Video transcript
In July of 1776, King George III still towered over New York City, not in person, in lead. That bowling green near the tip of Manhattan stood a gilded 4,000-pound statute of King George on horseback dressed like a Roman emperor. It had been erected just six years earlier as a monument to British power, but by the summer of 1776, Americans no longer saw majesty in this statute. They saw tyranny. On July 9, 1776, George Washington gathered his troops in New York and had them easily adopt the Declaration of Independence read aloud. The words that barely settled before soldiers, sailors, and patriots surged down Broadway to bowling green on top of the King George statue. While the crowd saw tyranny toppled, Connecticut patriot Oliver Walcott saw bullets, 4,000 pounds of lead bullets, for a Continental Army Walcott knew would be desperate for ammunition. So Walcott had the shattered pieces of King George loaded onto boats and shipped to Connecticut. From there, ox carts hauled the remains of King George more than 60 miles over rough country roads to Walcott's home in Litchfield. And in the Walcott family orchard, a shed became a foundry. His wife, Laura, his daughter, Mary Ann, and local neighbors worked over melting pots pouring the King's lead into bullet molds, 42,088 musket balls in all. Some of those boats were fired two years later at the Battle of Monmon, the brutal New Jersey showdown where Washington's army proved a good stand in the open field against British regulars. You have to love the irony, Britain sent America a monument to empire, America sent it right back in muzzle velocity. So let's celebrate our nation's 250th birthday as we remember patriots like Oliver Walcott who made it all possible. From the White House, I'm Peter Navarro.
Transcribed automatically. Expect errors in names and numbers.
AI Day Analysis
Machine-generated analysis of the 2026-07-02 posts below. Not written by their author.
Zero rage, eight hours of sleep, and a National Scallops Day — a low-amplitude grandiose day broken by one three-minute flinch at his critics
Trump posted eleven times, a modest day by his standards, and never once lost his temper. He spent the late evening sharing other people's videos — a Roosevelt passage about ignoring critics, and a comedy sketch casting himself as a doctor treating "Trump Derangement Syndrome" — then went quiet for eight straight hours, a real night's sleep by his usual pattern. The morning and midday were routine credit-taking: a strong stock-market quarter, a Micron investment, and a complaint that NATO allies don't pay their share. The loudest moment came in the early afternoon, when he declared a "National Scallops Day" over a fishing-rules change and closed by warning that voters would never fish again if "the Communists" won. What he skipped says as much as what he posted: nothing about the Epstein files deadline that passed that day, nothing about the Iran talks, and nothing about the weak jobs report — though he aired his real grievances in an Oval Office interview that never made it to the feed.