George Washington

He was twelve when the cherry sapling still had not bloomed, and his father ordered him to chop it down the next morning, growling about the wasted orchard space. He spent all night digging up the little tree, carefully wrapping the root ball in linen canvas; then he dragged it to the rowboat just as dawn was breaking and cast off for the far side of the river. He took the hatchet in case of pursuit, vowing to stave in the planks and sink both himself and his love rather than return.

Daniel Boone

His mother regretted to her dying day telling him to stay out from underfoot after he had spilt the butterchurn. In the woods, he found a mother black bear—and her cubs, with whom he was much of a size—and came home long after the moon had risen, badly bitten but nevertheless nursed by the she-bear. His mother tried to chase him out with a broom, but recognized him after he tipped over the butterchurn once more and sat down smugly in the puddle of whey. Venerated as a shapechanger by the Lenape, he is said to be the ancestor of the were-bears haunting the forests of eastern Kentucky.

Thomas Jefferson

Each time he saw another pretty woman, he would beg her hand in marriage, or buy her if necessary. His house grew wings upon wings as he accumulated wives, lavishing detail upon the nurseries in particular. By the time there were great-grandchildren, whose skins all tended toward the same shade of warm bronze, their patrilineal descent had become inextricably tangled. He remembered their birthdays with the help of a record book. Every Sunday he would give the little ones rides, leading his pet moose through Monticello’s elaborate gardens.