Ben's Big Bash
By Bob Neubauer
AS ANYONE who lives near Philadelphia knows by now, 2006 is the 300th anniversary of Benjamin Franklin's birth—the tercentenary, as the city tourism folks like to say.
Philadelphia—IPG's home town—has done a great job of promoting this fact. Banners sporting Ben's bespectacled visage flap from light poles all over the city, and scores of symposiums, articles, exhibits and other events have been focusing on the life of this patriot, inventor and "old-school" printer.
On his birthday last month, the city went Ben crazy, holding at least three birthday parties (one with an eight-foot-tall cake sporting 300 candles) and a parade to his grave site.
Every museum in town, it seems, is capitalizing on the Franklin frenzy (though I thought the "Swedes at the Time of Franklin" exhibit at the American Swedish Historical Museum was rather a stretch, myself). Even the bars are getting in on the fun, touting Franklin ales brewed the way old Ben would have liked. (He did say, "Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.")
One of the most publicized displays in the city has been the National Constitution Center's exhibition, "Benjamin Franklin: In Search of a Better World," billed as "the largest collection of Franklin materials ever assembled." A colleague and I traveled there recently on an uncharacteristically warm winter afternoon for a glimpse inside the world of Ben Franklin, the poster child for U.S. printers.
A Slave to Print
Franklin was born in Boston on January 17, 1706, the ninth of 11 children. He was pulled from school at an early age by his father and made an apprentice to his brother James, a printer (and, according to Franklin, a tyrant). This was really more of an indentured servant position, so when he ran away at 17, he became a fugitive.
After making the long journey to Philadelphia, Franklin worked in several print shops, before travelling to England for a couple years, where he also found printing work. When he returned to Philadelphia, he eventually set up a print shop of his own, using it to publish a newspaper called The Pennsylvania Gazette, in which he expressed his views on a variety of subjects. Later he published his famous "Poor Richard's Almanack."
Printing made Franklin a wealthy man. He was able to retire from active business in 1748 at the age of 42 and devote the second half of his life to other pursuits, like science, politics and the improvement of society via libraries, fire companies, hospitals and more.
The National Constitution Center's exhibition covers all eras of Franklin's life, using a combination of artifacts, video animations and interactive displays. The exhibit boasts more than 250 original items, many owned by Franklin's family and never before displayed.
In one corner: the only known copy of the first issue of "Poor Richard's Almanack" from 1733, printed and sold by Franklin. In another: the very shop book in which his wife Deborah recorded the names of customers.
There sits Franklin's wooden chess set, waiting for him to make a move, and his well-worn wallet, where he saved those famous pennies. One of his earliest lightning rods seems charred from use.
I stood inches from the actual Common Press that Franklin used when he worked in London in 1725, gazing at its pockmarked surface.
Portraits of the popular kite flier abounded, from the earliest known likeness that greets visitors as they enter, to the last, painted in 1787 when he was 81. Many look nothing like the kindly, balding patriot we all have come to know. But then, even after touring this exhibit, there's much we don't know about Franklin.
Nobody's Perfect
Franklin's autobiography, great reading though it is, was crafted by a man fully conscious of the image he wanted to portray. Many of the more surprising facets of Franklin's life have been whitewashed in two centuries of biographies—as well as by this city that seeks to identify with and laud him. (For instance, he stayed loyal to the Crown much longer than a "Founding Father" probably should have.)
Franklin's darker side, particularly the indifferent way he treated his family, can be pulled from biographies like "The Americanization of Benjamin Franklin" and "Benjamin Franklin: An American Life," among others.
His contemporaries weren't all crazy about him either. John Adams wrote: "His whole life has been one continued insult to good manners and to decency." Ouch! Of course, Franklin's retort would have been: "Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults."
(One amusing animation in the exhibit depicts the famous incident when Franklin and Adams were forced to share a bed at a crowded inn, and bickered over whether to close or open a window. Franklin wanted it open, convinced that fresh air would fend off sickness. His defensive harangue lulled Adams to a chilly sleep.)
Still, printers visiting the exhibition, which will be traveling around the country, are sure to be intrigued by this look into the early life of the printer known as Ben Franklin. Seeing the Common Press he once used, along with reproductions of a frame with type cases, and Ben's own composing stick, is sure to make printers wistful. A video shows craftsmen printing on a common press, while an interactive touch-screen display lets you set type, ink and pull a press, and "print" a document on screen.
Most of the 8,000-square-foot exhibition, though, is not about printing, but covers Franklin's family life, his scientific experiments, his time in France as an ambassador (during which, I learned, he established a small press in Paris to print invitations, short stories, bonds, pamphlets and the like) and his final years helping to create this great country of ours. Testifying to this last achievement are original copies of five of America's founding documents, all signed by Franklin.
After passing through the gift shop—fighting the temptation to buy Ben Franklin pasta ("with key and lightning bolt shapes!")—I meandered out of the National Constitution Center into the sunny January afternoon. Reflecting on the life I'd just examined, I couldn't help crossing to nearby Christ Church Burial Ground where Ben lies buried.
His grave sits just on the other side of the cemetery's steel bars at the corner of 5th and Arch Streets. For all Franklin's great accomplishments, a surprisingly simple gravestone marks his resting place, bearing only his name, his wife's name and the year he died, 1790. Nothing else is chiseled into that vast stone marker.
His impact, though, continues to be felt, in this city and around the world.
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"Benjamin Franklin: In Search of a Better World" will remain at Philadelphia's National Constitution Center until April 30. Then it will travel to St. Louis, Houston, Denver, Atlanta and Paris. Find out more at:
www.benfranklin300.org
- Places:
- Philadelphia
- U.S.