Alexander Hamilton wanted a strong federal heart, a centralized machine that could control the nation's financial lifeblood like a pump.
So they struck a deal over drinks at a dinner party.
They drew a circle on the banks of the Potomac River, a place inhabited by no one but wild ducks and alligators.
They dedicated this swamp to power.
This was a city built entirely by sheer force of human will.
Its street layout mimicked the radial avenues of Paris, designed to facilitate cavalry charges to suppress riots. Its architectural style copied the temples of Greece and Rome, an attempt to build a sanctity from stone that did not otherwise exist.
But in the beginning, it was just a muddy village.
Congressmen lived in leaky wooden cabins, pigs and chickens roamed freely on Pennsylvania Avenue, and diplomats complained that the humidity would give them rheumatism.
Until the British came with fire.
