By Haddon Libby
As America has its 250th birthday, it is tempting to tell the story in the usual way: brave founders, soaring speeches, fireworks, flags and maybe a hot dog or seventy-six. But a country does not make it to a quarter-millennium on dignity and mustard alone. Somewhere between the Declaration of Independence and the drone-light show, the United States also experienced meat rain, a deadly molasses wave, presidential cheese, a swearing parrot and some questions as to the nation’s actual birth date.
Start with the birthday itself. The Continental Congress actually voted for independence on July 2, 1776. July 4th became the date we celebrate because that is when Congress adopted the final wording of the Declaration. John Adams, who had been there for the vote, was convinced July 2nd would be remembered with “pomp and parade” and “illuminations.” He was right about the fireworks but wrong about the date. Most delegates did not sign the Declaration until August 2nd, which means the most famous birthday party in American history is really celebrating the approval of the final draft.
Then there is the Fourth of July death club. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams both died on July 4, 1826, exactly 50 years after the Declaration was adopted. Adams reportedly believed Jefferson was still alive, even though Jefferson had died earlier that day. Five years later, James Monroe also died on July 4th. Calvin Coolidge balanced the ledger slightly by being born on July 4, 1872, making him the only president whose birthday came preplanned with fireworks.
Of course, no tour of weird America is complete without Andrew Jackson, a man who left behind enough oddities to fill a museum wing. In 1835, Jackson received a 1,400-pound wheel of cheese and kept it in the White House for two years before inviting the public to help finish it off. The result was less “civic engagement” than dairy-based environmental event. The mansion reportedly smelled like old cheese long after the guests left. Jackson also owned a parrot named Poll that had to be removed from his funeral because it would not stop cursing. Few presidents get a final tribute from a profane bird.
The weather, too, has occasionally behaved like it was written by a bored prankster. In 1876, residents near Olympia Springs, Kentucky, reported chunks of raw meat falling from a clear sky. Witnesses described pieces scattered across fences, trees and the ground. Scientists later debated whether it was beef, mutton, lung tissue or possibly something regurgitated by vultures.
Boston contributed one of the strangest disasters in U.S. history in 1919, when a massive storage tank burst and released roughly 2.3 million gallons of molasses into the North End. The sticky wave reportedly moved as fast as 35 miles per hour, killing 21 people and injuring about 150. It was absurd, tragic and unforgettable. For years, residents claimed that on hot days the neighborhood still smelled faintly of molasses, which is either folklore or the most persistent cleanup problem in municipal history.
Even ordinary American inventions have had strange detours. During World War II, the federal government briefly banned pre-sliced bread to save wax paper and metal parts used in slicing machines. The public response was so sour that the ban lasted just two months. Apparently, democracy could endure rationing, blackouts and global conflict, but not the indignity of cutting one’s own sandwich bread.
So this Fourth of July, enjoy the fireworks and remember the ideals on which this nation is based. After 250 years, America remains ambitious, argumentative, inventive, independent, compassionate, generous, ambitious, diverse, resilient, loud and weird.
Haddon Libby is the Founder and Chief Investment Officer of Winslow Drake Investment Management. For information on our services, please visit www.WinslowDrake.com.
