What better way to celebrate and gain a perspective of the July 4th celebration than to read this John Adams’ letter to his daughter, Abigail Adams 2nd, on July 5, 1777. Since protocols have changed since then, no words or grammar have been “corrected”.

Philadelphia, July 5th, 1777

My Dear Daughter,

Yesterday, being the anniversary of American Independence, was celebrated here with a festivity and ceremony becoming the occasion. I am too old to delight in pretty descriptions, if I had a talent for them, otherwise a picture might be drawn, which would please the fancy of a Whig, at least.

The thought of taking any notice of this day, was not conceived, until the second of this month, and it was not mentioned until the third. It was too late to have a sermon, as every one wished, so this must be deferred another year.
Congress determined to adjourn over that day, and to dine together. The general officers and others in town were invited, after the President and Council, and Board of War of this State.
In the morning the Delaware frigate, several large gallies, and other continental armed vessels, the Pennsylvania ship and row gallies and guard boats, were hawled off in the river, and several of them beautifully dressed in the colours of all nations, displayed about upon the masts, yards, and rigging. At one o’clock the ships were all manned, that is, the men were all ordered aloft, and arranged upon the tops, yards, and shrouds, making a striking appearance of companies of men drawn up in order in the air.

Then I went on board the Delaware, with the President and several gentlemen of the Marine Committee, soon after which we were saluted with a discharge of thirteen guns, which was followed by thirteen others, from each other armed vessel in the river; then the gallies followed the fire, and after them the guard boats.

Then the President and company returned in the barge to the shore, and were saluted with three cheers, from every ship, galley, and boat in the river. The wharves and shores, were lined with a vast concourse of people, all shouting and huzzaing, in a manner which gave great joy to every friend to this country, and the utmost terror and dismay to every lurking tory.

At three we went to dinner, and were very agreeably entertained with excellent company, good cheer, fine music from the band of Hessians taken at Trenton, and continual vollies between every toast, from a company of soldiers drawn up in Second-street before the city tavern, where we dined. The toasts were in honour of our country, and the heroes who have fallen in their pious efforts to defend her.

After this, two troops of light-horse, raised in Maryland, accidentally here in their way to camp, were paraded through Second-street, after them a train of artillery, and then about a thousand infantry, now in this city on their march to camp, from North Carolina. All marched into the common, where they went through their firings and manoeuvres; but I did not follow them.

In the evening, I was walking about the streets for a little fresh air and exercise, and was surprised to find the whole city lighting up their candles at the windows. I walked most of the evening, and I think it was the most splendid illumination I ever saw; a few houses were dark; but the lights were very universal.

Considering the lateness of the design and the suddenness of the execution, I was amazed at the universal joy and alacrity that was discovered, and at the brilliancy and splendour of every part of this joyful exhibition. I had forgot the ringing of bells all day and evening, and the bonfires in the streets, and the fireworks played off. Had the English General Howe been here in disguise, or his master, this show would have given them the heart-ache.

Happy Independence Day, one and all!

I am your affectionate father,
John Adams

Note…On July 4, 1826 both Thomas Jefferson & John Adams died

A June Event- Jefferson’s Escape

It was in June of 1781 that Thomas Jefferson narrowly escaped being captured by British forces at Monticello. At the start of that year led by traitor-turncoat, Benedict Arnold, British troops raided farms and villages along the James River. By May, Arnold’s troops had joined a larger British force under Lord Cornwallis that had moved into Virginia from the south. This invading army would frighten the Virginia government into abandoning Richmond, and create turmoil before ultimately surrendering to the combined French and American forces at Yorktown.

Action by an heroic Virginian prevented the British capture of Jefferson, then Virginia’s governor, and members of the Virginia Assembly. That hero was John “Jack” Jouett, Jr., a 26-year-old resident of Charlottesville near Jefferson’s Monticello.

Upon learning that Virginia’s legislature was reconvening in Charlottesville after the Colnial defeat in Richmond, Cornwallis dispatched Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton to capture the governor and assemblymen. Hoping to catch the Virginians by surprise, Tarleton traveled swiftly, mostly at night. He pushed hard before stopping to rest men and horses somewhere in the vicinity of the Louisa Court House (some 30 miles from Monticello) on the evening of June 3. It was there that Jouett, whose family farm was nearby, observed the British and surmised what their destination was.

According to Jefferson’s account, Jouett, a captain in the 16th Virginia militia regiment and who knew every nook and cranny of the area, was able to bypass the enemy’s encampment, ride all night, and before sunrise of the next day (June 4) arrive at Monticello to warn Jefferson.

Jefferson calmly ordered a carriage for his family and offered breakfast to the members of the legislature who were staying at Monticello. He sent his family to at a neighboring farm but remaining behind it is believed to gather needed papers, he received a second warning from a neighbor, a Christopher Hudson, that British troops were ascending Monticello Mountain. Hudson related that he found Jefferson “perfectly tranquil, and undisturbed”, but urged him to leave immediately. According to Hudson, Monticello was surrounded “in ten minutes at farthest by a troop of light-horse.” Jefferson later described how he avoided the main road and traveled through the woods to join his family.

Tarleton did not remain long in Charlottesville. While he captured seven legislators, the rest of them escaped across the Blue Ridge Mountains to the town of Staunton. Meanwhile, believing his term as governor had expired, Jefferson escorted his family to safety at their farm, Poplar Forest, near Lynchburg, and remained there until the middle of the summer.

The members of the General Assembly reconvened in Staunton. While they voted Jouett a pair of pistols and a sword as symbols of gratitude, a proposal was put forth for an inquiry into Jefferson’s actions. In spite of the inquiry being dropped, Jefferson insisted on appearing before the Assembly members to respond to charges of mishandling his duties and abandoning leadership at a critical moment. He reported that he had believed it understood that he was leaving office and that he had discussed with other legislators the advantages of commander of the state militia, Gen. Thomas Nelson’s being appointed governor. He stated that he felt “unprepared for the command of armies” and that given the critical conditions, “the union of the civil and military power in the same hands, at this time would greatly facilitate military measures.” Nelson was named Jefferson’s successor later in June, and effectively carried out his duties – both civil and military - through the end of the war.

The events surrounding the British invasion of Virginia would be a recurring problem for Jefferson. In subsequent national elections, virulent Federalist newspapers and political opponents would accuse him of incompetence, negligence, and even cowardice in his handling of the governorship during the events of 1781. For the rest of his life he found himself responding to these accusations, and strived to assure that his place in the country’s history would not be marred by them.

As for Jack Jouett, he did not receive his award, the promised pistols and sword, until several years later. Though sometimes referred to as the “Paul Revere of the South,” he never gained the widespread fame given Revere by Longfellow’s poem. I guess:

“Listen my children and you shall get
The midnight ride of Jack Jouet”.

doesn’t quite make it.

Arnie Silverman
Laguna Niguel

It occurred to me that while I have written about my father, I cannot recall writing anything other than brief references about my mother. That thought came to me as I looked at a wedding photograph of the two of them, Rose and Lou Silverman. Now, my father is standing there in his sartorial best with a bemused, “make sure you get my best side” look on his face. My dear mother, however, standing in her wedding gown at 5 ft if that high, has her “I’m the one who is going to be running the show” look in her eyes.

And, as I think about my years in that household, that’s the way it was. I have to tell you as loving and caring as she was, she was one hell of a feisty, tough woman. I mean she pushed him out of the door each morning with a dictum that he get his rear end in productive mode and bring home the bucks. While he never achieved the financial success she craved, he did, as far as I could tell, the best that he could do.

He sold insurance and managed what they called a debit (a territory today) for the Metropolitan Insurance Company. Each week when he brought home his earnings, she would inquire how the other salesmen did that week. When she would hear that one of their friends and fellow Met salesman earned more than he, she would berate him and insist that he do better. “You’re better than Charlie Becker!” she would scold. I cannot tell you how many times I heard that angry lament. She had a favorite Yiddish insult she used on him that went something like “Ne mein amisha meshunnah!” whatever the hell that means.

That said, however, she loved and made a comfortable home for him and my brother and me. In that regard, she also pushed us two siblings to excel in whatever we did. I remember once when my brother, Stanley’s report card was not up to her expectations, she unmercifully went after him with a leather belt. Now I know that is properly frowned on today, but his grades never suffered after that (nor did mine come to think of it).

She was a bright woman. In today’s world with all of the opportunities available to young woman, I believe she could have been anything she wanted to be. An avid reader, she favored murder mysteries. She listened to all of the detective series – The Shadow, Bulldog Drummond, Perry Mason, and the rests – then playing on the radio. And when a Chester Morris Boston Blackie movie hit the local circuit, you could bet on her seeing it. I recall also that she was particularly adept at crossword puzzles, and when she was deep into one, you did not want to make unnecessary noises.

She ran a tight household with a tighter budget. Remember this was the height or should I say depth of the Great Depression in the mid thirties. When Lou had a bad week, and brought home less earnings, though she did not let him off the hook, we never lacked a solid meal, sufficient clothes and, of course, the proverbial roof over our heads. If he had a continuing run of bad weeks, she would find work as a sales clerk at a Hecht’s Department Store in D.C.

She had to return to that job quite often because my father had somewhat of an addiction to the ponies; particularly those running at Pimlico. I surmise that feeling in those years that that was his only way of making a score, he wagered either any spare funds he had at the end of the week, or if a “sure-to-win” tip came his way, some of the insurance premiums he had collected on his debit. Unfortunately, he had a particular penchant for losers, and my mother would have to earn a few bucks to make up the difference. How he manipulated his weekly reports to hide a deficit I do not know, but with her “bailouts” he managed to pull it off for years.

While not fervent, she practiced her faith. She attended our local synagogue on the so-called high holy days, and bringing out her Passover-only eating-ware, she would have a Seder or Passover service each year. What amused me, however, was that she loved a Virginia ham steak, and as if it were a ritual, each year a few days after the Passover holiday ended, she would prepare and serve an Hawaiian-style, ham steak. In later years I questioned if this was some kind of protest or an expression of independence. Both my brother and I were cajoled into attending the Katzenjammer-like Hebrew schools that led ultimately to our respective bar mitzvahs. On reflection, I guess she was as religious as most at that time.

Personality-wise, she was not the openly gregarious, warm, friendly person my father was. Always observant, she could be acerbic in her opinions and criticisms. Though not vindictive, she was not the kind of person with whom people felt comfortable and attached. That said, she had a pretty large circle of women with whom she played bridge and Mah Jong. Regarding the latter, she did not like to lose. I was once told that she was an intelligent, tough player who would go for your throat if you gave her an opening.

There are several humorous family legends (I believe all true) related to her, such as when she was fairly on in years, my brother tried to give her a driving lesson. Unnerved to the point of panic as, driving so far to the right, she barely missed parked cars by a whisker, he switched the lesson to parking in an empty lot only to have her end up plowing into a snow bank (her first and last lesson incidentally). Or, though she was a excellent baker and cook, she would prepare her meals to an intense heat. We used to joke that her mashed potatoes were still hot a week later.

Regarding her proclivity for very hot food, it is said that once when they were heading up to the Catskills on the old and often jammed Route 17, the folks stopped at a then popular spot called The Red Apple Rest for a hotdog. We suspect she may have been the only person ever to return a just grilled hotdog back over the counter (along with some kind of caustic comment) because it was not hot enough for her.

She was always there for my brother and me. If we were ill, she was there. If we had school lesson difficulties, she was there. If we truly needed something, she somehow found the funds or means to get it. And if we “broke the rules”, believe me she was there! When we moved to Jersey City from D.C., she agreed to let older brother, Stan stay with friends in D.C. to graduate from Roosevelt High there. While that did not work out, it turned out OK for him, for in his graduation year at Dickinson High in Jersey City, he met Arlyn, his great life partner. I also remember when in high school and my father insisted that I get some kind of part time job instead of going out for the football team, she “persuaded” him to let me play ball. And when I was drafted and at Camp Kilmer awaiting assignment, she travelled the difficult journey by train and 2 busses each week just to visit me for a few hours.

When it came to family, she was very supportive and protective. She maintained contact with her brother and sister and most of her close relatives, and when we visited Jersey City yearly, tried to see them all. Later on when Stan and I had our own families, while seldom demonstratively complimentary, she had enormous pride in her grandchildren. Often short of finances, instead of buying them things she would lovingly knit various items for them.

She had compassion for those in need and contributed what she could to all kinds of charities (she kept a loose change can or what she called a “pushka” for such purposes). I remember going with her one day to visit Flora, a Black woman who helped her sporadically with housework when she was working at the Department store. Flora lived in one of the poorest of Black areas of D.C. (remember Washington was a Jim Crowe town in those years). A widow with no family near her, she was recovering from Pneumonia. That day and as often as she could Rose Silverman made here way into that destitute neighborhood with whatever food she could share. I’m sure there were others, but Flora was the one I remember.

When we moved to Jersey City, not much changed. My father, his minor “investments” at last discovered by Met auditors in 1941, was encouraged to seek another position elsewhere. That being the year of our entry into the war, with young men being herded into service, he was able to quickly get hired, only this time in Jersey City. Again near her side of the family, and with familiar neighborhoods and old friends, my mother quickly adapted, and settled in.

The years moved on, and in time they moved into a comfortable senior apartment building in East Orange, NJ. As she got into her 70’s, her body started to break down and as her vital organs failed, so did she. Incidentally, an amazing metamorphosis occurred during those latter years. Lou Silverman, who it was alleged could not boil a cup of water, assumed care of her. He bathed and dressed, fed and managed her medicines until the end. Needless to say she fought like hell until that end; she did not go gentle into that dark night.

I guess as I think about it now, I never really knew the core essence of her. Outside of my father’s making a good living, my brother and I and our progeny achieving some measure of success, her keeping a clean and comfortable home and all of us having the best of health, I don’t really know what other passions she had. In those years, of course, having a family and being a good wife and mother were sufficient goals for women like her. Still a male favoring society, expectations could be limited to having and caring for a family. I suspect that while she was content with this, there was a rage within her for something else. What it wasI will never know. She was a woman of her time…devoted to family, giving, protective, proud and above all, a survivor. I miss her.

Arnie Silverman
Laguna Niguel

(Everyone That Owns A Computer Owns " A Press" )

Worse Back Then

As we commence the new year, the increasing crescendo of criticism and arguments between candidates (all offices) and exponents of each and every governmental (all levels) position – healthcare, troop deployment, state and federal budgets, bank bailouts, global warming, you name it, is becoming amplified. If you are perturbed over some or all of the missiles being lobbed between adherents, I can only say it’s a good thing you were not around some 200 + years ago. For newspapers, pamphleteers, candidates and their spokesmen fully and vigorously exercised their newly won freedoms of speech and the press.

In 1800, America had some 200 newspapers, including 24 dailies. In general, however, these publications were primarily mouthpieces for political parties rather than independent, objective entities. The Gazette of the United States, for example, promoted the ideas of Alexander Hamilton and the other Federalists, while the National Gazette and the American Aurora (edited by Ben Franklin’s nephew, Benjamin Franklin Bache) spoke for Thomas Jefferson and his Democratic-Republicans.

A typical newspaper published between 1784 and 1830 was filled with harsh, satirical, and sometimes false recriminations. Considering that libel laws then were based on English common law by which one needed only to prove that he was aggrieved, those editors and publishers took notable financial and personal risks.

In those years the framers of the Constitution were not expected to campaign for the presidency. The public, after consideration of their merits, was supposed to “invite” them to the office (oh, if it only continued). Jefferson, however, from his secluded Monticello haven, unknown to the general public, ran an aggressively vicious if not libelous campaign in those newspapers, particularly in the Aurora and the Boston News Letter against John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, his nemesis, and even George Washington. He accused Washington of senility and of being manipulated and under the control of Hamilton.

"If ever a nation was debauched by a man," the Aurora editorialized about the country's first president, "the American nation has been debauched by Washington".
The attacks became so virulent that Adams, much to the detriment of his historical position among the founders, was persuaded to sign the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 which resulted in the imprisonment of many who published these scurrilous (to the Federalists) pieces. To Jefferson’s credit one of his first acts after being elected in 1800 was having the Alien and Sedition Acts repealed.
A.J. Liebling, one of the great American newspaper columnists, once said that freedom of the press belongs to those who own a press. Now that most of us own a “press” (you may call it the Internet), you aint heard nothin’ yet.

Arnie Silverman
Laguna Niguel

"Nuttin"

A true story by;
Arnold Silverman
Laguna Niguel

Our 11-year old granddaughter, Ally, was given an assignment by her grammar school teacher to write a biography of one of her favorite family members. For some inexplicable reason she chose me. Gathering information for her report, she asked me some 40 or 50 questions, one of which was who was my best, boyhood friend. My reply unleashed the following “buried in memory” anecdote (relevant at this time of the year); one that I want to share with you.

I believe it was 1936 or 1937. I was 7 or 8 years old. We were living in the just burgeoning, FDR/New Deal-Washington D.C. Those were tough, economic times for the nation then limping through the Great Depression. In spite of FDR’s hopeful fireside radio chats (there was no TV then) and Democrats singing “Happy days are here again”, it seemed that there was no light at the end to that dark tunnel except for those joining the new, federal bureaucracy in D.C. The times were also tough for my father, Lou Silverman, who epitomized Arthur Miller’s Willie Loman in trying to make a living working a nickel and dime territory for the Metropolitan Life Insurance Co.

Business was so bad that year his salary was dropped from 45 to $40/wk. Now $5 a week was important money then for most families. As I recall, our rent was $50/mo and with gas, electric and food (new clothes would have to be put off to another time) there was not much if any left over. Some months, of course, this bill or that was paid late. Since most people were in a similar bind, there was more latitude and patience in collections than today.

There was also the possibility that my dear father, who had a powerful penchant for the ponies, may have blown some salary at Pimlico Racetrack in Maryland. Also, my mother, a loving but no nonsense lady, controlled the family finances with Scrooge-like parsimony (Barack and Ahnold in Sacramento could sure use her today). Whatever, times were tight.

As if to exacerbate the difficult days, it was a particularly unpleasant winter. Dark and dreary, cold and wet, with seemingly never ending snow and sleet, a bleak Christmas and end of the year were approaching. In spite of my knowing things were lean, I nevertheless, like every other kid, anticipated getting some kind of Christmas or Hanukkah present. Like many immigrants (they were very young children when they arrived from Europe around 1900), my parents, not religiously ritualistic, felt a need to assimilate into American society. Thus, they did not distinguish much between the two holidays. Also, in those years Hanukkah was not so competitively (gift-wise) celebrated as it is now. For us Christmas was the day for present sharing.

That Christmas Eve I remember listening to Lionel Barrymore do a particularly scary radio rendition of Dickens’ “A Christmas Story”. Finally falling asleep, I awoke before 6 in the morning, bounded out of bed, and searched for whatever bauble my folks had gotten me. There was none. Neither I nor my older brother received a thing (not even unappreciated socks or underwear). While he brushed it off, I brooded the rest of the morning. Although understanding why, I had difficulty overcoming my disappointment. Nothing was said. The holiday was ignored.

Early afternoon my best friend, Bobby Kilroy, who lived across the court from us, called, and invited me over to play and enjoy the day with him. Bobby and I were very close. He would often play hooky from school on Jewish holidays so that we could play together, and several times I tried to go with him to his class at St Mary’s Catholic school near Grant’s Circle. The good sisters, knowing of my heritage, always gently persuaded me to return home.

We played football and baseball and all of the games kids played then. Several times we and other friends would hike to one of the still remaining trenches dug around Washington’s perimeter to protect the city against a possible attack by Lee’s forces, and, would you believe, play war by shooting bb pellets at each other. Fortunately, we were poor marksmen and no one was hurt. I presume that those trenches, hurriedly built during the battle of Gettysburg “just in case”, have been filled in and are under some housing or business development now.

Bobby’s mother, a widow, would be called a single parent today. His father had been a B & O Railroad employee, and with her minor, filing clerk position at some federal agency and what she received from his meager pension, she managed to keep afloat.

Hesitant at first because I knew he would be showing me his presents, I agreed and walked across the court to his apartment. When I entered and saw the empty packages under the scrawny , sparsely decorated tree, I felt a little envy, but managed to conceal it. His mother prepared a snack of “Depression” sandwiches (peanut butter and bananas on Wonder bread), we ate and then played with some of his new games. In time the ultimate question was asked, and I had to confess, choking back tears, that I had received nothing. Mrs. Kilroy, listening, hugged me, and said that the day was not done, and surely something would show up.

We continued our games, ate too much candy and in time my gloom was gone. As I was about to return home, his mother, who had gone out and returned, scratched her head as if in bewilderment, and exclaimed that she could swear she saw a package under the tree with my name on it. Excited, but incredulous, I searched and sure enough there was indeed a small package with my name on it. Encouraged to open it then and there, I tore the wrapping off, and there it was. A wind-up cowboy with lasso that you placed on the rim of a cup or glass and watched as it traveled around the circumference swinging the lasso. Now in those years that particular toy must have cost less than a dollar, but I have to tell you I have never been more overjoyed in my life. Tears rolled down my face as I hugged Mrs. Kilroy and thanked her.

I played with that toy every day for some 2 weeks. When it broke, I did not care. The important thing was that I had been remembered. When in 1941 we moved to New Jersey, I lost track of Bobby. Years later, when I was in CIC training at Fort Holabird in Baltimore, and recently on the Internet, I searched for him, but without success. I’ll always remember Bobby and his mother, who, though having her own tough time financially, made a little boy happier than she could have ever imagined.

So… please take the time and effort to brighten the day for someone in need or who just needs a little appreciation. And…to everyone a joyous Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa or whatever you’re celebrating and the very best of a healthy and fulfilling New Year!

Arnold Silverman
Laguna Niguel

Well, I never thought this old (and I do mean old) reprobate, NY Keynesian economics liberal would have such a thought, but here it is. I don’t believe there should be a Big 3 auto bailout. I mean it’s not about saving an industry; it’s about saving politically connected corporations. You save these guys and every politically influential company in the country will be there with its paws out asking for dough. There already is a line up of salivating lobbyists and CEO’s pressuring for a piece of the federal bailout largesse. If the auto guys get bailed out, then everyone will have a legitimate shot. Look, what makes workers at Mervins, The Gap, Circuit City, Sun Microsystems or any of the other troubled companies inferior to GM, Ford or Chrysler workers?

The auto management bureaucracies and their union counterparts seem to have made every mistake in the books. Over the decades they were responsible for lousy car design and quality, too generous wage and benefits concessions and an overall bureaucratic lethargy on both sides unable to adjust to the realities of worldwide competition. Compare the innovations of German, Japanese and Korean designs to American. Detroit always seems to be catching up with the latest and greatest. Also, add the complicity of the fawning Michigan congressional delegation that, obeying its auto masters, battled against any of the environmental and competitiveness-improving car innovations. Do you really think that a bailout is going to change anything? It really only delays the inevitable.

In short, I believe these dinosaurs must go through the extinction of bankruptcy. We the public should not waste precious funds on life support. Whether they continue in business or not, cars will still be made in the US, and in time, talented, innovative, fresh thinking-new management will form new companies to build advanced-technology, non polluting cars that reflect the needs of the future.

Now, I don’t believe we should just leave the hordes of resulting unemployed on their own. Instead, take part of that proposed $50 bil. and make it available for a reasonable time to those people as continued unemployment, reeducation and health benefits. It will be a hell of a lot cheaper and productive for the nation than pumping dollars down that dry well, and, again, could lead to the revitalization of a newly dynamic, environmentally responsible, technologically leading industry.

So….let the patient die. Let’s get on with the tasks of turning things around! Incidentally, what make are you driving these days?

AHS
Laguna Niguel