History Daily - Saturday Matinee: Been There, Done That

Episode Date: June 20, 2026

On today’s Saturday Matinee, we enjoy an excerpt from Professor Greg Jackson's new book that aims to prove that while today’s political climate may be dark, these aren’t as unprecedented times as we may think. Link to order Been There, Done That: How Our History Shows What We Can Overcome: https://www.htdsbook.com  Support the show! Join Into History for ad-free listening and more. History Daily is a co-production of Airship and Noiser.

Back in 2019, which seems a quaint pre-pandemic time much longer than just seven years ago, I went to Orlando, Florida to attend a podcaster convention. It was a good time, though brutally hot and humid. No one went outside much. Instead, we all stayed indoors listening to panel discussions and keynote speakers about the exciting and still relatively new, in quotation marks, medium of podcasting. There were ample opportunities to learn more about the craft and the industry, as well as build community among your peers.

But of course, I'm a history podcaster, so I was most interested in finding more of those people. Luckily, there was a history podcaster meetup scheduled one evening. I decided to go, but found it a bit difficult to locate the group. We were meeting outside a restaurant in a giant food court pavilion inside an even more giant convention center, and it got confusing. It took me a while, but then I spotted them, a table of three or four older gray-haired white guys.

Now look, I myself am an older gray-haired white guy. I'm the stereotype of the suburban American father with an interest in history, but I've got to tell you, I was a little disappointed to see that the history podcasters meetup was this one note. And they looked a little miserable, too. No one was saying much. So I decided that this was maybe not the group for me. I turned around, and that's when I saw it.

A tiny little placard on the table behind me, history podcasters meetup. Now, this was a different group, varied in every way, young and old, male and female, professional, and hobbyist. If memory serves, it was still all white, and statistically, that's just going to happen with small sample sizes. But nonetheless, with some relief, I approached this table and introduced myself. By an accident of proximity, I took a place near a gentleman I would soon learn was Professor Greg Jackson, host of the podcast. podcast, History That Doesn't suck. We hit it off immediately and made plans to meet up again later in the conference. Soon enough, we were working together on his podcast, starting with about episode 65. My company Airship has been doing the audio editing, sound design, and music for Greg's

show. And we've remained good friends and close peers ever since, pledging to meet up at subsequent conferences, which we've done for years until recently. Something came between us. Greg grew distant and unavailable. He just didn't seem to have the time anymore. What had happened? Well, he was writing a book, and I'm glad to say, for the sake of the reading public and our friendship, that Greg has finished that book, and it's finally available for order. So on today's Saturday matinee, we're featuring an excerpt from Professor Greg Jackson's Been There, Been There, Done That, How Our History Shows What We Can Overcome, I hope you enjoy. It's a great and timely read, and I encourage you to order your own copy and hardcover or audiobook. We put a link in the show notes to make it easy for you.

Introduction. Messy Tales. History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes. Mark Twain. Maybe. It's never been worse. The refrain is common, and although I reject it, I get it. While partisan rancor has been heated across the last few decades, for many Americans, all their lives, the division and dysfunction of recent years makes the 1990s or early 2000s feel like the model of decorum and civility. Our mournful ruminating doesn't even have to leave the 2020s to get that sense. Political violence, a contested presidential election, presidential impeachments, as well as attempted and successful political assassinations have all been shocking. The mere fact that the last two examples in that list are plural is staggering. Every day, it seems,

we open our phones and turn on our TVs or various devices to some new horror, assuming we even trust the media in this era of fake news. Amid all these hyper-partisan challenges, some of us can't help but wonder if the United States will even survive. Rather than being a milestone, might two and a half centuries be the end of the road? But what if I told you that none of this is as unprecedented as it seems? Not the violence, not the electoral doubts,

not even our allegedly new challenge of fake news, that as a nation, we've had similar experiences and not only survived these dark valleys, but ascended anew and overcome them to thrive thereafter. Big claims, I know, and I'll unpack all of this. But first, an example of such behavior from our past, from our origins, in fact. I'd like to tell you a story.

It was a blunder. Ben Franklin knew it. He felt it in his soul almost the moment he let go of the paper. The grievous error occurred on the morning of April 18, 1782, at the Hotel de Muscovy in Paris, or as Ben knew it, Mr. Oswald's lodgings. Richard Oswald had just arrived in Paris. Richard was the first of a team of commissioners being sent to make a truce or peace with the revolted colonies in North America, and he was a strong choice at that.

The elderly Scott, with vision in only one eye, had an affinity for America, the land where he had made a fortune trading goods and enslaved souls, but his loyalty to the British crown remained steadfast. Ideally, he would establish a strong rapport with the Americans without seating more than he should, and so far, he was off to a good start with his old acquaintance, Ben Franklin. The two had shared a carriage to and from the Pals of Versailles the day before, and Richard took advantage of that private, if bumpy moment, to pitch a British-American peace agreement without France.

Now, Ben was at his door. Their conversation could continue. Ben loved their carriage ride chat. As a seasoned, lifelong diplomat in his sixth year representing the U.S. in France, he was delighted when Richard, so desperate to drive the wedge between America and France, implied that the United States must make peace now, lest France should make demands too humiliating for England to submit to, and reawaken the will to fight. Even better was how the Scott boasted of Britain's resources to continue the war.

Ben relished each kindly delivered threat. Such menaces, as the famed Philadelphia later recalled in his journal, were besides an encouragement with me, remembering the adage that they who threaten are afraid. But even the best can make a mistake. And this morning, that best was Ben. Calling at Richard at his Parisian residence, the American diplomat carried with him a letter for the Scots superior, colonial secretary Lord Shelburne.

Ben shared it with his peace-negotiating counterpart. Richard was pleased with every word. This done, their preliminary, unofficial negotiations continued with Ben, speculating that Britain wanted not mere peace, but a true, quote, reconciliation with America, close quote. If so, he suggested that Britain offered to atone for British and allied Native American War atrocities. I therefore wished England would think of offering something to relieve those who had suffered

by its scalping and burning parties. More than that, he even had a suggestion in mind. Seed Canada to the United States, laying out various political and economic reasons as to how handing Canada to the United States was actually in Britain's best interests. Ben spoke eloquently and deftly. As he did, he referenced some handwritten notes. Richard agreed. He would push for this with Lord Shelburne, but might Ben give him that page of notes? Over 70 years old, the Scott doubted that he could remember and articulately convey been several points. Richard seemed sincere and begged to have it.

From one Septuagenarian to another, Ben understood, he handed over the page. They, quote, parted exceedingly good friends, close quote. But whether it was when he walked away from Richard's door, or perhaps on the carriage ride home, a sickening feeling soon struck Ben as he realized his potentially fatal step. Those notes, meant only for him, gave a nod to the other side of the coin of restitution,

to patriot seizures of loyalist property. While hardly equal to the dastardly deeds of the redcoats in Ben's eyes, he knew it would be damaging to the American cause. But Ben also knew what to do about that damnable page of notes. He would fight paper with paper.

Back at his own long-time residence, on the western outskirts of Paris, the magnificent Hotel de Valentin Noir in the village of Passy, then got to work at his private printing press. His years as a professional newspaper man were long behind him, but even now, well over half a century since his indentured apprenticeship to his brother, James, at the New England Current, and decades since he famously published his join-or-die political cartoon

in his own Pennsylvania Gazette. Ink still flowed through the old Renaissance man's veins. Undoubtedly, his fingers were slower and shakier as he reached for each piece of type than in days gone by. But what was youthful agility compared to type reading fluency? Ben read type backward and upside down, with greater skill than many could read at all, and his withered, wrinkled hands had the type set in no time. We can only imagine Ben's glee as he looked at his printed handiwork, claiming to be a supplement to the Boston Independent Chronicle,

The freshly inked page related a letter purportedly penned by Captain Garrish of the New England militia. It described a collection of animal pelts, a peltry that he and his men had intercepted and, to their horror, found to contain, quote, scalps of our unhappy country folks. Close quote. The captain's account claimed to quote yet another letter that accompanied to the peltry written by James Crawford to the British governor of camp. Colonel Sir Frederick Haldemund. This itemized the dreadful contents. To quote it,

43 scalps of Congress soldiers, several hundred scalps of farmers, 88 scalps of women, 193 boys' scalps of various ages, 211 girls' scalps, big and little, and even 29 little infant scalps of various sizes. The story was horrific. And it was pure fiction.

Ben didn't stop there. He had to really sell the lie. Beneath the letter, he placed five fake advertisements, giving it the feel of a real newspaper. It was good. If only teenage Ben could see this. That young author, who, under the pseudonym of Mrs. Silence Dugood,

wrote letters to his print shop master older brother, tricking him into publishing what appeared to be the witicist of a middle-aged widow rather than those of his own kid-brother apprentice would undoubtedly be grinning ear to ear. But today's deception had an intended audience far beyond that of the long-dead New England current. It needed something more. Ben returned to his press to make a new draft. He set more type, placed his 14 and 1516th by 9 and an 8th inch paper, and applied the ink. He waited overnight for the first side to dry, then printed on the backside or the Verso, because this sheet, like a true newspaper, would not waste a single inch of parchment by leading

blank space. This time, he was printing a proper, double-sided supplement. This second draft kept the first one's horrific, realistic, yet fabricated tale of the Revolutionary War in upstate New York, but added another completely fabricated letter. This one was attributed to a very real author, to America's most famous naval commander, John Paul Jones. In a list of grievances that faintly echoed the Declaration of Independence, John decried the deprivations of King George III against the American people. The letter blasted his majesty for violating rights, waging war, plundering, executing, selling into bondage and otherwise, quote, destroying not than 40,000 American subjects, and wasting the lives of at least an equal number of his own

soldiers and sailors. Ben also kept some of the ads in this second draft. So many real details of real places. Adams Peters was selling a tanyard in Medfield. It included 20 acres of land and an excellent orchard. Joseph Blaney of Salem and Dr. Samuel Danforth of Boston were selling, quote, a large tract of land, close quote, that straddled, Oxford, Charlton, and the county of Worcester. These perfectly complimented the fake letters, naming real people, with some factual details. And of course, there was the nature of the supplement itself. It not only claimed to be an addition of the very real Boston Independent Chronicle, but was believably numbered at 705,

and backdated to March 12, which gave the alleged supplement just enough time to have crossed the ocean from Boston and reach Ben in Paris. Yes, the details were impeccable. Only the most discerning eye might notice that the typefaces were French, or that the italic script was a unique one belonging only to Ben. But that was a risk,

the old printer would gladly take. Besides, even if such a discerning eye saw through his ruse, it would never stop what the masses would see, that those loyal to the king were far guiltier of wartime atrocities than any marching under the banners of Congress. That the patriots were the victims, not the loyalists. And they would see it all, thanks to Ben's fake stories and fake advertisements in his fake edition

of a very real Boston newspaper. It's true. Ben Franklin, the great inventor, thinker, writer, firefighter, postmaster, diplomat, delegate to both the Second Continental Congress and the Constitutional Convention, the first American and esteemed newspaper man, used his press in Passy, France, to spread falsehoods with the hopes of getting a leg up in the peace negotiations with Britain in 1782. He sent it into the wilds of the public by mailing it to colleagues, which he did with the wink in closing letters that expressed, to quote him,

some doubt about the supplements claimed specifics. And it did get circulated. Or might we say the supplement was liked and shared enough to go viral? Call it what you will, but the supplement was republished in some British newspapers. In short, Ben had resorted to blatant disinformation to influence public opinion to push a political agenda. It was an astounding act of, founding fake news, made as questions of political violence haunted the land. A debt-ridden Congress

failed to pay its bills, and the very American experiment verged on the edge of collapse. I know. Ben had it so easy. If only he knew how hard we'd have it. Okay, before you stop listening and jump to something else, please forgive my wry sense of humor and accept my assurances that my last line was entirely tongue-in-cheek, as I state unequivocally. I am by no means downplaying the anxieties and concerns of 21st century America. That is not my goal or intention at all. On the contrary, our challenges are real. The digital age has made information and knowledge more readily available than ever, and at the same time, disinformation has found the Internet to be fertile ground, and social media

to be the perfect fertilizer. A lot of manure there. Our trust in news media is down, yet we're only a few swipes away from reports of hyper-partisan divisions, ill-behaved government officials, failing institutions, electoral angst,

and even political violence. It's all fed to us from the angle that will best suck, sorry, slip at the keyboard, best suck us in as the algorithms feed us whichever slant is most likely to steal our evening,

hope and soul with doomscrolling. It makes you feel like the American Republic itself, if not liberal democracy around the world, is collapsing under unprecedented challenges. I know, and I'm not dismissing any of it. But without brushing off these or other very real challenges of present-day America, I am making two major arguments in this book. First is that today's cries of unprecedented times

range between being grossly overstated and simply not true. My point here is that, just as Mark Twain is alleged to have said, History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes, there's a lot of rhyming going on right now. To further riff off apocryphal Twainisms, my second contention is that reports of the United States' impending death have been greatly exaggerated. That isn't to say Lady Liberty is not a bit worse for wear of late,

but rather that she's made of sterner stuff than many of us realize. Americans are made of sterner stuff than we realize. And our history not only shows that, but offers lessons on how we can overcome today's challenges. I'm here to tell you a story of the United States that takes us from the early republic through the 19th century, one that weaves together tales from across this increasingly distant and forgotten period to prove that we are largely walking in our predecessor's shoes,

predecessors who have more to teach us about overcoming the seemingly impossible and keeping the American experiment alive than we often recognize. It's a story to remind us that, even in a time when people sent telegrams rather than texts, love letters rather than DMs, and horsepower was exactly that, Americans still faced hyperpartisanship. They read and questioned egregiously partisan, sensational, and fake news. We'll see elements of this across several. several chapters, but particularly in our first tale of the early republic's politically embattled

gazettes, as well as in our last on yellow journalism, the first golden era of fake news, and the inventor of the term. They endured trust-evissuating presidential elections, as we'll better appreciate after absorbing such tales as the mud-slinging and slightly deadly presidential election of 1828, the heinously corrupt, murder-ridden presidential election of 1876, and the likewise terrible and deadly Louisiana elections of 1872. These earlier generations of Americans also knew what it was to have controversial federal officeholders, including the cane brandishing congressman Preston Brooks, his bludgeoned victim, Senator Charles Sumner, and the first impeached president, Andrew Johnson.

They endured deadly riots, like the torture-filled Baltimore riots of 1812, and even saw an insurrection after an election. And no, that is. an obscure reference to the Civil War. In fact, I am going to make my point without engaging the Civil War beyond a note in our chronology because, as I'll demonstrate then, these four years in the American story were far too catastrophic to have any business being compared to our present. The Civil War isn't the only major event will largely or entirely fly past.

And that's okay, because this book is not attempting to be some sort of comprehensive history. Think of it more as a collection of episodes from America's political history. Some are familiar classics, others are deep tracks. Either way, each tale is here solely because its challenges and conflicts are so very relatable to the present. As for keeping the stories within or before the 19th century, I made that choice to help highlight just how old these challenges are. Not that the 20th century didn't offer its temptations. Even then, narrowing down which tales to tell required difficult decisions. Sorry you didn't make this book, President James A. Garfield.

Now, I'm not saying our forebearers passed down the Republic perfectly. Far from it. Their flaws got them into their self-made messes. Their flaws showed throughout their struggles. And when they did stick the landing, well, it was more often than not, far from graceful. literally, figuratively, or both, casualties were left on the field of battle. In short, these are not fairy tales. At best, they are messy tales, and sometimes cautionary tales. Sometimes the win is merely mitigating the bad. Good doesn't always triumph immediately. We'll encounter situations where whose good and whose evil isn't clear.

Even in those tales where there is a clearer distinction, will nonetheless find our here heroes and villains are more complex than that, that they're more anti-heroes and anti-villains, average people, all of whom have their admirable and unworthy traits. And isn't that wonderful? I couldn't for the life of me imagine how we would relate to or learn from them otherwise. But let me be clear. The stories ahead do not offer recommendations on the policy issue du jour, which undoubtedly has changed in the time between my writing this sentence, and you hearing it. Instead, I am addressing our longer-standing, overarching 21st century challenges in the hopes of offering something more useful and enduring, along the lines of Winston

Churchill's exhortation to study history because, quote, in history lie all the secrets of statecraft. As we soak up our mischievous tales from the past, each chapter will wrap with some basic civics and political thought, some of which will build from one chapter to the next. We'll lean heavily on James Madison's Federalist No. 10 throughout, but also brush up against John Locke, Montesquieu, Thomas Jefferson, and still others along the way. Most importantly, though, I would hope will come away with a better understanding of how our Republic has survived, adapted, and ultimately endured. What the basic mechanics and principles are that facilitate this incredible endurance, and what we must do to continue that endurance today.

To that end, allow me to define a few terms, just the ones you'll encounter most frequently, and explain my choices on phrases and framing. Yes, I'm a storytelling professor, but still a professor, so please indulge my pedantic professoring for a moment. First, liberal democracy. In an age of increasing illiberal democracy around the globe, and a general watering down of the word, I want to make it clear that, when I speak of our guiding principles, I am talking about a democratic system

that not only seeks the consent of the majority, but guarantees the individual's rights and respects its own legal system. That is liberal democracy, which is the form of democracy that the United States seeks to secure through its republic. Between the tales ahead, which include times when these principles

are absolutely trampled and our present-day concerns, It's important to be clear on what the standard truly is, even as we grapple with an imperfect reality. Likewise, the stories and civic lessons ahead make more sense when the unique nature of the American Union and its federal system are not forgotten. I'll explain some of those mechanics as needed as we go, and review them as a whole at the book's end. But the term that best articulates our representative form of government, with its division of powers, checks and balances, and guarantee of rights for its citizens, is constitutional republic. The Constitution is the highest law of the land, the ultimate appeal, and as we see it get invoked, ignored, and fought over in the tales to come, we'll want to keep these specifics in mind

so that we can fully grasp the significance of what's happening in these moments. Our last term to define immediately is fake news. While the phrase has existed at least since the 1890s, more on that later, getting kicked around like a hacky sack at an early 2000s liberal arts college has robbed it of a clear meaning since its popularity soared to new heights between 2016 and 2017. I will stick to the definition used by scholars and journalists, which is not just news stories that are wrong, but that are intentionally so. As the Rutledge companion to media disinformation and populism tells us, quote, contemporary use of the term fake news applies it to falsehoods packaged

to look like news to deceive people. Close quote. Yep. Ben Franklin of 1782 to a T. Similarly, the New York Times says that, quote, narrowly defined, fake news means a made-up story with an intention to deceive, often geared toward getting clicks,

close quote. So even though some today use fake news any time they don't like what they hear, or even to describe a media source that is genuinely wrong, I will hold to this definition that, like libel and slander, takes not only error but intent into account. You'll see this delineation throughout the book as fake news gets poked and prodded in earlier chapters, before fully exploding in Chapter 8. Finally, an important framing I hope you'll carry in your mind as we dive into these messy tales is a duality of admiration amid imperfection.

A barn has more than one side. light behaves as both a wave and a particle, and in that same spirit, we do not need to choose between love of country and facing the bleakest moments of our history. On the contrary, I fervently believe that a love of country and patriotism go hand in hand with examining and learning from such messy tales, not because we're reveling and failures, but because we're learning from the past to do better in the future. This duality follows in the footsteps of the founders, both the first to sacrifice for for this union and the first to admit it isn't perfect. I've always loved that simple yet

humble admission in our Constitution's preamble as the founders established not a perfect, but a, quote, more perfect union. Close quote. Fainting perfection and calling ourselves irredeemable are equally troublesome narratives, both of which give us two-dimensional takes that overlook the crucial connective tissue between them, the actual overcoming that takes us from our worst points to our best. Focusing on just the valley floors or the mountain peaks fails to see the reality that we spend most of our time in between those extremes, making the arduous climb, sometimes backsliding,

at times moving laterally, and even struggling to move, just gasping for breath. Nonetheless, this republic is worth that climb. It is worth preserving. That's what I take from these tales and their accompanying lessons in this very book. I hope you will too. With that preservation in mind, let us commence our long 19th century story of dreadful, dastardly deeds. The first tale reveals some of the lowest, basest behavior and hyperpartisanship you can imagine. As a few of my personal historical heroes show us their coarsest, ugliest attributes.

Two of them are about to cross paths on Broadway in downtown New York City. Let's meet them there. To order your copy of my friend Professor Greg Jackson's new book, Been There, Done That, How Our History Shows What We Can Overcome. Visit htDSbook.com. That's htDS, as in history that doesn't suck, book.com, htddsbock.com.