My Founding Father

Hello, hungry people. And … here’s to a glorious Fourth of July!

The signature above belongs to my alleged seventh-great-grandfather, Robert Morris.

He was one of only two Founding Fathers (Roger Sherman, of Connecticut, being the other) who signed all three of our country’s core documents — the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Articles of Confederation.

I say “alleged” because our family tree has some missing branches, as family trees so often do. The case might even be made that we have grafted a branch onto our family tree in order to claim the bragging rights that come from having a semi-famous ancestor, albeit one who spent some time in prison.

In any event, we Morrises of the Central Florida variety, deluded though we might be, have long clung to the belief that we’re descendants of the patriot from Pennsylvania known as the “Financier of the Revolution.”

And today, in celebration of the 250th anniversary of our nation’s laborious birth and its perpetual postpartum blues, we’ll climb that tree, shake some limbs and see what falls out.

***

When I was in second grade, my parents took me to Washington, D.C., where one of our stops was the National Archives. We stood in a very long line to get a very brief glimpse of the Declaration of Independence displayed under several layers of very thick glass and surrounded by several very grim security guards.

“That’s our namesake,” said my father, another Robert Morris, pointing to the signature just to the right of John Hancock’s and above Benjamin Franklin’s.

What a thrilling moment it was for me, a seven-year-old boy who, instead of looking at a piece of yellowed parchment and the scribblings of dead guys whose attempts at cursive writing were even more illegible than mine, was in a hurry to get to the Smithsonian to look at dinosaurs.

So when one of security guards growled “Move along,” I happily did so.

***

That (alleged) Founding Father connection has long been a point of pride in our family.

Despite Robert Morris looking like this:

Actually, that’s not Robert Morris. That’s John Witherspoon, delegate of New Jersey, a Presbyterian minister and president of Princeton University.’

Here’s Robert Morris.

Just kidding. That’s Philip Livingston, delegate of New York, who made his fortune in the slave trade.

Here’s the real deal. Promise.

My point being that all the Founding Fathers looked pretty much alike — overweight, overdressed white guys who probably had bad cases of gout and suffered from chronic bad-hair days.

My heart swells knowing that our current chief executive is honoring this tradition.

Which leads us to a mid-post poll:

***

Some interesting things about Robert Morris:

— He owned a fleet of merchant vessels and sent the first American ship to trade with China.

— He spent more than a million dollars of his own money buying food and supplies for American troops during the Revolutionary War. And never got repaid.

— In his later years, he speculated in real estate and at one time owned most of western New York and what is now Adirondack State Park. Then things went bust, he declared bankruptcy and spent three years in debtor’s prison. Despite having been the Financier of the Revolution.

— He founded the Bank of North America, the first commercial bank in the U.S.

— When George Washington became president in 1789, Philadelphia was the nation’s capital. Morris moved out of his Philadelphia estate so Washington could move in and run the government from there.

— When Washington asked Morris to become the first Secretary of the Treasury, Morris declined and said the job should go to Alexander Hamilton.

Which brings us to another poll.

My people are talking to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s people. I’ll keep you posted.

***

Back in the 1980s, our sweet cousin Martha spent several years sifting through courthouse records and birth certificates and put together a semi-official family tree that legitimized our claim of kinship to Robert Morris. Yes, there were some blanks and dead ends, but Martha determined that our ancestors eventually moved from Pennsylvania to Glen Falls, NY, and then some of those folks made their way to Florida in the 1890s.

“I’m confident that we are related to the Robert Morris who signed the Declaration of Independence,” wrote Martha in a note that accompanied copies of the family tree that she gave to all of us.

And if Martha said it, then I believed it.

***
So, it was with that assurance in hand that I traveled to Philadelphia in 1987 to join in the celebration of the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Constitution.

It was a pretty big-deal event. A massive parade. Lots of fireworks and speechifying and parties.

One of those parties was thrown by a group of Robert Morris descendants at a fancy Philadelphia mansion. There were dozens and dozens of attendees sipping champagne and eating fussy food from small plates. I walked in thinking: “How cool to be among my people.”

I found the organizers and introduced myself as a representative of the Florida descendants of Robert Morris. They looked me up and down. And one of them said: “There are no Robert Morris descendants in Florida.”

I don’t remember my exact response. It was probably something along the lines of: “But my cousin Martha spent years researching it and putting together a family tree and …”

The organizers smiled indulgently and drifted away.

I helped myself to more champagne.

And I never spoke a word of this to sweet cousin Martha.

***
Still, I proudly wear the name of Robert Morris no matter where it came from.

My older son is Robert “Bo” Morris III. His son is Robert “Boz” Morris IV.

A few weeks ago, when his second-grade class was studying the Declaration of Independence, Boz gave a report on one of its signers — his ninth-great grandfather.

The legend continues.

***

If you prefer not to pay, then please spread Bob’s Diner around.

And, as always, if you have something to say, please say it.