All American Ghostwriter
Meet the new revolution
Gibberish: Flash Fiction Friday - Artifactory
July 4, 2025
Scoot’s Assignment: Write about a holiday, a “patriotic apparition,” a character who collects artifacts, and the phrase, “whom it may concern.”
All American Ghostwriter
Samuel Webster loved early American artifacts and was always watching out for new additions for his collection. He noticed the jumble sale during a recent buying trip to Boston, and couldn’t resist stopping to comb through the chaotic mess of possibly valuable antiques and modern clutter. He’d noticed a box of assorted odds and ends and was starting to dig through it when the proprietress spoke up:
“I’m needing to shut down soon. Tell you what, you can have the whole lot for ten bucks.”
Needing to catch the train back to Manchester soon, Sam agreed without haggling. It was probable that only a few treasures would be mixed in among the mundane bric-a-brac, but for such a low price, it hardly mattered - the box would be sure to at least provide ample entertainment for the return trip home. He gladly handed the woman her money and, tucking the box under his arm, he headed for the train station.
Once settled in, Sam was pleased to note that he was alone in his seating area, so he would be able to examine his acquisition without interruption. He opened the flaps of the cardboard box and began exploring: A few books and old letters, some very nice antique toys, some wood working tools. A very interesting mix of diversions, indeed! At the very bottom of the box lay a small wooden case, made of scuffed wood, obviously quite old. Putting everything else away, he carefully opened the case to reveal a beautiful pair of eighteenth century bifocals. Sam couldn’t believe his luck! As he removed the eye glasses from the case, a small note fluttered out. Sam picked it up to read it:
To whom it may concern:
These spectacles belong to me. If found, I would be most gratified if you would please return them. Remember, “A good conscience is a continual Christmas.1” I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Sincerely,
Benjamin Franklin
“Wow,” Sam muttered, unable to believe his luck. A pair of bifocals that had been invented and worn by Benjamin Frankln! He removed his own modern Progressive lens glasses and carefully donned the valuable artifact. Not only did the venerable spectacles fit him like a glove, he could see perfectly through the ancient lenses.
He gazed through the window at the passing scenery and then picked up one of the books to test his close-up vision. Unable to contain his excitement, Sam exclaimed, “Astounding! It’s like they were made especially for me! What are the odds that Benjamin Franklin and I would share the same prescription?”
A hearty chuckle from the opposite seat halted his jublilations, as a strange voice commented, “I daresay the odds are pretty long.” Blushing in embarrassment, Sam looked up at his unexpected seatmate, ready to explain that he’d thought himself alone. He was rendered incapable of speech, indeed even of thought, when he saw the source of the voice: A portly, cheerful man dressed in eighteenth century garb, a man who looked very much like…
“Benjamin Franklin, at your service. You must be one of Ebenezer Webster’s descendants, you’re his spitting image.”
Sam, too shocked to come up with anything better, mumbled, “Um, I’m actually a descendant of Daniel Webster’s.”
Mr. Franklin grinned. “Well, of course you are! Daniel was Ebenezer’s son, you know. But the last time I saw little Danny with my mortal eyes, he was a tiny tot. I was dead long before he grew up.”
“So you really are the ghost of Benjamin Franklin?”
“In the flesh, so to speak,” replied Mr. Franklin. “I figure a well educated young man Iike yourself already knows that I invented bifocals, but very few know about the special pair that you are wearing. I finished building them shortly before I shuffled off the mortal coil, with the intention of visiting folks in the future - folks like you, in fact!
“Your multi-great Granddaddy, Danny, was the first to meet my spectral self - I’d left the Apparition Spectacles to him in my Will, with the specification that he not touch them until his eighteenth birthday. And so it went, each recipient choosing the next. Like minded patriots, separated by the mists of time.”
Sam was beginning to calm down, but was still puzzled. “But how did they come to me? I’ve acquired your Apparition Specs through completely random circumstances.”
Mr. Franklin grinned fiendishly. “Abby might be getting on in years, but she’s a demon on the Interwebs. She found you, she researched you, she learned all about your profession, your desires, your peccadilloes. She knew that you came into Boston for buying trips from time to time, you loved exploration, and that you could not resist a bargain. So she baited a trap you could not resist. It was easy for her to know that you would be in town, you told everyone on your blog! She also knew that you’d wait for the last possible moment to head for the train station. So she set up the jumble sale and packed up a grab-bag box explicitly tailored for you. Then all she had to do is wait for your smiling face to show up. She knew what you looked like, I had her look up pictures on the Interwebs - you are indeed Ebenezer Webster’s doppelganger.”
Sam shook his head, trying to shake all these fantastical revelations into a position where they made sense. “So how does this work?”
Mr. Franklin was in his element, now. “You see, when you look through those magical lenses, you can see my ghost! Not only that, but I am then able to share all your senses - I can see what you see, hear what you hear, feel what you touch, smell what you smell, taste what you taste… You’ve probably noticed that I really enjoyed delicious food during my lifetime,” he continued, patting his belly, “Are you feeling a mite peckish? I am hoping that you are willing to eat meat. Dear Abigail was a vegetarian and it’s been decades since I've tasted beef!”
Sam Webster and Benjamin Franklin continued to talk through the rest of the train ride, but stopped the discussion when Sam stopped for steak at a restaurant in Manchester. People would stare if he appeared to be talking to himself, so they ceased the discussion during the meal, though he continued to wear the bifocals so Mr. Franklin could enjoy the sirloin. They resumed their conversation during the car ride from Machester to Franklin, New Hampshire. By the time Sam was home, they were fast friends, with Mr. Franklin insisting that Sam call him Ben.
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It had been an exhausting day for Sam, both physically and mentally, but Ben, not being burdened by a physical body, was insatiably curious about everything and as inexhaustible as a whirling dervish. Abby was a good hostess, but as she aged, she'd lost her interest in politics, which was why she and Ben had come to the mutual conclusion that it was time for him to move on. He begged to watch the news.
Sam yawned loudly. “Fine. If the Apparition Specs work while I'm asleep, I'll turn on the news and sleep while you watch.” Ben eagerly agreed to this course of action.
Sam awoke the next morning to discover that Ben had been watching the news all night. Not only that, but he’d worked himself into quite a frenzy by what he'd seen.
“This is outrageous,” Ben cried. “No wonder dear Abigail was no longer able to stomach politics. We must do something,” he declared.
“But what can we do? I’m just a middle-aged antique dealer and you’re a ghost,” Sam pointed out.
“I think we can do plenty. I think it’s time to resurrect Poor Richard’s Almanack. Sam, please show me your blog.” So Sam navigated over the Interwebs to his antique blog. After studying it for a while, Ben requested, “Please set up an account for me. It’s time to start the new revolution.” And so Poor_Richard_1776 was born and began posting on his blog, “The All-New Poor Richard’s Almanack,” with Sam's assistance.
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The stuff Ben posted wasn’t actually new, being recycled from his own writings, but it eerily apt. He published his first Substack post on July 4th, 2025. It was a doozy, going viral within hours.
Twelve score and nine years ago, our country declared independence from a tyrant King. We fought hard for our freedom, but now we’ve thrown it all away. We now have a President who would be King. Long ago, a wise Statesman, Benjamin Franklin, once warned us to beware worthless leaders who lust after power and wealth. Let us now listen to his prophetic words2:
“There are two passions which have a powerful influence on the affairs of men. These are ambition and avarice; the love of power, and the love of money. Separately each of these has great force in prompting men to action; but when united in view of the same object, they have in many minds the most violent effects. place before the eyes of such men a post of honour that shall at the same time be a place of profit, and they will move heaven and earth to obtain it.
“And of what kind are the men that will strive for this profitable pre-eminence, through all the bustle of cabal, the heat of contention, the infinite mutual abuse of parties, tearing to pieces the best of characters? It will not be the wise and moderate, the lovers of peace and good order, the men fittest for the trust. It will be the bold and the violent, the men of strong passions and indefatigable activity in their selfish pursuits. These will thrust themselves into your Government and be your rulers.
“As all history informs us, there has been in every State & Kingdom a constant kind of warfare between the Governing & Governed: the one striving to obtain more for its support, and the other to pay less. And this has alone occasioned great convulsions, actual civil wars, ending either in dethroning of the Princes or enslaving of the people. Generally indeed the ruling power carries its point, the revenues of princes constantly increasing, and we see that they are never satisfied, but always in want of more. The more the people are discontented with the oppression of taxes; the greater need the prince has of money to distribute among his partizans and pay the troops that are to suppress all resistance, and enable him to plunder at pleasure. There is scarce a king in a hundred who would not, if he could, follow the example of Pharoah, get first all the peoples money, then all their lands, and then make them and their children servants forever. It will be said, that we don’t propose to establish Kings. I know it. But there is a natural inclination in mankind to Kingly Government. It sometimes relieves them from Aristocratic domination. They had rather have one tyrant than five hundred. It gives more of the appearance of equality among Citizens, and that they like. I am apprehensive therefore, perhaps too apprehensive, that the Government of these States, may in future times, end in a Monarchy.”3
Mr. Franklin was prescient — he knew this time would come. Do not sell your Liberty and that of your descendants to this latter day Pharaoh. It is time for all good humans to stand up and resist this would-be Tyrant King. We must act forthwith, before it is too late.4
As Anne Robert Jacques Turgot once said of him: "Eripuit fulmen cœlo, mox sceptra tyrannis.5"
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Sam was a little envious of all attention attracted by Ben’s blog, but soon realized that attention was not always a good thing. He and Ben had kicked up a hornet’s nest. When he realized his house was under surveillance, he knew that things were getting serious. So they took “The All New Poor Richard’s Almanack” on the road. They are traveling across country, from library to library, so Ben can continue to publish his articles through Sam while avoiding the g-men.
It’s a hard life, but it certainly isn't boring. And Sam is watching the various readers of his blog, keeping an eye out for a potential replacement host - he can’t keep going forever. There’s a bright young woman, Georgiana Washington, who might be a good candidate. Sam is already composing a “To whom it may concern letter” to whomever is destined to become Benjamin Franklin’s next ghostwriter.
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“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time; for that's the stuff life is made of.” — Benjamin Franklin, “Poor Richard's Almanac"
Poor Richard’s Almanack, by Benjamin Franklin
Author’s words.
The Founders’ Constitution (Volume 3, Article 2, Section 1, Clause 7, Document 2)
http://press-pubs.uchicago.edu/founders/documents/a2_1_7s2.html
The University of Chicago Press, [1:81; Madison, 2 June, 1787] (very slightly modified by author).
Author’s words.
“He snatched lightning from the sky and the scepter from tyrants.” — Anne Robert Jacques Turgot.
Superb and delightful! This is one of your best ones!
Ah - but you left out the word 'wankerous'!!! Perhaps there could be a sequel - or their ongoing adventures!
What an appropriate piece of “fiction”!