The Generosity of Ben Franklin

Before I pick up where I left off, I should explain some minor adjustments to the site.  (Major ones will come when the download of my stink is complete)

I've changed the archive tab to 'new readers start here' and also posted the first post in a new category,
because as it states, 'the first post explains a lot'. 

I did these things because I have gained an incredible twitter following and want my new readers not to show up in the middle of some obscure post and think 'boy this really does stink.'

So, now for the continuation of my discovery...

R.J.O buzzed with activity, more than I'd ever seen it.  Gramps was making a documentary about Benjamin Franklin.  It wasn't the electricity and political stuff we all know about, but the other stuff he was into when he was young, like printing, writing and advertising.  The main soundstage was all done up like an old fashioned print factory and he even flew in an older Ben Franklin look-alike from Philadelphia for the stuff he was shooting later.  Benny likes to think he was named after the old inventor, so he was impressed to say the least.  We were hooked at the first scene where Ben landed in Philadelphia coming from Boston.

He had a tough time getting there and when he ended up in New Jersey he thought he'd never make it across the river, of course we know, he finally did.  His best travel clothes were filthy from his horrible journey at sea.  His pockets were stuffed with the rest of his belongings, extra shirts and socks.  He was exhausted because of all of the walking and rowing.  And he was starved.  After he paid the rowboat captain for his help, he only had three pennies.  He looked around Philadelphia from the top of the street and saw a boy with bread.  He asked where he got it and immediately went to the baker.  He asked the baker for a biscuit -- the kind of bread he was used to in Boston -- in Philly there was no such thing.  He then asked for a three-penny loaf, again there was no such kind.  Frustrated, he asked to be given three pennies worth of whatever kind of bread he could get.  The baker gave him three crazy-huge puffy rolls. 
 
Surprised by all the dough and having no room in his pockets, Ben walked off into his new city with a giant puffy roll tucked under each arm while eating the third.  He knew he must have looked ridiculous, plus with his socks hanging from his pockets, so he walked in a big circle back to the river and gave his other two massively puffy rolls to a woman and a child waiting to leave the city.  Pretty funny and definitely cool.

It was fascinating to watch how Franklin thought and came up with ideas. Not to mention how hard it was to set up a single page to print.  Nothing like today's World where no one hardly reads a paper and if an I.M. takes more than a minute everyone thinks something is broken.  It was lunch break before we knew it, Gramps let us eat in his office with him.

"So, this is your buddy that helped you with your printing debut," Gramps shook Benny's hand like he was meeting a business partner.

"Oh that," I answered.  "Dad hasn't said what's going on with it.  If we're going to be sued or not."

"What are you talking about?" Benny whispered to me.  With all of my drama over New York and necklace of masks, I totally didn't think to tell him about the Hollywood Variety story.

"I'll fill you in later," I answered.

"Ah, Sam is a good man, he can work out anything," Gramps crunched into his overly large pickle.  "Tell me boys, what's your take on Ben?  We telling a good story?"

"You bet," we answered in stereo.

 "He was just about your age when he began to learn the business of printing the truth," Gramps got that glazed look in his eyes and he was off like a Sunday morning preacher.  "Journalism's first obligation is the truth.  The written word, there will never be too much appreciation for it." 

As Gramps rambled, I wanted to interrupt and talk about meeting Simon, then I noticed an old trunk in the corner of his office.  My personal movie screen launched itself and I was in the middle of a memory curse… 

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