Philadelphia’s past was populated by many fascinating characters, but most of us are stumped after the first two.
Philadelphia Inquirer – September 1st, 2009
I sometimes begin the first history class of the new school year by asking my students to name a few famous Philadelphians from the 18th and 19th centuries. The question doesn’t seem too hard, and they happily give it a go.
A chorus of Ben Franklins is typically followed by a few William Penns, and then they start to look a bit nervous. Someone eventually says, “Betsy Ross?” After that, they stare helplessly at each other and me.
My guess is that most Philadelphians would get stuck after Franklin and Penn. In this city, our historical associations are with events and things – such as the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Liberty Bell – rather than people. This is unfortunate, because Philadelphia history is full of memorable figures, and we are more likely to remember and identify with stories about the struggles and striving of individuals.
So who were the personalities behind early America’s leading city? One could argue that Franklin counted as several. But there were certainly others, among them Thomas Paine, Benjamin Rush, and Anthony Drexel. One in particular, James Forten, has been on my mind since the arrest of Henry Louis Gates Jr. and the media coverage that followed.
Forten was born in 1766 to a free black family that had already been in Philadelphia for three generations. In 1781, though still a youngster, he signed on to serve as part of the crew on an American privateer during the Revolutionary War. He was captured by the British and spent seven months on a prison ship. He survived the ordeal and, by 1810, he owned and ran an important sail-making business in Philadelphia.
But Forten was much more than another American success story. He also was a determined and vocal abolitionist whose published letters and essays were widely known. He served for a number of years as vice president of the American Anti-Slavery Society.
In the early 19th century, though the capital had been moved south to Washington, Philadelphia was still the country’s commercial center and largest city. One might well ask how many owners of a leading company in a major American city today would be willing to take a passionate public stance on an equally contentious social issue, especially when it would be likely to have a direct impact on the bottom line.
Last fall, my students read a series of open letters Forten addressed to the Pennsylvania legislature, protesting several bills that came before it in 1813. Slavery had already been abolished in the commonwealth, but this legislation would have drastically limited the rights of African Americans and, in certain cases, made their enslavement legal again.
Forten did not hold back. “My God, what a situation is [this],” he wrote. “Search the legends of tyranny and find no precedent. No example can be found in all the reigns of violence and oppression, which have marked the lapse of time. [These measures] stand alone. It has been left for Pennsylvania, to raise her ponderous arm against the liberties of the black, whose greatest boast has been, that he resided in a State where Civil Liberty, and sacred Justice were administered alike to all.” The bills did not pass.
When Forten died, in 1842, hundreds walked behind the wagon bearing his remains, and thousands of Philadelphians, white and black, lined the streets to pay their respects as the procession made its way from his house, on the east end of Lombard Street, to his church, near Independence Hall.
Forten’s biographer, Julie Winch, noted that this sort of display was reserved for very few. And of that handful, only one, James Forten, was a black man, the grandson of a slave.
Several years ago, I was talking to a group of African American students at a charter school in North Philadelphia. I told them about Forten. I related some of the details of his life and of the extraordinarily courageous example he set. When I had finished my story, there was a pause, and then one of them asked, “Why haven’t we heard of him?”
Let’s make a resolution for the new school year that we will introduce our children to more of the outstanding Philadelphians who have contributed so much to our history. The debate over the Gates arrest reminded me that getting to know people always makes it easier to understand their points of view. And getting to know people from our past improves our perspective on ourselves and our times.
dear mr. calder,
i read your commentary in today’s inquirer and was stricken by it; particularly when i read the question from the charter school’s students, “why haven’t we heard of [james forten].” i had not heard of him either. i would like to be able to name more than benjamin franklin and william penn and i have two small children, ages 6 and 8, who are learning far more than i remember learning about historical figures from the past. can you suggest a book that lists famous philadelphians from the 18th and 19th centuries? i would like to have a book or several books around the house that my children and i can pick up, read and learn.
thank you for your commentary
Dear Ms. Murphy –
Thank you for the note.
I wish there were a book of the sort you describe, a non-scholarly resource about great figures in Philadelphia history. Even better would be one for kids.
Unfortunately, I don’t believe such a book exists, although it’s possible that there is and I have missed it.
I’ll keep looking.
The author of Forten’s biography is considering (or possibly already working on) a version for children.
Regards,
Its a pity that you haven’t told your students about Haym Salomon. You should look him up in Revolutionary Archives. All he did was finance the American Revolution at the request of George Washington and Robert Morris. There is also much information about him In Mikveh Israel Synagogue in Philadelphia. I could write a few pages about him but you should find out the facts yourself.
I am a retired teacher from the School District of Philadelphia. My grandchildren realized at an early age that History and Social Studies are my favorites.
Sincerely,
Gladys Gimpel
Grant: I enjoyed your article in the Commentary section of The Philadelphia Inquirer dated September 1, 2009.
This is posed to you in the friendliest manner. Just as you ask your students to name a few famous Philadelphians from the 18th and 19th centuries, I ask you if Stephen Girard ever crosses your mind as one of those names you should include along with Ben Franklin, William Penn and Betsy Ross?
That grand institution that is located at 20th and Girard Avenue in Philadelphia is the proud school established in his will that has educated and sustained thousands of children since its opening in 1848.
Stephen Girard as you probably know was born in a suburb of Bordeaux, France on May 20, 1750, and settled in this country when he was twenty-six. He was the Master and part owner of a ship that was forced into the Port of Philadelphia by a British blockade against the rebellious colonists on June 6, 1776. There he was to find fame and fortune, and live the rest of his eighty-one years.
While in Philadelphia, Girard opened a small store which he built into a huge trading business, a world-wide fleet of merchant ships and a great bank, until he became a multimillionaire and financially the most powerful man in the new nation. He was a shrewd business man, but in his later life his word was as good as his bond
In his will he ordered the teachers at his Girard College to, “Take pains to instill in the minds of the scholars the purest principles of morality . . . and a love of truth.” The italics are his and the context has a strong ring of sincerity.
Later, when native-born financiers did not trust the future of the country, he almost single handedly financed the War of 1812, thus perhaps saving his adopted land.
When the dreaded scourge of Yellow Fever struck Philadelphia in 1793, Girard literally risked his life to aid the victims. Most of the well-to-do fled the city, and even the doctors were so terrified of this disease that some of them refused to touch the patients, treating them by leaving medicines within their reach. The stricken poor were hauled off to the pesthouse outside the city, where, virtually unattended, they almost always died. Girard volunteered to work right in the pesthouse itself, in contact with the victims-a task which most men considered an assignation with death. Though ill himself part of the time, he labored there day and night for four months, changing it from a stinking “dead-house” to a well-run hospital which saved hundreds of lives.
Most of his fellow citizens soon forgot this, (and the reason I’m writing to you) and most of them did not know that almost surreptitiously, he contributed to numerous charities. When his death in 1831 revealed that he had left the overwhelming bulk of his $6,000,000 fortune to his adopted city–mainly for an orphanage–the public was dumbfounded.
In an article by Paul Tharp, published in The Wall Street Journal, it indicated that the amount of money left by Stephen Girard would be equivalent to approximately $50 billion in today’s money.
Girard lived a simple, frugal life although his vast wealth could have provided him an ostentatious life style. He commented, “My deeds must be my life; when I am dead my actions will speak for me.” One hundred eighty years later his actions are still speaking for him. Although he was charitable in life he was more charitable in death. When his death became known, there was a universal expression of sorrow at the decease of such a distinguished citizen. The cities leaders gave him a civic funeral; the flags of the shipping and public buildings were displayed at half-mast; the city council adopted resolutions of regret, and the public halls were draped in mourning.
The funeral was attended by a large number of citizens who stood in silence and reverence.
It is a shame that today he is not remembered and mentioned in the same respect as Penn, Franklin, et al.
To write Mr. Girard’s life means to write the financial and commercial history during its early and critical periods.
I was a student at Girard College from 1939 to 1948. I am proud to say I was a foster son of Stephen Girard.
Dear Mr. Calder:
James Forten’s sure an interesting character. I came across him doing research on Commodore John Barry, and was amazed at the depth and breadth of his accomplishments. While people know the name Richard Allen, they often don’t know why…and hardly anyone knows Forten.
It’s nice to read of a history teacher actually teaching history and not just working around the questions on the AP Test!
Best Wishes,
Tim McGrath