His thumbs were hooked into his suspenders, and he was deep in thought.
From the 33rd floor, he could see the entire city, the suburbs beyond, and the clouds above.
Seated behind him, at the conference table, sat every member of the executive committee. He could smell their cologne, and hear the low murmurings between pairs of them.
He had heard, in the halls, the concerns of the employees. The talk was that the Rex Publishing Company, after 133 years of distinguished service to the world of readers, was about to be sold. The rumor mill had it that they would be purchased by The Bindery, a huge bookstore conglomerate; the type that sells coffee and music, and fancy little places to sit and read. People came there to read, and to look hip and scholarly as they did so. It was not good news for the employees of Rex Publishing.
The Bindery had a reputation for reducing both salaries and employees when they took over.
The biggest salaries at Rex were now seated behind him, he knew that they were concerned, as well they should.
Samuel knew that a single word from him, and the merger plans could be dashed, or they could be brought to fruition. Certainly, they all knew that something had to be done. All that one would have to do, would be to walk through the shipping department, and see that less than half the number of books left the building today, compared to ten years ago.
He was not certain why. Some said that the agents had gotten fat and lazy, and had stopped scratching for new authors. Other said that readership overall was down, and blamed television. Others blamed Oprah. Samuel knew full well that whatever Oprah told people to read, they read. And not one of those books came from Rex.
Although Samuel, of course, felt no concern for his own position or income, he knew that they did, the people in that room, seated behind him now. He new that the “little people” did also.
Much of the buzz about their uncertain future came from the plain workers; he heard it everywhere, although they never seemed to be aware that he was listening.
The secretaries, the printers, the binders, even the custodial staff, worried about the loss of their job, their income, and their way of life.
Samuel could not help but feel that this group could have done something to avoid coming to this situation, long ago. But they had not. They overspent, had meetings, and protected their own interests.
Looking out that window, with all of them seated behind him, he began to feel his power.
It was time, he decided, for leadership. It was time to shake things up, and get in gear. There were too many people depending on these folks for them to be sitting around, in endless debate.
The words began to form themselves in his mind.
He could imagine himself swinging into action, turning away from the window, and with a strong voice, filled with the authority and responsibility of his position, he would begin.
“People, the future of this company, and the lives of many, have been placed into your control. It is time to shut up, and get to work.”
He would remind them that the number of books that went out of the loading dock doors had gone down steadily, and they had failed to do anything about it. He would remind them that every worker there was aware of this situation, and they waited for a response from management.
Those days were over, he would tell them.
Immediately, he would take control over every aspect of the business, and he was committed to returning it to the kind of place where people did not go to work every day, wondering if their next paycheck would be their last.
They would shorten their vacations, roll up their sleeves, think outside the box, and generally get to work.
And anybody that was not with him, was against him. They should leave now.
It was just unimaginable, that they would even entertain the idea that some candy-assed, frou-frou bookstore conglomerate, could take them over.
It was time for plain talk, and action. Folks were depending on them.
As he thought these things, he felt his posture improving. He was standing erect now, almost military perfect. He felt as powerful as he ever had. He was ready to take command, and he swung his body around to face them.
This was the moment, and he knew it. Someone had to rally the troops, and he knew that he was the man for the job.
He removed his thumbs from his suspenders, and turned on his heel to face them. His face was taut with purpose. Surely, he reasoned, his wartime stare would be enough to gather their assembled attention.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
It was one of them that spoke first.
“You will have to excuse us now, Samuel, our meeting is set to begin.”
There was a low chuckle from somewhere; he could not identify it.
He picked up the squeegee, removed the cloth from his pocket, and gave a final scrub to a stubborn smudge on the huge window.
As he left the room, he heard the word “daydreamer.” He imagined that it was said fondly.
He had heard it before.
I thought that it was time to write down all that I remember, before it’s too late, and I am dead.
I have been thinking about making my notes and memories for a while, but I got news yesterday that made me decide think that I better set it all down on paper. It was sad news.
Both Mr. Adams and Mr. Jefferson died yesterday.
I heard some people say that it had been fifty years since all of the fireworks began on account the Independence paper that me and Thom worked so hard on.
One thing is for sure. I couldn’t write this down at all, except that Mr. Jefferson taught me how to.
Sometimes, I tell some of the young folks about what it was like back then, and tell them stories about me, and all of the fellows.
I can tell that they don’t always believe me, because I have never been a rich man like the fellows was, or a delegate. Sometimes they poke fun and me and ask me where I signed my name on the Declaration, because they didn’t see it on there.
The truth is that I was one of the fellows back then, and they would all tell you that, if they weren’t as dead as they are.
I did my part, sure enough, and I intend to set it all down here, or at least as much as I can remember. Then you’ll see, and maybe it will make you check that Declaration a little closer.
I was about fifteen years of age back then, back when it all started. I just happened to be in the right place. So here goes.
The thing about me is, that I wasn’t really looking to do anything important. I mean, I wanted to make a few quid, and that was all. I never really planned on getting involved with all of those rich guys, and change history and all. But I guess I couldn’t help it, and neither could they.
I have always been a city kid. I like all of the hustle and bustle of a real city, not like those little towns up north, like Boston and New York.
Some people say that there are nearly 40,000 people living in Philadelphia now, and some days it sure seems like it, with all of the garbage in the streets. Lately, there seems to be more Catholics than Quakers. Modern times, I guess. You just have to go with it.
I lived on Filbert Street, which had plenty of bustle, what with the tavern and all. But as a young man of the city, I like that. Some of the streets had been cobbled by then, but not all. The cobbled streets were used more, what with the lack of mud, but there was still plenty of garbage, and horse dung, and people selling wares. Just walking down them could be a real adventure. As boys, we would often just watch and hope that maybe an interesting person might come by, like a pirate. Mostly though, the pirates was down by the river.
I didn’t have a father since I was about six years of age. I did have a mother though, who worked over at the Dead Fish Tavern, which was also where we lived. My ma told me that my pa had died, which I chose to believe, even though some of my friends would tell me that they seen him down by the docks some times. I never knew him that much anyways, as he was often at sea.
My ma made a lot of friends over at the Dead Fish. Some of them seemed like better friends than others, but what did I know? I was just happy when she would send me upstairs with my own soup bowl and a hunk of bread.
Since she was working all the time though, I was running the streets a lot.
About the time of twelve years of age, she began telling me that I should be looking to earn my own keep. She also told me to stay clear of the docks, but I didn’t all the time, as that was where we went for swimming.
I started working over there at Carpenter’s Hall a year or so before everything got interesting, what with the work that Thom and me did on that declaration and all.
My mother had told me that it was time for me to get busy and earn my own way, what with me being fifteen and all. Maybe even strike out on my own, but I didn’t. As I said, I’m a city kid and no farmer.
Sometimes my ma compared me to those Bacon kids, but not favorably. I never really liked any of them, as they always seemed kind of snooty to me, what with their two sets of clothes and all.
There was work that a man could get at the printing shops, or down at the docks, so I tried them first. The docks need burly men compared to what I am, so they told me to go home, and send my father.
I couldn’t send him on account of his death, and when I explained that, they told me to send my big brother, which I explained to them that I never had, except for Silas, who only lived for a week or so.
So, even if he is my big brother, it didn’t do them any good.
I tried to make them understand that a fifteen year old has responsibilities to the family, which they said doesn’t matter if you are “scrawny as an imp.” I’m not sure about imps, but they way that they said it made it sound bad.
So, I tried the printing houses.
There was this man, a Mr. Aitken, that was starting up a printing business. I went and talked to him about being an apprentice printer. He said something like “You’re too old to be a feckin’ apprentice,” or something close to that. It was pretty hard to tell on account of the way that he spoke. I think he was from Scotch land or something. Anyway, he wasn’t from Philadelphia, that’s for sure.
That’s when I met Dr. Franklin. His name is really Benjamin; Ben is what some people called him. He liked to be called Dr. Franklin though, so that’s what I did.
Dr. Franklin is some guy, that’s for sure. Two things I can tell you about him are this. He sure likes the women, particularly young ones compared to him, plus, he had gas all the time. I never heard anybody fart like that, and not laugh afterward. That’s what me and my friend’s did anyways. Dr. Franklin always blamed it on the beer, and he could be right about that. He sure liked his beer.
Dr. Franklin was in the middle of having gas the first time that I met him. He was all bent over a big wooden box, looking at a bunch of metal letters. You could see that he was having trouble making them out. I guess he didn’t hear me come in, because he was all bent over, staring at those letters, and he was letting one fly that lasted half as long as a Sunday sermon. So, I did what was right in that situation. I laughed.
He didn’t turn around at first; he was busy complaining to the letters for being so small, and saying that he should figure out how to hang a magnifying glass on his face.
When he did see me, that first time, he was smiling a great big smile. I guess he knew what was funny as well as I did. He never pardoned himself for that, like some rich guys did, but he always had a comment about it. Most times, he would say, “Better out of thee, than in thee,” and he always smiled. Come to think of it though, he smiled most of the time, whether he had gas or not.
This time though, he said “Just praising God with a backward wind,” and then he said something about some guy named Augustine or something. That was another thing about Dr. Franklin; he was always saying stuff that somebody else said, and then he would tell you who it was that said it. I never really heard of the other guys, but the stuff that he said all by himself was always funnier.
Yep, Dr. Franklin sure is a funny guy that knows what a lot of people say. Gassy too. I liked him right away. Plus he gave me a job, but I don’t think he meant to.
Before I could ask for a job, he called me over, and showed me the little letters that he was trying to figure out. I found out later that they were the letters that he would put into little racks that went into the printing press.
He said, “Can you see these?” and I could, so that’s what I told him.
“Does this one look more like an eff or an ess?”
I didn’t know so I said, “I don’t know.”
Then he went on about how they looked too much the same, and maybe it was time that he fixed the alphabet, so you could tell the difference in letters easier.
Old Dr. Franklin was forever fixing stuff that he didn’t like, and some times, it worked. You would have thought he could’ve fixed that gas problem of his, but the truth is that he was proud of it, and he made people laugh.
Sometimes the guys down at the City Tavern would tell stories about his farts; they were that good. And they always laughed, every one of those guys, except for John Adams, who never laughed at nothing.
Now that I think of it, I have had lots of guys try the “pull my finger,” joke on me, but Dr. Franklin was first. I guess he invented that too. I should have asked him, when I had the chance.
“I need a job. I can be a printer’s apprentice, even if I am too old.” I had to interrupt him to get this in. I was surprised that he said “Okey Dokey,” so fast, but I was happy, too.
He told me to come tomorrow morning, and I could get started.
When I got there the next morning, he was looking at a piece of paper, and lining up letters again. He must have been there for a while, because when he saw me, he said “Good afternoon.”
I shouldn’t have tried to correct him, but I did, so I said “Good morning.” And he said, “What’s left of it,” and I said, “Left of what?” and he said “the morning,” and I said “Huh?”
About ten minutes of this continued, before I understood that I was not as early as he had hoped I would be.
I asked him what he was hoping for, and he said “Half-six,” to which I said “Three,” which he must have thought was funny, because he laughed so hard that the gassing started.
For a guy that smart, you would think he could remember names, but he sure couldn’t. I’ll bet he only called me Clem a handful of times.
I would have preferred that he called me Clem all the time, because that’s my name and all. But he didn’t, so sometimes I was Jim, or Samuel, sometimes even Ben, which surprised me, and a couple of times I was Hezekiah, which I didn’t care for that much.
Dr. Franklin said that he was going to get me started in “my proud new trade, that of scholars and artisans,” and he told me to copy the letters that were written out on the paper. I was to find the ones just like them in the drawer, and to line them up just so. That way, he said, we could print lots of copies of what was on the paper.
After he told me this, he said he had to “go see a man about a horse,” which I learned later wasn’t about seeing a man at all, and horses had nothing to do with it. But I didn’t know that till later.
When he was leaving he said, “watch those effs and esses.”
So, I did what he told me, and then I waited till he got back. He seemed happy that I was done already, but the truth is he would have been happy about anything, by the smell of his breath.
The next part was fun. He showed me how to rack up the letters that I put together, and put them into the printing press. Then we lathered up some ink into it, and slid in a paper. Before you knew it, I was cranking this handle, sliding papers in and out, and printing stuff. I really liked it, and Dr. Franklin could see that, so he says. “Do that five hundred times, Vern.” And then he left, the last thing that he said was, “Bolt the door when you have finished Eli, and I shall see you at half-six, tomorrow.”
I was trying to tell him that I wasn’t that sure about “five hundred” or “half-six,” but the printing press was pretty loud, plus he gassed right over my words.
That’s why the next day didn’t start off so good.
Dr. Franklin wasn’t doing anything when I got there. He looked like he was waiting for something, or somebody.
I said, “Hey, if you’re not busy, lets go get some breakfast.” He said that he had “dined before working hours commenced,” so I asked if I minded if I ran down the street for a hot roll.
He minded.
“Wilver,” he said, talking to me, which I knew because I was the only one there, “I was expecting you at half-six.”
“Three.” I answered.
“Enough with the humour,” he said. When he said it, he didn’t sound that humorous, so I just stood there.
“Are you unable to be here at half-six?” he asked. I said that I wasn’t sure, given the fact that I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Half-six is when we begin, Clem.” I was surprised that he got my name right; it must have been an accident.
“I get here as soon as I get up Dr. Franklin. For cripes sake, I didn’t even have porridge this morning.”
“What time do you rise?” he asked. I could only say that I rose shortly after I woke up, depending on how cold it was, or how bad I needed to pee.
That was when Dr. Franklin began to teach me about time, and that those bells weren’t just for music. I appreciated it, and he was having fun teaching me.
For a while, he forgot that he was way madder at me for something else, than he was about the whole “half-six” thing.
After I pretended like I understood the whole “hours and half-hours,” concept, we moved on to larger matters.
“Now Claude,” he began, “I realize that you are only an apprentice, but still, I must inquire, did you proof read this?”
I knew enough about reading to know that I didn’t know how to do it, so I just said, “No, Sir, I just matched them up like you said.”
“Then kindly tell me what good is does to have a newspaper where the headline says ‘Two Hunt in Soreft Sire’.”
Since I didn’t know what good it did, but sensing some problem that was caused by me, I said, “I did just like you told me.”
“Did you think that people would deduce ‘Two Hurt in Forest Fire’ from this?”
I said that all I knew about deduce was that my mom complained about it, when the ale got high down at the Dead Fish Tavern.
He was pretty loud when he asked, “I even warned you about the effs and the esses. Can you not read, Herbie?” To which I replied, “What do I look like, one of those snotty Bacon kids?”
I guess he was figuring out that not everybody was a high-falutin doctor that knows how to read, but he didn’t say any more about that. He changed the subject, and said, “Your mother frequents the Dead Fish Tavern?” I told him that I didn’t know much about frequentin’, but that she worked there.
“Works there?” he said, his eyebrows arching.
“Yep, she’s a serving wench.”
“The stout redhead?” he asked
“Tall blonde.” I told him.
The news gave him a kind of thoughtful look, and he started a sentence with “ Yes, the tall blonde, I understand that she doesn’t mind….” But his voice trailed off.
I was glad that he didn’t continue, because I think I caught his gist. I was no baby; I was fifteen years old, for criminy sake.
Dr. Franklin shook his head, as a signal that he was changing his thoughts, and said, “I fear the answer to this question, Morris, but how many copies did I request that you print?”
“Five Hundred,” I said, relieved that I could get at least one answer correct.
“Then why do I find two thousand copies of the “Soreft Sire” edition?”
“I would have the made the rest Doc, but I ran out of paper.”
And that was when Doctor Franklin was kind enough to get me the job sweeping up at The Carpenter’s Hall.”
The Carpenter’s Hall didn’t have any carpenters in it, at least not that I had seen. I never saw any hammers, or saws. Mostly there were men talking about what buildings ought to look like, and there are some other men talking about cloth goods.
The one thing they did have around there was a lot of whispering. Grown men sitting in rooms talking about secrets, and then when I come around with the broom, they started talking about buildings. They didn’t think that I knew that they are talking about King George, but I did.
He’s the king, was my opinion, so he is in charge. But these guys seem to have other ideas about it. Good luck arguing with a King, is what I thought.
Dr. Franklin didn’t seem to think too much of the king, I know that. Maybe that’s why he moved away to France. I am glad that he got me the job before I left, but I sure missed him. He’s different than most of the other rich guys.
Anyway, I did a lot of sweeping, and cleaning, and taking care of fires, and wood, and soot, and ashes. The job got easier in the summertime. Plus, I didn’t have to push the snow off the steps.
A lot of the time, I just swept. I was happy to be busy, and my mother needed the money. She must have, because she took it all.
I guess that I was happy to help her out, but not always.
I can remember when the meetings started.
Maybe I got nosy. I know that I didn’t have no cause to be poking my ears in, but I did. At first, I would just sweep slower when I wanted to listen. Then one time, old John Jay, talked right to me.
I was surprised that he did, but maybe I shouldn’t have been.
The thing was, that I had stopped sweeping altogether, and I was just leaning on the broom, listening.
The fellows had got to know me some. Some of them called me Clem, which is what I asked them to do, but some called me Mr. Burgess.
It’s funny about the people that own land. They all dress nice, and they keep pretty clean. They know that they’re better men than me; just as sure as I know it.
Some of them lord it over you, and some don’t. Some seemed to think that they were supposed to make me think that I was as good as them, and some always seemed to remind me that I definitely wasn’t.
For instance, I remember John Jay saying, “Clem, would you be so good as to empty this spittoon, and wipe the floor about it?”
But others, like that old fatty John Adams would say, “Tea please, Mr. Burgess.”
Sometimes I got him the tea, most times I didn’t.
Not that I minded, it was all in the asking.
How he got them to make him president, I’ll never know. He never seemed to fit in that good with the fellows.
He would dine with them; I know that. But he wasn’t that good at taking his turn to pay for supper, or a draught of ale.
One of the names that they called him was “His Thriftiness.”
It was funnier when, later on, they called him “His Rotundity.” He kind of asked for that though.
Either way, they only said when he wasn’t around, and he never suspected any different than they thought he was the man to look up to. But I knew different.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t get along so good with Mr. Washington, and Mr. Jefferson. All of the fellows looked up to those two.
I admired them too, and even though me and Thom had our battles, I knew that they was both great men.
I knew it before most of the other regular people did.
You could just see it.
The meetings, at first, were about staying British.
They just wanted peace, but things were getting expensive.
Rich people like them didn’t think that they was supposed to be giving King George all that he wanted them to chip in.
Nobody back then thought that they would break off and start a whole war over it. A lot of the fellows got pretty scared after they closed down the port up in Boston.
It was Sam Adams and Dr. Franklin as I recall, that was stirring the pot, saying they should stand up for themselves. Pat Henry got into the swing of things for sure. I remember that every time he got up to talk it sounded like a goldang sermon. They sure listened though, and I couldn’t help it myself.
Mr. Randolph was the man in charge, as I recall, but he was pretty quiet.
Sam Adams was a favorite of mine for sure. He was like them, and then again, he wasn’t.
They was always telling him to straighten up his appearance, and fix his hair, especially Johnny Hancock.
Sam Adams was always kind of rumpled, and when the fellows would go out for their supper, he generally went his own way. One time I asked him why he didn’t join in, and he would always say that “He had matters to tend to, matters of patriotic mischief.”
So, when some of the funny stuff started happening, I suspected Mr. Adams, and I know that I was right by the way he would smile when I asked him. But he never said nothing.
It was different back then, when we was British America. Them guys worried about treason for sure. Not Sam though, he would say stuff like “feck the British.”
People like me might talk like that, but gentlemen didn’t. I guess that was the difference about Sam. He didn’t care about being no gentleman, and it showed.
But he was smart about a lot stuff, and they knew it.
I know that the fellows were slow to catch on that having the meetings over at the State House was a bad idea. Sam convinced them though. He called the State House “Tory Heaven.”
That was the reason that they came over to Carpenter’s Hall, where I was the man that did the cleaning.
They got more privacy there, except not from me. I’m glad that I got nosy, though. Later on, they even let me help about a little.
Not that I’m taking much credit, because they never give me any.
But they could have, at least that’s what I think.
When I got to know Sam Adams better, he asked me lots of questions. It went like this.
“Clem, do you know what’s going on here?”
“Where?”
“Here?”
“We’re talking. You and me, but I should be sweeping, right?”
“Not that, I mean what the fellows talk about, whilst we meet together.”
“Well sir, you ain’t that fond of the king, and it’s costing the fellows money.”
“Do you agree with the sentiments that you overhear?”
“I don’t hear nothing, Mr. Adams.”
“That’s a load of shiite Clem. You’re about to wear out the floor just outside the door, from all of the sweeping that you do there.”
I knew that he was onto me. So I said, “I ain’t no rich man with land somewheres else. It don’t have much to do with me, or my kind.”
“It does indeed Clem. That is the entire point. The King doesn’t want this to be a free land, and we do. Don’t you want freedom, Clem?”
I had never thought about freedom one way or the other, I would have been happy to make a whole shilling every week, and that was about it.
“What would happen if we didn’t have the King?” I asked him. “Who would be in charge?”
“You would Clem. Just like me, and all of the other men in that room, and all the people in Philadelphia and Boston, and in between.”
I said, “I’m afraid to say something bad about the King, Mr. Adams.”
And I was. We all knew about treason back then. It was a bad thing to have thought about yourself.
“That’s the point, Clem.”
“What is?”
“You shouldn’t have to be afraid in your own land.”
“If you fellows was in charge, would I have to be afraid?”
“No sir. We seek the freedom to speak about what is on your mind, for everyone.”
“Could I crack wise about John Adams?”
“Without impunity,” he said.
I wasn’t that sure about impunity, but I tried not to act like it. Come to think about it, I’m still not sure about it. If Mr. Jefferson was here, I could ask him, but he ain’t.
Anyway, I was catching on to his drift. Plus, if those fellows thought that King George was a bad guy, I had to take their word for it. I never met him myself.
So I said, “I’m all for you fellows.”
Sam liked that, and then he gave me a little job to do.
I was to do my sweeping, and nosing, like I always did. But if I noticed any of those Tories, or anybody that seemed particularly interested in the meetings, I was to let them know. The signal was that I would just go right through the doors and say, “Just checking the spittoons,” and they would know that they should be cautious.
I had to do it more than once too, and the fellows always appreciated it, because they would slip me a few pence afterwards.
It was funny to hear them change the subject. Sometimes they would start talking about tobacco raising, or the weather, and one time they started talking about the tall blonde wench down at the Dead Fish Tavern.
When I hollered out “That’s my ma,” they laughed at first, but Sam let them know it was true. I didn’t even know that he knew her, but I guess he did.
Old Sam knew a lot of stuff like that.
The fellows got kind of brave, or maybe they was just getting madder and madder at King George. So, they decided to have what you call a Continental Congress.
A Continental Congress is what you have when you get all the fellows to stick together, so that they can get their way.
They all came to the Hall, and it was a real group of characters.
I remember George Washington telling the fellows something like, “I am but a humble farmer, and a servant to the colonies. You’re wish that I might lead the troops, in the notion that we might one day seek to take up arms against the King, has never entered my consideration.”
Then somebody, I think it was Pat Henry, said “Then why do you wear that old uniform, and that sword, everywhere you go?”
Even John Adams had to laugh at that one.
The fellows still had peace on their mind.
But that don’t mean that they weren’t cranky, cause they was.
There was more of them now, more than fifty. There was fellows from far off lands that I hadn’t really heard much of before. Virginny, for sure, but Connecticut too, and a couple of Carolina’s. Also, there was fellows from Delaware. I had heard of Delaware, but I didn’t know it was close to Philadelphia.
There was not a single man that come up from Georgia, and that made a lot of the fellows sore. Some wanted to kick them out of the whole deal, but some said it was England’s fault they wasn’t there. Of course, everything got blamed on England back then.
That was about the time that the snake picture got started, for which I have never got much credit.
All of the fellows was talking about having to stick together, I heard it all of the time. Well, that got me to thinking about something I seen in Dr. Franklins print Shoppe. Down in the cellar there was a hunk of wood with a picture of a cut-up snake. Now, back then, I didn’t know what the words said, but the picture made it pretty clear.
I was telling one of the fellows about it, I think it was Mr. Gadsden, and he was pretty interested in it. So, I went over to the shop to get it. Dr. Franklin was still over there in France, but I didn’t think he would mind. When I brung it over to The Hall, the fellows caught the meaning right away.
They told me the words said “Join or Die.”
Dr. Franklin was something, the way he didn’t mince words.
Well, says I, if you cut up a snake, it ain’t gonna do no biting, and the fellows had to agree with me.
So, they had copies of it printed up.
I guess that was one more way that I done my part for liberty, but I’ll tell you more about that later.
Mr. Jefferson wasn’t at that meeting at all, and it wasn’t till Thom showed up that I got all wrapped up in it, just like I was one of them delegates.
You know, to this day, I don’t trust people from Georgia that well.
When the next meeting started, it was fall; I remember that.
I was there every day, sweeping and polishing and the like. The big room, where they would talk all the time was the cleanest, because that’s where I tried to be most of the time. Sweeping, polishing, and listening. I even ran some errands for the fellows. Buckets of beer from time to time was one of them, and water.
They talked about freedom some, and liberty, and words like that, but I can tell you that it was about money too.
It’s funny about money. Poor people like me don’t have much of it; but what we get, we spend. This is mostly because somebody is waiting for it, or we need something right away, like to get some food.
Rich people don’t think like that. They don’t want to spend it, but more than that, they sure don’t want to give it away.
And that was the whole rub with England.
I don’t know why old George over there in England didn’t see it that way. I have seen pictures of him hanging up around town, and he looks like a rich fellow to me. He should have knowed how the fellows wouldn’t cotton to sending money off across the ocean, for no reason. If he had got that, that would have solved the whole mess. I always would wonder how come he didn’t understand that, if somebody like me could. But I guess that’s cause I’m no King, and never will be.
For the folks that wasn’t there, like I was, England was asking for money, and the fellows thought that they should have had a vote on it. If they could have, they would have voted no, that’s for sure.
It wasn’t like they passed the hat for money. At least no one passed a hat to me, but they probably wouldn’t have, because I didn’t look like I had any money, and I sure didn’t.
England would put a tax on things that people needed, like tea, and stamps, and things like that. That seemed pretty sneaky to me.
The fellows said that they couldn’t afford it. The truth was that they could, but they was sore because nobody asked them.
They would always say that when they got their way, that there wouldn’t be no taxes at all. After a while, they began to say that there might be a little tax, but just enough to take care of things.
Now that the fighting is all over, and England has lost their say, the people in America can thank those fellows that there will never be taxes like that to pay any more. Americans have proved that they just won’t pay taxes that ain’t fair, and I’ll bet that won’t change, even in hundreds of years. You can bet on that.
I’ll bet that they are so sick of wars that there won’t be any more of them either. What’s the point, if now we can be in charge of ourselves, and we know what it feels like when some other place tries to tell you what to do, from far off? It just don’t make sense to meddle that way.
So, what they did for those days, was to argue over what they were gonna write down and send over to the King.
To boil it all down, it was pretty much that that if England thought that the people here should pay tax money, they wanted to have a say in it.
There was a lot of talk saying that England would never go for it, and the King was a bully. You just can’t reason with a bully.
Some of the fellows wanted to begin just telling the soldiers to go back to England, and some wanted to just start wiping them out.
The Tories got wind of this talk, I know.
But they didn’t hear it over at The Hall. I was always on the lookout for them Tories, and they was snooping around more and more. I had to give my spittoon speech almost every day.
When I did, the fellows would always say nice stuff about England, and say that the King was “a becoming figure,” and things like that, until I let them know that the coast was clear of Tories, then they would all have a big laugh. Me too.
Some said that they even heard that the new Governor, a fellow named Sage had even poked his head into the hall once. If that was true, I didn’t know it.
What they did think, was that he was sending spies, and that’s who I was to be on the lookout for.
I remember telling the fellows that being a spy was a low-down thing to be, and they laughed when I said it.
Then they explained that this is what I was. I told them that I was just trying to help out the fellows, because they seemed like a pretty good crowd of guys, and they was nice to me, even though I was no gentleman.
I also admitted that I appreciated it when a shilling would come my way.
John Jay clapped me on my back and said, “You are a good man, Mr. Burgess.”
I appreciated that.
Sometimes, one or another of the fellows would teach me things, and I was glad to learn them. That’s how I learned about William Penn.
Even though I had heard of him, I didn’t really know what he was famous for. After I heard them talking about him in their meetings, I asked some questions.
Mostly I found out that William Penn promised that everybody that came to Philadelphia, would be left alone, and so that was a good reason to leave England and go to America. I don’t know much about that, because I was born here and so was my ma and pa.
But Mr. Penn had some ideas that those fellows kept bringing up, to remind King George of.
Mr. Jefferson helped me to read about that, after I learned how.
I have it in a book that Thom give me, that I still read from time to time. Here is what Mr. Penn said.
"You shall be governed, by laws of your own making, and live a free, and if you will, a sober and industrious people. I shall not usurp the rights of any or oppress his person.”
I can see why the fellows would get all upset when they brought that up.
Nobody likes a broken promise, that’s for sure.
So, after a lot of arguing, the fellows got their paper all written out.
They were glad that they did, I remember that, and some of them were anxious to get back home. Some of them had harvests to look after, and it was getting to be that time.
It was funny how it all ended up, to me anyways.
I can remember that I stood by that door at The Hall and said farewell to each and every one of them.
Some of them looked happy, and some of them were pretty scared. You could see that.
They had decided to not buy the stuff that come from England.
I don’t rightly know how the paper got over their to England, I always wondered about that. I guess somebody sailed over there with it, but that seemed like a dangerous expedition to me. I know I wouldn’t have done it.
But they did what they did, and said what they wanted to say, in real fancy language. Sometimes I would hear them battle with each other all day long about the right way to say something. There was a lot of crossing out on the paper, I can tell you.
They also said they had to figure out what to do if the King didn’t see eye-to-eye with their propositions.
By the time they left, they had decided to come back to Philadelphia in the springtime, if King George didn’t go along with their ideas.
I admire them for trying to be peaceful, when I think back on it. I can remember some of the fellows saying that they were “certain that Great Britain would listen to reason, from reasonable men.”
But the truth was that most of them knew that they would be back in the springtime, to figure out what to do next.
When they came back to Philadelphia, I was happy to see them all.
Things really began to boil when they got back, that’s for sure. For a while, I was worried that they had forgot who their enemy was, that way that they went after each other and all.
Gentleman fight different that plain folk like me, but I witnessed the fact that when they got angry enough, they sounded an awful lot like those pirates that you would see down by the Delaware River.
King George didn’t like their ideas about not buying stuff from over on his side.
That spring, they were all back in Philadelphia.
They called it the second continental congress, and this time there was more of them. This time it was more serious, too.
It was the day before things was supposed to get going, and I was sweeping and wiping. I liked it to look good for the fellows. When they weren’t there having a meeting, I still had too look after the place. There were people in and out of The Hall, what with the figuring out of how to build buildings, plus the merchants were there that sold cloth and such.
When the fellows was there, it was very different for me. I mean, it was exciting with my spy work and all, plus they slipped me money for errands, and when I tipped them off about certain visitors. It was probably a little bit of money to them. But it was a lot to me.
I kept some of this money a secret from my ma, and stashed it away. Some, I wasted in ways that she wouldn’t have approved of. I was a young man, and all.
So, there I was, sweeping, when this tall gangly fellow walks into the hall. It was just him and me. He had reddish hair that was tied back in a knot, the way those Virginny fellows did it. He stood there, taking off a pair of gloves. I remember wondering why you would wear gloves in the springtime, and assumed it must have been an upper-class thing.
He says to me; “I have a trunk in the coach.” I nodded.
He continued with, “They are necessary implements for my work here.” I just nodded again, wondering why he was telling me.
“Can you organize someone to fetch them? I was starting to notice that he spoke softly, and kind of like a woman.
I told him that I didn’t know anybody who would do that.
“Be a good man,” he says, “and fetch them. I have not brought along a manservant.”
When he said this, he pushed a coin into my hand, which caught my attention right away. I put the broom in the corner, and headed out towards his wagon, which was pretty fancy.
He walked out with me, and I was glad that he was gonna help when I saw the size of the trunk. As I started yanking on it, I noticed that he was heading up the street. “I am staying on Second Street. Bring the coach there when you are through.”
By then, I could see that he was one of those gentlemen that was used to having darkeys, which I sure wasn’t. However, I was a man who would do chores and such, for coin.
I have to say though, that I didn’t much care for him at first, the way he just expected that somebody else was going to haul his grip, and tie his horse and all.
And that was how I met Thom Jefferson.
It sure was loud in there the next morning.
The fellows was all there, and they were assembled in little groups. There was some arguing, some whispering, and over in one group, there was a lot of laughing. I should have known without looking that Dr. Franklin was back in Philadelphia. He always looked full of the mischief, especially for an old man. I was so happy to see him that I charged right over there to the group and stuck my hand right out to him.
“Hello, Doc,” I said, “Remember me?”
At first I didn’t think he did, the way he was looking at me. Then he said, “Of course I do Clyde. How is your mother?”
“Good,” I said. “How was France?”
He said something that sounded like “OOO la la,” which made the fellows laugh, but not me, as I didn’t speak any French.
“Are you still employed here at The Hall, Phineas?”
Before I could answer, Mr. Middleton spoke up and went on and on about what a great help I was to “the cause,” and how I looked out for all of the fellows. “Clem is a fine boy, and a patriot, Ben.”
I appreciated all of the nice words, but I didn’t feel like a boy by then, that’s for sure. “I spoke up right away and said, “I believe I’m eighteen years old by now,” which I’m pretty sure was right.
Dr. Franklin looked right and me and said, “You are a man indeed.”
After that, he excused himself from the group and took me by the arm, for a little privacy.
“Does your mother ever come down here, to The Hall, Seth?
I replied that no, she never had. I was wondering why he was asking that, and then he said, “Did she ask about me while I was gone?”
I told him that I didn’t reckon that I had ever brought up the fact that I even knew him, to her. He seemed surprised to hear this, and looked at me over them funny little eye spectacles that he had made for himself.
“Maybe that’s best,” he said. He started to say something else, something about some wild filly, when the whole place stopped talking and turned around to see what John Adams was rattling on about.
The redheaded fellow that I had met yesterday, had taken all of this writing stuff out of his trunk. He had set it up, and was sitting at a desk, with feather pens and bottles of ink, and a pile of paper. He was just sitting there, wearing a frilly shirt, with his hands folded in front of him.
John Adams, was ten paces away, hollering to George Washington and Pat Henry, and Mr. Lee, while he was pointing at Thom Jefferson, who didn’t seem to know what was going on, or didn’t care.
It seems as though they were explaining that Mr. Jefferson was going to be the man to write down what had to be writ.
Mr. Adams kept saying that this was supposed to be his job, and when George tried to calm him down, he started hollering, “You’re not the boss of me!” and screaming about Harvard, and being brilliant, and being a founder, and getting no respect, and many other things of that nature.
It went on like that for some time, until Sam Adams told him to “Stop acting like a little turd,” which turned John Adams from loud to speechless.
That Sam Adams always had a way with words.
It stayed pretty quiet, up until Dr. Franklin got gassy, which broke the silence, and the tension.
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