Founders

William Brasse

The Printer 

Benjamin Franklin is not a large man, but he has a considerable stomach. You don’t notice it at first, as your eyes are drawn to his face, cheerful and benevolent. He doesn’t offer to shake my hand; perhaps that form of greeting has yet to become common. I ask him to tell me the story of America. He explains his stove, how it distributes heat more efficiently. I ask him about government. He shows me a lens and explains the principle of diffraction. I ask him about war, and he shakes his head, still smiling, still benevolent. He demonstrates his printing press, and I watch as he carefully positions the crisp, white paper.

The General 

George Washington is stiff and straight. Like a musket. Like a stick. Like the trees in this orchard. He pulls an apple from one, hands it to me, and explains its lineage. He looks at home in the midst of these trees. When I met him in the parlor, he appeared confined and uncomfortable. He is a man of considerable size, big enough to lift a soldier by his collar. He accepts hardship as his due; Valley Forge is etched into his mind. Yet he takes pride in the apple. 

The Scholar 

Thomas Jefferson loves to tinker. When I meet him, he is examining a clock, its works spread out across his desk. He explains gear ratios and admires the craftsmanship exhibited by the small, shiny teeth. He prods a ratchet with a sharpened turkey quill and tilts his head in the manner of birds. He crafted some of the most historical sentences the world has read, but now he has eyes only for the clock. I ask him about his years as president. He asks me to help him reassemble the clock, and I do so gladly. 

The End 

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