This week (July 8) in 1776, the now-famous Liberty Bell rang out from the steeple of the Pennsylvania State House — known today as Independence Hall — to alert the public that the first ever reading of the recently completed Declaration of Independence was about to occur.  The Continental Congress had adopted the Declaration on July 4, but it took another four days to have it printed in a form suitable to for a public reading.

The Liberty Bell originally had been commissioned in London in 1751 to mark the 50th anniversary of Pennsylvania’s original constitution.  Made of copper and weighing 2,000 pounds, the bell — it would not gain its famous nickname “Liberty Bell” until 1839 when that phrase was coined in a poem — arrived in Philadelphia in 1752, but cracked when first rung, necessitating that it be melted down and recast.  When the second bell also proved defective, it was recast again and the third time proved the charm.  In 1753 it was hung from the steeple of the Pennsylvania State House where it would be rung to announce special events such as sessions of the Pennsylvania Assembly.

Over the years it also would ring to commemorate special occasions, such as — in a full-circle, wonderfully ironic order:  (1.) The ascension of King George III to the British throne in 1761;  (2.) A meeting to plan defiance to King George III’s controversial Stamp Act tax in 1765; (3.) The revolutionary battles of Lexington and Concord, fought against King George and his government in 1775; and (4.) The day, July 4, in which they first proclaimed their intentions to defy King George and go their own way as a separate sovereign nation.

Finally, closing the historic circle, after that revolution was victorious, the Liberty Bell would toll every February 22, commemorating the birthday of the man, George Washington, who led America to victory and nationhood.

Of course, what has added to the Liberty Bell’s luster is the now famous crack that it suffered in 1835, when — or so legend has it — it was rung so hard in commemoration of the death of America’s greatest Supreme Court justice, John Marshall, that it developed a slight crack.  That crack expanded to its present size in 1846 while again tolling to mark Washington’s birthday, and experts subsequently decided the Liberty Bell was no longer suitable for ringing.  However, it continued to be “tapped” to commemorate events of historic importance, such as on June 6, 1944, when the Liberty Bell’s ring was recorded and broadcast across the United States to commemorate D-Day.

Today, for its own protection, the Liberty Bell is encased in a special pavilion in front of Independence Hall.  A visit to see both the bell and the hall is a trip well spent.

In my ongoing attempts to showcase great men who either are unknown or underrated I present Dr. Benjamin Rush, who was born this week (Dec. 24) in 1745.  Dr. Rush is a “two-fer” — not only underrated as one of America’s Founding Fathers, but also underrated as one of America’s greatest doctors.  This man helped give America life, while saving the lives of thousands.

After studying medicine in his native Philadelphia, and then in Europe under the world’s foremost physicians, Rush returned to Philadelphia in 1769, where he quickly became America’s most famous physician and medical teacher.  Simultaneously, he immersed himself in America’s struggle for independence.  A prolific writer, he alternated between publishing pamphlets on medical topics such as the healthful effects of temperance — Rush was among the first to recognize that alcoholism was a disease — and publishing political tracts on Britain’s violations of colonial rights.  A signer of the Declaration of Independence, Rush subsequently tended to the Americans wounded on the battlefields that resulted from that declaration, even treating Washington’s army at Valley Forge.

After the war, Rush continued his two-track political and medical career. While a member of the Pennsylvania state convention that ratified the Constitution in 1787, he not only helped found a college to train physicians but also a society to emancipate America’s slaves.  In addition, Rush wrote the first textbook on mental illness and psychiatry, earning him the title “Father of American Psychiatry.”  He was also among the first to call for widespread smallpox inoculations.

He was also the first doctor to recognize that the dreaded “Yellow Fever” disease, which killed thousands of Americans annually, was not contagious, but came from an indigenous source (much later identified as mosquito bites).  Rush concluded this while treating a virulent Yellow Fever epidemic in Philadelphia in 1793, and papers he published in the epidemic’s wake earned him international fame.

Rush had his detractors, and many of his medical cures were controversial — he believed in “bleeding” patients, for example — yet he unquestionably saved many thousands of lives, while greatly advancing the science of medicine.

Ironically, however, Rush’s most famous contribution to American history may be his minor role in re-kindling the friendship between two Americans far more famous than he — John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.  After years of angry silence between the two men — a silence brought about by political differences long past — Rush suggested to Adams that he should break the silence by writing Jefferson a letter.  Adams did, and he and Jefferson became friends again — even dying together on July 4^th, 1826, the 50^th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.

Dr. Benjamin Rush, a great, if unsung, American, died on the far less famous day of April 19, 1813.

(Author’s note: The second book collection of my columns, Bruce’s History Lessons - the Second Five Years (2006 – 20011) is now available in book form and in e-book form on Amazon (download to either Kindle or Kindle IPad), or at Barnes and Noble .  Click on the above links to go to either version on Amazon.  My first five-year collection of columns, Bruce’s History Lessons – The First Five Years (2001 – 2006) is also available at Amazon.  Both books can also be purchased via the book links on the homepage of my website, historylessons.net.)

This week (Dec. 19) in 1777, George Washington led his beleaguered Continental Army into winter’s quarters in Valley Forge, Pa., where they would endure the harshest winter in memory with little food, clothing or shelter.  The stories about “Blood on the snow” and cries of “No meat!” were actually quite true.  By contrast, just 18 miles away in Philadelphia, British General William Howe and his warm, well-fed troops were settling into quarters, happy to wait out a winter they were sure would be the last for the rebellious Americans.

But the question arises?  Why Valley Forge, a hard-to-supply camp so close to Philadelphia and Howe’s more powerful army?  Why not larger, more comfortable winter headquarters farther away — in Reading or Lancaster, Pa., as some had suggested?   Why suffer such deprivation and be so near a dangerous enemy?

The answer is mostly politics.  Recall that the decision to break with Great Britain, then the world’s most powerful military force, was not universally supported in America.  In many areas, Loyalists — those who preferred to remain part of the British Empire — outnumbered rebels, and fence-sitters — those waiting to see how things turned out — were also in abundance.   And in December of 1777 things were not going well for America, meaning the people were growing increasingly tired of the war.  That was especially true in Pennsylvania with its large population of Quaker pacifists.

Thus was Washington reluctant to “leave the field” for the hinterlands.  He worried that giving up any presence near Philadelphia, back then the most important city in America, would leave native Philadelphians who supported the revolution defenseless against British reprisals and Loyalist retribution.  Part of Washington’s genius as a commander was his understanding that the American Revolution was as much a battle for the “hearts and minds” of the populace as it was a battle of soldiers and equipment.   The decision to winter at Valley Forge, which at least was a militarily defensible position, was made partly to buck up the morale of the rebels in and around Philadelphia, thus ensuring that they remained loyal to the revolution.

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