City of Brotherly Love

This past weekend Andy and I drove to Philly to visit my best friend from college (before I met Andy, of course) and maid of honor, Diana. There she is giving us the grand tour of her neighborhood. She lives in a historic area with lots of Victorian era row houses, charm galore. The sidewalks were viciously slick, so we excused her from walking backwards. This time. The rear view of Independence Hall. The silhouetted figure, looking a bit stiff, is Commodore Barry. Unfortunately, despite the combined brain power of three major history buffs, we were unable to come up with exactly who Commodore Barry was, and why he's relegated to the rear of Independence Hall. (We also noticed a bridge named in his honor, so he must have done something important.) If anyone can fill us in, we'd be most appreciative.
Independence Hall from the front. Difficult not to feel a sense of pride and patriotism when one imagines what our founding fathers went through in this building (oppressive heat, endless debate, long-winded speeches from Jefferson and Franklin, not to mention the perils of declaring independence from a country that was wealthier, stronger, and more powerful than any other in the world at that time).
All of these trials and tribulations they endured so that generations after might have the freedom to wait in line to view the symbol of that freedom. Brings a tear to the eye.

When I was a little girl and my mother wanted me to pipe down, she'd usually say "Quaker's Meeting has begun, no more laughing, no more fun. If you show your teeth or tongue, you shall have to pay a forfeit." Of course, it took me a good ten years to figure out what a "forfeit" was, but in the meantime, I figured it was a debt I didn't want to owe and kept my mouth shut. Good to see she wasn't just yanking my chain all those years.