“He is good and obviously he loves his job. I wish we all had that kind of attitude. Without a doubt, he is the most authentic tour guide we have seen today,” blurted Anders.
“Wait a second, Hahn interrupted. “Do you hear that?”
The group leaned in and looked up and around.
“No, I don’t hear anything now,” said Jenson.
“Precisely! That’s what I mean! What the hell happened to the clacking of that guy’s shoes? He turned the corner and it was as if he tiptoed out of here!”
Murray broke from the group, ran to the doorway, peered around the corner and reported that he was gone.
Suddenly, the door at the end of the short hallway opened and their host reappeared, walking toward the Assembly Room carrying a large pocketbook.
Murray backed away and rejoined the group. “Did you hear what he said? Tim, you’re right, that was a Thomas Jefferson quote. An obscure one though.”
Faulk commented that the guy was definitely good.
“Too good,” Murray exasperatedly replied.
Carolyn turned the corner and said that she was sorry but needed to escort the men to the exit as the building was now closed even to private tours.
Josh agreed and thanked Carolyn for her help and hospitality.
While she beamed a big grin and thanked Anders for his kind words, Faulk stepped forward, took her hand and kissed it, also thanking her for setting up the interview. This gesture made the host blush and look away as Faulk kept his gaze on her for an extra moment.
“Ready, folks?” Anders asked as the group began filing out the exit door into the courtyard at the rear of the building. They walked around the Document section along Walnut and on to Chestnut Street.
“This has been one weird day that I won’t forget anytime soon,” Jenson said to Murray as they walked together onto the sidewalk.
Murray reminded Jenson that the day was not over yet, as they were going to dinner with Anders in a little bit. “I have to find Dottie and Todd. She’s probably wondering what the hell happened to us. I hope she’s not pissed.”
Josh and Steve Anders, following right behind with Faulk and Hahn, let out a big laugh. “Mr. Murray”, Josh said, “you have to learn to leave the wives at home like we did.”
Hahn, needing to get the last word in, added that he should not have gotten married in the first place.
Five smiling faces continued walking toward their homes, hotels and cars, trying to digest what they had just experienced. They all agreed that they needed a drink and needed one now.
Chapter 8
Tim Jenson was not used to being up at six o’clock on a Saturday morning, especially after a night of great political conversation and debate between himself and a personality titan like Josh Anders. It wasn’t every day that you had an audience with the great one himself. Jenson felt he made quite an impression. On top of everything, the food was great and the drink flowed.
But despite having just the right amount of wine over dinner, he had not slept well. Maybe it was because he had slept in a strange bed? What was it? He shook a few cobwebs from his brain and got himself out of bed. Tim looked in the mirror and realized it was the guys he had unexpectedly met yesterday that had his mind racing. Or more specifically, the tour guide that appeared out of nowhere at the end of the Statehouse tour, and who was a dead ringer for George Washington himself. He couldn’t get the vision of that man, his voice, or his strong scent out of his head.
After taking a quick shower, something told him to dress in his new khakis and a collared shirt, even though he expected another hot day in Philadelphia. Satisfied with his look, he took the elevator down to the lobby for a cup of coffee and decided to stroll to the statehouse through the quiet streets of center city Philadelphia. Jenson thought that the serene setting of an early Saturday morning would do wonders to clear his head and help him figure out why he felt compelled to return to Independence Hall.
Obviously, he was not the only one who could not sleep that morning. As Tim stepped off the elevator, the first person he saw was Jack Murray, standing in front of the lobby’s complimentary coffee stand, adding a Sweet ’n Low to his morning java.
“Hello, old friend,” Jenson offered to Murray with a smile.
Murray turned around with a surprised look on his face.
“What are you doing up so early this morning, Mr. Jenson? Geez, after all that food and wine, I thought you would take a month to sleep it off.”
“Couldn’t sleep. And you?”
Murray replied that he couldn’t sleep either, but for some reason, he actually felt energized. Jack relayed to Jenson that he had woken up earlier that morning and checked out a few things on the internet from his iPad. For some reason he felt like he had to check out Independence Hall again.
Sipping on his hot coffee as other hotel guests waited for the breakfast hostess to seat them, Murray went on.
“Yesterday was great, Tim. Just amazing. Beyond any of my original expectations when I entered that contest. Meeting you and the other guys, being on the radio show and having dinner with Josh Anders. Wow! Even seeing that General Washington guy, that blew me away with the way he dressed. And just his presence, I almost genuflected before him. You may think I’m crazy but….” Murray’s voice trailed off as he brought the cup up to his lips for another sip. Jenson, waiting for Murray to finish his sentence, asked him to elaborate.
“Oh forget it. I’m going to take a walk back to where we were yesterday. Wanna join me?”
A wide grin came across Jenson’s face as he grabbed his coffee to go, and reminded Murray that the Independence Hall would not be open at that early hour.
“That’s ok. I just feel like going back there. You never know who you might meet. We can talk on the way over.”
The fellow Virginians commenced their quick walk with a couple of jokes that nearly caused Jenson to spill his coffee. Murray thought he had a great sense of humor but always tested new jokes out on Dot. A smile from his wife meant he could tell the joke publicly.
As they approached the Mall with the asphalt evolving to green grass and trees, a white limousine drove past and pulled up a half a block in front of them.
“Guess who’s coming to breakfast?” asked Jenson wryly as Murray’s eyes followed the long car to a stop.
Josh Anders bounded out of the back of the limo, cigar in mouth, and without taking a breath, welcomed his new friends.
“I kinda thought I might find you gentlemen here. Going to the Hall? I gotta check in with the network and the wife. You heading over there? Meet you in the back.”
Anders asked and answered the questions he posed to Tim and Jack without even eliciting a response. Murray just smiled and nodded while Anders began pounding on his cell phone. Steve Anders emerged from the car, looking at his watch.
“He made me come with him, but I have a plane to catch. I’m pushing it coming here this morning. You guys heading over there? I can join you for about ten minutes.”
Jenson and Murray, along with cousin Steve, took the opportunity to loop around the back of the building only to find Brian Faulk and Anthony Hahn already there, sitting at a bench and engaged in an animated conversation. Hahn swung and splashed his Starbucks latte for emphasis as Faulk sat quietly staring at the younger man. Faulk’s Dunkin Donuts black coffee remained still between his two hands.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” asked Hahn.
“I thought Brian and I were the only ones crazy enough to be here at this hour of the morning. Where’s Anders? Buying Independence Hall? Looking at himself in the mirror somewhere?”
Steve let out a big laugh before Faulk interrupted by asking the newcomers to sit down. He shared with them that Hahn definitively believed they had seen the ghost of General Washington the previous evening.
Hahn, embarrassed, wiped the first sweat of a Philadelphia July morning off his brow.
“An apparition or something. The more I thought about that whole ep
isode last night, the stranger it became. What else could he have been?”
“I don’t know exactly,” replied Faulk. “But I don’t think it was a ghost…. You may think that I have Alzheimer’s or something, but I think he was more than a ghost.”
“You bet your ass he was not a ghost. I shook his hand and it wrapped around mine like a baseball mitt. That guy was real, no apparition,” added Murray.
Josh Anders, flipping off his phone as he slipped it into the breast pocket of his sport coat, approached the bench. He listened to the discussion for a moment before asking what Murray and Faulk were discussing.
Before Faulk could reply, Murray blurted out the answer. “I think we met the real General Washington yesterday.”
Jenson with a concerned look on his face, protested, saying that it was impossible. “The guy was a really good actor. What else could he have been?”
Not easily giving up, Murray quickly stood and countered his friend’s statement. “Guys, there is a lot going on here and I don’t pretend to understand it. After that guy left the room, I had this feeling about him. I think we all had a feeling about him. Anyway, I started racking my brain as to why we were all drawn here, as a group I mean. Like the movie Close Encounters.”
“So you think he was an alien?” Jenson scoffed.
Ignoring the slap, Murray went on. “When I went back to the hotel before dinner, I went online, hoping I was wrong. I only had a few minutes to check some stuff, but instead of disproving what I suspected, the iPad seemed to confirm it. This morning I couldn’t sleep so I went online again and reconfirmed.”
“What are you talking about!?” Hahn inquired abruptly.
“I googled each of the founders and found similarities to us, similarities to all of us guys here as a group. Anders, you are from Boston. You are a lawyer and went to Harvard. Your cousin Steve founded the Tea Party in Boston. For crying out loud, he makes his own home brew.”
Turning to Jenson, Murray continued his discovery.
“Tim, you are from Virginia, went to UVA, are over six feet tall, write like a poet, and quote the Declaration of Independence, ad nauseum, as if you wrote it.”
Jenson stood in disbelief and walked a few paces from the bench as Murray continued on like a prosecuting attorney.
“You talked about your house designs, your love of wine, which you exhibited a few times last night, and your firm belief in state’s rights. Tim, you were even right about that quote he made about jobs.” Murray, now counting on his fingers, moved his attention to Hahn. “Anthony, you are from Barbados and work for The Bank of New York as a currency trader. A money trader! You are fiery, red headed and combative. You’re the first one to tell anybody who will listen how brilliant you are. No offense.”
Hahn responded with a shrug. Murray continued, “And you, Brian, you are from Philly by way of Boston, aren’t you? You not only write, but you founded a magazine that, according to your website, was based on Poor Richard’s Almanac. Your bio on the site says you own a couple of patents for things you invented and like to study philosophy in your spare time. Who the hell studies philosophy in their spare time? Jeez Brian, look at ya! You’re Ben Franklin reincarnated. Or friggin’ David Crosby for the pot smoking crowd.”
Murray, now with both hands extended out, turned his thumbs inward and started to describe himself.
“Me, I’m a five foot four Virginian with an adopted son and I teach at JMU, James Madison University! I can recite the Constitution in my sleep. How many other people recite Locke and Hume? I even have a good looking wife whose initials are DM and she makes her own ice cream! All our initials match with the core group of founders.”
Jack dropped his thumbs and scanned their reactions. He studied their faces as if he had just asked a tricky question to his high school seniors. But instead of calling on one of them, he decided to reach deep into each man’s psyche.
“You think this all cannot be happening, but it is. Guys look inside each of you. What is your gut telling you? I rest my case.”
The men were stunned and their faces showed it. Taking off his glasses, Brian Faulk agreed and rubbed his eyes. Josh Anders looked at his cousin, but Steve looked at his watch. Hahn stared into his Starbucks cup, not knowing what to make of the situation.
Jack Murray had built his theory to a crescendo and needed to finish his point.
“So yes, that was George Washington yesterday! That was the father of our country, the guy they named the city after, the guy who chopped down the cherry tree, the guy who led the army across the Delaware to defeat the British, the guy on the one dollar bill. If you don’t think so, why not? Might as well be someone we know, because right now I don’t think any of us knows who we are anymore.”
After Murray’s lecture, Steve Anders retorted, “I cannot believe any of you can believe any of this garbage. Do you realize what you are saying? That we are the founders themselves?”
Faulk jumping to Murray’s defense explained that they were not exactly the founders themselves, but could be the spiritual embodiment of each of them.
Faulk expressed that while he found the whole notion disturbing, it did explain some passions, dreams and feelings he had had for years. He highlighted his fascination with the founders and the use of his magazine as a political platform in the same fashion as Ben Franklin. Faulk asked if they all felt the same compulsion. “My wife will love to hear this. It’ll explain a lot,” Said Faulk.
Hahn rubbed his eyes as he stood to face the group. “This is crazy but it feels like it’s all coming together at once. The second we were all together in the signing room is when I felt like I had known you guys for years. And we only just met.”
Looking down and leaning against the wall, he lit a cigarette and kept talking. “And then old George walks in and I was at a loss for words. And if you talk to anyone at the bank, they will swear that they have never seen me at a loss for words. So I get up all bright and early this morning with a yearning to come back to this very spot and just be. Nothing else. I just needed to be on this bench at this very moment in time and the world would be right.”
The other men were drawn to the young man having an epiphany. They listened intently.
“I’m here no more than thirty seconds before I see old Brian strolling toward me and looking over those glasses at me. He sits down, we start talking, and five minutes later the rest of you join the party. I think we’re still waiting for one more person. I felt like I didn’t know him, but I knew him. Does that make any sense?”
Brian, calmly placed his coffee on the pavement, leaned back on the bench to reassure Hahn. “Yes young man, I think it does. Sometimes it takes a man to see into you to allow you to see into yourself.”
“This is completely crazy, guys. I know who I am,” laughed Jenson. “I am not Thomas Jefferson. It’s impossible.” Facing Josh Anders, he took a roundabout shot at the talk show behemoth. “Josh, I know you have a high opinion of yourself but even you are no John Adams!”
Josh rubbed his chin and looked skyward in a tongue in cheek manner. “Hmmmm, John Adams eh? I like that. Perhaps it is true.”
Jenson’s face, the definition of an agonized man, shook as he continued to plead his case.
“I still don’t believe you guys. We are all intelligent and reasonable men here. Are you listening to yourselves? This is insane. It can’t be true.”
“Ah, but it is true, gentlemen,” a now familiar voice came from the shadow of the Hall.
The men spun to face the direction of where the voice originated. Their faces froze.
Taking a final sip of his latte and leaning back on the bench with a wide grin, Hahn spoke first.
“We were expecting you!”
Chapter 9
The tall gentleman, dressed in the same eighteenth century clothing as the day before, strode purposefully toward the group of stunned men and stopped in front of Hahn.
“Young man, was that just a profound exclamation meant to be humorou
s or a keen observation that I know you are most capable of eliciting at this very instance?”
This quick retort from the imposing stranger instantly turned Hahn’s relaxed demeanor to a serious one. He looked up from his place on the seat, in awe and intimidated. The man in the leather boots was again in their midst.
“Please do not be intimated by my presence. I am one of you. I believe all of you were to some degree expecting my return. That is why you have all been summoned here to celebrate this great July Fourth morning.” Pausing for a second, he shuffled some gravel beneath his shoe while straightening his lapels. “Look deep into your hearts and souls. It is Divine Providence that planted the seed of curiosity and devout patriotism for these great United States, and made you travel great distances to share this moment with each other and me. You may not have even understood your compulsion to be here at this moment, but you see, there is a destiny which has the sovereign control of our actions, not to be resisted by the strongest efforts of human nature.”
“We are sharing this moment with whom? With George Washington? The George Washington?” exclaimed Jenson. “We are standing before the father of our country as he lectures us. I’m finding this all hard to believe.”
“Ah, you question what your eyes show to be real. I would not have expected anything less from the man that penned some of the most important words in the history of liberty. It was your innate ability to question the political status quo that drove you to stir the echoes of the individual that you embody at this very moment, Thomas Jefferson.”
His words agitated Mr. Jenson. “What? Are you crazy? I am not Thomas Jefferson! I am Tim Jenson, born and raised in Virginia! I’m a patriot, but not a great man. I’m just a local talk show host and former politician.”
Tim looked to men for support but to no avail. The outsider would not be deterred.
“Sir, please look into the depths of your person. Close your eyes and open your mind. The vision you see before you will not deceive you. It is your destiny.”
The New Founders Page 6
