Mark Holcomb Historical Non-fiction Audiobook
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US Upper Midwest - Fargo, Minnesota)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Sam Adams was running behind schedule. There was a warm summer afternoon in New York City Friday, September 17 18 41. Sometime near one o'clock PM, the married printer, a man in his early thirties, hurried along Broadway in the financial district, close to the neighborhood of Park Row and Murray Street. Hanging around Adam's modest belly was his favorite gold chain, on which hung his pocket watch, key and seal attached. Although he was buried in debt, having been on the receiving end of several bad business deals recently, Adams warm, moderately expensive clothing, a black coat. His wife, Emily, and later recalled vest gam Brune pantaloons, a cotton shirt and black stock, which Emilian had sown herself. The reclusive, quiet and religious man had a full shock of wavy black hair, an oddly resembled future President Abraham Lincoln. During his younger, beardless days, Adams was anxious to run a few errands and then head north a few blocks to Chamber Street. He needed to see about some money owed to him by a client for a nearly completed printing job. Frustration and contempt nagged Adams a bit. On this afternoon, he believed one of his most trusted patrons was taking advantage of him. He felt he had been used, and it was costing him his business. No more, the printer decided. Would he lie down and be taken for a fool? City clerk John Johnson ran into Adam's inside the Board of Foreign Missions near Murray Street. After a brief chat, Johnson went on his way on Lee to bump into Adam's again on Chamber Street. Hours later, somewhere close to three o'clock, he was going from Centre Street to Broadway, Johnson explained on the side next to the post office. I did not speak to him. Then he was walking moderately. Johnson Comptel, something weighed heavily on Adams rather than Adam's, seemed terribly rushed when they had spoken earlier, Johnson mentioned, Approved for a job Adams had been in the habit of printing for the city. I'll bring it to your office, Adams told the clerk, further explaining that the job wasn't yet finished. Adams had always been good about stopping for a chat, Johnson recalled, days after they saw each other. In fact, there was not a man who had made the acquaintance of Samuel Adams, who would later speak an ill word of him Alfred Peckham had lived with Adams for two of the 15 years he had known him, saying he was a remarkably mild, inoffensive man. But he frequently mentioned to me about his business and what trouble he had. A fellow printer, Thomas Smith, said he always considered Adams a very mild man, so much so that he would not insult a person even if he received one. He would speak to me when we met, but not on this occasion, City Clerk John Johnson noted, speaking of that brief moment when Johnson watched Adams cross Centre Street on his way toward Broadway. Indeed, something troubled the printer, and Adams was, despite his generally even tempered manner, heading off to see it to the end. What Samuel Adams didn't know, however, and surely could not have was that before he had a chance to even argue his case regarding the funds go to him, he would be silenced