The Simpsons

Lisa the Iconoclast

Seventeen ninety-six.

A fiercely determined band of pioneers leaves Maryland...

...after misinterpreting a passage in the Bible.

Their destination? New Sodom.

This is their story.

This is gonna be great.

I hope they show when they traded guns to the Indians for corn...

...and the Indians shot them and took the corn.

Egad, a monster.

- It's a horrible fiend. - It's some sort of land cow.

Stand back, fellow settlers.

You've saved our fledgling community.

Mr. Springfield, how can I hope to achieve such greatness?

A noble spirit embiggens the smallest man.

- Springfield rules. - Way to go, Springfield.

Embiggens? Never heard that word before I moved to Springfield.

I don't know why. It's a perfectly cromulent word.

Now, as you all know, Springfield's 200th birthday is only a week away.

Every class will do its part to make our local bicentennial...

...just as memorable as our national bicentennial.

Of course, you children are too young to remember that.

With the possible exception of Kearney.

Those tall ships really lifted the nation's spirits after Watergate.

To celebrate our bicentennial, all 20 of you will write an essay...

...about Jebediah Springfield.

And the best 18 will be put on file in the school library...

...available to anyone who requests them.

- Can we do illustrations? - No.

Hey, they need volunteers to play old-timey people in the parade.

Look, I can be a butter churner, a typhoid carrier...

An apprentice! I think I'll be an apprentice, Marge.

- What kind of apprentice? - That's for my master to decide.

How about town crier? You'd be great at that.

- You think so? - Yeah, Dad.

You're a big, fat loudmouth. And you can walk when you have to.

Well, if you kids believe in me that much, I'll give it my best shot.

Dangerous river crossings threatened life and limb...

...but helped our Founding Fathers save on bridge tolls.

Excuse me. I didn't mean to startle you...

...but I do love to talk Jebediah, even when I'm drinking my chicory.

- I'm the curator, Hollis Hurlbut. - Hi, I'm Lisa Simpson.

I'm here to research a report on Jebediah.

You're in for a treat.

You know, some historians consider Jebediah Springfield a minor patriot...

...but I think you'll find he's easily the equal of William Dawes...

...or even Samuel Otis.

Congratulations, Ned. You are our new town crier.

May your shrill, nasal voice ring throughout our streets and brains.

Well, thankily-dank, mayor. I shan't disappoint.

Hear ye. Hear ye. I declare myself pickled tink...

...about Springfield's bicen-citally, ti-tin-toodily, rin-tin-tennial day.

You suck-diddly-uck, Flanders. Give me that.

Hear ye, hear ye.

Ye olde town crier proclaimed crappy by all.

Chooseth Homer Simpson, and he shalt rock thy world.

Good God, he is fabulous.

He's embiggened that role with his cromulent performance.

Topnotch criering, I admit.

But the hat and bell belong to Flanders, so no dice.

Oh, they're just family heirlooms.

That shouldn't stand in the way of Homer taking my job...

Less chat, more hat.

Hear ye, hear ye. The Homer Broadcasting System is on the air.

All hollering all the time. I'm gonna make the...

You're to restrict your criering to the parade...

...and preapproved publicity events. - Okay.

This case holds our most treasured exhibit.

Objects owned and used by Jebediah.

Here's his fife, upon which he sounded the sweet note of freedom.

His hatchet, with which he hacked at the chains of oppression.

And his chamber pot.

Excuse me. My microwave johnnycakes are ready.

"The Secret Confessions of Jebediah Springfield"?

"Know ye who read this there is more to my life than history records."

Firstly, I did not tame the legendary buffalo.

It was already tame, I merely shot it.

Secondly, I have not always been known as Jebediah Springfield.

Until 1796, I was Hans Sprungfeld, murderous pirate.

And the half-wits of this town will never learn the truth.

Oh, my God. Our town hero is a fraud.

"I write this confession so that my infamy will live on...

...long after my body has succumbed to my infectious diphtheria."

Here's johnnycakes.

Is everything okay? You look a bit flushed.

Oh, it's just the excitement of studying Jebediah.

Sounds like you've come down with a serious case of Jebeditis.

Just when I was getting over my Chester A. Arthuritis.

- Did...? You had arthritis? - No.

- Hear ye, hear ye. What's for breakfast? - Toast.

I don't understand thee, Marge.

Ye olde toast.

What would you say if I told you that Jebediah Springfield...

...wasn't as great as he's cracked up to be?

Look, Jebediah was really a vicious pirate named Hans Sprungfeld.

His tongue was bitten off by a Turk in a grog-house fight.

No tongue, eh? How did he talk and eat and laugh and love?

He had a prosthetic tongue made out of silver.

Yes, that would do.

He was one of the evilest men of the 1780s.

He even tried to kill George Washington.

The dastard!

- Give me all your money. - Never.

I got the white stars you wanted.

But I couldn't find any red hearts, yellow moons or green clovers.

Well, I'll use it, but I'm not paying for it.

The next time Hans Sprungfeld was seen...

...he had changed his name to Jebediah Springfield.

Lisa, honey, when my family first came to this state...

...they had a choice of living in Springfield or Stenchburg.

You know why they chose Springfield?

Because everyone knows Jebediah Springfield was a true hero, end of story.

- I believe you, honey. - You do?

Of course. You're always right about this type of thing.

- For once, I want in on the ground floor. - Oh, thanks, Dad.

Ralph, A. Janey, A.

And, Lisa, for your essay, "Jebediah Springfield: Super-Fraud," F.

But it's all true.

This is nothing but dead-white-male bashing from a PC thug.

It's women like you who keep the rest of us from landing a husband.

Well, nice talking to you.

Lisa?

Ms. Hoover thought I made the whole thing up.

She called me a PC thug.

Well, I've been called a greasy thug too. And it never stops hurting.

So here's what we're gonna do. Grease ourselves up real good...

...and trash that place with a baseball bat.

That won't help, Dad.

- No one's ever gonna believe me. - But you have proof.

- We'll get the confession out of his fife. - We could?

We can use the baseball bat to smash open the case.

No baseball bat.

- Hi, Mr. Hurlbut. - Oh, you're back.

And you brought a friend.

Town crier. I'd like to ask you a few questions.

One, where's the fife? And two, give me the fife.

Hey, stop. I've got nothing but respect for the office of town crier...

...but this is well outside your jurisdiction.

Oh, yeah? Well, put this in your fife and smoke it.

- What the...? - That's Jebediah's secret confession.

It proves he was a fraud.

"The Secret Confessions of Jebediah Springfield..."

I think, Lisa, that you've been taken in by an obvious forgery.

Unfortunately, historical research is plagued by these sort of hoaxes.

This so-called confession is just as phony as the Howard Hughes will...

...the Hitler Diaries or the Emancipation Retraction.

But it explains why there's no record of Jebediah before 1795.

- He was Hans Sprungfeld until then. - That's preposterous. Now get out.

You're banned from this historical society.

You, and your children and your children's children.

For three months.

I'm not gonna give up.

I refuse to believe that everyone refuses to believe the truth.

- I'd like 25 copies on goldenrod. - Right.

- Twenty-five on canary. - Canary.

Twenty-five on saffron, and 25 on paella.

Okay, 100 yellow.

You don't have to help me with this, Dad.

Sure I do. I always believe in helping the little guy.