Rat Stew
A Column by
Gene Stewart
for Tom Sadler’s APA Zine
The Reluctant Famulus
Ben Franklin stood out. Even set against the blazing lights of the Founding Fathers, brilliant men all, he dazzled. He was so brilliant the likes of Jefferson and Madison consulted him. He was so clever he talked the Continental Congress into forming a colonial government to present a united front, then led the cause of writing and distributing the Declaration of Independence.
The writers of the Constitution kept Franklin at arm’s length fearing he might hide things in it that would become evident only years or decades later.
Franklin was a writer, printer, and inventor. He gave away his inventions for the good of mankind, useful things such as the lightning rod, the lending library, and the volunteer fire company. He was a scientist, studying electricity when it was found mainly in lightning and leyden jars.
In London Franklin represented the colonies as it petitioned the court of King George III for independence. When that fell through Franklin decamped to France, where he spent the greater part of two decades cultivating support and good will for the newly-minted United States of America.
Incidentally, while in London he supported, covertly, the study of anatomy by allowing rooms of his in London to be used for dissecting cadavers, then a crime. This latter information came to light only recently and led to murmurings and rhetorical questions: Was Ben Franklin a serial killer?
Not bloody likely, no. He was supporting the Enlightenment pursuit of actual, empirical knowledge over superstitious twaddle. Seeing for one’s self is what autopsy means, and Franklin was all for that in every of life’s endeavors.
He stood out brightly in so many ways it is difficult to encompass him in a single biography. Each of his many facets deserves at least one fat book of its own, or a long-winded, repetitive examination of his space alien connections on History Channel. Yes, there are some who claim Franklin simply must have been a space alien himself, to have been so much smarter than all those other chimps in powdered wigs, and if not an alien himself, then certainly in contact with aliens. After all, no mere human can so much as take an air bath without collapsing into calamity and disaster, as all good History Channel viewers know.
If not a space alien or contactee, then, and if not a psychopathic murderer, what was Ben Franklin?
He tells us he was born on Milk Street in Boston and ran away from being apprenticed to his cruel brother James at age 17, going to Philadelphia. There he worked as a printer’s devil and was, somehow — evidently by cultivating the right connections — sent by the Pennsylvania governor to London ostensibly to buy another set of presses to start up another newspaper. When that fell through, Franklin worked in London and, later, back in Philly at his trade of printer, all the while also writing and reading and seeking to better himself.
Readers of his excellent Autobiography will know his advice on managing time and dealing with people. Such gems as, “You can add an activity to your day even if it is a mere ten minutes a day, and the cumulative work will advance you,” and “always let them see you in to work early and leaving work late, especially if that work comes easily and quickly to you when not being observed.”
He wrote that horny young men wanting to get laid should target widows and older women, who will, he said, “be both discreet and grateful.” To any objections he issues the old saw, “all cats are grey in the dark” so don’t be too picky; the lads who chase the pretty young things fail miserably most of the time. Let them.
Practical is one way to look at this and many other items of his advice. His method for advancing in society is to gain charter, (permission or even contracts), to set up mutually-beneficial endeavors such as libraries, hospitals, and fire departments. In this way you gain the power of backers and the excuse to approach folks higher on the social ladder. You are seen as both industrious and responsible.
His methods of manipulating people did not stop there. While in France he was often called the “wild” American, and to charm them would dress in what he called his Frontier Outfit. This included deerskin leather trousers and jacket, both frilled, moccasins, and a large fur hat of either beaver or woodchuck. This delighted the French, who found it barbaric on such an obviously erudite, well-spoken man.
He kept mistresses and fathered at least one illegitimate child, a son. He did not see his wife, left back in Philadelphia, for 20-odd years, his sojourns in France being so “urgent”. That may well have been code for “enjoyable”.
Was Ben Franklin, then, perhaps a sociopath?
Diagnosing someone after death is a churlish pursuit best left to the History Channel’s many contactee geniuses. Meanwhile, pick up a copy of Walter Isaacson’s excellent, readable biography, Ben Franklin: An American Life. You can grab a trade paperback for like ten bucks these days, for instance, and you’ll find it’s an engrossing, amusing, and educational book.
This Rat Stew column barely touches on all Franklin was. He should be mentioned in the same company as folks like Da Vinci, Newton, Goethe, Einstein, and Tesla. He was every bit that kind of amazing, so go check into him. You’ll laugh and you’ll learn.
The best thing about Franklin is mentioned in the blurb to that book: He is the one Founding Father made of flesh, not marble. He’s not a carved face on a mountain. He’s not a statue. He’s a woman-chasing, Hellfire Club attending, air bath-taking, wine appreciating, living, breathing human being and has remained so despite his legendary status in so many fields.
That alone is quite an accomplishment.
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