America 250 Bingo Challenge

I’m a member of the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR), and during the VA250 celebration, the president of the library board reached out to ask if I’d be interested in dressing up and performing a patriotic skit for the library. She mentioned I could bring a friend—though the invitation carried just enough weight to feel more like a request.

Enter Mr. Downes, who graciously agreed to help.

I had first asked another SAR member, but his schedule was packed, and he suggested someone else. Not long after, I happened to run into Mr. Downes. I already knew he was involved in French & Indian War reenactments, but when I asked further, he mentioned he was also part of a Virginia Regiment group tied to a bit of historical kerfuffle during the American Revolution. He’s not in SAR, but he had the clothing—and, frankly, carried it better than my more humble outfit. We scheduled around his availability.

We were given two scripts to choose from, printed in black and red for each character on large sheets. We couldn’t quite agree, so we went with the library’s preferred option. My comrade ended up with some of the more difficult lines—which I generously allowed him to keep—and wasn’t particularly used to acting.

To be fair, neither was I. My last performance was in elementary school, where I played the Five of Diamonds in an Alice in Wonderland play, painting rose bushes under the constant threat of having our heads cut off.

By comparison, this felt like low-stakes theater.

Figure 1. Lewie Painting the Roses Red!

We set up in the history room, only to realize there was no door to block out noise during recording. I vaguely recall a requirement that the room remain accessible at all times, and the missing door may have been part of that. We held large printed scripts, which the stacks of books in front of us helped conceal—though not enough to stop us from constantly glancing down.

Figure 2. Lewis on the Left

At one point, my comrade accidentally read one of my lines.

I just smiled, delivered it again, and we paused to reset.

As I went through the script, a few things kept catching my attention—phrasing like calling the enemy “the British” instead of “the regulars,” or perhaps something more colorful like Redcoats or Lobsterbacks. There were also modern touches—badges, bingo, reward coins—that felt more like gamification than something of the period.

Then again, the goal wasn’t strict reenactment—it was engagement.

And for that, it worked.


We did a couple of dry runs, followed by two recorded takes, and then some close-up shots of the coin afterward. My comrade took the initiative to carry one of the large books from the room, which made the opening line—questioning when books were allowed in camp—all the more fitting.

I did find that premise amusing. Books wouldn’t have been discouraged—if anything, they were valuable. Literacy wasn’t common, and George Washington actively encouraged his officers to read and study military discipline. Manuals on fortifications, camp organization, and drills were essential tools.

One such guide, Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States—better known as the “Blue Book”—was expected to be on hand to ensure uniform training and coordination.

So perhaps books in camp weren’t the problem.

Perhaps it was which books.


The staff handed me a smaller book as a prop, though I’m not sure it came across well on camera. At one point, I improvised—taking a keen interest in the coin and grabbing it to inspect more closely. I also fiddled with my glasses, squinting at the tiny print.

In hindsight, ending with a strong “Huzzah!” and lifting our hats would have been a nice touch.


I felt a bit out of place at times. My comrade looked and acted more like officer material—confident, commanding—while I was still settling into the role. Fortunately, my tricorn hat had arrived in the mail earlier that day, which helped pull everything together.

From what I’ve seen, SAR tends to be more relaxed about strict historical authenticity, focusing instead on education and engagement. That makes experiences like this more approachable—and honestly, more fun.


By the end, my comrade was a bit apologetic, but I tried to lift his spirits.

I’ve seen plenty of similar library skits—both at our own library and online. People don’t come expecting perfection. They come to see the effort, the enthusiasm, and the occasional human mistake that makes it all memorable.

If anything, I found myself looking forward to the blooper reel just as much as the final cut.

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