In the wake of the Stamp Act of 1765, these future insurgents met in the dank basement of Boston’s Green Dragon Tavern and Coffee House, which gained the historical reputation as the “Headquarters of the Revolution.” I like to envisage the Green Dragon as something akin to the Prancing Pony tavern from J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, where scheming, shifty-eyed, cloaked and hooded colonists sip on bitter tea or coffee while sneeringly conspiring to plot revolution.
