Benjamin(ˈbenjəmən) Franklin

Benjamin(ˈbenjəmən) Franklin

By Walter Isaacson(īsaksən)

CHAPTER ONE

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND THE INVENTION(inˈvenSHən) OF AMERICA

His arrival(əˈrīvəl) in Philadelphia(ˌfiləˈdelfēə) is one of the most famous scenes(sēn) in autobiographical(ˌôtəbīəˈgrafikəl) literature(-ˌCHo͝or,-ˌt(y)o͝or,ˈlit(ə)rəCHər): the bedraggled(biˈdragəld) 17-year-old runaway, cheeky(ˈCHēkē) yet(yet) with a pretense(priˈtens,ˈprēˌtens) of humility((h)yo͞oˈmilitē), straggling off the boat and buying three puffy(ˈpəfē) rolls as he wanders(ˈwändər) up Market Street. But wait a minute. There’s something more. Peel(pēl) back a layer and we can see him as a 65-year-old wry(rī) observer(əbˈzərvər), sitting in an English country house, writing this scene, pretending it’s part of a letter(ˈletər) to his son, an illegitimate(ˌi(l)ləˈjitəmit) son who has become a royal(ˈroiəl) governor(ˈgəvə(r)nər) with aristocratic(əˌristəˈkratik) pretensions(priˈtenCHən,prēˈtenCHən) and needs to be reminded(riˈmīnd) of his humble(ˈhəmbəl) roots.

A careful look at the manuscript(ˈmanyəˌskript) peels back yet another layer. Inserted into the sentence(ˈsentns) about his pilgrim’s(ˈpilgrəm) progress up Market Street is a phrase(frāz), written in the margin(ˈmärjən), in which he notes that he passed by the house of his future wife, Deborah(ˈdeb(ə)rə) Read, and that “she, standing at the door, saw me and thought(THôt) I made, as I certainly(ˈsərtnlē) did, a most awkward(ˈôkwərd) ridiculous(riˈdikyələs) appearance(əˈpi(ə)rəns).” So here we have, in a brief(brēf) paragraph(ˈparəˌgraf), the multilayered(ˈməltiˈlāərd,ˈməltī-) character(ˈkariktər) known so fondly to his author as Benjamin Franklin: as a young man, then seen through the eyes of his older self, and then through the memories later recounted by his wife. It’s all topped off with the old man’s deft(deft) little affirmation(ˌafərˈmāSHən)—“as I certainly did”—in which his self-deprecation(ˈdepriˌkāt) barely(ˈbe(ə)rlē) cloaks(klōk) the pride(prīd) he felt regarding(riˈgärdiNG) his remarkable(riˈmärkəbəl) rise(rīz) in the world.

Benjamin Franklin is the founding father(ˈfäT͟Hər) who winks(wiNGk) at us. George(jôrj) Washington’s colleagues(ˈkälˌēg) found it hard to imagine(iˈmajən) touching the austere(ôˈsti(ə)r) general on the shoulder, and we would find it even more so today. Jefferson and Adams(ˈīdəms) are just as intimidating(inˈtimiˌdāt). But Ben Franklin, that ambitious(amˈbiSHəs) urban(ˈərbən) entrepreneur(-ˈnər,ˌäntrəprəˈno͝or), seems made of flesh(fleSH) rather than of marble(ˈmärbəl), addressable(əˈdresəbəl) by nickname, and he turns to us from history’s stage with eyes that twinkle(ˈtwiNGkəl) from behind those newfangled(-ˌfaNG-,ˈn(y)o͞oˈfaNGgəld) spectacles(ˈspektəkəl). He speaks to us, through his letters(ˈletər) and hoaxes(hōks) and autobiography(ˌôtəbīˈägrəfē), not with orotund(ˈôrəˌtənd) rhetoric(ˈretərik) but with a chattiness and clever(ˈklevər) irony(ˈiərnē,ˈīrənē,ˈīərnē) that is very contemporary(kənˈtempəˌrerē), sometimes unnervingly(ˌənˈnərv) so. We see his reflection in our own time.

https://www.amazon.cn/Benjamin-Franklin-An-American-Life-Isaacson-Walter/dp/0684807610/