In the Great Room of Faneuil Hall, beneath a towering painted mural of Daniel Webster addressing an august nineteenth century assemblage, a twenty-first century audience bellowed “Fie!”
“Fie! Fie!” Despite the words, the mood was rowdy and exuberant as the bearded moderator in a lavender greatcoat and flounce of white collar banged his gavel. “Enough! In fairness we must hear both sides! Who else would speak?”
Hands flew up around the room, Dave’s among them. He, too, had been given a card by a uniformed National Park Service member and was eager to play his role. But a man in a blue “Boston 250” tee-shirt rose in the back and introduced himself. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Samuel Adams.”
“Ahhhhh…” crowed the crowd in admiring recognition and perhaps envy that this individual had drawn the card of the famous Revolutionary leader.
With his shoulders back and spine straight, and perhaps an imagined tri-corn hat atop his head, “Mr. Adams” hissed, “If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom – go from us in peace.”
For clarity’s sake, I think Mr. Adams could have improved his grammar, but knowing his intent, the room erupted. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” and no amount of gavel rapping could quiet the cheers nor dampen the spirits of these pilgrims to the Cradle of Liberty for America’s 250th. In the row in front of us, a young lad in Colonial garb leapt to his feet and waved his tri-corn hat in the air. Like most others in the room, his face was animated, his smile broad at this effort to recapture the energy of the centuries old debate.
While the cards distributed represented the actual words of wigmakers, midwives, seamstresses, and coopers, many of the day’s visitors were women, children, and people of color who would have been denied entry to this hall in 1776, not being white men of property. Without doubt, that spurred the vehemence of the speakers: a wish to give life and voice to those suppressed in the past. Hear us now!
I couldn’t help myself, “Go Abigail!” I cried, knowing what she would say. In truth, her words were never said aloud, but written to her husband, John, as he and his fellow Founders deliberated at the Continental Congress in Philadelphia.
“… By the way,” her stand-in said, “in the new code of laws which I suppose it will be necessary for you to make, I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power in the hands of the husbands.” The woman paused, her gaze sweeping the room as she raised an eyebrow and smiled a thin, purposeful, smile. “Remember, all men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation.”
“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” We roared our support for this Founding Mother who was home doing it all in her husband’s absence: running the farm, caring for children, and attending to finances.
At the end of the program, audience members were invited to come to the podium to sign a document in support of independence. The queue was long, and I felt proud to scratch my name with that feathered quill. As I passed it off to the next person in line, the moderator said, “Thanks for committing treason while you’re in town.”
How I wish honor carried more weight in government in 2026.
Dave and I had begun our day in Boston in the shadow of the old State House with thousands of others braving sweltering heat to hear the Declaration of Independence read. Why had we not thought to wear red, white, and blue? Everyone else had. A kind woman gave my navy sundress an appraising look and said, “I have two flags. Would you like one?”
Of course. Thank you.
We chatted with those around us, folks from Michigan, California, and New Orleans, some in Boston for the first time, drawn, as we were, to celebrate this momentous anniversary in the city so pivotal to the Revolution.
Powerful amps boomed Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” Lynyrd Skynrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama,” and John Denver’s “Country Road.” The playlist was perfect, and we, united in music and celebration, swayed and sang along.
When the simple drumbeat strains of Ray Charles version of “America the Beautiful” began, my nose prickled with wistfulness; the ideals of which he sings seem so elusive. Charles opens, not with the traditional first verse, but with the third:
“O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!”
In this time of power hunger, greed, deportations and detention camps, those words are poignant. And the final line, “And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea” could break your heart. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that more people joined in on “American Pie.”
Ultimately, Captain Commanding John S. Damiano of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company of Massachusetts appeared on the State House balcony above us and read the grievances against King George III that sparked calls for Independence, some unnervingly pertinent today. We were many thousands beneath that balcony and filling Congress Street as far as Faneuil Hall, but we listened quietly, sometimes ruefully nodding or shaking heads at the mention of laws abolished, loyalist judges appointed, trade disrupted, and swarms of officers sent to harass the people.
It was hot, so hot, and these are worrisome times. Who knew, in that multi-colored crowd of citizens and tourists, where political allegiances lay? Yet, at the conclusion of the reading, confetti shot to the skies and showered us with red, white, and blue. People of every age hooted with delight, faces upraised, hands outstretched, while children scampered about striving to catch drifting scraps. And one could imagine, one could feel, that brotherhood was within reach.
