by Tim Black
“That sucks,” Heather whispered, but she wanted to scream. Slavery was so inhuman she thought. And because Nevill was a slave her children were property as well. That was monstrous, she thought.
Professor Bridenbaugh intervened. “Well, all was not for naught, Heather,” he told her. “The society raised the money to buy Nevill and her children out of slavery and they returned to Philadelphia in 1779. As Shakespeare wrote, ‘all’s well that ends well.”
Heather ‘thexted’ Professor Bridenbaugh. Thanks, Professor.
Heather began to cry at the discussion of slavery. She started off with a single tear in response to the report that a slave woman’s children were also considered property, and the trickle of the tear turned into a torrent of sobbing, which drew the attention of the group of abolitionists at the next table. Anthony Benezet held up his hand, an indication for the speaker to pause, and rose from his seat and walked over to inquire after the sobbing girl.
Seeing that Heather was dressed in Quaker garb, Benezet smiled at the girl sympathetically and said in a reassuring voice, “I am sorry for your sorrow, young friend…” Benezet paused as if waiting for her to say her name.
Sensing this, Heather told Benezet her name.
“Friend Heather,” he said and looked at the group. “And other wonderful young people, we know that slavery is a curse upon our land but God willing, I hope thee will live to see its abolition.” And then Benezet’s eyes fell on Samuel and he asked in a most curious voice, “Friend, are thee a free man? What be your name, friend?”
“I am a free man. I am Samuel, Friend Anthony Benezet,” Samuel replied.
Mr. Greene nodded approval to Samuel.
“And thy surname?”
Surprise registered on Samuel’s face. He hadn’t expected to be asked his last name. Heather hadn’t been asked that. What name should I use? He paused for a moment and it came to him. “Attucks, Friend Anthony Benezet,”
“The negro shot in the massacre in Boston?” Benezet asked.
“He was my father,” Samuel lied. “He gave his life for freedom.”
The other men at the table of abolitionists smiled at the mention of Crispus Attucks, the first man to die in the Boston Massacre and sometimes referred to as the first man to die in the American Revolution. March of 1770 in Boston.
Benezet offered Samuel his hand.
Samuel shook it.
Then Benezet excused himself. “Thee must get back to the meeting. Pleased to have met you. Thy father was a courageous man.”
Samuel nodded. Mr. Greene was frowning.
“How did you come up with that whopper, Samuel?” the teacher asked.
“I didn’t want to have my last name in the minutes of the meeting, Mr. Greene,” Samuel whispered across the table to his teacher.
Mr. Greene’s face brightened. “Okay, but why Attucks?”
“It was my Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, Mr. Greene,” Samuel said.
“Your what?” the teacher said.
Bette intervened. “The reference is from Ghostbusters, the original movie, not the female knock-off. It was the first thing that came into Dan Aykroyd’s mind and it was a giant marshmallow man from his childhood.”
“Strange as that sounds, Mr. Greene,” Samuel said, “that is, it. Crispus Attucks came into my mind. No other name but Attucks. I did a report on him in 8th grade,” Samuel explained. “He’s been a hero to me since then.”
Mr. Greene began to laugh, and the students chuckled along with him. The laughter drew attention from the men at the other table and a few frowns on faces from the abolitionists.
Victor Bridges, sitting beside Samuel, leaned over and whispered. “Well played, Samuel, well played.”
Samuel Chandler, aka Attucks, grinned from ear to ear.
“Mr. Greene,”Bette asked. “Did Crispus Attucks have a son?”
“There is no record of it, as far as I know,” Mr. Greene replied. “But he may now. Remind me to check that when we return.”
“Will do”
The teacher looked at Heather and asked. “Are you alright, Heather?”
Heather had wiped away the tears from her eyes. “Mr. Greene, the sadness of slavery has really hit me today. I feel so sorry for the slaves. Knowing that Nevill and her children were eventually freed is wonderful, Mr. Greene. But in my mind, I kept seeing scenes from the movie Twelve Years a Slave.”
“Yes, the film based on the autobiography by Solomon Northrup. Now there is one movie that Hollywood got right. They followed the book precisely,” Mr. Greene said. “And won the Oscar for best picture as well.”
“Are we going to meet Solomon Northrup on this trip?” Samuel asked his teacher.
“No, Samuel, we aren’t. Northrup’s story is one that everyone should read, but we can’t see everyone. Northrup was kidnapped. He was a free man, but he was kidnapped and sent South into slavery. Unfortunately, there were numerous slave catchers who were unscrupulous and kidnapped free Negroes and took them into slavery. Solomon Northrup, because of his book, was perhaps the most famous…”
As Mr. Greene was talking about Solomon Northrup, the physician Benjamin Rush stood up to address that very subject, kidnapping. “Gentlemen, I rise to state that we must do something to stop the kidnapping of free Negroes in Pennsylvania. Too often these freemen have been taken and illegally put into bondage and sent into the deep South. It is not only the Negroes who are kidnapped but the Indians as well. We must fight for them in the courts.”
“I agree Friend Benjamin Rush,” Benezet said to the group. “We should defend them in court. We should litigate on their behalf.”
A motion was made and seconded.
Victor thought about how odd their presence was in Philadelphia once again. A year from now, he mused, we visit here again and mess things up and Benjamin Rush will want to bleed an unconscious Mr. Greene, the victim of a tavern brawl instigated by the Anderson twins. And yet, that will never actually happen as they will make a second trip to 1776 to correct the first trip that Victor had helped cause by giving Peggy Shippen Thomas Jefferson’s address.
“Time for us to leave,” Mr. Greene said to his students, breaking Victor’s thoughts from his reminiscence of the Cassadaga Area High School’s first “field trip” to colonial Philadelphia.
*
When the students, Mr. Greene and the ghost of Professor Bridenbaugh arrived back at the classroom portable, Nikola Tesla was at the computer, ready to take the group to their next site. But first, Mr. Greene had a few words to say.
“Quakers in Pennsylvania as early as 1688, spoke out against slavery. The first group was the Germantown Four. They began with filing a protest in writing against slavery in the British colonies, saying that it violated the golden rule. Their plea was ignored. Ten years later Robert Piles told the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of a dream he had in which he tried to climb a ladder to heaven while carrying a black pot. He was unable to climb and believed that God sent that dream to him so that he could tell others that slavery was wrong and that Quakers who owned slaves risked their own salvation. But the council didn’t listen to him and the Quakers did not end slaveholding until 1776.
“This group we just witnessed met four times, but the American Revolution intervened and the fight for abolition was slowed for the duration of the war, although several slaves who fought in the American Revolution acquired their freedom. The British were the first to promise freedom for slaves who took up arms against the Rebels, but the Patriots sometimes offered the same deal as well.
“Six members of this first group would become the core of the group of eighteen Philadelphians, mostly Quakers, who met in 1784 and reorganized the original gathering into the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery and for the Relief of Free Negroes Unlawfully Held in Bondage, which was commonly called the Pennsylvania Abolition Society or PAS. From then on, the group would not only litigate on behalf of African Americans enslaved illegally, but they began to agitate for w
holesale abolition. The group began to work with the Free African Society. Benjamin Franklin, who freed his own slaves, became the President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society. Franklin announced a plan to help free African Americans better their lot in life. Black schools were established, and black children were indentured into trades such as carpenters and masons, to give them the opportunity to have a career. Vocational education, we would call it today. Any questions?”
“Didn’t Pennsylvania adopt gradual emancipation, Mr. Greene?” Samuel asked.
“Yes, in 1780 the Pennsylvania legislature passed a gradual abolition. They also petitioned the Constitutional Convention to outlaw slave trade, but the Constitution limited the slave trade to twenty years. PAS saw to it that no slave ships were built in Philadelphia and worked for the increase in fines for slave kidnapping.”
“But didn’t PAS also come out for the inferiority of African American Mr. Greene,” Samuel asked, “in a broadside from the organization?”
“Unfortunately, yes, Samuel, in 1789. A broadside, students, is one sheet of paper printed by a printing press and this broadside contained the message that Samuel mentioned. Quite common in the colonial era. Anthony Benezet, who was dead by then, had started the first Negro school and would have been appalled at that position that PAS took. It certainly wasn’t his. But even some of the enlightened Quakers thought that the ill effects of slavery made it more difficult for former slaves to function in society. That position that PAS took played into the prejudices of the day. It was a blemish on an otherwise fine record,” Mr. Greene added.
“Yeah,” Samuel conceded. “I guess no one’s perfect.”
Chapter 4
When Tesla landed the classroom outside Philadelphia on an afternoon in June of 1796, Mr. Greene addressed his students.
“Every Friday evening from 7 P.M. to 10 P.M., George and Martha Washington opened the Presidential Mansion on High Street, now Market Street, to men and women of the city of Philadelphia. This was done every Friday when the Washingtons were in town and not back home at Mount Vernon in Virginia. Tonight, you are going to eat ice cream, which was a favorite of the Washingtons. It may disappoint you a bit, seeing as it will be a bit soupy, like an ice cream cone in the summer that is melting, but ice cream was a favorite treat for the Father of Our Country, who had something of a sweet tooth, I’m afraid. Making ice cream was quite a laborious process as first you needed ice, which had been harvested in the winter and kept in an ice house in the intervening months. Spring and summer were the periods when the Washingtons served ice cream to their guests, and they spelled cream, c-r-e-e-m. Anyway, only wealthy people could afford ice cream,” Mr. Greene went on.
The old man is digressing again, thought Victor. He raised his hand, was recognized, and asked, “So, is that why we are stopping, to eat colonial ice cream, Mr. Greene?”
The teacher chuckled. “I guess I was digressing again,” he admitted.”
“Do you think so?” Nikola Tesla teased.
Mr. Greene smiled. “Thanks for your help, Nikola,” the teacher replied sarcastically.
“Always here to help, Nathan,” the spirit smiled.
“So, students, our primary mission is not to eat soupy colonial ice cream but to meet Ona Judge, a slave from Mount Vernon who is Martha Washington’s handmaiden, following in the footsteps of her mother Betty who held the position until her untimely death. Ona is the daughter of a white man named Andrew Judge and a black, dowry slave, named Betty. George and Martha Washington had over three hundred slaves on Mount Vernon and nearly two hundred of them were ‘dowry’ slaves, slaves belonging to Martha and her children, George’s stepchildren. George could neither sell nor trade the dowry slaves without Martha’s approval and when George died his slaves were freed, but the dowry slaves remained at Mount Vernon. In a week or so, Ona Judge is going to become a runaway slave and her escape is going to blindside Martha Washington. Blindside her and enrage her, for Martha Washington believed in slavery, she believed that the proper place for African Americans was in bondage to white people. White people, Martha Washington, would tell you, were the superior race.”
“So, Martha Washington was a racist, Mr. Greene?” Samuel asked.
“By today’s standards, yes, Samuel, she was. But at the time her view was the majority opinion, I’m afraid. The problem for George Washington was that Philadelphia was a free city and there were hundreds of free African Americans in Philadelphia, and Ona Judge as a trusted slave, met many of the free blacks of Philadelphia when she went out into the city on errands for the First Lady of the United States. In doing so Ona, who Martha referred to as ‘Oney,’ acquired many friends among the free black population of Philadelphia. Ona also accompanied Martha on social visits, so probably she will be standing close to Martha Washington this evening. And Pennsylvania had passed a law stating that if a slave lived in Pennsylvania for six consecutive months he or she could sue for their freedom. Consequently, George and Martha rotated their slaves between Mount Vernon and Philadelphia. But every few months, Martha would take Ona Judge across the Delaware River to New Jersey to break up her residency in Pennsylvania. Ona Judge was Martha’s most important servant, her personal attendant.
“Okay, everyone let us continue our masquerade as Quakers. We are from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, having journeyed on the Philadelphia and Lancaster Turnpike, which was completed in 1795, or the year before. It is the most modern road in Pennsylvania. Everyone ready? Good, let’s go meet George and Martha. A caveat, however, students. George Washington does not shake hands. He’s a germaphobe. So just give him a nod or a slight bow.”
*
Minerva was expecting a white house or something spectacular, but instead the President’s Mansion house turned out to be a somewhat plain red brick, three-story building. However, a line of people had formed down High Street. This Friday evening soiree, Minerva realized, was one of the highlights of the week in the national capital of Philadelphia. Not much else to do on a Friday night, she thought. Kind of like her hometown of Cassadaga, Florida. A high school football game or nothing.
The line, however, moved quickly when the doors to the house were opened.
When Minerva entered the vestibule passageway, she felt she had entered a museum. A right turn later and she was in the dining room and was in an antique lover’s dream. Queen Anne chairs dotted the room, filled with the folks who had been in the front of the line outside the house when the doors opened. Many of the early arrivals were sitting and eating vanilla ice cream from small bowls which rested on their laps. The ice cream, not the President, had been the drawing card for those Philadelphians, she realized.
Minerva noticed a George III card table among the items, most of which Minerva could not identify, but her mother, who loved antiques, might name. Minerva recalled that Mr. Greene had told her class that George Washington was quite a card player and favored Whist, a trick-taking game, which was an early form of Contract Bridge.
Four musicians, comprising a string quartet, were playing a soft melody that Minerva thought quite suitable for the occasion. Minerva recognized Martha Washington next to her husband in the receiving line and behind her was a light-skinned African American woman, who Minerva guessed to be in her early twenties. The young woman was, Minerva realized, Ona Judge, soon to be a fugitive slave. Ona wore a blank expression on her face except when Martha Washington turned to her to ask her something. Then her smile came out. A forced smile, Minerva realized, but then Martha Washington had the power of life and death over Ona Judge.
Minerva and her classmates joined the receiving line. Mr. Greene was indeed correct. The President did not shake hands, but rather nodded as each person in line identified themselves. He appeared rather grumpy as if he didn’t care to mingle with the people. Or perhaps his dentures were bothering him again. Martha, on the other hand, offered her hand to the white students, but not to Samuel, although she acknowledged his presence with a nod, before turning her eyes to Minerva who f
ollowed Samuel in the procession.
“We don’t see many Quakers at our events,” Mrs. Washington said. “Where are you from, young lady?”
“Lancaster, Mrs. Washington,” Minerva said politely, adding a curtsey, which seemed to please the First Lady. She seemed surprised.
Mr. Greene came up to Minerva and whispered in her ear. “Martha is surprised, because Quakers don’t generally bow,” he whispered. “Or curtsey.”
Minerva blushed. And then her eyes met Ona Judge’s eyes. For a moment Minerva thought Ona Judge winked at her, but the biracial slave quickly glanced away from Minerva and resumed her black stare of servility. Perhaps it was only the flicker of a candlelight and not a wink, Minerva realized. But she wanted to rush up to Ona Judge and tell her that one day a biracial person would be the President of the United States. Barack Obama was half white and half black. Minerva thought Ona would like to know that, but then Minerva realized, if she said that a mixed-raced man would someday replace George Washington, no one in 1796 would believe her. Heck, they wouldn’t believe it in 1996, she thought.
At the end of the reception line was Alexander Hamilton, the Secretary of the Treasury and George Washington’s chief advisor, the man who had created the Bank of the United States and the man who in less than a decade would lay dead from a pistol bullet administered by Vice President of the United States Aaron Burr. Minerva wished she could tell Mr. Hamilton that his legend lived on in a successful Broadway musical, but that too would not be believable, she conceded. She curtseyed to Alexander Hamilton, who took her hand and quickly kissed it, causing Minerva to blush. For Minerva had read that Hamilton was a ladies’ man.
A table of goodies awaited those who endured the receiving line. Fresh fruit, chocolates, waffles and, of course, the main sweet, vanilla ice cream, two scoops to a dish, with a silver spoon beside each dish. Minerva watched as Samuel grabbed a waffle in his hand, shaped it into a cone and then poured the runny ice cream into the waffle cone he constructed; an ice cream cone. Oh oh, Minerva thought, a “Butterfly.” The ice cream cone wasn’t invented until the 1904 World’s Fair in Saint Louis, Missouri. She looked around and no one was paying attention to Samuel who scarfed down his ice cream cone in a matter of seconds, reminding Minerva once again that some boys ate like pigs.
