Out and About (Sort of): Painful Lesson by Howard Freedlander

Ben Franklin was an extraordinary person well known for his political, scientific, literary and diplomatic skills, not to overlook his community-building as illustrated by the country’s first free library, first fire company and an academy that became the University of Pennsylvania.

He was my favorite founder among the distinguished likes of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.

During this time of Covid and contrasting perspectives about the value of vaccinations, Franklin has emerged as an early and persuasive advocate of prophylactic measures against disease. His view of the deadly effects of untreated disease resonates today.

His support for inoculation was personal. Painfully so.

He and wife Deborah lost a young son, Franky, to smallpox in 1736 amid widespread dissemination of the disease at the time in Philadelphia. Despite his knowledge and support of vaccinations, Franklin and his wife persuaded themselves that their four-year-old son, sick with a cold, was too vulnerable for the vaccine to be effective. Franky died.

The “great man,” whose achievements were legendary, never forgave himself for his son’s death. He lived with his grief and guilt his entire life. He became passionate about the value of inoculations.

After Franky died, Franklin publicly disclosed his son’s death in the Pennsylvania Gazette to counter rumors that his beloved son died of the inoculation.

As all parents know fully well, life offers triumph and torment. Those whom we consider towers of strength and fonts of wisdom also suffer from tragedy; few of us escape personal distress that remains part of us till we die.

If you fast forward to the early years of the third decade of the 21st century, you can only wonder why 60 million people in the United States distrust science and prefer misconceptions. Skepticism of vaccinations harks back to the early 18th century.

Fear of inoculations that can sicken and benefit you arose in the 1720s when Cotton Mather, the renowned Congregationalist minister, advocated vaccine against smallpox. Opposition was vehement; remnants of this fierce outcry still exist today despite the success of the Salk polio vaccine in the 1950s and the continued efficacy of the flu vaccine.

During the past two years of battling the fatal effects of Covid, vaccinations have become fraught with controversy and obstinance, to the detriment of public health. I have been unable to understand opposition to avoiding sickness and death through scientifically proved vaccine.

Is it a matter of personal liberty?

We humans continue to smoke and drink to excess despite the deleterious health effects. Therefore, are we entitled to damage or destroy ourselves if we wish? The answer, of course, is yes. Self-destruction is legal, even condoned.

If, however, a disease such as Covid or the flu is contagious, harming others within our breathing or sneezing or coughing space, is personal liberty still applicable? Arguments are resolute on both sides.

In his public lament, Ben Franklin referred to lives unlived by generations of descendants of a person, such as Franky, of lost potential to families and communities. He was writing as a bereaved father, as well as a pragmatic philosopher.

A portrait of Francis “Franky” Franklin portrays a beautiful child much loved by his parents, according to historians. His death left an unfilled hole in the hearts of his parents. An inoculation may have blocked smallpox.

The eminently sensible Ben Franklin learned a painful lesson that no parent envisions. Very sad.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.