11 posts from Thursday, July 2, 2026

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.

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It is not the critic who counts. Not the man who points out how the strongman stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs, who comes up short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming, but who does actually strive to do the deeds, who knows great enthusiasts, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those whole or intended souls who neither know victory nor death.

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