Hector Cantu – Page 5 – The Intelligent Collector Magazine

America, Spanish colonies took vastly different turns

A signed photographic print of Admiral George Dewey went to auction in June 2013.

By Jim O’Neal

On April 25, 1898, the U.S. Congress declared war on Spain, ostensibly because of the sinking of the battleship USS Maine on Feb. 15. The armored cruiser was docked in Cuba’s Havana Harbor, having been dispatched by President McKinley to protect America’s people and interests during an uprising of Cuban dissidents. The cause of the explosion is still a subject of debate yet today.

The first act of war was to prevent Spain’s battleships in the Philippines from going to Cuba to join in the pending fighting. When the U.S. Army arrived in Cuba, they won a series of battles. The most famous was San Juan Hill, featuring a group called the Rough Riders. They were primarily farmers and cowboys that comprised the 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry that also included future President Theodore Roosevelt. TR was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor in 2001 for his actions in Cuba.

It was a short war (the actual fighting stopped by Aug. 13) and a formal treaty was signed on Dec. 10. Cuba gained its long quest for independence and the United States gained control of Guam, Puerto Rico and the Philippines islands, an archipelago south of China. American business interests viewed the Spanish colony as a strategic gateway to lucrative trade with East Asian markets.

However, these islands had been under Spanish control since 1521 and Filipinos had also been waging a war of independence since 1896. Gaining their support to oust Spain was critical. U.S. Navy forces were under the command of Commodore George Dewey, and the Battle of Manila Bay against the Spanish flotilla started early on May 1, 1898. Spanish battleships and harbor fort guns were out of range to reach the American fleet, but Admiral Dewey had superiority in armaments. After confirming the distance, he gave a famous command to the captain of the USS Olympia: “You may fire when you are ready, Gridley.” What followed was the destruction of eight Spanish battleships and with only seven American seamen wounded. The entire battle was over in the first day of fighting.

Spain surrendered and sold the Philippines to the United States for $20 million.

Perhaps, not surprisingly, Filipino nationalists were not interested in trading one colonial master for another. In February 1899, fighting between Filipinos and the U.S. military started. In June, the Filipino Republic officially declared war on the invading U.S. forces. Suddenly, the United States had become mired in a war of colonial conquest. It would last for three years and become exceedingly vicious at times.

The United States controlled the capital of Manila, but Filipino revolutionaries, outgunned but with the advantage in manpower and home terrain, predictably resorted to guerilla warfare. U.S. forces quickly forced civilians into internment camps to prevent them from helping or joining the guerillas. It took until 1903 for the United States to prevail, with American troops suffering more than 4,000 casualties, 75 percent from tropical diseases. Roughly a quarter-million Filipinos perished, 90 percent of them innocent civilians. It was not until 1946 that the Treaty of Manila granted the Philippines full independence.

Looking back to the early 19th century, Spain’s colonies in North America were vastly superior to the young United States. This situation was totally reversed by 1900. In terms of territory, population and resources, the United States dominated the Western Hemisphere. It is a story of Protestant austerity, democracy and incursions led by American frontiersmen, farmers, shopkeepers, bankers and waves of European immigrants arriving on our shores, ready to make their fortunes.

The Spanish colonies fragmented as the primarily Catholic and tyrannical governments were unable to maintain coherence and viability. The transformation is marked by three distinct phases starting with Florida and the Southeast by 1820. This was followed by Texas, California, the greater Southwest (1855) and finally Central America and the Caribbean directly as a result of the Spanish-American War. During these major annexation phases, Mexico lost half its territory and 75 percent of its mineral resources.

The story of how to achieve Manifest Destiny from “Sea to shining sea” is embedded in these short episodes.

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is president and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as chair and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

We’ve seen incredibly successful hucksters and three-ring circuses before

A 1913 poster promoting the Barnum & Bailey elephant baseball team sold for $9,600 at a February 2019 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

One of the world’s greatest hucksters died in 1891. He was born in Bethel, Conn., and died 80 years later on April 7 in Bridgeport, where he had been mayor in 1875-76. Earlier, he had served four terms in the Connecticut House of Representatives, without distinction. The three-ring circus of modern life with all its hustle and bustle had to start somewhere, so why not simply start with the man responsible for the actual three-ring circus?

Phineas Taylor Barnum had been a loyal Democrat until the 1854 Kansas-Nebraska Act, which supported slavery, was drafted by Democrats and signed by President Franklin Pierce. It effectively nullified the 1859 Missouri Compromise, escalated tensions over the slavery issue and led to a series of violent civil confrontations known as “Bloody Kansas,” a political stain on American democracy.

Barnum promptly switched political parties, becoming a member of the new anti-slavery Republican Party, which was expanding rapidly with defecting abolitionists. John C. Frémont – “The Pathfinder” – was the first presidential candidate of the Republican Party, losing to Democrat James Buchanan in 1856. Abraham Lincoln prevailed in 1860 and 1864, and Republicans would dominate national politics for the rest of the 19th century.

Yes, we’re talking about that Barnum, who would become world famous as founder of “P.T. Barnum’s Grand Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan & Hippodrome.” Most Americans know the name, but whether they know that “P.T.” stands for Phineas Taylor or that he did not enter the circus business until he was 60 years old is doubtful. If not, then it is surely because of the extraordinary, eponymous circus formed when he and James Bailey teamed up in 1881.

Barnum was an energetic 70-year-old impresario. “The Greatest Show on Earth” may have been a slight exaggeration, but it’s not clear who would have rivaled them for the top spot. Clearly it was a distinctive assertion in a life filled with remarkable contradictions. Perhaps it is more precise to think of him as “the Greatest Showman on Earth” or other lofty positions as one desires. (He would undoubtedly find an angle to exploit to the fullest).

He actually had a modest beginning in his show-biz career, starting at age 25. He purchased a blind, nearly paralyzed black slave woman (Joice Heth) who purportedly was 161 years old and a nurse to a young George Washington. She sang hymns, told jokes and answered audience questions about “Little George.” Barnum cleverly worked around existing laws and exhibited her 10 to 12 hours a day to recoup his $1,000 investment.

As Barnum bribed newspaper editors for extra press coverage (always mentioning his name), he also co-produced a sensationalized biographical pamphlet to further hype the hoax. When Heth died in 1836, Barnum sold tickets to another “event” – a public autopsy to judge her actual age. More than 1,300 people eagerly attended the spectacle, which critics slammed as “morally specious.” At 50 cents a ticket, it provided a surprisingly nice profit. Barnum attempted to appease the abolitionists by claiming (falsely) that all proceeds from this flagrant exploitation would be used to buy her great-grandchildren’s freedom.

It is here that that experts who study such arcane issues will argue that it’s important to define the pejorative term “humbug,” using Barnum’s own precepts. To him, a humbug was a fake that delights audiences without scamming them. It is sleight of hand, not bait-and-switch. He called himself the “Prince of Humbugs.” Perhaps it is a distinction without a difference. However, Barnum, still searching for a code of ethics, fled this humbug. Even in his 1854 biography, he wrote that he wanted people to remember him for something other than Joice Heth. It would haunt him until his death.

By 1841, he was touring the country with magicians and jugglers. He bought John Scudder’s struggling American Museum in lower Manhattan, promptly renaming it with the Barnum brand. While displaying a cabinet of curiosities, he introduced pseudo-scientific exhibitions, live freaks and the normal hokums. Still struggling with his ethical bankruptcy, he gambled on backing a national tour for Jenny Lind, the most celebrated soprano in the world, offering her $1,500 for every performance. He calculated it would be worth losing $50,000 just to enhance his reputation.

Her virtuosic arias drew crowds in the thousands, as Barnum wishfully hoped his association with “the Swedish Nightingale” would lessen his reputational baggage. But driven by an outsize eagerness to enrich himself, he peddled spectacles like the “Feejee Mermaid,” the torso and head of a monkey and the back half of a fish, bound together by the clever art of taxidermy. He continued to worship at the altar of celebrity and the power of the press. He created attractions like General Tom Thumb, who at 5, learned to drink wine; at 7, he was smoking a cigar.

He parlayed an audience with President Lincoln into a European tour involving Queen Victoria, gambling that her subjects would be interested as well. The trip paid off big and was extended to include visits with the Tsar of Russia and other nobles. It is not surprising that in his quest for money and fame, his name itself conjured up qualities of audacity, greed and humbug. But how to account or judge the value of excitement, entertainment and gentle controversy? Even as Charles Darwin was jolting the scientific and religious communities with evolution via his Origin of Species, P.T. Barnum introduced William Henry Johnson, a microcephalic black man who spoke a mysterious language … “solving” the quest to find the Missing Link of mankind.

Sadly, on May 21, 2017, Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus gave the last performance of its 146-year history after the elephants had vanished under pressure from animal rights activists. The audience rose for a standing ovation while singing Auld Lang Syne. Then it was over.

Except that it wasn’t!

P.T. Barnum, famous for grabbing headlines, reached up from the grave as Hugh Jackman lionized him in the movie The Greatest Showman. Recent one-word-titled books like Fraud, Hoax and Bunk have found analogies to today while a generation of Madonnas, Warhols and Kardashians have mastered the media to enhance the power of celebrity. We now have the modern equivalent of a three-ring circus continuously playing on Twitter or any cable news channel 24/7. The Romans knew this when they built the coliseum and so did Walt Disney when Disneyland popped up in 1955.

I do miss the cotton candy.

‘Some stories are hard to see; other stories hit you in the face’

A collection of 10 typed letters related to Watergate and signed by Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, John Mitchell and Richard Kleindienst sold for $3,500 at a 2013 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

On Oct. 12, 2019, The New York Times ran an editorial titled “All the President’s Henchmen,” along with a cartoonish drawing depicting President Trump, Rudy Giuliani, Rick Perry and Pete Sessions. The article concluded, “The impeachment drama had taken on the feel of a telenovela crossed with a mob movie wrapped up in a true crime procedural and decorated with psychedelic TikTok clips. In a word: bananas. But with a cast of bumblers, grifters and self-promoters like those Mr. Trump seems to favor, one should expect nothing less.”

There was little doubt about the allusion to the 1976 Award-winning movie All the President’s Men. The film was almost exclusively based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning book of the same name. It had been authored by two obscure reporters for The Washington Post: Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward (now almost household names and prolific political writers).

The movie is one of my favorites, with Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman playing the two reporters. Jason Robards won an Oscar for his portrayal of Ben Bradlee, editor of the Post, and Alan J. Pakula was an Oscar nominee for Best Director. Although the movie primarily covers only the first seven months of what would become the Watergate scandal, the clever use of typesetting bookends the start and finish of the entire event, beginning with the Watergate break-in to Richard Nixon’s resignation several years later.

The actual Watergate affair started in 1972 when a security guard, 24-year-old Frank Willis, was on routine patrol in the basement of the Watergate complex. He found strips of tape across the latches leading to the underground parking garage. He was not overly alarmed. High-priced hotel rooms, prestigious offices and elegant condominium apartments within the Watergate development had been targets of burglars and thieves for several years. Along with three former Cabinet members, and various Republican leaders, the tenants included the Democratic National Committee (DNC). Its offices had been surreptitiously entered at least twice in just the last six months.

However, Willis simply assumed maintenance men had temporarily immobilized door latches as part of a routine repair. Professional burglars typically used less conspicuous wooden matches to keep the doors from closing and locking. The guard naively removed the tape, allowed the two doors to lock, and resumed his regular post in the lobby.

Then fate intervened and, acting strictly on what he called a “hunch,” he returned to take another look at the basement doors. The same latches had been taped again! Additionally, he discovered that two other doors on another level had been taped, despite being unobstructed only minutes before. “Someone was taping the doors faster than I was taking it off,” Willis said in an interview later. “I called the police!” His call was logged at 1:52 a.m. on Saturday, June 17.

First to reach the Watergate were members of the tactical squad of the Washington metropolitan force, who went directly to the top floor. More tape was found on a stairway door. They started working their way down and found tape on a sixth-floor office. With guns drawn, they entered the darkened offices of the Democratic National Committee. Five unarmed men were found crouched down and they surrendered quietly.

John Barrett, one of the plain-clothed officers who handcuffed the burglars, said: “They were very polite, but they would not talk.” The five men were arrested on burglary charges and led to the District of Columbia jail. They all gave false names to the booking officer, but after a routine fingerprint check, all five were identified:

Bernard Barker, 55, a native of Cuba and president of a Miami real estate firm,
James McCord, 55, president of a private security agency,
Frank Sturgis, 48, ex-Castro Army, now at a Miami Salvage Company,
Eugenio Martínez, 51, notary-real estate employee of Barker in Miami, and
Virgilio Gonzalez, 45, a locksmith from Miami.

Four of the men had spent the night at the Watergate Hotel, which connected with the office building via an underground garage.

At the time of the arrests, police had seized all the equipment the men had. It was quite a haul: two 35mm cameras with close-up lens, 40 rolls of film, one roll of film for a Minox “spy” camera, and a high-intensity lamp. All were useful in copying documents. Additionally, there were three microphones and transmitters. Ceiling panels had been removed to allow access to an adjacent office belonging to DNC Chairman Larry O’Brien. In addition to lock-picks and burglary tools, there were two walkie-talkies and a few thousand dollars in $100 bills with consecutive serial numbers.

The White House was quick to deny that any of the men were working for them and Nixon Press Secretary Ron Ziegler famously shrugged it off as “a third-rate burglary attempt” and unworthy of comments. However, at their arraignment, Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward overheard one of the burglars (James McCord) whisper “CIA” when asked what kind of “retired government employee” he had been.

The finest journalists in the world could be forgiven for not realizing that those three little letters (CIA) would be the opening act of a scandalous political drama – unprecedented in American history. Bradlee would later write: “Some stories are hard to see because the clues are hidden or disguised. Other stories hit you in the face. Like Watergate, for instance. Five guys in business suits, speaking only Spanish, wearing dark glasses and surgical gloves, with crisp new hundred-dollar bills in their pockets, and carrying tear-gas fountain pens, flashlights, cameras and walkie-talkies, just after midnight in the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee. … You would have to be Richard Nixon himself to say this was not a story.”

Actually, this is what Richard Nixon did finally say on Aug. 9, 1974, to Secretary of State Henry Kissinger:

Dear Mr. Secretary,
I hereby resign the office of President of the United States.
Sincerely,
Richard Nixon

Yes, highly intelligent leaders with differing viewpoints can run a government

A signed carte de visite of Abraham Lincoln by photographer Mathew Brady sold for $81,250 at an October 2016 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In 2005, Pulitzer Prize-winning author Doris Kearns Goodwin published her award-winning book Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. It begins with the presidential election of 1860 and focuses on the shrewd decision by Lincoln to form a Cabinet comprised of his three main competitors for the Republican nomination.

William H. Seward (Secretary of State), Salmon P. Chase (Treasury Secretary) and Edwin Bates (Attorney General) were molded into a formidable team in perhaps the most unusual Cabinet in history. They enabled President Lincoln to cope with incompetent generals, hostile congressmen, the secession of Southern states and the bloody Civil War that followed. Perhaps he was aware of the axiom to “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer” (often attributed to Chinese military strategist Sun-Tzu in The Art of War).

Team of Rivals was awarded a Pulitzer Prize and director Steven Spielberg’s 2012 film Lincoln was nominated for Best Picture; Daniel Day-Lewis won the Oscar for Best Actor (2013). Both are highly recommended.

The book attributes much of Lincoln’s remarkable accomplishments to his unique ability to help disgruntled opponents solve their differences by empathy – to sense or feel what others experience – and then put himself in their place. This is obviously a factor, but omits his basic wisdom, sense of humor and courage under extraordinary pressure. On the personal ego scale, he ranks at the bottom, along with Harry Truman … and the precise opposite of the current Oval Office occupant, who is off the scale (74-year-old billionaires rarely change their M.O.).

From the standpoint of presidential cabinets, this degree of executive freedom to choose individuals probably only existed one other time: during President Washington’s two-terms. However, the situations were vastly different on several dimensions:

The Constitution did not express the requirement for a “Cabinet” (a term coined by James Madison). However, there was a proviso for the president to obtain advice from others, as desired.
There were no formal political parties in either of Washington’s two terms that needed consideration.
When Washington took the oath of office on April 30, 1789, he had the unfettered flexibility to choose from the best minds in the nation, all of them well known by him. He chose wisely: Thomas Jefferson for State; Alexander Hamilton for Treasury; Henry Knox, War; and Edmond Randolph, Attorney General.

There was a general bias for a small federal government since the states were still leery of ceding any of their hard-won rights to a central entity. However, five months later, President Washington approved the Judiciary Act of 1789 and created a Supreme Court that consisted of a Chief Justice and five Associate Justices. This federal government was run by men responsible for the Declaration of Independence, the Revolutionary War, the U.S. Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. It was a generally harmonious time.

Further, Washington’s style of management was to meet individually with his Cabinet to seek their advice and counsel. This soon evolved into a group meeting that excluded Vice President John Adams, who never attended a single Cabinet meeting. The meetings were efficient and effective despite a low level of acrimony over issues where individuals differed. However, Washington welcomed debates to ensure he had the advantage of bright men with opposing opinions.

For example, in February 1791, Treasury Secretary Hamilton and Secretary of State Jefferson engaged in a debate that would have a significant impact on basic American law. The issue involved the U.S. Constitution that had been ratified two years earlier: Did it authorize the federal government to charter a bank?

The federal and state governments were in debt $100 million, primarily due to the Revolutionary War. Secretary Hamilton wanted to consolidate all the debt and form a federally chartered bank to pay off the debts. In 1790, an agreement had been reached to have the federal government assume all state debts. In a quid pro quo, the nation’s capital would relocate near the Potomac River in Virginia. Twelve months later, Congress passed legislation to create the federal chartered bank. This allowed the creation of a viable national currency, used by all states to pay taxes to retire debt. President Washington was now required to sign or veto the law.

His Cabinet was divided.

Jefferson, Madison and Randolph objected to the legislation, arguing the Constitution did not authorize the federal government to charter or incorporate an institution, let alone a bank. During the Constitutional Convention, Madison had supported giving the government limited power to grant corporations. However, corporations and banks were so divisive they were excluded in order to gain approval of the Constitution. It was argued that Hamilton’s bank would violate the relationship of state power versus federal power. This resulted in Washington asking Hamilton why the powerful trio was wrong?

The ever-energetic Hamilton worked all night to produce a 15,000-word Constitutional interpretation. He argued that the “necessary and proper clause” authorized Congress to make all laws, which shall be necessary for carrying into execution its duties under Article 1. He said that chartering a bank was “necessary for managing the nation’s currency, debt and credit,” which was the purview of the federal government via the clause “to coin money and regulate the value thereof.”

Jefferson had a visceral mistrust of paper money (a basic function of banks) and similar misgivings about incorporation. Since a federal bank was a de facto corporation, he argued their creation was simply a monopoly, like the Bank of England created by the British Monarchy. He and Madison asserted any power the Constitution did not forbid and which was not expressly granted to the federal government automatically stayed with the states, one and all, as dictated by the 10th Amendment. Surprisingly, Hamilton prevailed and Washington approved the legislation on Dec. 12, 1791, thus allowing the Bank of the United States. It opened in Philadelphia as the first central bank in the new nation, with a 20-year charter.

It is in this and many more examples of highly intelligent leaders with differing viewpoints on how best to organize and run a new nation, that we find the seeds of discontent that would lead to political parties. It helps explain how small rifts can grow into chasms over 200-plus years. Even as I finish writing this, a television in the background is chattering with some ruckus to impeach another president. If we ever truly had any political empathy, there is little evidence of it today (sigh).

Twain’s ‘Gilded Age’ in retrospect resembles a warning – comeuppance wrapped in satire

A signed presentation copy of *The Gilded Age* by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner sold for $5,750 at an October 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

The Gilded Age was a fascinating time for millions of people. It is typically used as a metaphor for a period of time in Western history characterized by peace, economic prosperity and optimism. It is assumed to have started circa 1870 and extended until the horrors of World War I spread a plague of death, disease and destruction that consumed civilized nations and destroyed four empires.

In France, it was called La Belle Époque (Beautiful Era) dating from the end of the Franco-Prussian War (1871). In the United Kingdom, it overlapped the Victorian era, and in Spain the Restoration. In Australia, this period included several gold rushes that helped the “convict colonies” transform to semi-progressive cities. These are only a few of many examples.

Historian Robert Roswell Palmer (1909-2002) noted “European civilization achieved its greatest power in global politics, and also exerted its maximum influence upon people outside Europe.” R.R. Palmer was a remarkable and distinguished historian, educated in Chicago (taught at Princeton and Yale) who published A History of the Modern World in 1950. I believe it has been continually updated, the last time in 2013. Although I’ve never actually seen a copy, it gets high marks. At a reported 1,000 pages and weighing five pounds, it is not on any of my wish lists. (His wife once commented she felt sympathetic for his students having to lug it around!)

In the United States, the Gilded Age is considered to have started following the Panic of 1873. There were a number of contributing factors. Naturally, the post-Civil War era benefited from the cessation of mindless destruction in the Southern states. Then the extensive rebuilding boosted economic activity at the same time Western expansion to the Pacific Ocean created widespread urbanization.

With workers’ wages in the United States significantly higher than Europe, millions of immigrants were eager to join and this provided the manpower ingredient to natural-resource opportunities. It was a perfect fit – unlimited land, vast forests, rivers, lakes and unknown quantities of gold, silver and coal. We had fur-bearing animals, unlimited fish, millions of bison and weather that was moderate and dependable. In a 30-year period, real wages grew 60 percent as the silhouette of a new world power was taking shape. All without the tyranny that was so prevalent in the world.

Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) actually coined the terminology in a novel co-authored by Charles Dudley Warner in 1873. Their book – The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today – was a typical Twain satire that captured the widespread social problems that were masked by a thin gold gilding. It also obscured the massive corruption and wealth creation of the perpetrators.

This was well before his better-known work The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876), which described life on the Mississippi River. The sequel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884), was even more popular. First published in England, it exposed the prevalence of racism and the frequent use of the “n” word. The U.S. publication in 1885 only fanned the flames of racial debate.

It was banned in many schools and libraries, remaining controversial during the entire 20th century. As late as 2016, both Huckleberry Finn and To Kill a Mockingbird were banned in a Virginia school. Of course, there was some irony in the fact that our first black president was serving his second term in office.

In fact, Twain’s Gilded Age was meant as a pejorative and didn’t really enter contemporary usage until the 1920s. But it was an apt description throughout the 1870s, until the late 1920s ushered in the crash of Wall Street. With the Union off the gold standard, credit was readily available and the U.S. monetary supply was far larger than before the war.

Northerners, largely insulated from the actual war, sensed the almost inevitability of an industrialize nation and railroads across the country like an iron spiderweb. The early days of the Gilded Age – before the name gained its truer historical meaning – were alive with the optimism and speculation on America’s potential. It was a great run and established America as the greatest country in the history of man.

Twain’s Gilded Age looks in retrospect like a prescient warning – comeuppance wrapped in satire. The Great Depression quickly evaporated the hopes and dreams of millions and then consigned them back to poverty pending another cycle of war followed by prosperity. Andrew Carnegie noted for posterity his opinion on wealth creation: “The proper policy was to put all eggs in one basket and then watch that basket.”

It is hard to draw lessons from these cycles if we consider the current federal government, the U.K. and their Brexit, Africa, most of Latin America, virtually the entire Middle East, and the possible outcome of Hong Kong-China. But we keep trying.

‘Stonewall’ Jackson represents a great ‘what if’ of the American Civil War

An oil portrait of Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson painted in 1862 sold for $23,302 at a December 2007 Heritage auction.

“Look! There is Jackson standing like a stone wall! Let us determine to die here today and we will conquer.” – General Barnard Bee, 1861, First Manassas/First Battle of Bull Run

By Jim O’Neal

Thomas Jonathan “Stonewall” Jackson (1824-1863) was born at Clarksburg, deep in the mountains of what is now West Virginia. He was only 2 years old when his sister and father died of typhoid fever. The Jacksons had been longtime residents, but his father was a lawyer struggling with growing debt. His mother and three children were forced to become wards of the small town. Even after she remarried, they were unable to support the family and the children were sent individually to various relatives. Jackson’s mother died barely a year after the family break-up.

TJT grew up working for an uncle who ran a lumber and grist mill. The absence of parents or a real family resulted in a hardy young man, withdrawn and shyly introspective. He relied on friendly tutors and a love of reading to attain a very limited education. His first bit of luck occurred when a nominee for the U.S. Military Academy changed his mind and Jackson took his place.

Few, if any cadets ever entered West Point with less scholastic preparation. Moreover, the mountain lad was naturally introverted and almost entirely devoid of basic social skills. Somehow, he used energy, determination and a passion for learning in lieu of formal preparation. Studying day and night helped him rise from near the bottom to graduate 17th out of 59 cadets in the class of 1846.

The War with Mexico had just started and Jackson entered the Army as a lieutenant in the 3rd U.S. Artillery and he was dispatched at once to Mexico. After a slow start, he participated in the Siege of Veracruz in March 1847. Then he was cited for gallantry at both Contreras and Chapultepec. By the end of the war, he was a brevet major and had outperformed all of his West Point classmates.

After the war, he returned with the Army, first to New York and then to Fort Meade, deep in the middle of Florida. It was here that he received an offer from the small Virginia Military Institute (VMI) to be Professor of Artillery Tactics and Optics in Lexington, Va. He was plagued with health issues to the point that many historians believe he was a hypochondriac. That aside, he became intensely interested in religion, which would play a major role in his personal and military activities. Eventually, he joined the Presbyterian church and was a highly devout Calvinist.

The signs of the coming civil war were growing rapidly and as early as Oct. 16, 1859, John Brown made an effort at Harpers Ferry to initiate a slave revolt in Southern states by taking over the arsenal and arming slaves. Brown had 22 followers, but 88 Marines led by Colonel Robert E. Lee quelled the revolt. Stonewall Jackson was one of the troops guarding Brown until he was executed. By coincidence, John Wilkes Booth was one of the spectators at the hanging. Many refer to this incident as the “dress rehearsal for the Civil War.”

Stonewall Jackson remained a strong Unionist until he thought his beloved Virginia was threatened by federal coercion. When secession finally occurred, he offered his services to the Confederation. He left Lexington on April 21, 1861, never to see his adopted town again. Robert E. Lee, of course, was offered command of all Union forces, but like Jackson, his loyalty to Virginia was stronger than to the United States.

It was from here that Stonewall Jackson earned his reputation as one of the most brilliant commanders in American history. Even though his field services in the Civil War lasted but two years, his movements continue to be studied at every major military academy in the world. He was an artillerist who excelled in infantry tactics. He was a devout Christian but merciless in battle … paradoxical because of odd eccentricities, but an inflexible sense of duty, mixed with steel-cold tactics. One explanation offered was his belief that he was fighting on the order of Joshua, Gideon and other commanders of Old Testament fame. His credo was best summed up in a single statement: “My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that.”

Appointed a colonel of infantry on April 27, 1861, Jackson’s first orders were to return to the Shenandoah Valley and take command of an inexperienced militia and volunteers. This was a traumatic shock as the new commander assumed his duties with a stern regime. Units accustomed to parades underwent hours of daily drills, incompetents were quickly expunged and the town’s entire liquor supply was eliminated. The area was quickly ringed by armed pickets and artillery emplacements. Jackson taught the ignorant and punished the insubordinate.

It was such a rapid and dramatic transformation that Jackson was promoted to brigadier general on June 17 and given a brigade of five infantry regiments. The most famous nickname in American history came to Jackson just four weeks later at Manassas. His career proceeded at a dizzying pace and on Oct. 10, 1862, Jackson was appointed lieutenant general of half of General Lee’s forces. In spring 1863, Jackson performed his most spectacular flanking in the tangle of the Virginia Wilderness. He routed General Joe Hooker’s Army and for the first time rode to the front lines to personally assess the situation. He was returning when Confederates mistook the general and opened fire.

On May 2, three bullets struck Jackson, shattering his left arm below the shoulder. He died eight days later when pneumonia overtook him on May 10, 1863. His last words were “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.” The South had lost the most famous martyr of the Confederacy. General Robert E. Lee had lost the equivalent of his right arm. He never recovered.

For many years after the war’s end, Lee would speak of General Jackson. The words would vary, but the sentiment remained the same. “If I had Stonewall Jackson with me, I should have won the Battle of Gettysburg.” He even imagined Stonewall beside him in later battles, facing Grant in the Wilderness. “If Jackson had been alive and there, he would have crushed the enemy!”

For General Lee and for Americans ever since, the untimely death of Stonewall Jackson is the great “what if” of Civil War history. Jackson shaped the war in the Eastern theater with his aggressive tactics. His absence not only changed Confederate operations and Southern morale, but the tactical methods of General Lee.

“I know not how to replace him,” Robert E. Lee said at Stonewall Jackson’s funeral.

To borrow a phrase, Chief Justice Roberts looked like he came directly from central casting

A photograph of Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. and Associate Justice John Paul Stevens, taken following Roberts’ oath-taking and signed by both on the mat, went to auction in May 2017.

By Jim O’Neal

At noon on Sept. 12, 2005, I was glued to the TV to watch the start of the Senate Judiciary Committee. Chairman Arlen Specter gaveled the committee to order to consider the nomination of Judge John Glover Roberts Jr. as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Day one included Judge Roberts’ introduction of his family and friends in attendance, followed by four short speeches by prominent senators advocating for his confirmation. This abbreviated session was to accommodate the short attention spans of Roberts’ two young children. The meeting was adjourned for the day with the formal occasion to resume the following morning.

As an amateur connoisseur of great speeches and the courtroom drama that testimony in front of Congress can engender, I was impatient for the next day. I was not disappointed. Judge Roberts, dressed in a black suit and starched white shirt and tie (but without his customary gold cuff links) looked like he was out of central casting. He assumed his seat after the customary swearing-in ritual. However, what was strikingly different was the starkness. The table where he sat and made his opening statement was devoid of items. Not a single note, pen or even a glass of water. One man sitting all alone looking up at 18 senators (nearly half of them partisan enemies hoping to derail his career), while he looked totally relaxed, confident and alert.

Devoid of any speeches or even cue cards, he politely thanked several and transitioned to his Indiana roots, referring to “the limitless fields punctuated only by a silo or barn.” It evoked an image of Middle America that effortlessly transported the entire committee back to their own memories of growing up. It was a flawless finesse that allowed him to exclude any reference to his life in the exclusive Long Beach community on Lake Michigan or his selective education at La Lumiere, a college prep school where a jacket and tie were required for classes and the dining hall. He graduated No. 1 in his class in 1973 and was the school’s first Harvard-bound student. Naturally, he graduated from Harvard summa cum laude in 1976, and graduated magna cum laude from Harvard Law.

He would let others plump his resume, while he edited himself down to a plainspoken, modest Midwesterner. Janet Malcolm commented in The New Yorker: “Watching Roberts on television was like watching one of the radiantly wholesome heroes that Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda played. It was out of the question that such a man be denied a place on the Supreme Court.”

Roberts was aware of the value of including a vivid metaphor, quotable line or a phrase to memorialize the event and he picked a good one. “Judges are like umpires. Umpires don’t make the rules, they apply them. The role of a judge and an umpire is critical. They make sure everyone plays by the rules, but it is a limited role. Nobody ever went to a ballgame to see the umpire.” That is now a common definition often used when needed.

It was a twist of fate that John Roberts was being interviewed for Chief Justice. On July 19, 2005, President Bush had nominated him to fill the vacancy created by the retirement of Justice Sandra Day O’Connor. While this nomination was still pending, on Sept. 3 Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist died from thyroid cancer. During the process of selecting Justice O’Conner’s replacement, Bush had solicited the opinion of several young lawyers in the White House. One was Brett Kavanaugh, who had been nominated to the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. Kavanaugh told him that both Roberts and Samuel Alito would be solid choices, but the tiebreaker would be who was most capable of convincing their colleagues through persuasion and strategic thinking. On this basis, Roberts was clearly the best.

After the Hurricane Katrina disaster that August, President Bush had no appetite for controversy. Reports on Judge Roberts’ interviews in the Senate were going so well that he changed Roberts’ nomination to Chief Justice. That would delay the O’Conner replacement for several months and the court would have to operate with only eight members. This was fortunate, since a highly unqualified Harriet Miers, who worked for Bush in the White House, was the lead candidate to replace O’Conner … and with more time to consider her credentials, saner heads prevailed.

The next three days of hearings offered an exquisite buffet for addicts like me. It started with a round of 10 minutes per senator and it was mildly amusing when Senator Joe Biden’s pontificating took so long that he ran out of time before asking a single question. Judge Roberts displayed remarkable intellect – and a wry sense of humor – when discussing important Supreme Court cases. When Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina asked Roberts what he would like future historians to say about him, Roberts joked: “I’d like for them to start by saying, ‘He was confirmed!’”

Questions fell into a regular rhythm and Roberts answered them almost effortlessly. In addition to his education and experience, the “Murder Boards” – the phrase used for pre-hearing rehearsals – must have really fine-tuned every aspect of what was anticipated. Even today, prospective nominees study the tapes of his hearing as part of their preparation. I got the feeling he was being polite to a bunch of partisan senators (all lawyers) without acting too condescending.

Senator Chuck Schumer of New York became so frustrated at one point he said, “Why don’t we just concede John Roberts is the smartest guy in the room.” In another memorable exchange, Schumer complained, “You agree we should be finding out your philosophy, and method of legal reasoning, modesty, stability, but when we try to find out what modesty and stability mean, what your philosophy means, we don’t get any answers. It’s as if I asked you what kind of movies you like. Tell me two or three good movies and you say, ‘I like movies with good acting. I like movies with good directing. I like movies with good cinema photography.’ And I ask, no, give me an example of a good movie, you don’t name one. I say, give me an example of a bad movie, you won’t name one, and I ask you if you like Casablanca, and you respond by saying lots of people like Casablanca.”

Senator Specter started to cut Schumer when Roberts interrupted, “I’ll be very succinct. First, Doctor Zhivago, and North by Northwest.” Yes, there was laughter in the room.

Roberts made it out of the Judiciary Committee on a vote of 13-5 as Democrats found creative excuses to vote no. Then it was on to the full Senate, where he was confirmed 78-22. The 50-year-old Roberts became the youngest Chief Justice since 1801, when the venerable John Marshall (46) was selected.

The Chief Justice is mentioned only once in the Constitution, but not in Article 3, which establishes the judiciary. It is in Article 1, covering Congress, and it says the Chief Justice presides over the Senate during any impeachment of the president (Article 1 Section 3 Clause 6).

The framers vested the Senate with the “sole power to try impeachment” for several reasons. First, they believed senators would be better educated, more virtuous and more high-minded than members of the House. Secondly, it was to avoid the possible conflict of interest of a vice president presiding over the removal of the one official standing between him and the presidency. Of our 45 presidents and 17 Chief Justices, only Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton have been impeached, with Samuel Chase and William Reinquist presiding over their trials. Both were acquitted.

Buffalo Bill and troupe created Wild West myth that remains with us today

A rare matched pair of A. Hoen & Co. posters promoting Buffalo Bill’s Wild West sold for $31,070 at a June 2012 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In 1601, William Shakespeare wrote in Twelfth Night: “Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.”

In Shakespearean times, greatness was often equated with fame. But, as the Bard pointed out, although people may become famous in a myriad of ways, fame (per se) was predicated most often on the idea of “greatness.” People were famous because they were important in some way.

For most of human history, few individuals in each generation actually achieved great fame. And that fame was usually derived from actions of consequence in politics, war, religion, science or other ways that deeply affected society. However, being famous is not the same as being a celebrity. Many celebrities will never do anything important at all, unless entertainment is loosely interpreted.

Modern celebrity is a relatively recent phenomenon. Before the 20th century, few people were famous without accomplishment. That changed with the advent of national magazines, followed by radio, movies, television and, most recently, the internet and social media. Yet even as the 20th century debuted, many Americans began to look back with a lingering nostalgia for the past. People in the new industrial cities of the Midwest and East began yearning for the fading vision of the Old West. It enveloped even those who had never ventured West of the Mississippi, perhaps as a wistful item to see before it disappeared.

Right on cue was a ready-made version of that romanticized history by one of the 20th century’s first celebrities. William Frederick “Buffalo Bill” Cody (1846-1917) was intimately familiar with the often brutal reality of the 19th century. As a boy in Kansas, he witnessed firsthand his father being attacked and stabbed for his vocal anti-slavery views. At 15, he was one of the short-lived Pony Express riders, followed by stints as a fur trapper, bullwhacker, “Fifty-Niner” (in Colorado), Army scout and, of course, buffalo hunter.

After the Civil War, Cody worked for the Army, sometimes helping to track, fight and even kill American Indians. He worked as a buffalo hunter (technically American bison) on the Great Plains, slaughtering the great beasts to help feed the troops. But he also had a keen eye on fame and a flair for self-promotion. In his late 20s, this led to working as an actor in travelling Wild West road shows.

This new form of entertainment was a live, open-air variety show where crowds were awed by noisy displays of skill involving trick riding, sharp shooting and rope tricks. But the primary crowd-pleasers were large-scale dramatizations of daring Western stories. These were typically battles between “Americans” and Indians in full war paint with galloping horses.

While promoters made wild claims about the authenticity of the battle stories, in general they were greatly fictionalized or, at a minimum, highly exaggerated. Audiences were enthralled by these largely false, heroic re-enactments of the cruel, brutal conquest of American Indians as the United States “tamed” the West. They inspired Cody, then a youngish 33, to publish his memoir, The Life and Adventures of Buffalo Bill.

It provided a handy springboard for his own road show in 1883: Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. Earlier, his life and adventures had been sensationalized in a series of dime novels by E.Z.C. Judson (alias Ned Buntline) and his fame gained an international flair as just “Buffalo Bill.” Cody then spent the better part of three decades touring the United States with a large company of entertainers. Among them were American Indian people from the West, which resulted in a somewhat complicated relationship. However, the shows provided them with decent wages and a welcome escape from the grinding poverty of the reservations they eschewed.

Meanwhile, white performers like “Wild Bill” Hickok and Annie Oakley were developing their own celebrity status. Annie regarded Buffalo Bill as “the kindest, simplest, most loyal man I ever knew.” He called her the “Champion Shot of the World.” Unlike much of the highly fictionalized show, Oakley was the real deal. Born Phoebe Ann Mosey in 1860, she learned to shoot as a child to help feed the family. Years later, while competing in a shooting contest, she met her future husband, traveling-show sharpshooter Frank E. Butler (whom she defeated when he missed the last of 25 balls and Annie hit all 25). When the couple joined Buffalo Bill’s extravaganza, Annie took the spotlight and Frank became her manager. They were married for 50 years and he died three weeks before her death.

In one example of her dazzling act, Butler would swing a glass ball at the end of a string, and Annie, with her back turned, sited the moving target and shot it with her gun slung over her shoulder. She was universally admired and Chief Sitting Bull (another star of the show) called her “Miss Sure Shot.”

Buffalo Bill sensed there was a big opportunity in Europe and in 1887 his troupe sailed off to London with 180 horses, 18 buffalo, 97 American Indians and a full-size Western stagecoach. The show was an exceptional success in England, where enormous crowds had gathered for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. The queen even attended a performance and reportedly called Annie “a very clever little girl.”

A second trip to Paris in 1889 to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution was even more successful. Millions attended the Paris Exposition with Cody’s “Buffalodrum” the clear favorite. The tour was extended to include the Pope and then on to Berlin, where Kaiser Wilhelm reportedly had Annie shoot a cigar out of his mouth. Annie later quipped a fatal miss could have prevented World War I (the young Kaiser played a major role in launching the war). She was such a success that the King of Senegal wanted to buy her for 100,000 Francs.

By 1900, Buffalo Bill was one of the most famous Americans in the world. He had achieved his celebrity by offering people an idealized version of the complicated and tumultuous 19th century American West. Perhaps more than anyone else, Bill, Annie and their troupe of cowboys and Indians created the myth of the Wild West that remains with us today.

Our country is a better place because of Horace Greeley

A rare 1872 presidential campaign banner for Horace Greeley and Benjamin Gratz Brown sold for $38,750 at a November 2018 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In his autobiography, Horace Greeley made a critical observation when he wrote: “Having loved and devoured newspapers, I early resolved to be a printer if I could.” Not only was he able to fulfill his resolution, but a strong case exists that he was probably the preeminent printer/editor of the 18th century, easily surpassing Ben Franklin, James Gordon Bennett and the other prominent American editors.

Newspapers had started as a modest sideline for printers before they evolved into a potent force leading the inexorable push in support of American independence. It is telling that the founders, who debated for months over the construction of the Constitution and made many compromises in the process, easily agreed on the value of a free and independent press. The very first Amendment to this sacred document guaranteed freedom of the press and it is still the first one to be defended yet today without any controversy. In addition, the Postal Service Act of 1792 established generous subsidies to ensure widespread circulation (under the law, a newspaper was delivered to subscribers for only 1 penny up to 100 miles away).

As a child, Greeley (1811-1872) demonstrated a remarkable affinity for the printed word. He learned to read by age 3, and polished off the entire Bible two years later before starting on John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress – a Christian allegory (1678) cited as the first novel written in English. This purportedly was followed by the Arabian Nights.

He had an encyclopedic memory crammed with dates, facts and significant events. Children with these mental abilities typically had little time for physical ability and Greeley was no exception. He was of little use in planting crops, tending animals or simply cavorting with other children. However, he was so obviously intelligent that a wealthy neighbor offered to send him to the prestigious Phillips Exeter Academy and then on to college. The Greeley family refused to accept any form of charity and Horace became even more determined to be successful.

In 1826, he accepted a position as a printer’s apprentice and in his spare time he read his way through the town’s public library. By 1831, he had migrated to New York City, trying his hand at various jobs involving printing, but with only modest success. Within three years, he was able to publish the first issue of The New-Yorker, an inexpensive literary magazine that failed during the Panic of 1837.

Undaunted, in 1840 he borrowed $1,000 and with the remnants of The New-Yorker started the now famous New-York Tribune. His timing was perfect and the Tribune was a success nearly from the first issue. Greeley had developed a revolutionary credo that was quickly adopted by the masses … the simple premise that newspapers should be printed to both entertain and inform the entire community. His competition had adopted a style that was limited to narrow petty issues, private interests and too many advertisements for shady schemes.

Greeley’s success as a publisher was primarily due to his bold thinking, daring imagination and total rejection of the stifling precedent that was so common. He literally invented the modern-style newspaper, much as Thomas Edison invented the light bulb. Those countless hours of reading had given him a discriminating taste and an eye for superior printing that hadn’t existed.

For three decades in the middle of the 19th century (1840-70), his pen produced a virtual torrent of essays, articles and books that earned him a reputation as a highly respected printer/editor in the newspaper vortex of New York. Inevitably, politics became his area of expertise, altering the form and content in new and exciting ways. Many believe he personally created modern journalism, proclaiming, “He chases rascals, not dollars.”

He was described as having a weird appearance … tall and angular with a head, torso and limbs that didn’t match. This was a perfect match for the range of topics he eagerly promoted: socialism (hiring Karl Marx to extoll the virtues), vegetarianism, agrarianism, feminism (he supported black suffrage but not for women), temperance and anti-trust (60 years before Teddy Roosevelt). He was anti-slavery but not for abolition, and was willing to let slave states secede at will (they will come back … no need for war).

This whole story came to an end in 1872 when he felt compelled to challenge President Ulysses S. Grant. Despite being one of the founders of the Republican Party, he had exposed a devastating list of crimes, corruption and incompetence that Grant had to be held accountable for. In a twist, the Democrats – who didn’t have their own candidate – nominated Greeley as a Liberal Republican!

Greeley died 30 days before the election and Grant had a reasonable second term.

Our country was a better place because of Horace Greeley.

This strange-appearing man – who managed to make Abraham Lincoln look debonair, who was too frightened to play baseball, yet who had the temerity to mingle with frenzied crowds taunting him after he paid the bail for Jefferson Davis after the Civil War – set a standard for personal ethics that still stands, although lost in the mist of history.

My question for Benjamin Franklin might surprise you

A copy of *The Pennsylvania Gazette* from May 9, 1754, which includes the earliest publication of the most celebrated editorial cartoon in American history – Benjamin Franklin’s woodcut illustration “Join, or Die” – sold for $53,775 at an April 2012 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

I suppose that most people interested in history have given consideration to the traditional question, “Who would you like to have dinner with?” There are many excellent choices, but my personal No. 1 is Benjamin Franklin and his youngest sister, Jane Franklin Mecom. I’d select “Benny and Jenny” (as they were called) since they were so close and corresponded with each other over a string of 60 years.

Jane did not attend any school and Franklin ended up teaching her how to read. She survived him by four years, until 1794, and subsisted almost exclusively on an allowance from Benjamin that included a house until she died. The house was then converted into a monument to Paul Revere. Of her 12 children, she survived all but one. At the time, 25 percent of all children died before their 10th birthday. It was so routine that, from a religious standpoint, children were taught not to fear death.

I would invite Jane to my dinner simply to get a female’s perspective on life in the 18th century. Much of what we know about those times is slanted to a narrow slice of the population (i.e. white males who were landowners). Benjamin was never really committed to religion. Asked about his views when he was near the end, he ducked it by saying he’d never really studied it and would soon be able to find out with a degree of certainty.

The choice of Benjamin might seemingly appear to be obvious: He was a polymath of the first order (a 20th century term reserved for exceptional people). Some rank him on a level with Leonardo da Vinci, despite the stark difference in versatility in creative arts. Even Walter Issacson, who wrote biographies of both men, describes Franklin as “the most accomplished American of his age and influential in inventing the type of society America would become.”

Consider his resume as inventor, diplomat, printer, politics, scientist, the postal system and wit as a writer. It would have to be a l-o-n-g dinner to touch on even a partial list of accomplishments. Besides, there are dozens of modern books on every single topic available on an e-reader in a matter of seconds. Why waste time listening to his dated thinking, which has been overtaken by later experts?

Benjamin Franklin was born in Boston in 1706, which means it was during the reign of Anne, Queen of England, Scotland and Ireland (1702-07). On May 7, 1707, under the Acts of Union, the kingdoms of England and Scotland united as a single sovereign state known as Great Britain. She continued to reign as Queen of Great Britain and Ireland until her death in 1714. Anne was in ill health for much of her life and despite 17 pregnancies, died without any surviving. Under the Act of Settlement (1701), which excluded all Catholics, she was succeeded by a second cousin, George I of the House of Hanover (a German Royal House).

George III became King of Great Britain and Ireland in 1760 at age 22 following the sudden death of his grandfather George II. In his accession speech to Parliament, he played down his Hanoverian connection. “Born and educated in this country,” he said, “I glory in the name of Britain!” In his long life (81 years), George never traveled beyond England … not to Ireland, to the continent, not even to Scotland and most certainly never to America. As an aside, none of his ministers had been to the New World. They had no idea that America had a population of 2.5 million that was doubling every 25 years, a growth rate never seen in recorded history. George III would reign for 59 years, longer than any of his predecessors and only exceeded by two queens: Victoria and Elizabeth II.

He was aware of the outcome of the French and Indian War (the Seven Years’ War that lasted nine years, 1754-1763) that was resolved by the Treaty of Paris. The spoils were perhaps the greatest ever won by force. Britain took Canada from France and half a billion acres of fertile land from the Mississippi River and the Appalachian Mountains. Florida and the Gulf Coast were ceded by Spain. Britain emerged with the most powerful navy in history and with 8,000 sails, the world’s largest merchant fleet. George Macartney penned the still well-known descriptor of “this vast empire on which the sun never sets.”

Ten years later in June 1773, King George III participated in a great celebration of his reign over the greatest empire since ancient Rome. However, at the end of the next decade, Britain’s bright future had dimmed by a series of provocative taxes levied on his increasingly rebellious American Colonies: 1764’s Sugar Tax, 1765’s Stamp Act and, finally, the Tea Tax that provoked the Boston Tea Party and lead directly to April 18, 1775, and the Battle of Lexington and Concord and the American Revolution.

The war would last eight years and though at least 1 in 10 Americans would die for the cause, the treasure was beyond measure: freedom from oppression and the creation of a new republic. This is my conversation for Benjamin Franklin. What happened on Jan. 29, 1774, that transformed him from a conciliator to a revolutionary … from a loyalist to the British Crown to “the First American?” … and exactly what role did the Hutchinson Letters Affair play?

The God question can wait, but I would like to know if Benjamin has a sense of humor … and what makes him laugh.