The Man on the Pedestal
Let’s be honest, the popular image of Benjamin Franklin is a bit… stiff. We picture a wise, grandfatherly figure, dispensing pithy advice from Poor Richard's Almanack and looking owlishly over a pair of bifocals he supposedly invented. He is the “First
American,” a symbol of revolutionary prudence and Enlightenment genius. This version of Franklin is useful for national myths—a respectable, unimpeachable icon whose story reinforces ideas of American ingenuity and self-reliance. But it’s also a carefully curated and flattened caricature of a man who was far more eccentric, contradictory, and interesting than the history books often let on.
An Opportunity for a National Rewind
Enter America 250. Officially the U.S. Semiquincentennial, this nationwide commemoration of the country’s 250th anniversary in 2026 is designed to be a moment of reflection. National anniversaries force us to look back, and while they can be exercises in patriotic pageantry, they are also opportunities to re-examine our founding myths. The organizations behind America 250 are encouraging programs that explore our nation's history in all its complexity. This provides the perfect opening to dust off the less-polished stories of figures like Franklin and see them not as marble statues, but as the messy, brilliant humans they were.
The Master of Trolling
Long before the internet, Franklin was a master of creating alternate personas. As a teenager in Boston, he knew his older brother, a newspaper publisher, would never print his writing. So, at 16, he invented Mrs. Silence Dogood, a sharp-witted middle-aged widow, and slipped her satirical letters under the print shop door. The letters became a local sensation. This was just the beginning. Franklin would go on to invent a host of other characters, like the gossip columnist Alice Addertongue and the beleaguered husband Anthony Afterwit, to comment on society, skewer his rivals, and test controversial ideas. He was, in essence, America’s first and greatest troll, using anonymity to speak uncomfortable truths and have a bit of fun.
The Diplomatic Rockstar in Paris
When Franklin was dispatched to France in 1776 to secure support for the American Revolution, he wasn't just a diplomat; he was a cultural phenomenon. Instead of adopting the powdered wigs and silks of the French court, he played up his image as a rustic philosopher from the New World, famously wearing a simple fur cap. The French went wild. Ladies styled their hair in a “coiffure a la Franklin” to mimic his cap, and his face was printed on everything from medallions to snuffboxes. He used this celebrity as a powerful diplomatic tool, charming his way through Parisian salons to secure the loans and military alliance that were critical to winning the war. He understood that sometimes, being a little weird is the best way to get what you want.
The Uncomfortable Contradictions
Perhaps the 'weirdest' part of Franklin for modern Americans to grapple with is his deeply contradictory stance on slavery. For much of his life, Franklin was a slave owner. His newspaper, the Pennsylvania Gazette, ran ads for the sale of enslaved people. Yet, late in his life, his views evolved dramatically. After visiting a school for black children, he came to believe that environment and lack of education, not natural inferiority, held them back. He eventually became the president of Pennsylvania's abolition society and, in 1790, petitioned Congress to end slavery, one of his final public acts. This evolution from enslaver to abolitionist is not a simple, clean story. It’s a messy, uncomfortable, and profoundly human one that challenges us to see our founders as men of their time who were also, occasionally, capable of transcending it.
