George Washington visited the Brother Tavern again in June 1791. The joint was hopping with inebriated customers, cheering their hero.
As G.W. was escorted out of town, he turned to his fan club and said
“I cannot leave you, fellow-citizens, without thanking you again and again for your kind greeting; for the true and devoted friendship you have shown me. When in the darkest hours of the Revolution, of doubt and gloom, the succor and support I received from the people of Frederick County has always cheered me. It always awoke a responsive echo in my breast. I feel the emotion of gratitude beating in my heart. My heart is too full to say more. God bless you all.
Library of Congress
A month later, Mr. Brother died at the age of 47. Valentine managed the bar and he logged what he referred to later in life as mere hash-mark days: get up, greet strangers, overhear their action-packed stories, clean up, say goodbye strangers, who have not become friends, go to bed.
So dry to the bone he was that he caught himself improving his mother’s complaints, converting them into stories with a nag or talking fly as protagonist.
Would he ever feel what G.W. spoke about: a “responsive echo” or devoted friendship? Was he meant to be Sisyphus and go mad?
When he got the chance to serve on a jury, he took the exit. Valentine wore his best clothes, pleased with this decision that made him stand out against the farmers, who were going back to their own hash-mark rows of wheat and mud. With the slamming down of the gavel, his heart raced. The back-stabbing criminal told his version against Mr. Virtue, who had a better, although slimy, tale that not only included animated pain and suffering with musical whimpering, but witnesses and documentation.
Moving his head from the left to right and back again, Valentine had an epiphany. I could do this all day long. How to get paid and work with liars? I shall work for the government!
After the verdict, he addressed the men refusing to leave the room, still debating. He invited them over to the tavern, almost without their knowledge, Drinks were on him. To do otherwise, well, that would be to go mad.