Our first stop was the Eastern State Penitentiary, which was a working prison from 1829 until 1971, but was closed as a prison and is now-- as the sign suggests-- OPEN FOR TOURS.
In the early nineteenth century, punishment for crime was severe. Flogging, tarring & feathering, public hanging-- these were all common methods of punishment in everyday colonial life. Jails were only used to temporarily hold people until they could be tried and beaten-- or executed-- as their sentence decreed.
However, the peace-loving Quakers (among them Ben Franklin) thought that repentance was the quickest way to salvation, so they proposed a revolutionary new idea: build a secure facility that would allow prisoners to come to terms with the Almighty in the only way proven to be 100% effective: in complete solitary confinement.
Though its initial conception sprang from compassion, prison authorities began to realize that while probably a preferable alternative to public execution, 3-8 years in complete solitude and utter silence (with only one book--IF you could read-- The Holy Bible) might not be the most psychologically healthy alternative either.
So, over time (and overcrowding) got the best of the prison, and eventually inmates began sharing rooms which made a much more social atmosphere.
Al Capone spent about five minutes there (well, actually it was more like a year) and he obviously got the best place in the joint. (Get it: "JOINT"!)
Here's what the ceiling looks like underneath.
Fun fact! Because of the Quakers' commitment to silence and isolation, Eastern State Penitentiary had the most modern plumbing in America. Toilets were installed here before even in the White House. (Or so says the audio tour.)
A quick trip through the gift shop--
--and we were on our way out.
Next stop: chowdah in a bowl made of hollowed out bread! (Yes, I ate the bowl.)
With our stomachs now seeping with chowder, we headed to the only logical next place: the world famous Mütter Museum, the collection of medical specimens and physical oddities housed at The College of Physicians of Philadelphia.
Originally opened to educate doctors about the human body,the museum is now a popular local attraction. There were no photos allowed inside, but here are some I snatched from the internet, to give you a bit of an idea...
Of course, there's only so many dead babies in jars these two gals can take in one afternoon before getting mighty hungry, so we headed off to experience another one of Philadelphia's historical battle of the Greats: The Philly Cheesesteak Culinary Taste-Off-- Geno's vs. Pat's.
Apparently, we weren't the only important people who stopped in:
Later we went to Tattooed Mom.
It was my kinda place.
This is the Christmas tree in the lobby of our fancy hotel.
And this is the inside of our (small but) fancy room.
With me reading the local menus.
Fancily.
And this is probably the worst 25¢ ever spent.
And this is Mel C and me the next day in front of the Liberty Bell! (Independence Hall--where the Declaration of Independence and US Constitution were drafted and signed-- is behind us.)
So of course we took a tour!
All of the delegates sat in assigned areas based on which state they were from. This is the actual room where the Declaration of Independence was signed. This is roughly around where Ben Franklin would have been seated.
And this is a picture of Thomas Jefferson's walking stick and George Washington's chair.
After secretly longing to touch Thomas Jefferson's walking stick and George Washington's chair, we went to the nearby City Tavern.
City Tavern, located just steps from Independence Hall, was the site of the first historic Continental Congress in 1774. Throughout the late 1700's notables such as George Washington and Benjamin Franklin dined at the tavern, which was later partially destroyed by fire and then completely demolished in 1834. The tavern was rebuilt on its original site in 1948 and the tradition of authentic historic American cuisine endured.
While we might not live like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, but we sure could drink like them! Both were accomplished brewers and developed their own beers using local ingredients and good old-fashioned know-how. Using salvaged historic recipes, the tavern still brews these ales so they can be tasted by people from the Year 2000-- and Beyond!
Not-So-Fun fact! :-( George Washington's own talented personal chef was a slave named Hercules who later escaped to the North and was never heard from again.
After lunch, we headed just around the corner to Betsy Ross' house. You might know her as a simple flag-maker, but she was really an exemplary Revolutionary woman, using her skills of diplomacy to broker important deals in the fledgling America. Photos were strictly prohibited, but I was a little bit drunk from George Washintgton's stout, so I present to you.....The Inside of Betsy Ross' House:
This is Betsy Ross' bedroom.
Though widowed, she continued to work as an upholsterer and even manufactured small artillery in her basement when the war effort required it.
Oh and by the way, she's buried in the front yard.
Speaking of Buried-In-The-Front-Yard (although, not so much Buried-In-The-Front-Yard as it is Buried-At-The-Intersection-Of-Two-Major-
Cross-Streets-With-A-Giant-Sculpture-of-Your-
Head-Across-The-Street-with-A-Bunch-of-Keys-Pressed-Into-It) is Benjamin Franklin's grave, just two blocks away, at the intersection of two major cross streets, with a giant sculpture of his head with keys pressed into it across the street.
Apparently people like to throw pennies onto it...(?)
Soooooo, we toured the locked down halls of Eastern State Penitentiary, we gaped at the Mütter Museum's endless stream of siamese twin babies in jars, we tasted both Geno's and Pat's Philly cheese steaks, we were hit on by aging English mod-rockers at Tattooed Mom, we posed in front of the Liberty Bell, we stood in the center of Independence Hall, then feasted at the City Tavern; we tromped through Betsy Ross' delicate little house, and stood six feet above two very important Revolutionary dead bodies...where else could we go?
BAM! Edgar Allen Poe's house (1842-1844).
As it happened, the museum/house was closing in about 45 minutes (and for the next few weeks for renovations), so we got the last tour of the last day by (my favorite) our own personal tour guide. (aka National Park Ranger)
This is my hand on the wall of Edgar Allen Poe's house:
And these are the stairs leading up to Edgar Allen Poe's bedroom (note that this house never had electricity and still doesn't today-- this is the only light piped in from the adjoining museum annex).
And finally, here is a picture of me standing in the front of the giant mural painted on a building nearby the house. This mural is not authentic to Poe's time-- it was added much later by the people of Philadelphia, so that people like me could go there, and have my picture taken in front of it, and say that I went to Philadelphia and did something.
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