James McHenry was born in Ireland in 1753. His Scots-Irish family send him to America in 1771 after he became sick from studying too hard. He may also have been sent to check out the colonies in anticipation of the entire family’s eventual immigration. In fact, a year later, the McHenry clan settled in what were then (for only a few years more) the British Colonies.
McHenry finished his studies in Philadelphia before serving as an apprentice under Benjamin Rush. You may remember Rush as the doctor/patriot who signed the Declaration of Independence, the founder of Dickinson College and the mentor/teacher of both Meriwether Lewis (of Lewis & Clark fame) and future president William Henry Harrison.
Perhaps influenced by Rush, or maybe the whole Philadelphia experience, McHenry joined the cause of the patriots. After the British captured and then released him, McHenry served on the staffs of both George Washington and General Lafayette.
Two things about McHenry stand out in his long and illustrious career as a Founding Father. It’s likely you don’t know his connection to either.Continue Reading “How Much Are You Willing to Pay to Have Free Speech?”
The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died
JFK Campaign Poster. Source: Unidentified Artist, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Two hundred years. It was a great run while it lasted.
I wrote eight years ago how the establishment Republicans’ alienation of Donald Trump signaled the end of that party, (see “The Night the Grand Old Party Died,” Mendon-Honeoye Falls-Lima Sentinel, April 14, 2016). A week ago, their counterpart decided to return the favor.
To fully appreciate the significance of this, understand I was raised a Kennedy Democrat, pretty much like every other Catholic who grew up in the 1960s. Every home in my family and every home of my family’s friends had two pictures hanging somewhere among their walls. One was of the Pope. The other was of John F. Kennedy.
How effusive was the Kennedy aura in our family? My brother’s name was “Kenneth.” We called him “Kenny.” My great-great aunt Zia Pepe (that would be my mother’s great aunt and my grandmother’s aunt) watched us when my mother had to substitute teach. She called my brother “Ken-eh-dee.” It was a badge of honor for him. He collected all things Kennedy, at least for a short time.
Zia Pepe was babysitting us when JFK was assassinated. The three of us watched it on TV. She cried. We didn’t know why Zia Pepe was crying. As we were watching, our mother Continue Reading “The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died”