George Washington Did Not Chop Down A Cherry Tree Or Say “I Can’t Tell A Lie, Pa”

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George Washington did not chop down a cherry tree or say “I can’t tell a lie, Pa”1. This apocryphal story was created by Mason Locke Weems better known as Parson Weems in A History of the Life and Death, Virtues and Exploits of General George Washington2. With a title like that some hero worship is to be expected. Jim Rees, historian at Mt. Vernon3 agrees. This is transcribed from an interview on American Morning4 during a segment called “Talking About America’s First President” that aired July 3, 2003.

CAROL COSTELLO, CNN ANCHOR: Let’s talk about George Washington now. He never chopped down a cherry tree, he didn’t wear wooden teeth and when it comes to George Washington, most Americans know the myth, but certainly not the man.

Since tomorrow is the Fourth of July, we thought we’d spend some time talking about America’s first president.

Jim Rees is a historian with George Washington’s Mount Vernon.

He joins us live by phone from Virginia.

Good morning, Jim.

JIM REES, GEORGE WASHINGTON’S MOUNT VERNON: Good morning.

COSTELLO: So, he didn’t chop down a cherry tree, huh?

REES: Oh, no way. He was a good environmentalist.

COSTELLO: Where did that story come from, then?

REES: Oh, I think it was one of the many, many fables that was created by a gentleman named Parson Weems and he did that, I think, to teach children things like character and honesty and good judgment.

Here is the story in full attributed  to “…an aged lady, who was a distant relative, and, when a girl, spent much of her time in the family…,” who referred to young George as “cousin”.2, 5

The following anecdote is a case in point. It is too valuable to be lost, and too true to be doubted; for it was communicated to me by the same excellent lady to whom I am indebted for the last.

“When George,” said she, ” was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet! of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately fond, and was constantly going about chopping everything that came in his way. One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother’s pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly, that I don’t believe the tree ever got the better of it. The next morning the old gentleman, finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favourite, came into the house; and with much warmth asked for the mischievous author, declaring at the same time, that he would not have taken five guineas for his tree. Nobody could tell him anything about it. Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. “George,” said his father, ” do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden? ” This was a tough question; and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of all- conquering truth, he bravely cried out, “I can’t tell a lie, Pa; you know I can’t tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.” “Run to my arms, you dearest boy,” cried his father in transports, “run to my arms; glad am I, George, that you killed my tree; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold.”

No proof exists that he did cut down the cherry tree, but sure sounds like a kid to me. A good story is rarely encumbered by the truth.

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