John Adams: John Hancock’s very own consiglieri

Eponyms aren't all they're cranked up to be. Every country club bartender knows that a Shirley Temple and a Roy Rodgers are sugary concoctions that serve as the training wheels of upper class dipsomania. But Shirley's fans still associate her with "On the Good Ship Lollipop" and Roy's can all sing "Happy Trails." But few of us know that "a cup of Joe" was coined in dishonor of secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels after he banned alcohol from active duty ships. And all the descendants of English inventor Thomas Crapper appear to have filed for name changes.

Americans all know that your signature is also called your John Hancock, after the patriot who signed the Declaration of Independence with the brio of a graffiti artist. But no one seems to appreciate that John neither taught handwriting or sold life insurance. He was the don of America's first organized crime family, and his consiglieri was none other than John Adams.

Hancock's daddy liked to fib that he managed to grow from an apprentice bookbinder to a wealthy merchant in 10 years' time getting lucky buying precious stones cheap and selling them dear. But what he really did was smuggle, violating laws that granted exclusive trading rights to others and avoiding payment of import duties, so he could sell things like books, wines and linen at below market. One of the mainstays of the family business was importing tea from Surinam and declaring it was molasses for customs purposes. This meant that young John was rich and therefore respectable. He was one of the few Americans to get his legal training at the Inns of Court and attended King George III's coronation. A souvenir silver snuff box from the King was a life-long prized possession. At the age of 30 he inherited 70,000 pounds and the family business. He never practiced law again.

Just like Al Capone and Roy Olmstead, Hancock curried favor with the public and the pool of potential jurors it composed by donating fire equipment to the local bucket brigade and pledging a thousand pounds sterling toward construction of the Bratton Street Meeting House. It was a wise investment. He was not only a big man in town, but a beloved figure.

Hancock started feeling the heat in 1768 when a customs agent tried to board one of his ships without a Writ of Assistance (i.e., a search warrant) and got manhandled by his crew. Not long after, when a cargo arrived on the sloop Liberty containing only 25 "pipes" of wine the, crown drew the inescapable conclusion that Hancock had cooked his manifests. When customs inspector Thomas Kirk came to investigate, the crew locked him in the cabin and wouldn't let him out until the spirits were safely spirited. They also threatened to kill him if he squealed. Indictments ensued.

Adams, who had just completed the successful defense of an accused rapist named Sam Quinn, took up Hancock's defense. Adams at first attacked the legality of trying accused smugglers in the admiralty courts, where juries were not permitted. The Magna Carta had guaranteed jury trials to criminal defendants, but the crown understood all too well that the public was rooting for the smugglers. After all, only a few years before a mob composed of the good citizens of Boston had beaten two customs officials, carried their boat to the Boston Common, and burned it.

Adams failed to carry the day with his procedural arguments, but he continued to assail the denial of trial by jury in his writings, maintaining that the British were denying colonists their inherent rights as Englishmen. He made sure the matter was taken up when the time came to draft the Bill of Rights 21 years later. Luckily, the prosecution's case fell apart because one witness died, and another changed his story and had been convicted of perjury in an unrelated case. Believing they had made their point anyway, the crown dropped the charges and decided to keep an ever-vigilant eye on Hancock's operation.

Hancock's win made John Adams a popular man and established his reputation as the best lawyer in town. On March 5, 1770, he was having a few with some fellow lawyers at a local tavern when a commotion broke out nearby. The next day a local merchant named James Forest came to his office begging him to defend Captain James Preston, who had just been indicted for murder. The crime was the Boston Massacre. Adams took the case. And won it.