Drunk History
An Autobiography
The first time I saw “Drunk History” in its initial webisode status, I realized that someone could have created the series just by overhearing me at a bar. A lot of people have similar walls that come down when inebriated — the Leaning on an Apparently Attractive Stranger wall, the Spewing and Spitting Personal Problems wall, and the Screaming for a Certain Song That I Usually Don’t Care About wall, to name just a few. Mine is the Let Me Tell You What Alexander Hamilton Did in this Spot wall.
If you find me intoxicated in Old City or next to Old City or maybe even half a mile away, I will most likely find my way to the First Bank of the United States on South 3rd Street. I will probably shout for Hamilton’s ghost to come out and say hi (as the rumors go, he still haunts the place where he worked), and I will definitely hug the columns of the building. I will then, if my companions allow me, give a guided tour of the surrounding blocks, starting with the place where Hamilton’s house once stood. There, I will proclaim with such volume that could rival John Adams: “This is where the first American political sex scandal began. Right here!” And then I will discuss Hamilton’s brazen affair with Maria Reynolds and the 90-page pamphlet he published about it, confessing every lurid detail.
I wasn’t always an American history buff — no, not buff, groupie. I preferred politics and government studies in school. But the time period that I always had an interest in was around the Revolutionary War. One reason is I found it absolutely fascinating to learn how a country was formed and how a bunch of men who disagreed on just about everything could somehow come together and agree that it was time to start fresh. That’s the political / government interest sneaking in. The other reason is personal: I am related to Alexander Hamilton, so his name has always been in my life. When I met others who loved this period in history and intensely studied the personal and little-known details of those figures that we place on pedestals, I realized there was so much more to learn.
Hamilton’s needy letters to his fiancée were hilarious. The lewd jokes he wrote to his best friend were even better. The fact that he and Aaron Burr did not agree politically but got along quite well socially is something that is always overlooked when Burr’s name is brought up. Unfortunately, he is most often only remembered for killing Hamilton in a duel in 1804, but he was also an interesting person with a story of his own. People often forget that historical figures had lives other than their most written about achievements and that they played quite different roles in others’ lives. My drunken tour will move from Hamilton’s home to the City Tavern, where I will point vaguely to the side of it and say, “And here once stood a building where Dolley Todd lived with her mother, and Aaron Burr rented a room there and introduced Dolley to James Madison. So this is the spot where Jemmy met Dolley!”
I was lucky enough that when my boyfriend and I went on our first date, he found my tequila-infused excitement of history “adorable”. As we left El Azteca at 7th and Chestnut, he asked which way to go. I faked that I chose eastward on a whim, because all I wanted to do was show him the places I talked about in the restaurant. I’m still not sure how I scored a second date, but maybe it’s because he then took me to the William Penn statue by the Ritz East and remarked how if you look at it from the right angle, particularly at the version on top of City Hall, it looks like Penn is relieving himself.
If the tour continues far enough north of those sites, we will definitely pass by Ben Franklin’s grave. I will say hello and have a one-sided conversation. While the tradition is to toss one cent onto the “A penny saved is a penny earned” man, I’m more likely to empty my entire change purse onto his stone. Then I’ll discuss how Franklin was more talk than walk when it came to his romantic exploits, whereas Burr was coded talk and tons of walk with ladies chasing after him.
That’s where we’re likely to catch a bus or taxi home. My companions might forget what I’ve said or just nod and smile and say, “Sure, Jess, that’s nice.” But at least when I crawl into bed, I feel my job to educate the masses on historical trivia is done for the day - and the next time, I promise to be sober.
