History in their blood | Morning Newsletter

It’s a new week and a rainy day, Philly.

Dozens of artifacts from the likes of Frederick Douglass and Elizabeth Cady Stanton are coming to the city for America’s 250th birthday. For those history-makers’ descendants, the celebration is also a chance to honor their family members who pointed out the country’s contradictions.

And thousands of employees at the Internal Revenue Service in Philadelphia spent the weekend agonizing over whether they’ll lose their jobs as part of the Trump administration’s plan to shrink the federal workforce.

Read on for those stories and more.

— Julie Zeglen ([email protected])

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To mark the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence in 2026, Old City’s Museum of the American Revolution is hosting a major exhibition featuring dozens of new objects, including those owned by some of the country’s most impactful historical figures. They include:

🇺🇸 A first-edition printing of abolitionist Frederick Douglass’ “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” speech

🇺🇸 The metal prison bench where Martin Luther King Jr. wrote “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”

🇺🇸 A writing desk owned by suffragist Elizabeth Cady Stanton

The museum, which opened in 2017, has long prepared for the Semiquincentennial as a natural moment to shine. But it’s also a poignant event for the descendants of the Americans whose items will be on display, who see an opportunity for education.

In their own words: “He called out the hypocrisy of a nation that would espouse the ideals of freedom, liberty, justice and equality, while enslaving people of African descent on its blood-drenched soil,” Douglass’ great-great-great-grandson told The Inquirer about the speech on display. “But then, as he did in just about all of his speeches, he ended on a note of hope.”

Reporter Mike Newall has the story on the museum’s goals for the exhibition, and the families who preserved the artifacts.

More arts and culture news: The Department of Government Efficiency’s cuts to the General Services Administration endanger the future of Philadelphia’s iconic public art.

An email Friday to more than 3,600 IRS workers warned of staffing cuts to “increase the efficiency and effectiveness” of the agency. The message gave employees 10 days to upload their resumes for review by agency leaders, and came less than two weeks before Tax Day.

It’s the latest federal agency to face job eliminations — or in this case, the threat of them — as part of a cost-cutting initiative under President Donald Trump and billionaire adviser Elon Musk’s DOGE.

A union leader called it “another dispatch in the war on federal employees” meant to “scare people into running out.”

Reporter Wendy Ruderman has the details.

In other DOGE news: The department is targeting the National Endowment for the Humanities, which threatens funding to local museums, libraries, and other cultural organizations. And after cuts shuttered federal campgrounds in Pennsylvania, state parks have seen a surge in reservations.

A Mount Airy writer helped entrepreneur George E. Johnson author his autobiography. What type of products is Johnson known for?

A) Musical accessories

B) Home goods

C) Office supplies

D) Hair care

Think you know? Check your answer.

🪩 Visiting: The futuristic Philly experience by Steven Spielberg that you’ve maybe never heard of.

🌳 Funding: The Pine Barrens by buying John McPhee’s classic book.

🍽️ Trying: Wonder, the chain of food halls coming to Philly and the Main Line.

🦅 Loving: The friendship between 8-year-old “Mighty Mason” and former Eagles star Brandon Graham.

🍀 Traveling to: Ireland with the founder of Fergie’s Pub.

Hint: Philly-set crime thriller streaming on Apple TV+

FETID HOPE

Email us if you know the answer. We’ll select a reader at random to shout out here.

Cheers to Ken Buddington, who solved Sunday’s anagram: Mask and Wig. A 100-year-old drag performance by the University of Pennsylvania’s musical comedy troupe changed the course of recording music history.

Think back to the night that changed your life that could only happen in Philly, a true example of the Philly spirit, the time you finally felt like you belonged in Philly if you’re not a lifer, something that made you fall in love with Philly all over again — or proud to be from here if you are. Then email it to us for a chance to be featured in the Monday edition of this newsletter.

This “only in Philly” story comes from reader Deb Olsen, who describes learning to drive in the city:

Unlike most teenagers across America, when I turned 16, I was not anxious to get my driver’s license. Even though I had a job after school, the cost of car insurance was astronomical, and gas prices were pretty high, too, in the late ‘70s. I was content to take SEPTA to get around and bum rides from my family and friends.

When I turned 18, my dad had had enough and bought me a cute little ‘75 white Mustang Ghia with red interior and insisted I get my license since I was working full time and could afford it. I got my permit, and he would take me out on days he had off to learn how to drive a stick shift and maneuver the streets of South Philly.

We started at the parking lot of JFK Stadium. I had learned to drive a tractor as a student at Saul High School up in Roxborough (shout-out to Mr. Santangelo for his unending patience on how to smoothly pop a clutch). I got the hang of shifting pretty quickly, and then it was time to head out on the streets.

My father had long been a stickler for making us learn the names of streets in South Philly — not just the main ones, but the little side streets as well. Now he insisted I expand my knowledge to knowing all the streets from Pattison all the way up to Girard in case I ever broke down and needed to know where I was to call for help.

After weeks of driving and parking practice, my dad said if I could make it up Broad Street and around City Hall without running someone over or hitting anything, I would probably pass my driver’s test. Off we went. I maneuvered my little sports car up Broad, past jaywalkers, cabs, buses, and bicyclists, occasionally glancing up at Billy Penn standing on top of City Hall, beckoning me to keep going. I only stalled once, three-fourths of the way around near Dilworth Plaza, where some impatient cabbie honked his horn, and my dad gave him hell. We made it back down Broad with no tragedies to Oregon Avenue.

The next week, I passed my driver’s test. I was now a licensed driver ready to cruise the streets of Philadelphia.

Wishing you an easy slide into the new week. Thanks for starting it with The Inquirer.

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