I'm Abraham Lincoln, and I approved this message.

As we approach the 150th anniversary of the election of 1860, it's natural to wonder how Lincoln would fare in the age of modern politics. One can only imagine how the great man, who preferred using reason rather than emotion to persuade voters, would have navigated the current political landscape. Can you imagine him using focus groups, taking polls, and running attack ads? Just picture it-Lincoln, after implying that his opponent didn't pay Social Security taxes on a nanny that was here illegally, sent racy text messages to a young campaign staffer,  and was in the pockets of teacher's unions, ends the ad with the words "I'm Abraham Lincoln, and I approved this message," spoken in a sharp, Kentucky backwoodsman twang that would grate on the ears of voters today like fingernails going down a chalkboard.

It's interesting to consider how Lincoln would fare in today's political climate, but to some extent it's a naive exercise, as he created key elements of it. For example, image-making is perhaps the most important component of modern politics, and Lincoln was a shrewd practitioner of the craft. Indeed, by allowing his people to market him not as an established railroad attorney, but the "rail splitter" during the election of 1860, Lincoln sent a clear message to the voters- that he was not afraid to role up his sleeves and confront the issues then tearing at the fabric of American democracy.

Perhaps Lincoln's greatest contribution to the practice of political image-making was his pioneering use of visual imagery. For example,  he was the first president to make extensive use of photography, using that medium to portray himself as a resolute commander-in-chief during the dark days of the Civil War. Indeed, when looking at the picture of steely resolve above, one gains a new appreciation for the cliche "the medium is the message," and voters got the message-that Lincoln meant to win the war, preserve the Union, and bear witness to a "new birth of freedom," loud and clear.

Brandywine reflections

I recently visited Brandywine Battlefield State Park while doing some research for an article I wrote about the Revolutionary War. I had not been there since I was a small child, and I didn't have any clear  memories of the place. Just some fleeting impressions of running through tall grass, games of badminton, and images of children playing in dappled sunlight beneath a stand of trees on a lost summer's day.

Of course, the paucity of my recollection should come as no surprise, as the mind's eye is limited in terms of the visual impressions it can conjure from childhood. However, mental images of relatively poor quality are typical not just of early childhood memories, but usually memories in general. As evidence of the relatively weak powers of visual memory, one need only compare its faded stores, faintly traced in the mind's eye by withering neural pathways, to the limpidness of perception in the here and now.

While the clarity of perception stands in contrast to the haziness of visual memory, under certain circumstances, there is something of a subjective fusion between the realms of remembering and perceiving, and the two psychological domains, normally so distinct to us, are bridged by a point of contact provided by sensory impressions. A common example of this can be found when looking at your reflection in the water; the image, usually soft and blurred, is not a faded memory trace, but an immediate sensory impression gathered by your eyes. And yet, the reflection seems to resemble not a perception, but a memory, with many of the hazy impressions that characterize the mind's attempt to travel backwards in the 4th dimension.

I cannot count among my remembrances of childhood visits to Brandywine Battlefield any memories of looking at my reflection in the Brandywine River. I seem to have dull impressions of rocks and rushing black water, but the haze of childhood anamnesis makes it difficult to know if these are memories of the Brandywine or someplace else. At any rate, at that age the appearance of one's reflection in the water likely creates nothing more than a whirling eddy of curiosity in a child's stream of consciousness.

I imagine, however, that for many of the American and British soldiers, scouting the banks of the river on a hot day in September of 1777, seeing their reflection in the water produced a deeper experience. They were, no doubt, acutely aware of their own mortality, and I wonder how many of them, when they stopped along the banks of the Brandywine for a drink, paused when they saw their dull image in the glassy surface of the water. They must have wondered if they would soon cross a threshold from the realm of the living to that of the remembered, where all of us will reside one day as faded sketches, until these too are washed  away by the inexorable river of time.

The life of Ben- change

It goes without saying that change is a part of life...

Sometimes change is thrust upon us, even if we didn't want it. And sometimes it forces us to live in ways we wouldn't choose to live. This kind of change, whether it be for better or worse, is beyond our control, and treats us like inanimate objects, buffeted about like dead leaves by the gales of fortune. 

Though change is sometimes forced upon us, there is another kind of change. There is change that we choose. We can choose to change many things about our lives. We can even choose change ourselves. Indeed, if , as some suggest, life is a play in a series of acts, are we not free to change character, costume, careers, or anything else, as we run the gamut from the opening to the drawing of the curtain?

On the world stage, few have been as adept at changing themselves as  Ben Franklin- the young man who left Boston and came to Philadelphia with only a few pennies in his pocket; the entrepreneur turned scientist who sold his business to investigate the wonders of electricity; the loyal subject of the English Crown who became a statesman and helped found a nation.

Indeed, Franklin's life reads as a virtual case study in how to reinvent oneself. Throughout his long and productive life, he did so time and time again. He was able to do this at least in part because he possessed a wide array of talents, but there was another crucial element in his self-actualization. Courage. He wasn't afraid to try new things. He didn't run from life. He started new businesses when there was certainly no guarantee of success. He began experimenting with electricity when the greatest minds in Europe had failed to understand its fundamental properties. And he signed a document of rebellion against the King of England knowing that if the revolution failed, he would be hanged and remembered not as a statesman and founding father, but a traitor.

So, no matter which way the winds of fortune may blow, don't be afraid to change yourself. Instead, fear the stagnation that comes with a safe and unchanging life, for as Poor Richard once noted, "When you're finished changing, you're finished."

Never stop reinventing yourself. Just one of the many things you can learn by studying the life of Ben.

The life of Ben-networking

I don't know about you, but I was always kind of embarrassed by the idea of networking. It seems like such a shameless and vain attempt at self-promotion. But then I learned a bit of wisdom by studying the life of Ben.

Franklin was a social, indeed gregarious man. He had many friends, and they were from all walks of life. For example, his philosophical discussion group the Junto consisted of cabinet makers, clerks, and cobblers.

According to Wikipedia, the Junto was rooted in the concept of "mutual improvement." Its members were expected to exchange information about politics, morality, philosophy, and business management.

Great things came from the Junto. This group later became the American Philosophical Society. The statue of Franklin shown above adorns the building that houses that great organization.

As Franklin showed through the creation of the Junto, networking doesn't just have to be about self-promotion. It can also be used to promote the common good. It can be used to promote friends, their ideas, and the things you care about.

Learning about Franklin and the Junto made me realize that I had networking all wrong. It's not just about me. It's about the things and people I believe in.

Networking for the common good. One of the many things you can learn by studying the life of Ben.

The crimes, follies, and misfortunes of Chester County - John Harper vs. a sow pig

A lawyer friend of mine once told me the law is not about seeking truth. It is, quite simply, a set of rules and procedures for resolving disputes. The truth may or may not emerge.

My friend was right. A day in court may or may not get to the bottom of what happened. But court cases have truth value in another way- their records preserve important details about people and the times in which they lived. 

This is clearly true of a case heard by West Chester justice of the peace John Graves on May 30th, 1795. One of Graves' neighbors on Walnut Street, Jonah Garret, owned a number of "free-range" pigs. One of them, a sow, dug around the gardens of  Turk's Head Tavern. The keeper of the tavern was Mr. John Harper. Harper sought damages against Jonah Garret for the sow's unpermitted foraging.

The loss to Mr. Garret was calculated at 7 shillings. Graves had the sow assessed at 14. He ordered that the  pig be sold or slaughtered, and Mr. Harper recompensed accordingly.

John Harper, justice Graves, Jonah Garret, and the pig have long since vanished. But Walnut Street remains. I walked down it last week, imagining a time when money was counted in shillings and the pigs roamed free.

We may think the world was simpler then, but this is an illusion. The municipal problems we face today are certainly ones people in the 18th century couldn't conceive of, but the reverse is also true - I suspect there aren't many residents in the borough these days who are bothered by free-ranging hogs. Life has always been complicated, and courts have existed throughout history to settle disputes in a peaceful fashion. For the historian, they also provide a glimpse of a lost world, with all of its crimes, follies, and misfortunes.

The crimes, follies, and misfortunes of Chester County- the arsons of the 1840's

In previous posts I have said history is something of an unsolvable mystery, and Father Time is a shadowy figure, here and then gone, always a step ahead of those who seek to solve his riddles. Unfortunately, this view seems particularly suited to the series of arsons that occurred in West Chester from August 1844 to September 1845. 

According to the book West Chester to 1865: That Elegant and Notorious Place, the first in a series of suspicious fires in the borough occurred on August 8th, 1844, when the barn of Mr. Anthony Bolmar was set ablaze. A $100 reward was offered for the arrest and conviction of the arsonist. An arrest was never made. 

The winter of 1844-1845 passed quietly, with no suspicious fires occurring in the borough. Then, on the night of Monday June 2 1845, the barn of the Black Bear Tavern was set ablaze. The Tavern was located in the center of town, and embers from the fire whirled eerily through the night sky onto the rooftops of nearby buildings, including the county courthouse and the county records building. Miraculously, firemen were able to contain the blaze, and the borough was spared a major disaster. However, residents were sufficiently spooked by the incident that on July 3rd, a town watch was established in response to "numerous attempts at incendiarism."

Unfortunately, the arsonist was undeterred- on the night of Sunday, August 31st, Enos Smedley's barn on West Gay Street was set on fire. The following Wednesday the borough burgesses posted a reward of $200 dollars for the person whose tip led to the arrest and conviction of the firebug.No arrest was made, and on September 11th, the stables of the Washington House Hotel, located in the most densely populated part of the borough, were set ablaze. Once again, the fire was contained, and the town dodged a bullet. No one was certain this was a case of arson, but the circumstances of the fire were suspicious, and the incident further frayed the nerves of already anxious borough residents.

The situation was by now reaching a fever pitch, but just when it seemed the residents could take no more, the arsons suddenly stopped. Though many were relieved the ordeal seemed to be over, an arrest was never made in the case, and there was no sense of closure for the residents. The identity of the arsonist remained  a mystery.   

While the identity of the arsonist will never be known, modern psychology and criminology allow us to make some educated guesses about the type of person who committed the crimes. According to psychologists, arsonists typically have a low IQ (between 70 and 90), and report feelings of intense anger. They turn to arson because they are unable to express their anger through appropriate channels. Many of them claim they had neglectful parents, who physically abused and humiliated them.

FBI statistics indicate that half of all arsonists are under the age of 18. Many of the remaining half are in their late 20's. Older arsonists are often motivated by profit (i.e., insurance money or putting a competitor out of business). 90% of arsonists are white males. Like the firebug of the 1840's, many of them are never caught.

The crimes, follies, and misfortunes of Chester County- the John Reed murder trials

The John Reed murder trials, which took place in 1821, offer clear support for Gibbon's wry assessment that "History..., is indeed, little more than a register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind." But not for the reasons you may think.

John Reed, an African American, had been a slave in Maryland before he came to live in Kennet Square. According to Reed, he was freed from slavery by the will of his master, and he came to Chester County around 1817 to start a new life as a free man.

On the night of December 14th, 1820, a group of men arrived at Reed's home. One of the men, Samuel G. Griffith, claimed that Reed was a runaway slave, and that Reed was his property. Reed was asked to come outside. He refused, and the men tried to force their way into his house. Reed shot Griffith as he tried to enter, and bludgeoned another man, Peter Shipley, with a club. Both men eventually died from their wounds. They had in their possession handcuffs and a length of rope.

Reed was arrested and put on trial for two counts of murder. He was acquitted in the murder of Griffith, but found guilty for the manslaughter of Peter Shipley. As punishment, Reed was sentenced to spend nine years in the Penitentiary house of Philadelphia.

Though Reed was convicted of manslaughter, the real crime in this case was slavery, the folly was putting a man on trial because he used force to protect his life and liberty, and though two men lost their lives as a result of what transpired the night of December 14th, 1820, one could argue they got what they deserved, and the real misfortune was Reed's, who ended up losing his freedom because he fought to keep it.