Free Franklin Affair by Jim Lehrer Page B

Clymer had then persuaded everyone that Clara was the perfect particular young lady.
    â€œThat’s not funny. I once dropped a bowl of hot bean soup at a fancy party my mother was having,” Clara said to R. “I’ve had nightmares about it ever since.”
    R smiled and asked Evelyn why, above all other reasons, had Adams hated Ben so? Evelyn was known for abhoring small talk. She wanted only conversation about worthy subjects—which to her meant mostly only matters concerning Ben and the American Revolution.
    â€œJealousy, pure and simple. Ben was a man of the world, of the mind, and of science, as well as of politics and diplomacy. Adams was a man of Quincy, Massachusetts, who loved the law, the Revolution, and the sound of his own voice. Most everybody loved Ben, but few people other than his wife, Abigail, loved John.”
    Back to Clara. But before R could say anything, she said, “I won’t be around tomorrow, in the unlikely event you need me.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI’m going over to Eastville for a job interview. They’ve got an opening for director. I just found out about it yesterday, so I’m late to the chase. Of course, I wasn’t sure I was even going to need a new job until—”
    And at that moment Billy Heyward, aka Ben Franklin, motioned for the procession to stop. They had arrived at Christ Church Burial Ground.
    â€¢ • •
    Clara and Evelyn moved forward with Elbridge Clymer to a small two-foot-high wooden platform. It had been erected at the back side of the red brick wall around the burial ground so everyone in the expected crowd of thousands could see the ceremony.
    Clymer grabbed the hand microphone from a portable public address system. Waving his arms, he asked the crowd to fan out in front of the platform. R looked around. He doubted there were even a thousand people there in the street, which the police had blocked off from traffic.
    â€œAs you know, ladies and gentlemen,” Clymer said, once everyone had gathered. “We are here at the northwest corner of Christ Church Burial Ground, a remarkable two acres of history that is the last resting place for more than four thousand people from our revolutionary and colonial past.”
    Clymer faced to his right toward a black wrought-iron fence that spanned a ten-foot-wide break in the brick wall. “I know I don’t have to tell you that one of the four signers of the Declaration of Independence buried here is the one, the only, Benjamin Franklin.”
    There was applause. Somebody yelled, “Let’s hear it for Ben!”
    A cheer rose. “Ben! Ben! Ben!” And another and another.
    Oh, my God, how Wally would have loved this, thought R.
    Clymer, looking about as happy as R had ever seen a college president except during football team victories, waited until it was quiet again before continuing.
    â€œBen’s grave is just inside. People have come here for years and, as many of you know, a custom has grown up of tossing a penny on his gravestone for good luck.”
    Again, the crowd chanted, “Ben! Ben! Ben!” and R thanked God for creating college students.
    â€œOur cherished Wally Rush wanted something special done with his ashes. Doctors Hopkins and Ross-Floyd will now carry out Wally’s wish—”
    Clara Hopkins had a Ph.D.? It didn’t matter but R simply hadn’t known.
    â€œâ€”but they will do so in accordance with the request of the overseers of the burial ground that the penny tradition be followed and no new precedents be set.”
    Bill Paine had negotiated what happened next. Clymer moved away, and Clara and Evelyn took his place in front of the microphone.
    Clara lifted up the glass bowl. “Wally’s ashes are in here.”
    Evelyn held a penny between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. “This is a penny.”
    Clara lowered the bowl; Evelyn removed the lid and dropped the