One evening in the summer of 1787, during the Constitutional Convention, a group of old friends gathered in Philadelphia for dinner. The talk turned to General Washington, now presiding with implacable dignity over the convention’s sessions. As the story goes, Gouverneur Morris of New York asserted that he could be as familiar with General Washington as with any other intimate acquaintance. Another guest, Alexander Hamilton, promptly offered to provide dinner for a dozen with the finest wine if, at Washington’s next reception, Morris would simply walk up to Washington, clap him on the shoulder, and say, “My dear General, how happy I am to see you look so well.” Hamilton, of course, had served closely on Washington’s staff during the Revolutionary War, and both he and Morris knew the general as well as any man did.

Jefferson was among the first to give up the powdered wig and to replace his aristocratic buckles with egalitarian trousers and shoe laces.

On the appointed evening, with a substantial crowd already gathered, Morris took up the bet. He walked over to Washington, bowed, shook hands, and then placed his left hand on Washington’s shoulder, while repeating the promised words. The response was immediate. Washington reached up, removed Morris’s hand, stepped back, and, in silence, fixed his eyes on Morris until the mortified offender retreated into the assembly. No one ever ventured such public familiarity with Washington again.

Yet, a mere thirteen years later, the third president of the United States