Our Pilgrim Fathers were so grateful for having safely reached their destination in 1620, they gave thanks with a feast. Today, we reenact that event every November which to some families is known as, the most dysfunctional family day of the year.

During this horrific, ‘er I mean, historic time you may be traveling again across the country or may only navigate to a table with turkey and dressings. Air traffic slowdowns or hallway incidents aside, you will do better than the Pilgrims, who ended up nowhere near their desired destination after leaving England.

Old sea charts show the Mayflower was destined for what is known today, as Virginia. Even if it landed where intended, their celebration would have been by Staten Island’s Bayonne Bridge, seriously altering history. Imagine watching Martin Scorsese’s, “Pilgrims of Wall Street” with ye’old Leonardo DiCaprio.

Butterfly effect aside, Mayflower passages were not all stodgy prudes. Some weren’t Pilgrims at all but agreed anyway to rules made by the “Virginia Company”, (guys bankrolling the deal) to hitch a free ride under something called the Royal Charter—that wasn’t read by most because print was too small.

In England there was a mass urge to move because a population surge was causing great poverty and with no Charles Schwab to grow wealth, King Charles confiscated people’s cash to pay his own bills—similar to but not exactly like today. So, when the Virginia Company’s All Are Welcome sign went up, it was an even bet for wana-be immigrants.

Once on board, the Pilgrim majority was chill with the idea, until the Mayflower hit shore. It seemed during the long voyage, the non-pilgrims turned out to be quite a rowdy bunch and when the new world looked nothing like the brochure, commitment to the “Virginia Company,” went right out the window…I mean, porthole.

Enter Miles Standish, who was “the law” in mercenary clothing, hired to enforce Mayflower Compact obedience.  His name alone made my fourth-grade nun, “quaker” in her habit. No, the Compact wasn’t a Thanksgiving recipe, it was an ad hock police power affecting rights of individuals. It basically said, welcome to the New World. Once ashore, we can and will limit your freedom— “meet the new boss, same as the old boss”.

Personal liberty or not, adventures, tradesmen, and Pilgrims alike went ashore shooting, looting, and scaring Native Americans and their kids. After nearly five weeks, hungover and hungry, they moved on to the famous Plymouth Rock, still nowhere near Virginia as originally planned and settled in for winter.

All of them might have died near that useless boulder if not for an “Indian,” named Squanto, who mysteriously spoke English and installed an Indian soup kitchen of sorts, for those unfortunate starving settlers. The rest is history or should I say, Manifest Destiny. Either way, on this day morphed by much political whitewash, raise a glass to a native American named Squanto, the real hero of Thanksgiving Day.

Kevin J Palmer

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