to all of those feelings, and more.

“I think this man’s going to focus on uniting all of us,” he said.

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REMEMBERING, AND REVELING IN, ‘THE DAY’

As we look forward and try to absorb what this all means, and how we now feel, it’s worth, too, looking back — because Election Night 2008 was unlike any other, in ways big and small. It was different in how we Americans pushed aside years of apathy and put our faith in the process, then celebrated our role in this turning point in history.

And, so, one last glimpse back, at the big and small ways we marked “The Day” …

Dancing in the rain in Philadelphia: Six days after crowding streets to celebrate the Phillies’ World Series victory, thousands of Philadelphians marched downtown, cheering and dancing while car stereos blared music. “Barack is in the house,” shouted Pamela Williams, 46, who danced in the traffic as horns blared. At one point, the crowd broke into a spontaneous “Electric Slide.”

Toasting with champagne in Cleveland: When Obama finally had the necessary 270 electoral votes, the crowd gathered in front of the TV in Keisha Johnson’s living room, uncorked the bubbly and erupted in chants of “O-BAM-A, O-BAM-A”. Tears flowed, too, as one reveler, Mia Long, invoked history. To “our relatives who fought to make this happen,” she toasted.

Conga drums in Harlem: Thousands of people joined a raucous celebration as a New Orleans-style jazz band led dancing Obama supporters down 125th Street. Next to the historic Apollo Theater, men played conga drums as marchers belted out, “Yes we can!” to the beat.

Invoking God in Washington, D.C.: Traffic was gridlocked for hours as people flooded the roads and sidewalks, parading down Pennsylvania Avenue with drums, balloons and life-size cutouts of Obama. Earl Storm, 77, proudly wore an “I Voted” sticker and spoke of the night in reverent terms. “I feel like God answered our prayers,” Storm said. “I think it’s uplifting that the people who didn’t think too much of politics, he brought these people out.”

Long lines in St. Louis: In Velda City, a predominantly black St. Louis suburb of 1,600, determined voters waited for up to seven hours in the tiny precinct, which had only a handful of voting booths available for much of the day.

Resigned to the wait, voters celebrated — aided by hot dogs, free drinks, a troupe of jugglers and a jazz combo. Terron Morris, 43, a beauty shop owner, was the last to vote at 9:30 p.m. He had showed up twice earlier in the day but couldn’t stay because of work. But nothing was going to stop him from being a part of history.

“We’re talking about changing the world,” he said.

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AP National Writers Helen O’Neill in New York, Todd Lewan in Florida and Allen G. Breed in North Carolina and Associated Press writers Gillian Gaynair in Washington, D.C., Michelle Roberts in San Antonio and Jeff Karoub in Dearborn, Mich., contributed to this report.