Ben Franklin never served as president, never took up arms during war, and never held public office outside of the old Pennsylvania Assembly, which was essentially a subsidiary of the British Parliamentary system. Yet he’s on the $100 bill. Not bad for a guy who looked like a dope-smoking sock puppet.

I’m reading historian H.W. Brands’ biography of Franklin at the moment, and contained therein is no shortage of reasons why he deserves such prominence in our nation’s collective memory. The dude was pretty boss. He was a printer, writer, statesman, scientist and inventor, and by all accounts, was a blast to hang out with; I can imagine few more pleasurable evenings than playing checkers with ol’ Ben in front of a roaring fire while he regales me with stories about kings and diplomats ”“ and, as he called them, “low women.” “Low women” is 18th century code for “hookers,” and serves as evidence that the founding fathers could find tactful ways of conversing about almost anyone and anything. I wonder how Franklin would have described a colonoscopy. A “voluntary intrusion of the dark recesses of a gentleman’s nether region,” perhaps. Yet another reason why we need to build a time machine.

While reading, though, a thought struck me. Say Franklin had been born not in 1706, but 2006. Would he have been able to garner such widespread acclaim as a thinker and renaissance man?

Methinks not.

For one thing, there was the languorous pace of colonial life. Not that people weren’t industrious and hard working, but when a trip from Philadelphia to Boston required a month off from work and a knock-kneed horse named Gimpy, there was plenty of time to explore one’s interests. Heck, if I had four weeks of undisturbed repose, I could write a mystery novel, build a model ship and still have a couple of days left over to choreograph a musical number for the Ice Capades. Shackled by the modern world’s insistence on immediacy, I’ve hardly got time to buy socks. The ones I’m wearing have more holes than an Oliver Stone plot. (Zing!)

It was a also a simpler time, and in simpler times, it was easier for one person to make a difference. That’s not meant to take anything away from Franklin ”“ he was indisputably a genius, well deserving of his lump-faced money mug. But many of his revolutionary achievements were in the arena of physics; with that field now wrung dry of intuitive insights accessible to the layman, further scientific advancements require Jetsons-level technology, the kind of gadgetry only possible via the work of teams of engineers and scientists. The days of lone experimenters shouting “Eureka!” in their basements are largely gone. The last time it happened was probably when Vince Offer invented the ShamWow, and while it’s nice to clean up beer spills without soak-through, it seems farfetched to assume his likeness will be immortalized in any bronze statues. Maybe if he goes on to convince Vladimir Putin to put a damn shirt on. If Offer can rid the world of those jiggling man-bosoms, he can replace FDR on the dime.

It’s funny. When you look at some of Franklin’s inventions, it’s almost shocking how even the uninitiated can attest to their overwhelming logic. Take the Franklin stove. Until its conception, fireplaces were relatively wide-open contraptions that blew through wood like a rock star blows through cocaine. Then, along came Benny-boy with his big Benny brain and a design that made it more efficient ”“ an enclosed compartment for the wood, and a hollow baffle near the rear that more effectively spread heat throughout a room. It produced more warmth and less smoke, but was notable for another reason: It was arguably the first modern attempt at increasing fuel efficiency. A cord went much further than it did previously. Good news for our New England-dwelling forebears; at that time, their only alternatives for surviving brutal winters were violent squat thrusts and setting themselves on fire. Neither of which are viable options when you’ve got dinner guests.

The stove, lumped in with a million other achievements, gained him widespread acclaim. Flash forward 300 years, and it’s difficult to envision that happening; lone inventors typically settle for getting most of their attention from television infomercials. Instead of immortality in the history books, they get three easy installments of $19.99 from third-shift shut-ins and insomniacs with mustard stains on their underwear.

This isn’t to discourage a lone person from fighting against the crowded echo chamber of modern life. The idea that one man or woman can make an impact is central to great policy ideas, innovative works of literature, and the increasingly complicated routines of jugglers on unicycles. But in the area of invention, there are too many people already thronging the stage. The next Franklin stove ”“ that must-have innovation that changes the way we live ”“ will likely be the dominion of big business, or groups of university scientists working to unlock the complex secrets of nature. Franklin’s was a single mind left free to roam by the luxury of time; of all the luxuries we’ve gained in the intervening centuries, that’s one we’ve left behind.

Perhaps some visionary soul is still out there who’s got the grit and chutzpa to land their portrait on a bill, a spectral game-changer tucked into peoples’ wallets. They’ll just have to do something extraordinary and without precedent ”“ like finally building that time machine. If that person exists, they’d better hurry up. I’ve heard Franklin was pretty good at checkers, and I wanna see if I can beat him.

— Jeff Lagasse is a staff writer and columnist for the Journal Tribune, and suddenly has an inexplicable urge to fly a kite in a thunderstorm. He can be contacted at 282-1535, ext. 319 or jlagasse@journaltribune.com.