A DAY IN THE REVOLUTIONARY AMERICAN LIFE

I have a friend who is a relatively recent American citizen. I find it wildly ironic that he harbors a fascination for the American Revolution and the Fathers of the United States republic, as he is British by birth. Currently living in Los Angeles, not exactly a place I consider the cradle of staunch American values, my friend decides he wants to experience Concord when he visits his old Boston-area stomping grounds. My plan is to take him to some sites in Concord and perhaps even to Sudbury. After all, very little compares to hoisting an ale in the tavern of Longfellows' Wayside Inn. 

We start our day at the Concord Museum, which has some amazing artifacts. It also has a large, interactive map that depicts the timeline and troops and actions and locations of the events of April 19, 1775. The stuff that is on display is absolutely spellbinding: muskets, swords, silver-smithed kitchenware, furniture, documents, art, and sculptures, including two scaled sculptures by Daniel Chester French that are notably recognizable: The Minute Man and the Lincoln Memorial.

My next stop, however, is a near-fatal mistake.

I decide to take my friend, who is a voracious reader, to Author's Ridge at Concord's Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Buried here are famous American authors Alcott, Emerson, Thoreau, and Hawthorne. This is my personal Valhalla, and I assume, stupidly I now realize, that my British friend would be as familiar with iconic American writers as we all are with iconic British authors. It's okay. I mean, we didn't have anyone over here writing when Chaucer was creating verse in Merry Olde England. As a matter of fact, we didn't have any famous literary now-dead white guys here at all during that time period. I figure, then, that it's okay to skip Sudbury since Longfellow isn't on the radar today.

We head over the the Old North Bridge, and trudge uphill in unusually hot autumn weather to the Visitors' Center. It is amazing to be on hallowed ground, and even my former red coat buddy is enthralled by the history of the Americans' bravado and chutzpah. Finally, we wrap up the day with a wonderful early supper at Concord's 1716 Colonial Inn, extending our Revolutionary-ish Era adventure.

After my friend catches the train back to Boston and I head home via back roads to my own place about twenty miles northeast, I can't help reflecting on the propaganda campaign that led us to this place where we are now. Sure, we are tax-laden, Congress is littered with nut jobs, and the entire monetary system is on the verge of collapse, but overall it's a damn lot better than most.