Benjamin Franklin, impressive as he was, was not self-made. He had help. So did I. Like Ben, I benefited from the generosity of friends and strangers near and far and, like Ben, I am deeply grateful.
On the road, I was blessed with friends who graciously supplied not only a room of my own but boatloads of bonhomie as well: Mark Landler and Angela Tung in London; Barbara Brotman and Chuck Berman in Chicago.
In the spirit of Ben, several Franklinistas generously shared their wisdom. Roy Goodman is as passionate about Franklin as he is knowledgeable. Marty Mangold, a Franklinista of the finest kind, spent many days hunkered in his extensive library, unearthing elusive facts and attributions. In Paris, Ellen Leventer helped me track down, and interpret, Franklin landmarks. In Montreal, friends Martin Regg Cohn and Karen Mazurkewich were my eyes, ears—and heart. Canada’s finest.
I am particularly indebted to the guardians of the Ben Franklin House in London. Márcia Balisciano and Michael Hall made me feel at home and let me roam where Ben roamed. Writer in residence George Goodwin shared his extensive knowledge—first by Zoom, then over salmon salad and ale. Playwright in residence Mike London also shared his many insights.
In Philadelphia, Franklin interpreter (never call him an impersonator) Mitch Kramer not only looks like Ben but also embodies the same generous spirit. Michael Barsanti, director of the Library Company of Philadelphia, was equally charitable with his time.
In Seattle, Caroline Sayre, Catherine Hunt, Lisa Blume, and the rest of the city’s Ben Franklin Circle graciously welcomed me as one of their own. Back home, during the long, dark exile known as writing, I was buoyed by the warm companionship of fellow scribes Jacki Lyden, Eliza McGraw, David Grinspoon, Florence Williams, Leeya Mehta, Kris O’Shee, Matt Davis, Juliet Eilperin, and Josh Horwitz.
John Lister, Gwydion Suilebhan, and Mark Rennella read early drafts of this book and offered valuable suggestions. My agent, Sloan Harris, believed in the project from the get-go, skillfully steering me away from the aliens and toward Franklin. I am grateful to Carolyn Kelly and the rest of the terrific staff at Avid Reader Press for shepherding Ben & Me from rough manuscript to finished book. I am especially indebted to my editor, Ben Loehnen, who cajoled, cheered, and condensed with all the skill and grace of his namesake. He is my favorite living Ben.
At home, my daughter, Sonya, rooted for me and graciously tolerated the fountain of random Franklin facts I spewed. My brother, Paul, supported me throughout; the Franklin bust he gifted me was a constant companion. My wife, Sharon, deserves, if not sainthood, then a billboard on I-95. She served as cheerleader and comforter, idea-backboard, draft-reader, and frontline editor. I could not have written this book without her.
My biggest booster was my mom. During our regular Monday calls, she’d always ask how the book was coming along. “Swimmingly,” I lied. When I finally entered the home stretch, my mom fell gravely ill. I finished this book near her bedside, writing the final sentence mere minutes before she passed away. She knew it was okay to let go. This book is also dedicated to her.