I’m sitting here in my little rented room in James McCune Smith’s hometown of New York City, having spent much of my two weeks here buried in the archives doing more research on his life, or when I had the chance, visiting major sites associated with his life.
Haha. I love the idea of a professional historian with a terrible head for dates.
I know, funny, right? Fortunately, calendars exist, and history is not primarily about dates, but human stories.
On a related note, I was acquainted with a botanist (PhD student) once who was colorblind, and could not distinguish between greens and browns.