Slowly my fingers slid along the surface.
"You know, that's made of Quincy granite," our tour guide said, as my hand went down the edge of John Adams's tomb.
Across the room, my travel partner — and future best man — Bryan Buckler did the same to John Quincy Adams's. We were standing in a crypt a few stories underneath a church in downtown Quincy, Mass. This was the last stop on a one-week journey that led us up and down the mid-Atlantic visiting any sites related to the U.S. presidents. Or, more precisely, where they died.
It all started with a phone call I made many months before.
"Hey, why are you whispering?" Bryan...