252: ‘CAUSE I LIVE AND BREATHE THIS PHILADELPHIA FREEDOM

The early afternoon of Monday June 12, 2023 was hot and humid when my photographer, Bob Moldenhauer, and I arrived in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Since it was only 1:20pm, we had exactly two hours to kill before our tour of Independence Hall was scheduled to start. We had made such good time driving into town from Trenton, the only thing we had to fear, was fear itself – and the possibility of a thunderstorm that was brewing in the empty sky towards the southwest.

The three of us had visited The City of Brotherly Love on May 23, 2021, but due to the lasting effects of the Covid pandemic, combined with National Park Service staffing issues, we weren’t able to get inside several of the historic buildings, including Independence Hall. But now we were back, and I was ready to shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind. From the day I was born, I’ve waved the flag of freedom; it was now time for me to take on Philadelphia Freedom like never before.

Our first historic site was located on Market Street and was a short one-block walk from the Independence Visitor Center. While the Declaration House was closed two years earlier, my companions figured for sure the historic home, once known as the Graff House, would undoubtedly be open to the public in the summer of 2023. But as soon as we arrived at the public entrance gate behind the building, that’s when the whip or will of freedom zapped me, right between the eyes. The house where Thomas Jefferson wrote America’s Declaration of Independence was closed due to the 2013 United States Budget Sequestration. While it’s true the original historic home owned by bricklayer Jacob Graff had endured many alterations before it was ultimately demolished in 1883, the 3 1/2-story brick building in front of me was constructed in the footprint of Graff’s home in 1975. How could our government officials, including President Barack Obama in 2013, have an open checkbook when it comes to helping other countries, but they won’t provide sufficient funding for the upkeep and staffing of the Declaration House? I was completely flabbergasted and totally disgusted.

As I stood in front of the historic Graff House reproduction, I thought about the irony of what occurred in a second-floor rented room of that house. On June 11, 1776, Thomas Jefferson arrived at the house, but he wasn’t alone. With him was Robert Hemings, a 14-year-old enslaved boy who came to Philadelphia with Jefferson. While the 33-year-old Sage of Monticello sat in the room and penned the words “We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal” onto a piece of paper, a young teenager watched from a dark corner in the room. Would Robert ever know the true meaning of those words, even though they originated from the mind of his own father?

Back out front of the replica house, I was in my glory – I had been transformed back in time to June 28, 1776. I watched as Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingston left the house in front of me and headed out by carriage towards the Pennsylvania State House. That Committee of Five had made alterations to Jefferson’s original draft and they were about to present the document to Congress for a vote.

Then out of nowhere, I heard a woman, who appeared to be strung-out on something, axe my two friends for a handout. Suddenly, I was whisked back to 2023, where too many people in the big cities are in search of life, liberty, and the pursuit of spare change. One part of me has compassion for certain people, because I don’t know their backstory. Maybe they truly are down on their luck and have been dealt a bad hand from the deck of life. But the other part of me believes everyone in this country has an equal opportunity to make something of themselves, but some choose to look for an excuse instead of working hard, obeying the laws, and making a positive impact on society.

The three of us walked back along Market Street, which was likely the same route used by the Committe of Five as they headed for the State House. With still over an hour to go before we needed to check-in for our 3:20pm tour of Independence Hall, Bob decided he wanted to visit Christ Church, which was several blocks away, while Tom opted to hang out on Independence Mall and bask in the historical atmosphere. That move worked out well for my rotund, out-of-shape photographer as Mongo discovered both the historic church and its grounds, as well as the Christ Church Cemetery, had already closed for the day.

Before Tom and I walked to see the front of Independence Hall, we spent roughly ten minutes at the President’s House Site, which was an open-air memorial built on the original footprint of the mansion where Presidents George Washington and John Adams lived while in office. While I had posed at the site in 2021, my photographer decided to let me pose there again this time.

The President’s House, or Executive Mansion, was a 3 1/2-story brick home originally built in 1767 for widow Mary Lawrence Masters. Five years later, she gave the house to her oldest daughter, Polly, as a wedding gift after she married Richard Penn, a grandson of William Penn. At one point, Benedict Arnold had lived there as well. As a matter of fact, Arnold was living in that home when he began his secret correspondences with the British that got him in a lot of hot water. In 1781, the mansion was purchased by Robert Morris, a delegate to the Second Continental Congress and a Signer of the Declaration of Independence. Nine years later, Morris gave up his house for his friend, George Washington, to use as his Executive Mansion while the Signer moved to the house next door. Washington lived in the home from May 1790 until his second term ended in March 1797. John Adams lived in the mansion from March 4, 1797 until he left for Washington D.C, on May 30, 1800, which was when he moved into the partially completed White House. The original brick house stood for another three decades after Adams left Philadelphia before it was demolished in 1832.

Tom carried me to the house site and sat me on one of the front windows of the structure. Of the thousands of Presidential sites I’ve visited in the past, there isn’t one with a more compelling paradox than the President’s House. In one single footprint of an old building, visitors are emersed in the world of slavery versus freedom under one roof. The legacies of Presidents and enslaved people were treated with equality at the site; a site that’s just several hundred yards from the shadow of Independence Hall and situated next to the Liberty Bell.

It’s no secret that President George Washington brought eight of his enslaved people from Mount Vernon to Philadelphia where they lived and worked at the Executive Mansion. Those people were Austin, Paris, Hercules, Christopher Sheels, Richmond, Giles, Oney Judge, and Moll. President Washington added a ninth enslaved person, Joe Richardson, who was brought to the President’s House five years into George’s residency after Austin had died in Maryland. During the seven years George and Martha resided at the mansion, the President was forced to rotate the enslaved workers out every six months due to Pennsylvania’s slave laws. Eventually, he replaced most of his enslaved workers with German indentured servants.

As I stood on a section of the reproduced skeleton of the Executive Mansion, I thought about George and Martha, John and Abigail, living in that home. But when I looked in the distance and saw Independence Hall, the Cradle of American Liberty and Freedom, I thought about the enslaved people who lived within those walls as well. When Oney Judge, or Hercules, or any of the other enslaved workers heard the large bell ring from the State House steeple, they knew in their broken hearts it wasn’t ringing for them.

Once Tom and I had spent time at the President’s House site and then across the street from Independence Hall, we found a park bench along the Mall where we sat in silence. It gave him and me time to reflect on where we were. In my mind, I knew I used to be a heart beatin’ for someone, but the times have changed. The less I say, the more my work gets done. I used to be a rolling stone, you know, if a cause was right. I’d leave, to find the answer on the road. And that road was Chestnut Street, which was where Tom and I headed after our thirty-minute break had expired.

At roughly 2:45pm, the two of us reunited with Bob in front of Old City Hall before we proceeded through the NPS security screening, which was conducted in the East Wing of Independence Hall. Once my companions and I had passed through security, we had roughly twenty-five minutes to walk around within the secluded area near Independence Hall, Congress Hall, and Independence Square.

As the three of us sat in Independence Square and waited for our tour guide to arrive, I saw a flash of lightning in the distance, which was followed by a low rumble of thunder. When I felt a few raindrops land on my resin head, I was immediately whisked back in time to July 2, 1776. At that moment, I heard the sound of a galloping horse as it approached from behind me. Through the rain and lightning, I saw the rider, who wore a wet, green scarf over part of his face. He looked soaked to the skin, but a resolute gleam shone from his eyes. The rider dismounted the horse after his 90-mile ride, then bolted through the door of the State House, in his boots and spurs, to cast the deciding vote in favor of independence for Delaware. Thus, was born the legend of Caesar Rodney, one of my heroes.

At precisely 3:20pm, Tom carried me into Independence Hall for the first time. I was spellbound, my painted resin eyes were taking in every nuance of the interior. While our large group gathered just inside the Pennsylvania Supreme Court Chamber, my attention was focused on the Assembly Room behind us. That was the room where two of the most historical events in American history took place – the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776 and the United States Constitution in 1787.

I had small, resin goosebumps all over my body when my photographer carried me inside the Assembly Room. I couldn’t take my eyes off the Speaker’s table with the original Rising Sun Chair behind it. The room featured two rows of tables, each covered with green heavy woolen tablecloths and arranged in a semi-circular pattern. The north side of the room was designated for the northern states, while the south side was for the southern delegates. While there were dozens of Windsor chairs in the room, none were original to the historic State House as British soldiers had burned all of the furniture for firewood during their occupation of the building.

Suddenly, I became emersed in what I can only describe as an out-of-resin-body experience. Tom and Bob, along with our entire tour group, were gone. I found myself standing alone on one of the window ledges on the north side of the room. It was August 2, 1776, and it was extremely hot inside the State House. Flies were buzzing everywhere, I could smell the odor of a room full of sweaty men, and the stench of horse manure permeated through the open windows. I stood in silent awe and watched as President John Hancock penned his now-famous signature onto the Declaration of Independence. Then one by one, I heard the roll call of each delegate before they gallantly approached the table and dipped their quill pens into the magic ink contained within silver Syng inkstand. At one point, just after Rhode Island delegate Stephen Hopkins filled his pen with ink, I heard him say as he steadied his right hand with the left: “My hand trembles, but my heart does not.” The brave patriot had severe palsy in his hands, which caused them to shake uncontrollably as he scribbled his name onto the document. The never-ending stream of delegates walked up to the table and signed their names onto the document – it was spellbinding to watch. Each name, when read aloud, seemed so familiar to me. Then I saw an old man, sporting long hair and eyeglasses, stand up with his fist raised towards the ceiling. He said in a loud, and resolute voice: “We must all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately.” Just as the room filled with laughter, they were gone in an instant. Every chair in the Assembly Room was once again empty. As for me, I was back in my photographer’s hand, and Moldenhauer was standing next to us. But for some strange reason, I could tell they had experienced the same moment I had.

As I once again posed for a countless number of photos in the Assembly Room, I heard Bob recite a quote from the movie ‘National Treasure’ – it was a quote that might be one of the best movie lines in cinema history. As Ben Gates, played by Nicolas Cage, unrolled the stolen Declaration of Independence inside the Assembly Room, he paused for a moment and told his friends Abigail Chase and Riley Poole: “The last time this was here, it was being signed.”

Our time inside Independence Hall had come to an end, but it was some of the most patriotic twenty-five minutes I’ve ever spent. Everywhere I looked, I saw one of our Founding Fathers smiling back at me. They were there, each and every one of them, and their words were as fresh today as they were 247 years ago – “For the support of this declaration, with firm reliance on the protection of the divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.” In my mind, it was that same divine providence that has helped my friends and me along our journey through American history.

While we were inside the State House, the storm had come and gone, or so it seemed. It had stopped raining, but the sidewalks behind the building were wet and I heard thunder in the distance. The three of us needed our divine providence to stave off the bad weather as we still had fifteen minutes to wait before we could get inside Congress Hall at four o’clock. My photographer took me inside the historic building in 2021 where I saw the House of Representatives Chamber on the first floor, but Covid protocols had prevented us from visiting the Senate Chamber on the second floor. It was in that Senate Chamber where President George Washington was inaugurated for his second term in office, and that was the main reason I was hell-bent on getting inside – whether or not we got soaked or struck by lightning.

As we waited for the four o’clock hour, the three of us went inside the West Wing of Independence Hall, which featured an exhibit called Great Essentials. While that exhibit featured a lot of reading material and images from the past, there was one piece on display that could rival any historic artifact in any museum in the world – the original Syng inkstand used by the Continental Congress delegates to sign the Declaration of Independence and United States Constitution. When Tom placed me alongside the small case where the iconic inkstand was displayed, I thought about the men in American history who not only saw that very artifact with their own eyes, but they likely touched it with their hands as well. Those men included Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, Alexander Hamilton, John Adams, James Madison, Robert Moldenhauer, and Thomas Watson. Okay, those last two characters might not be as famous as the first six, but Bob and Tom did touch the Syng inkstand on June 4, 1991. The NPS had allowed the pair to photograph their replica copies of the Declaration of Independence after they had placed them next to the inkstand. At that time, the artifact was still in the Assembly Room. During that moment, which became one of the many highlights during their trip, Tom and Bob “accidentally” touched the historic relic.

When the hands of the clock located high on the steeple of Independence Hall read four o’clock, my companions and I, along with a small group of other visitors, entered Congress Hall. At first, I hoped to see NPS Ranger Lauren Huckle, who had personally placed me on the Speaker’s Stand in the House Chamber two years earlier. Lauren seemed pretty cool and interested about my endeavors. But on that day, our tour guide was a ranger named Savannah – and that worked out just fine. Savannah seemed very laid back, knowledgeable, and she allowed us to have the run of the place, at least to some extent.

It seemed great to be back inside the House Chamber, as it was where John Adams took the Presidential Oath of Office on March 4, 1797. When Adams became our second President, it marked our nation’s first peaceful transfer of power and proved to the entire world our Democracy was working. And our country continued that Constitutional peaceful transfer of power for 224 years until it was jeopardized and nearly destroyed in 2021.

Besides the John Adams inauguration in the House Chamber, there were at least two other Presidential connections with the historic room. The first was Thomas Jefferson, who, as Vice President under Adams, took the Oath of Office on the Speaker’s platform. And the other turned out to be a duo connection, which I got a first-hand look at. Just before we headed to the second floor, Tom placed me on a table located in front of the Speaker’s platform. That table, or one of the two tables, was the used by President-elect Barack Obama and Vice President-elect Joe Biden during the National Governors Association Conference on December 2, 2008. I found it ironic because the main topic for the 2008 conference was the economic crisis in our nation, which was discussed at great length between Obama, Biden, and the governors. And now, fifteen years later, President Biden is still at the center of an economic crisis – one that seems to be growing by the day with no end in sight, at least until January 2025.

Savannah led our group up a set of stairs to the second floor of Congress Hall where I got my first look at the Senate Chamber. While I thought the House Chamber looked cool, the upstairs Senate Chamber was majestically awesome – albeit a lot smaller. Although the carpet on the floor was only an identical replica of the original, 29 of the 32 chairs in the room were original to building when Philadelphia’s Congress Hall served as the new nation’s temporary Capitol Building. The highlight for me, and the main reason for returning to Congress Hall, was the fact President George Washington was inaugurated for his second term in that room on March 4, 1793. When Washington delivered his inaugural address to the Senate, it was only 135 words long – which is still a record today for the shortest inaugural speech.

After I posed for several images in the Senate Chamber, Savannah mentioned the room had been renovated over the years and the spot where Washington took the oath of office was likely in the hallway just outside the chamber’s doors. Of course, Tom and I both knew I had to pose in the hallway and hope I was standing in the footsteps of our first President.

We had spent roughly 90 minutes in and around Independence Hall and Congress Hall, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to leave. I could’ve stayed in Independence Square for hours, deep in thought about where I was standing. But it was already 4:30 in the afternoon and my companions had thoughts of visiting the grave of Declaration Signer Thomas McKean in Laurel Hill Cemetery, which was located nearly seven miles north of Independence Hall.

Tom carried me across Chestnut Street as the three of us headed towards the Independence Visitor Center parking lot where we had left the Explorer. However, as soon as we got to the area near the Liberty Bell Center, and my companions discovered there was no line to get inside, I found myself going through the NPS security screening process. In 2021, during our last visit to the City of Brotherly Love, Tom, Bob, and I waited in line for over an hour to see the Liberty Bell. However, on that late afternoon, with the threat of another thunderstorm in the air, I found myself posing alongside the iconic symbol of liberty in less than ten minutes.

The one-ton, four-foot-tall, bell-shaped, cracked chunk of copper and tin has been one of the main symbols of freedom in our country since it rang from the Philadelphia State House on July 8, 1776. From my close proximity alongside the iconic bell, I saw the inscription that said it all – ‘Proclaim LIBERTY Throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants Thereof.’ During my last visit two years earlier, I got yelled at by the on-duty NPS ranger for touching the bell at the same spot where JFK had placed his hand in 1962. I couldn’t understand why. After all, I’ve heard my photographer tell a story that originated in 1986 where he ran his fingers up the entire crack, then he reached under her lip and touched the Liberty Bell’s clapper. But that can’t happen anymore. – at least not without getting yelled at. In 2001, a deranged idiot, who obviously had a bug up his clapper, ruined it for everyone when he hit the Liberty Bell with a hammer. Since that day, visitors are no longer allowed to touch it.

Even though my time posing next to the historic Liberty Bell lasted only a minute or two, it gave me a sense of patriotic pride when I saw it again. After all, the bell and I have something in common – although its crack can’t be filled with puddy and Gorilla Glue.

When the three of us left the Liberty Bell Center, the sky over Independence Mall had grown ominous and the threat of rain was imminent. Once again, I heard the rumble of distant thunder, which caused me to wonder if we’d be able to visit Laurel Hill Cemetery or not. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to get my answer.

As Tom drove out of the parking structure and began the journey into downtown Philadelphia, the sky opened up and rain pummeled the windshield with sheets of water. I could feel the Explorer shake from side to side as the wind gusts moved the vehicle around as though it was a toy car. And the worst part of all was, at least from my vantage point as I looked out from an opening in the camera case, the Explorer’s windshield wipers weren’t working very well. But that wasn’t all – it was fairly dark, even though it was only a little after five o’clock, and the rush hour traffic was horrendous – especially around the Philadelphia Museum of Art where Rocky Balboa ran up the steps. I thought about asking whether or not we were headed to see Thomas McKean’s grave, but I knew that wasn’t a good idea.

The weather, and the traffic, was terrible for roughly half of our 100-mile drive to York, Pennsylvania, where Bob had reserved a room for us at the Hampton Inn. Tired and hungry when we arrived in York at 7:30pm, my companions stopped at Jersey Mike’s where they bought their ‘Sub Above’ and had them for dinner at the hotel.

Once we were safe and sound in our room, Tom placed me alongside the television set where I spent the night alone with my thoughts. It had been an amazing day filled with historic sites – a day that began in Princeton and ended in Philadelphia. Some people choose the city, while others choose the good old family home. As for me, I love being on the road, travelling all around this great land of liberty.

In the darkness of our room, I saw the light of freedom shining down on me. And why? ‘Cause I live and breathe this Philadelphia Freedom!