CHAPTER 9
BARCLAY STREET
Franklin merely waited for an explanation, so Edward continued, “They’ll just ask for your birth certificate.”
“I see,” said Franklin.
Cynthia walked in at that moment, said hi to Edward, noticed Franklin and yet continued mechanically on her way to her desk upstairs (around the corner from Edward’s), intent on morning coffee.
“It’ll take a minute, but it will probably register with her that I have something unusual going on, so I think we’re best advised not to remain standing here,” said Edward, and then added, “But where to go?” All the while Franklin stood patiently, regarding him mildly, a look that reassured Edward.
“Ah,” Edward said with some relief, “I think I know what to do. The church will be our refuge!”
“Saint Paul’s or Trinity?” asked Franklin.
Smiling at his companion’s ever-dependable perspicacity, Edward replied, “Both, eventually, but for now, Saint Paul’s, because walking to it will only expose us to the street for a block or two. We’ll turn around and go out the Barclay Street doors,” he added, pointing back down the corridor and past the guard’s desk, to the doors at the far side of the building.
And so for the second time they ambled toward the guard station, only this time, who should be standing there, apparently waiting for some personage to arrive, but the President of Moody’s.
He recognized Edward, though he did not know him from among his three hundred or so employees, so Edward smiled and said, “Good morning, Mr. Bohn, may I introduce you to my friend and companion, Benjamin Franklin?” realizing as he did so that he may have put an end to his prospects with the company.
John Bohn replied, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir!” and shook hands with Franklin.
“We had actually just decided not to go into the building after all, but rather to the church around the corner. I’ve asked Laura for some personal time this morning,” said Edward.
Bohn took the hint smoothly, making way for them to pass by the guard’s desk, “Certainly, and a good morning to both of you!”
As they moved down the far side of the corridor, Franklin observed, “So, you place the bald truth before them, knowing that they will interpret it consistently as a type of insanity.”
“Yes, but with the omission of my own point of view, since, in their eyes, that would make me insane, too.”
“I wonder that we have not been arrested,” said Franklin.
“It is a change in custom toward the insane and mentally infirm that they are no longer automatically incarcerated. In fact, we may encounter one or two of the genuinely deranged in our little walk just now,” said Edward, pushing open the Barclay Street door and holding it for Franklin.
“Remarkable,” said Franklin, stopping in the doorway. (A habit of his – luckily, no one was approaching.) “I think that immensely laudable. You understate the magnitude of the change, sir. It is a notable credit to your times and a sign of an expanded sense of humanity that such punitive treatment has been banished,” he added, then resumed his maneuvering through the unfamiliar glass doorway with his cane.
“I suppose you’re right. I guess I take it for granted,” said Edward. Then, forgetting how startling Franklin might be finding his first taste of a twentieth-century street scene, he rambled on, “though it’s within the last ten years that the unconditional release was ordered. Prior to that, persons were institutionalized based on the professional judgment of qualified doctors. A court put a stop to that by ruling that doing so constituted a violation of the rights of those so placed. Their immediate release was ordered, unless there was a medical opinion that they posed a danger of violent crime. The furor that resulted from the sudden arrival of dozens of deranged persons on the sidewalks of New York tends to obscure the justice of the basic idea.”
But Franklin said, “I apologize sir, for only half hearing you. I was preoccupied by all this activity around me.” He gestured at the traffic.
Hearing this brought Edward abruptly to the realization that he should have been more attentive to his newfound companion at such a key juncture. And yet, apart from having to apologize, the street distractions did not seem to have upset Franklin. Or at least, not yet, thought Edward.
“So, I see, yes … it would follow from the terms of the document produced by our Convention and ratified by all except the Rhode Islanders… yes, deprivation of liberty, of course!” mused Franklin.
“Would it please you to know that the ‘document,’ as you say, was eventually ratified by all thirteen of the former Colonies and remains in force today?”
Franklin merely waited for an explanation, so Edward continued, “They’ll just ask for your birth certificate.”
“I see,” said Franklin.
Cynthia walked in at that moment, said hi to Edward, noticed Franklin and yet continued mechanically on her way to her desk upstairs (around the corner from Edward’s), intent on morning coffee.
“It’ll take a minute, but it will probably register with her that I have something unusual going on, so I think we’re best advised not to remain standing here,” said Edward, and then added, “But where to go?” All the while Franklin stood patiently, regarding him mildly, a look that reassured Edward.
“Ah,” Edward said with some relief, “I think I know what to do. The church will be our refuge!”
“Saint Paul’s or Trinity?” asked Franklin.
Smiling at his companion’s ever-dependable perspicacity, Edward replied, “Both, eventually, but for now, Saint Paul’s, because walking to it will only expose us to the street for a block or two. We’ll turn around and go out the Barclay Street doors,” he added, pointing back down the corridor and past the guard’s desk, to the doors at the far side of the building.
And so for the second time they ambled toward the guard station, only this time, who should be standing there, apparently waiting for some personage to arrive, but the President of Moody’s.
He recognized Edward, though he did not know him from among his three hundred or so employees, so Edward smiled and said, “Good morning, Mr. Bohn, may I introduce you to my friend and companion, Benjamin Franklin?” realizing as he did so that he may have put an end to his prospects with the company.
John Bohn replied, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir!” and shook hands with Franklin.
“We had actually just decided not to go into the building after all, but rather to the church around the corner. I’ve asked Laura for some personal time this morning,” said Edward.
Bohn took the hint smoothly, making way for them to pass by the guard’s desk, “Certainly, and a good morning to both of you!”
As they moved down the far side of the corridor, Franklin observed, “So, you place the bald truth before them, knowing that they will interpret it consistently as a type of insanity.”
“Yes, but with the omission of my own point of view, since, in their eyes, that would make me insane, too.”
“I wonder that we have not been arrested,” said Franklin.
“It is a change in custom toward the insane and mentally infirm that they are no longer automatically incarcerated. In fact, we may encounter one or two of the genuinely deranged in our little walk just now,” said Edward, pushing open the Barclay Street door and holding it for Franklin.
“Remarkable,” said Franklin, stopping in the doorway. (A habit of his – luckily, no one was approaching.) “I think that immensely laudable. You understate the magnitude of the change, sir. It is a notable credit to your times and a sign of an expanded sense of humanity that such punitive treatment has been banished,” he added, then resumed his maneuvering through the unfamiliar glass doorway with his cane.
“I suppose you’re right. I guess I take it for granted,” said Edward. Then, forgetting how startling Franklin might be finding his first taste of a twentieth-century street scene, he rambled on, “though it’s within the last ten years that the unconditional release was ordered. Prior to that, persons were institutionalized based on the professional judgment of qualified doctors. A court put a stop to that by ruling that doing so constituted a violation of the rights of those so placed. Their immediate release was ordered, unless there was a medical opinion that they posed a danger of violent crime. The furor that resulted from the sudden arrival of dozens of deranged persons on the sidewalks of New York tends to obscure the justice of the basic idea.”
But Franklin said, “I apologize sir, for only half hearing you. I was preoccupied by all this activity around me.” He gestured at the traffic.
Hearing this brought Edward abruptly to the realization that he should have been more attentive to his newfound companion at such a key juncture. And yet, apart from having to apologize, the street distractions did not seem to have upset Franklin. Or at least, not yet, thought Edward.
“So, I see, yes … it would follow from the terms of the document produced by our Convention and ratified by all except the Rhode Islanders… yes, deprivation of liberty, of course!” mused Franklin.
“Would it please you to know that the ‘document,’ as you say, was eventually ratified by all thirteen of the former Colonies and remains in force today?”
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