As a US History teacher for many years, I always sought to give my students a fair and accurate accounting of the major events that altered the course of our country. One fine April day in 2006, I told them I’d give a free pass on homework for a week for the first person with the correct answer to the question, “Who was William Dawes?”
Thirty-two juniors gave me their personal take on the proverbial deer-in the-headlights expression.
“William Who?” one young man finally broke the silence.
“William Dawes,” I replied.
Still nothing. Not a peep. It was the quietest my classroom had been all spring.
“Ok, let me give you a hint.” I paused, then began again in dramatic fashion. “Listen my children and you shall hear, of the midnight ride of ….” I stopped speaking and waited several seconds.
“…the midnight ride of…” I prompted, trying to lead them to fill in the blank.
“William Dawes?” a girl asked, tentatively looking at her peers and shrugging.
“YES!” I crowed. “Listen my children and you shall hear, of the midnight ride of William Dawes!”
I had over-estimated my 17-year-old students’ basic cultural literacy. By the continued blank stares, I was certain not one of them knew what the heck I was talking about.
It took me the rest of the period to explain the misconception of the role played by Paul Revere and propagated by Longfellow in his classic ballad, and the fact that William Dawes had not been captured by the British and deserved just as much credit for sounding the alarm as the guy whose name happened to make a better rhyme.
And for those who wanted extra credit, I directed them to read, and memorize for a class presentation on April 18, the parody written 20 years later by Mrs. Helen F. Moore:
The Midnight Ride of William Dawes
published in Century Magazine, 1896
I am a wandering, bitter shade,
Never of me was a hero made;
Poets have never sung my praise,
Nobody crowned my brow with bays;
And if you ask me the fatal cause,
I answer only, “My name was Dawes”
‘Tis all very well for the children to hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere;
But why should my name be quite forgot,
Who rode as boldly and well, God wot?
Why should I ask? The reason is clear —
My name was Dawes and his Revere.
When the lights from the old North Church flashed out,
Paul Revere was waiting about,
But I was already on my way.
The shadows of night fell cold and gray
As I rode, with never a break or a pause;
But what was the use, when my name was Dawes!
History rings with his silvery name;
Closed to me are the portals of fame.
Had he been Dawes and I Revere,
No one had heard of him, I fear.
No one has heard of me because
He was Revere and I was Dawes.
***