Chapter I: Front Matter

Founding Fathers

by Robert Bloch

_We doubt if anyone but Robert Bloch could dissolve what at first
appears to be an outrageous distortion of history--the Founding
Fathers in gangster roles!--into such a sunburst of dazzling humor
that we find ourselves forgiving him almost before we discover that
there is nothing to forgive. You see, the opening scene of this
hilarious science fantasy isn’t really in the least irreverent, for
the astounding, turnabout climax sets history by the ears!_

=If you’re determined to change history nothing can equal a
time-machine. But be warned! You may prematurely whiten your bones!=

Early on the morning of July 4th, 1776, Thomas Jefferson poked his peruked head into the deserted chamber of what was to be known as Independence Hall and yelled, “Come on, you guys, the coast is clear!”

As he stepped into the big room he was followed by John Hancock, who puffed nervously on a cigarette.

“All right,” Jefferson said. “Ditch the butt, will ya? You wanna louse us up, creep?”

“Sorry, boss.” Hancock glanced around the place, then addressed a third man who entered behind him. “Dig this,” he murmured. “Not an ashtray in the joint. What kind of a setup we got here anyway, Nunzio?”

The third man scowled. “Don’t call me Nunzio,” he growled. “The name’s Charles Thomson, remember?”

“Okay, Chuck.”

“Charles!” The third man dug John Hancock in the ribs. “Straighten that wig of yours. Ya look like somethin’ out of a Boy Scout pageant yet.”

John Hancock shrugged. “Well, whaddya expeck? Guy can’t even smoke, and these here britches are so tight I’m scared to sit down in ’em.”

Thomas Jefferson turned and confronted him. “You ain’t gonna sit down,” he said. “All you gotta do is sign and keep your yap shut. Let Ben do the talking, remember?”

“Ben?”

“Benjamin Franklin, schmoe,” said Thomas Jefferson.

“Somebody mention my name?” The short fat balding man hurried into the room, carefully adjusting square-lensed spectacles to the bridge of his nose.

“What took you so long?” Thomas Jefferson demanded. “You run into trouble back there?”

“No trouble,” Benjamin Franklin replied. “They’re out cold, and the gags are holding. It’s just these glasses--the lenses distort my vision. I’d forgotten I’d have to wear them.”

“Can’t you ditch ’em?”

“No. Somebody might get suspicious.” Franklin peered at his companions over the tops of the spectacles. “They’re likely to get suspicious anyway, if you don’t do what I told you.” He glanced around the room. “What time is it?”

Thomas Jefferson fumbled with the ruffles at his sleeves and gazed down at the face of his wristwatch. “Seven-thirty,” he announced.

“You’re sure?”

“Checked it with Western Union.”

“Never mind that Western Union talk. And take off that thing--put it in your pocket. It’s stuff like that can get us into trouble.”

“Trouble,” John Hancock groaned. “These here shoes are killin’ me. They ain’t nearly my size.”

“Well wear them and be quiet,” Benjamin Franklin told him. “I wish to God you’d remembered to shave, too. Fine thing--the President of the Continental Congress on the most important day of our history, coming in without shaving.”

“I forgot. Also they was no place to plug in an electric shaver.”

“Well, never mind now. The main thing is just to be quiet and remember what you’re supposed to do. Mr. Jefferson, do you have the Declaration?”

Nobody answered. Franklin strode up to the tall man in the peruke. “Jefferson, that’s you I’m talking to.”

“I forgot.” The big man smiled sheepishly.

“You’d better not forget. Now, where is it?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Well, get it out. We’ve got to sign right away, before anybody else shows up. I expect they’ll start drifting in around eight at the latest.”

“Eight?” Jefferson sighed. “Do you mean to tell me they go to work that early here?”

“Our friends in the back room looked as if they’d been working all night,” Franklin reminded him.

“Ain’t they never heard of union hours?”

“No, and don’t you mention it, either.” Franklin surveyed his companions earnestly. “That goes for all of you. Watch your tongues. We can’t afford a slip-up.”

“Telling me?” Charles Thomson took the parchment from Thomas Jefferson and unfolded it.

“Careful with that,” Franklin warned.

“Pipe down, will ya? I just wanna take a look at it,” Thomson replied. “I ain’t never seen that there thing.” He glanced at the manuscript curiously. “Hey, dig this crazy hanwriting. Its all lettering, like.”

He spread the Declaration on a table and squinted down at it, mumbling aloud.

“‘When inna course a human events, it becomes nessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connecked them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate’--hey, what kinda double-talk is this, anyway? Whyn’t these guys write English, huh?”

“Never mind.” Ben Franklin took the parchment from him and strode to a desk. “I’m going to revise it right now.” He rummaged around in the drawer, finding fresh parchment and a quill pen. “I’m not up to copying the lettering style, I’m afraid, but I can explain that to the Congress easily enough. I’ll tell them that Jefferson here made his last-minute changes in a hurry. The hurry part of it is no lie.”

He bent over the blank parchment and studied the Declaration as it rested alongside. “Got to keep the style,” he said. “Very important. But the main thing is to add the provisions at the end.”

“Provisions?” John Hancock brightened. “We gonna have some grub, hey? I’m starved.”

“That can wait,” Jefferson snapped. “Now keep still and let the guy work. This is the most important part of the whole caper, understand?”

Then there was silence in the room--silence except for the busy scratching of the quill pen as Benjamin Franklin wrote. Jefferson stood over his shoulder, nodding from time to time. “Don’t forget to put in that part about me being temporary boss,” he said. “And stick in that we need a treasurer.”

Franklin nodded impatiently. “I’ve got it all down here,” he answered. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Think they’ll sign?”

“Sure they’ll sign. It’s only logical. Right after the part about being free and independent states there should be a mention of a temporary governing arrangement. They can’t object to that. Wonder why it was left out in the first place.”

“Search me.” Jefferson shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Well, you’re supposed to have written it.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

Franklin finished, sat back, and poked at Jefferson’s chest with his quill. “Cough,” he said.

Jefferson coughed.

“Again. Louder.”

“What’s the big idea?”

“You’ve got laryngitis,” Franklin told him. “A bad case. That’s why you’re not talking. Anybody asks you any questions, you just cough. Right?”

“Okay. I didn’t want to talk anyway.”

Franklin gazed at Hancock and Thomson. “You two better sign and disappear. When the gang arrives, you go in the back room and keep an eye on our buddies there. I’ll make up some excuse why you’re not around--can’t take the risk of having you cornered and questioned. Got it?”

The two men nodded. Franklin extended the quill pen. “Here. You two are supposed to sign first.” As John Hancock reached for the pen, Franklin chuckled. “Just put your John Hancock right here.”

Hancock signed with a flourish. He gave the pen to Charles Thomson.

“Remember, you’re the secretary,” Franklin said, as Thomson dipped the quill in the inkwell. “What’s the matter, that quill too clumsy for you?”

“Sure it’s clumsy,” Thomson said. “And these clothes are murder. And none of us guys knows how to talk. We can’t get away with this, Thinker. We’re gonna make mistakes.”

Benjamin Franklin stood up. “We’re going to make history,” he declared. “Just follow orders and everything will be all right.” He paused and lifted his hand. “In the immortal words of myself--Benjamin Franklin--we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”