Though recognized as a hero in American history, much of what has been built around the extremely young man, Nathan Hale, is based on an idealized prototype. He is endowed with a particular, graceful—almost elfin—sensuality, though unlike the often lurid idealizations of Christ (often depicted as hanging almost sexually from a cross) Nathan Hale’s lithe and Apollonian beauty seems to stem not from the man himself, but from the existential core of his being. No contemporaneous images of him exist, but there are written eyewitness descriptions of him. In reading through accounts of his life, his deeds, and his demeanor, it isn’t much of a stretch to say that Hale—who died at the age of 21—was a handsome young buck…or as we’d say in the 21st century, a hottie. At the age of 14, Nathan—along with his brother, Enoch—was sent to Yale College. The Hale brothers became members of the respected literary fraternity, Linonia, known for engaging in regular debates ranging from literature to astronomy, mathematics, and the ethics of slavery. This, in-and-of itself, is reason enough for such idealized images: one who debates ethics rather than morality is obviously keen enough to see the differences between those two (sometimes polar opposite) ideals and cast his lot with the more logical mental/intellectual principle. Morality is, after all, subjective and someone interested in issues of national identity and determination shows himself as intrinsically wise if he avoids the quagmire of morality all together. To me, this indicates that Nathan Hale was smart. And it is a well-established fact that ultimately, smart is sexy. (Unless you’re a part of the Hollywood or Oprah McDisney entertainment regime.) Noted as America’s first real “spy,” there’s no doubt that Nathan Hale has a well-earned place in the pantheon of American Revolutionary Heroes. As a pious young man who liked kicking footballs over trees, there’s no doubt that he is the archetype of the “good ol’ red-blooded American guy." What strikes me the most, however, are the depictions of him—all of which seem to find their basis in actual written accounts of his appearance and demeanor on the day of his execution. He carried himself with dignity; he was taller than average—for that time at least; British and American combatants recognized the way his physical appearance caressed the eyes of those who saw him, and all of this has worked its way into his contemporary perceptions. Based on accounts I’ve read in the past, and on images I’ve seen of him, I’d have to say—all heroic elements notwithstanding—that if I saw Nathan Hale walking down the street today, I’d look twice. If I saw him in a coffeehouse, I’d strike up a conversation, and maybe—just maybe (in that alternate world in which violates nothing I have and desire with a particular Russian) I’d try to get his phone number. *** I took this picture yesterday, just outside of Chicago's Tribune Tower. The statue of Nathan Hale has been there for as long as I can remember, and though I was admittedly more interested in the extreme Gothic detail of the building facade, I couldn't help but try to get Nathan in the shot as well. Like Franz Kafka, he's one of those handsome historical figures who tends to follow me around. The statue here is actually one of an army of Nathan Hales derived from a single cast created by the artist Bela Lyon Pratt. Rather like Cylons from the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica, visually exact copies of this statue also stand at Yale, at Phillips Academy, at the Nathan Hale Homestead in Coventry, at Fort Nathan Hale in New Haven, Connecticut, at the US Department of Justice in Washington DC, and most fittingly, at the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. This one statue gets a lot of mileage! *** As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you're all having a great weekend.