The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 63: Render Unto Caesar

Episode Date: July 4, 2017

Caesar's ride that changed the course of Western Civilization. 

This is the way I heard it. When Caesar entered the forum on that fateful day, he didn't look like the regal statesman captured in bronze statues, marble busts, and millions of silver coins. He looked like a refugee from hell. His uniform was soaked with sweat and spattered with mud. His eyes were wild and bulging. His jaw was wrapped in a bloody rag,

and his breath came in great wheezing gasps. In short, Caesar looked like a dead man walking. which, of course, he was. It's odd, though, how little is written about the asthma and the cancer that plagued the famous general. Historians agree both maladies left Caesar in constant misery until his brutal death. And yet, nowhere on the statues, busts, and coins that bear his image is there a hint of deformity or mutilation, not so much as a single blemish. Obviously, no one wants to be remembered for their infirmaries, but in Caesar's case, ignoring them diminishes the magnitude of his greatest accomplishment.

So, for just a moment, put yourself in Caesar's saddle and imagine the scene that change the course of Western civilization. You're a general, and the enemy has crossed your borders. War is upon you, so you lead your men into battle. but after the battle is underway, you receive word that your government is in chaos. Weak-willed politicians have balked at the resolution before them, and you can only break the deadlock with a vote that will be held in just two days. You're 80 miles from the forum. You understand the stakes. You do the math.

In good weather, you know that a healthy rider on a sturdy horse can cover 30 miles a day, but you only have 48 hours. And you are not a healthy rider. In fact, you are already exhausted from battle. And the weather is a nightmare, temperatures north of 100 degrees, and your asthma is making every breath a torture. But you're Caesar, damn it, and you know that history doesn't care for excuses. Carpe diem, you say,

because surely, if ever there was a day to be seized, this is it. You grab a fresh horse and gallop south. ride alone because every man in your regiment is needed on the field. It's rough going, but three hours later, the first ten miles are behind you. Then the sun sets and the rain begins. It comes in sideways, blowing across the muddy terrain and thick sheets. The wind howls, the thunder rolls, the lightning flashes with bolts thrown by Zeus himself. You ride through the night. Dawn breaks, The heat returns, your lungs ache, your horse staggers.

You pause to let him rest. Quid pro quo, you say. A rest for you? A rest for me. But the rest is short-lived, because you're still 50 miles from the forum. And so you press on. You do not eat, you do not sleep, and when your horse finally collapses beneath you, you find another.

There is no more quid pro-quo, because, failure will render you a persona non grata. And you are Caesar, damn it. And you will not be remembered as the general who let the Republic die. You dig your heels into the side of your new mount and lurch once more into another hellish night. The wind is back, along with the rain and the lightning, and now your asthmatic lungs feel as though they must surely burst as your ruined jaw throbs and threatens to fall from your fevered face. But you ignore the pain, and 12 hours later you stagger into the forum with minutes to spare. You break the deadlock with a single word, yay.

And then you fall to the floor and wonder how you might be remembered centuries hence. Two thousand years ago, Julius Caesar hastened the demise of the Roman Republic by insisting that his face appear on millions of coins, and then declaring himself dictator perpetual, dictator for life. For his hubris, Caesar was assassinated by the senators with whom he served, and the greatest republic the world had ever seen died with him. But, 1800 years later, a different Caesar in a different uniform, staggered in to a different forum, and greenlit a different republic. Today, you can see this Caesar, along with his horse, on no less than 800 million pieces of his country's currency, along with the Latin phrase, you might recall from social studies, not Carpe Diem or quid pro quo or persona non grata.

E plurbus, unum, from many, one. The Delaware Quarter was introduced in 1999 to commemorate the grueling ride of an asthmatic, cancer-ridden general named Caesar Rodney. His 80-mile crucible from Dover to Philadelphia was a gauntlet of agony that very nearly killed him, but happily didn't, because Caesar Rodney, against some very long odds, arrived just in time to cast the ballot that finally put down. Delaware in the Yeh column, breaking the deadlock in his own delegation and giving the hotly contested resolution the unanimity its ratification ultimately required. Today, you can still see the results of his tie-breaking vote in the faded letters atop the document that Caesar Rodney proudly signed, along with 55 others, who knew that Benjamin Franklin was absolutely right when he told all those assembled gentlemen.

And if we don't all hang together, we will most assuredly all hang separately. The original title of that document, incidentally, is the unanimous declaration of the United States of America. Today, for reasons neither wise nor logical, we just call it the Declaration of Independence. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.