A great cathedral and a great man

I would like to wish a Happy Passover and a Happy Easter to my Jewish and Christian readers. I heard on the news today that Easter services at Notre Dame were cancelled for the first time in nine centuries and was overwhelmed by sadness. While the iconic cathedral is the heart of France, cited by one historian as the embodiment of civilization, and one of the most popular tourist sights in the world, it is more than that. It is also the church of many Parisians and so I was glad to learn that plans are in the works to build a temporary edifice for worshippers on the site. Attending a religious service in one of the great cathedrals is an experience that no one soon forgets. I never visited Paris without visiting Notre Dame, where I always lit candles for the souls of some of the men and women I’d loved writing about—and yes, that included Eleanor and Henry and their turbulent brood. I never missed lighting a candle for their forgotten son, Geoffrey, who’d been buried in that magnificent cathedral in August, 1186.

Today’s History Post ventures from the Middle Ages. Wednesday was the date of death of my favorite Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin, who died of pleurisy on April 17, 1790. He was 84, a respectable age today and a vast one back in the 18th century. About fifteen years ago, I did some extensive research about colonial America and the Revolutionary War. It was a way of escaping from a painful reality, for I was taking care of my dad then as this wonderful man fought a battle he could not hope to win with Alzheimer’s. I became fascinated with this period of history in general and Ben Franklin in particular. He’d always been a favorite of mine and the more I learned about him, the more convinced I became that America owes its independence to two men, George Washington, who miraculously managed to hold the colonial army together, and Ben Franklin, who bedazzled the French court into throwing in with the Americans; had they not done so, I think it exceedingly likely that the British would eventually have prevailed.
Being a writer, I found myself seriously tempted to write about this period in our history; it really was our first civil war. John Adams, who was in a position to know, once commented that 25% of the population were rebels, 25% were Tories, and the rest were on the fence, hesitant to commit themselves. I even went so far as to envision two fictional families, one in Boston that supported independence and one in Philadelphia that supported the crown. I was looking forward to bringing Ben into the storyline, naturally; he’d be as much fun to write about as he must have been to know in person. But that would end up as a book not written, which I do regret, especially on days like this. Rest in peace, Ben; you earned it. And if any of my readers have some free time, use it to find out more about this remarkable man.