"Your servant, sir," says the ponytailed firebrand of "Give me liberty or give me death" fame. In the shadow of the Governor's Palace, with a crowd quickly gathering, Plotkin shakes hands across the centuries. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Henry. I've always considered you the Abbie Hoffman of your day."
At first, it doesn't go well. Henry--played by actor Richard Schuman with the scholarly accuracy that is a Williamsburg trademark--stuns Plotkin with assertions that democracy is dangerous, the income tax an atrocity and voting a privilege, not a right. But when Plotkin asks what he would say if Williamsburg, as the capital of Virginia, were denied representation in the House of Burgesses, Henry reacts with satisfying umbrage.
"Why, that is tyranny, sir," cries Henry, "almost the very definition of tyranny. I would find it an abomination to God and to nature. Why should not their voices be heard?"
Plotkin's turn. "There is a politician of my era, Senator Kay Bailey Hutchinson of Texas, who says my city doesn't need an elected representative because all the Congress represents us."
Henry answers without pause: "That, sir, is the folly that comes from giving women the franchise." The crowd roars. Plotkin beams.
Back at the Williamsburg Inn, seated on the stone patio and relaxing after a long swim in the pool, the urbanite radical grudgingly succumbs to the charm of dusk in Old Virginia. "I'm starting to like this place," Plotkin says as he looks at the long shadows cast over the golf course. A martini has just been delivered, and in 20 minutes a hotel van will take him to dinner at the historically correct Kings Arm Tavern. "Statehood can wait until tomorrow."
Tomorrow doesn't bring statehood but it does, finally, bring Thomas Jefferson. After breakfast from the groaning buffet of the inn's white-tablecloth Regency Room, Plotkin gathers with a few hundred other tourists for Jefferson's regular public audience in the Palace Gardens. During the wait for the great man, Plotkin works the crowd. He's commiserating with some residents of Puerto Rico, who also have no vote in Congress ("But at least we don't have to pay federal taxes," notes Carlos Martinez), when a buzz builds from near the palace. A tall, ginger-haired gentleman in Colonial garb and dignified mien is stalking through the crowd.
Jefferson, as played by Bill Barker, has become one of Williamsburg's most popular attractions. Not only does Barker bear an eerie physical likeness to the third president, he has gained a national reputation as a Jefferson scholar. His specialty is taking queries from a modern audience and spinning them into questions he can answer with historical accuracy.
Jefferson mounts a platform, and after a long address on the news of the day (the day being April 21, 1775, the news being the royal governor's brazen confiscation of the colony's gunpowder), he takes questions on slavery, personal financial responsibility and the rigors of travel between Williamsburg and Monticello. When Plotkin can contain himself no more, he takes the floor.
"Mr. Jefferson," he says, "cast your eyes into the future and imagine a city that serves as the capital of several united free states . . ." Point by point, he lays out the familiar scenario--no vote in Congress, taxation without representation. Jefferson peers over his glasses at Plotkin. He then repeats the gentleman's question to the outlying crowd in perfect 18th-century grammar. He thinks. And then he answers this way:
"To cite, surely, that Williamsburg is the capital of Virginia, and that a representative from Williamsburg is most certainly seated in the House of Burgesses to represent the happiness and interests of the citizens of Williamsburg, it would surely follow by common sense that such a city as the gentleman describes--a federal capital--would also be allowed full representation in the governing legislature." He pauses. "I cannot imagine any free nation to deny such a population full political participation."
Remarkably, the crowd of citizens from all over modern America loudly applauds the notion of a fully enfranchised District of Columbia.
A few minutes later, Plotkin, having shaken the Founder's hand, emerges from the crowd and heads back to his tennis date at the inn.
"Okay, now I love Williamsburg," he says. "I think Jefferson came out for statehood today."
COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG is 150 miles, and 225 years, southeast of Washington on I-64 near Norfolk. The stately Williamsburg Inn, built under the patronage of John D. Rockefeller and unquestionably the colony's finest hotel, is immediately adjacent to the historic quarter. Guest rooms start at $225. The resort features lawn bowling, golf, tennis courts, indoor and outdoor pools and full voting rights in Congress for hotel staff. There is no admission to the streets of Colonial Williamsburg, but a $30 day pass is required to enter the many museums and indoor exhibits. Info: 800-447-8679, www.history.org.
