There’s the picture I promised – the privy pit. Actually, this one is a teaser. Tomorrow I’ll show you the privy that was part of the fancy house he built for his wife. It includes excavated bricks and an empty hole.
In the past week Hiram and I have walked all over Philadelphia and seen so many historic sights that I can’t remember them all. But two are unforgettable. One is Franklin Court, where the privy pits are located. Sandwiched between modern buildings, this bit of history was preserved somehow. Franklin’s home is gone, but the rental property he owned is intact, along with the working post office he established. And below the courtyard is a museum dedicated to Franklin’s life. Pretty cool.
But the exhibit I enjoyed most was the Signers’ Gallery at the National Constitution Center. In the gallery, bronze statues of the men who signed the constitution are arranged as if in conversation with one another. At the foot of each statue, a plaque gives the name of each signer, along with the state he represented and his age. Ben Franklin was the oldest at eighty-one. Many of the men were in their forties, fifties and sixties. But several were in their twenties and thirties, and that fact blew me away. Young men. These young men, one only a year older than my son, were entrusted with the creation of a government for a new nation.
Breathless with hope, I stood among them and thought of the twenty-somethings in our country today who are searching for a grand cause to champion, for meaning beyond the toys that distract them. And I prayed that they will find their cause and change history for the better once again. Standing among those statues I was convinced it can happen again.
A small part of me remains in that gallery – breathless, waiting, hopeful.
