Murray placed his coffee cup on the table, reached for his cell phone, hit a speed dial button and walked out to Faulk’s small veranda overlooking the park.
Dottie Murray knew how smart her husband was and that he needed more intellectual stimulation. Teaching history to pimply faced, disinterested high school and college students just didn’t cut it anymore. It didn’t make it any easier when Jack called to ask her about heading to DC that very day with his new found acquaintances.
Dot did her best to understand as Jack tried to explain that something incredible was happening. Although he could not get into too much detail right then, he promised to explain everything when he got back to the hotel. Pacing the small deck, he sensed she was okay with the abrupt change of plans and asked her to pack up the room as soon as she could.
Her husband was the most level headed, logical person she had ever known. It was not like him to rush to conclusions or jump on any fly by night scheme. Something big was going on there and she trusted Jack completely.
“Ok, honey. If it’s that important, Todd and I will be ready whenever you want to leave.”
Josh Anders had been eavesdropping on Murray’s conversation. He liked Jack and Dottie from the second he met them and thought they made a cute couple. He was pleased to hear Mr. Murray convince his wife to let him go.
“Then it is settled, we will all head down to DC today,” Anders said. Mrs. Faulk appeared in the doorway of the living room. Anders noticed and made another suggestion. “But before we do anything, it looks as though Mrs. Faulk has gone to the trouble of making us breakfast. What do you say we try out her cooking?”
With that, the men stood up and followed their host into the dining area. As they approached the table, Mr. Washington instinctively took the chair at the head of the table and sat down. Brian Faulk took notice but did not object to the first president occupying his normal seat. As the men set their cups and saucers on the table and began to reach for the bacon, eggs and toast, Mr. Washington bowed his head and asked that the collective group say a prayer of thanks for the food they were about to eat. The suggestion silenced and halted the men, who all glanced toward the head of the table. Each man folded his hands and prayed with the president.
“Bless us, our Lord,” Mr. Washington said, “for the food we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen.” Mr. Washington then looked up at the group, nodded and breakfast commenced.
Mrs. Faulk cleared the dishes from the table as Mr. Faulk offered more coffee to the group. Hahn and Anders extended their cups. Small talk dominated the breakfast conversation and while Mr. Washington said very little, he listened intently as each man looked toward the president for positive acknowledgment as they spoke. When the table was completely devoid of dishes and utensils, the men leaned in and took a serious tone.
“If we are going to take Mr. Washington for a tour of DC and around the monuments, we need to get him some new threads,” interjected Hahn.
Anders cautioned the group that it was of paramount importance that Mr. Washington’s presence stays an ironclad secret, not to be shared with anyone else.
“Jack, obviously, your boy and Dottie will know, but we need to limit this just to us.”
Jenson seconded the idea.
“Josh is right. If people found out about this, number one, they would think we were crazy and number two, imagine what kind of circus this would become. My God, gentlemen, think of the religious and scientific ramifications. I don’t think we really appreciate what is happening here. This may be the largest event in world history since the resurrection.”
Mr. Washington was momentarily jarred by this statement and responded in kind.
“Mr. Jenson, please do not compare my appearance with the Lord’s resurrection. I am as insignificant as a grain of sand compared to that event.”
Jenson didn’t know how to interpret the comment from the father of their country, so he replied in words he thought Mr. Washington would relate to.
“I apologize. You are indeed correct, sir.”
Anders jumped back in.
“Well, I am sure we all have a million questions for Mr. Washington along those lines, but he has asked us to educate him about our country and about us so I think we need to do that. There is a reason for all this guys. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I do know that Jerry Springer or the girls on The View are not going to figure it out.”
He pointed at Mr. Washington and sized him up with both arms.
“Let’s get Mr. Washington made over and go from there.”
Anders swung his gaze to Faulk, asking the Philadelphian if he knew a good tailor nearby. Faulk suggested they possibly take him to the mall to get some walk around clothes that he would be comfortable in.
Upon hearing this, Mr. Washington looked down at the clothes he was wearing and pondered the thought of changing into a twenty-first century wardrobe.
“He’s going to need new shoes, socks, probably underwear. What do you say, General, are you a boxer or briefs man?”
“Please, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Washington. “I know not what boxer or briefs are but I must insist that my apparel be modest and endeavor to accommodate nature, rather than to procure admiration.” The men laughed while Mr. Washington gave all a cautious look.
“Understood, sir,” said Anders. “We were just joking. Your dress will be fully appropriate. First things first, we have to take care of that wig you have there.”
Anders’ innocent sounding suggestion was met with a vain response from the first president. “Wig? I do not wear a wig, my fine man. This is my own hair. A lot of the gentlemen of my time wore a wig but I never felt the need. Therefore, I would powder my hair to keep with the fashion of the day.”
As Mr. Washington explained his grooming technique, the men’s eyes were riveted to the top of the president’s head. Faulk answered Mr. Washington by saying that he wished he had some of that on top of his own bald head, again eliciting a collective laugh among the men. Murray then asked Mr. Washington what the real color of his hair was.
“It was a reddish auburn,” Mr. Washington answered. “Maybe a chestnut color. But that was years ago, in my younger days. I frankly do not remember what color my hair currently is. I know it is powdered and tied in a queue, by the very red ribbon given to me by Martha, so many years ago. And it has served as my connection to Providence. Perhaps if I cleansed it we would soon discover the answer.”
Anders stood and walked around the table until he was directly in front of the six-foot-three Washington. “I’m guessing probably a 48 long, maybe a 50, don’t you think?”
Anders looked at Faulk, who shook his head. “I think a size 50,” replied Faulk. “He’s pretty broad; definitely an extra-large for a shirt or sweatshirt.”
Faulk put his foot alongside Mr. Washington’s right foot and told the room that a size twelve shoe would fit fine. He motioned around his own waist and told the group that the General probably had a thirty-eight inch waist.
“You could always count on my husband,” Mrs. Faulk added. “He may not show it, but he does know his clothes!” Everyone around the table erupted in laughter.
Faulk appeared with a tape measure and wrapped it around Mr. Washington’s waist before the General knew what he was doing. “Thirty-eight, on the money,” he exclaimed.
At once, Mr. Washington stepped back and told the men that they were proceeding a little too quickly. Anders stepped forward to assure him that if he was going to appear in public, he had to blend in and not be noticed as President George Washington. “With all due respect, sir, your face is everywhere. Your portrait is ingrained on our one dollar bill and twenty-five cent coin.”
Anders affirmed his statement by reaching into his pocket and producing both pieces of currency. Mr. Washington took the dollar bill and quarter in his hand and studied and examined each. He was absorbed by the one dollar bill, inspecting the detail and artwork, continually flipping the bill from one side
to the next and back again. His last flip of the currency was to his picture, which he brought up closer to his face for further examination.
“This is my portrait by Gilbert Stuart, a very talented man from a prominent Rhode Island family. This picture was referred to as The Athenaeum when it was painted. I do not believe it was ever finished. Well, it was not finished at the time of my death. But it must have been completed if the people felt it well-suited to appear on our nation’s currency. Mr. Stuart completed other portraits as well; he was quite talented.”
Once again, the new founders were awestruck of the man before them, describing his own picture, as if he was telling a story about a photograph taken at a family picnic. The silence was broken when Jenson blurted out that the whole scene was simply remarkable.
“There will be a lot more of that to come!” answered Hahn as he reached for the coffee pot to heat his cup.
Again, Anders took control of the room.
“Hahn, after you finish that coffee, you and Murray take a walk over to the mall and get the General some walking clothes and shoes or sneakers. You have the sizes we mentioned?”
Murray put up the palm of his hand to slow Anders down. The situation unfolding in front of him was unimaginable. But the control freak Anders was not the John Adams. Jack was still the same Jack Murray he was the night before. A reincarnate or not, he was not subservient to that Anders guy.
Mr. Washington, on the other hand, was a very different story. Murray found it hard to really believe, but he could come to no other conclusion than that his man was the George Washington. As Jenson had pointed out, this truly may have been the most significant event in the last 2,000 years.
This certainly was the event he had been searching for. So Murray decided to take a chance and go with it. Who knew what extraordinary fate Divine Providence had in store for them?
“Faulk, give Murray and Hahn the name of your tailor and you two go over and get a couple of size fifty suits with shirts and ties to match. Get some nice dress shoes too. Do you have a barber that you trust?”
Faulk smiled with a resounding yes, noting that she was in the kitchen, washing the dishes.
“Deb cuts your hair? That’s great! We don’t have to walk the General down the street nor worry about funny glances or questions. Can you ask her?”
Faulk said it was no problem. He thought it would be a good idea to wash his hair before cutting it, something that Deb was accustomed to doing anyway.
Anders was psyched. “Outstanding! If you get him started, I’ll start to work on arrangements in Washington.”
The team set in motion. Three men excused themselves from the room, gathered their belongings, and were on their way. Anders led Mr. Washington into the kitchen where Faulk was trying to explain the incredible and unfolding series of events to his wife. Deborah asked her husband for a word in private.
Mr. and Mrs. Faulk disappeared into the pantry. “Are you nuts?” she asked him. “This is a joke. It’s bad enough that you bring an army of men into our house at this hour; accompanied by a guy you think is George Washington. He smells like a homeless man you would find at Thirtieth Street Station at one o’clock in the morning. And his hair, it has a smell all to its own and you want me to wash and cut it? Do we have turpentine hanging around in the basement?”
Faulk laughed and tried to explain that it was no big deal. Deb would have none of it.
“My God, Brian, did you happen to notice his teeth? Watching him eat eggs made me lose my appetite. Forget a barber; I think we should call a priest.”
Faulk assured her that he was not a bum and gently coaxed her into agreeing to it. Deb was not sure she could believe another one of Brian’s fantastic stories, but just in case he was right this time, she agreed to “hold her nose” and attend to the president’s hair.
The couple reentered the kitchen and, to Brian and the others’ delight, she cleared the sink of dishes and put on her trusty rubber gloves. Her husband grabbed a towel from the counter and placed it around Mr. Washington’s shoulders and neck while Mrs. Faulk untied the ribbon and eased his head down into the sink. She started the water while her husband brought a bottle of shampoo from the bathroom. She held her hands up as if about to perform surgery and surveyed the room. With everything set in place, Deb began to wash and rinse the president’s hair.
Now rinsed with a towel over his head, Mr. Washington was escorted to a chair placed in the middle of the kitchen. He glanced over his right shoulder as Mrs. Faulk gathered the scissors and comb and approached the subject. Everything was moving so fast that Mr. Washington did not have a chance to question the many decisions these familiar strangers had made.
He trusted these men but he recalled that even the original founding fathers did not agree on everything. On the contrary, they often fought like cats and dogs and worked for their own good, as well as the collective good—many times behind each other’s backs. He wondered if everything they were doing was right and just. He was very excited to see the nation’s capital, a city named after him, which he helped design some two hundred years earlier. He wanted to learn about the presidents that followed him and the advancements throughout the last two centuries that made this country great. Still, he had pangs of uncertainty as Mrs. Faulk commenced the makeover.
Chapter 10
Two open suitcases sat on the Faulk’s bed, with newly purchased clothing, neatly folded. Shirts, pants, socks and underwear were all arranged in an orderly fashion. Next to the suitcases was a pair of loafers, a pair of Nike sneakers, and shiny black dress shoes, all size twelve. Mr. Washington and Faulk stood bed side, examining the new clothes and wondered if they were missing anything.
The General was fidgety as he got used to the clothes he adorned; a pair of blue Dockers pants, a white button-down dress shirt with blue stripes, and a blazer that fit his large frame very well. He pushed the red ribbon down into his right front pants pocket, no longer needing it (thanks to Mrs. Faulk’s handiwork), but vowing to keep Providence with him in this strange new world. Mr. Washington looked as though he had just dressed for dinner at the country club.
Faulk commended the team on the clothing choices, noting that he would have chosen the same attire had he been instructed to shop. “I’ll tell you what Mr. Washington, you look great. With the new clothes and new hairstyle, I don’t think Martha would recognize you.” Faulk noticed the mention of Martha caused a sad expression to pass quickly through Mr. Washington’s eyes. Faulk leaned forward to zip the suitcases shut and motioned toward the open closet door from which Mr. Washington’s new Armani suit hung in a garment bag. The first president strode to the door and unhooked the bag. He looked at the full-length mirror and studied his reflection from the bottom of his feet to the top of his newly cut hair. A look of satisfaction came over him.
As he turned back toward the bed, Faulk sized up the situation. “The boys dropped the clothes off while you were washing up and went back to get their things and check out of their hotels. Wait till they get a look at you, they may not know who you are… I think I hear Anders downstairs.”
Mr. Washington looked around and asked if his host had packed a bag.
“Let’s just say Deb and I had a bit of a talk while you were trying on your new clothes. It looks like I won’t be leaving with you today.”
The first president grinned with a familiar twinkle in his eye, noting that he fully understood the situation.
“Tomorrow is another day.”
Faulk, smiling broadly, extended his hand to Mr. Washington, who shook it appreciatively.
“I have Anders’ and Jenson’s contact info, so don’t be surprised if you see me again… and soon.”
Both men descended the staircase. Mr. Washington stepped cautiously, his new suit draped over his arm. Faulk followed, lugging a suitcase filled with the rest of Mr. Washington’s new clothes and toiletries. They placed the luggage on the floor in the vestibule and entered the living room to the sound of Anders’ voice.
With his cell phone still glued to his ear, Anders froze for a second as he faced the men. He took in the sight of the father of our country, looking as if he should be holding a golf club in his hand.
“You have all the details? Are we good? Okay, send them to me in an email and I’ll pick everything up in the limo. Thanks for everything hon, I don’t know what I would do without you… well yes, and without a paddle. Take care.”
Anders hung up his mobile phone and examined the transformed General before him. As he did, Jenson, Murray, and Hahn walked into the house, also stopping to stare at the makeover in front of them.
Hahn approached Mr. Washington and tilted his body to one side as he circled the president, who at once stood at attention.
“Nice, real nice! You look like some of my friends’ fathers. All you need is a pair of Ray-Bans and you’re ready for the yacht!”
Mr. Washington, again confused by the young man’s compliment, turned to Faulk. Faulk added that Ray-Bans were sunglasses, shades to protect your eyes from the glare of the sun.
“Ray-Bans sound like something you may have invented Mr. Faulk,” replied Mr. Washington.
“Well it looks like we’re all set to go. I must insist General Washington ride in the limo with me,” Anders proclaimed as the group planned their ride to Washington.
“We can relax in comfort and Mr. Washington can enjoy the scenery as we get him up to speed on two hundred and thirteen years of America.”
Jenson mentioned that the luxury van had more than enough room and suggested that Mr. Washington would be more comfortable with them. He thought the president would like the accoutrements it afforded. But after a few minutes of haggling, Jenson realized arguing with Josh Anders was pointless. Anders was a great debater and famously stubborn.
The New Founders Page 8
