American hospitality was enjoyed by all until King George III issued a most unwelcome Stamp Tax in 1765 and ticked off the locals. Redcoats in turn failed to find humor in a little civil disobedience, Boston style. Clearly, the British had overstayed their welcome and the good citizens of Williamsburg voted to give them boys the boot. White gloves and Sunday supper manners were tossed like tea and it was game on!
Redcoats and patriots can still be seen daily on Duke of Gloucester Street, affectionately simplified as DoG by the locals. Williamsburg’s restoration is owed to the persuasive powers of Bruton Parish Church’s former rector. Reverend Dr. W.A.R. Goodwin convinced John D. Rockefeller, Jr. to finance his dream. Now that must have been one hell of a sermon.
Stroll down DoG to find good colonial era food in the same taverns frequented by Thomas Jefferson, George Mason, and other notable build-a-new-country rock stars. Take a tour of the capitol and get a feel for the room where Patrick Henry gave his Caesar-Brutus speech. Stroll through gardens and visualize a young George Washington, wooing Martha. Yep, Williamsburg is where they met. Our boy got around.
Seek shade under the old locust tree and find the Pulaski bench, built for the society who armchair quarterbacked political doings down the other end of DoG. Membership rules required Virginia property ownership, a quart of Virginia Bourbon initiation dues, and secrecy. Now that they have a webpage though, I’m thinking the secrecy part is a thing of the past.
Williamsburg sits between the York and James Rivers was almost the site of Virginia’s first settlement. A lovely, quaint beach can be found along the Colonial Parkway at College Creek.