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It Happened on July 12th

2015-07-12T06:00:00.000-04:00

The Bisbee Deportation of 1917

Deportees being loaded into the cattle cars.

On July 12, 1917, in Bisbee, Arizona, about 2000 "deputized" citizens forced 1,300 striking mine workers into cattle cars and sent them into exile. After a 16 hour journey, they were stranded in Hermanas, New Mexico -- without food, money, or transportation. Were the deputies lawless vigilantes, or were the strikers a legitimate threat?

Background

In 1917, about a fourth of all the copper produced in the United States was mined in the state of Arizona. One of the largest mining interests in the state was the Phelps Dodge Company, which owned the Copper Queen Mining Company, the largest employer in Bisbee. In addition to the mine, Phelps Dodge also held other business interests in Bisbee: the largest hotel, the hospital, the only department store, the library, and the Bisbee Daily Review, the town's only newspaper.

Life in the mines was tough. Conditions were grueling, and even unsafe. Hours were long, the pay low, and living conditions in the camp were unhealthy. In addition, immigrant workers -- especially Mexican-Americans -- were routinely discriminated against by Caucasian supervisors.

The Bisbee miners had gotten little support from the International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers (IUMMSW.) But in 1917, a new union came to Bisbee -- the Industrial Workers of the World, also known as the IWW or the "Wobblies." By May 1917, they had signed up a few hundred workers and formed the Metal Mine Workers Union No. 800, a local of about 1,000 members, less than half of whom paid dues.

The new union presented management with a list of their demands. They included: an end to physical inspections (which were conducted to deter theft), no blasting while the men were still in the mine, a $6 per day shift rate, the assignment of two workers to each drilling machine, and an end to discrimination. Negotiations didn't take long. Management said no.

The Strike

"The whole thing appears to be pro-German
and anti-American," said Sheriff Wheeler. That
sure got the Feds attention.

A strike was called on June 27, 1917. More than 3,000 workers walked out, not only the employees of Phelps Dodge, but also of the other two mining companies in Bisbee. It amounted to about 85% of the total mine workers.

The strike was peaceful, there was no dispute about that. Nevertheless, the County Sheriff Harry Wheeler asked Governor Thomas Campbell to request federal troops to be sent in. (The state militia had previously been drafted into the federal service.) Wheeler interpreted the situation in a way guaranteed to get attention. "The whole thing appears to be pro-German and anti-American," he said. Remember, the United States had entered World War I less than three months earlier.

The Governor quickly requested troops, but President Woodrow Wilson turned down his request. Instead, he sent in George W. P. Hunt, the former Arizona Governor, to mediate.

The president of Phelps Dodge was a man named Walter S. Douglas. He was well acquainted with the former Governor. The man was a political rival of his, and Douglas had had a lot to say about Hunt when, as Governor, he had refused to send in troops to stop earlier strikes. Douglas didn't have much faith in Hunt as mediator, so he began to take steps of his own. He immediately set up an organization of business leaders and other management-friendly residents known as the Citizens' Protective League. He also formed a Workmen's Loyalty League, made up of members of the IUMMSW.

Test Run in Jerome

Meanwhile, in the town of Jerome, Arizona, Phelps Dodge was having problems with mine workers as well. With the assistance of their local sheriff, the business leaders and IUMMSW loyalists in Jerome rounded up 67 striking miners and sent them to Needles, California. It was, apparently, a "test drive" for what was to happen in Bisbee.

The Deportation

Deportees at the ballfield. Those are armed posse members in the infield.

On July 11^th, Sheriff Wheeler recruited and deputized a posse -- of about 2,200 men. The management of Phelps Dodge also came to an understanding with the El Paso and Southwest Railroad, who agreed to transport the deportees. And at 6:30 am on July 12^th, the round-up began.

Each of the deputies had a list of the striking workers. Each also wore a white armband, to distinguish him from the strikers. Besides the striking workers, they arrested any man who refused to work in the mines, anyone who had ever supported the IWW, and even a few grocers. (The deputies helped themselves to money in the till and merchandise while they were at it.) The deputies were armed, but only two men died in the round-up. One was a deputy who was shot when a miner fired through the door. The other was the miner, who was shot dead by several other deputies moments after.

It took only about an hour for the posse to round up about 2000 men. They marched them about two miles to the local ballpark and then held them there. Men who did not belong to the IWW were allowed to leave, -- if they agreed to go back to work.

There were 1,286 strikers left when the train arrived at 11:00 am. The men were forced onto cattle cars, most of which had floors covered with several inches of manure. The cars were so crowded that the doors couldn't be closed. The strikers had not received water since their arrest.

There was no report of the deportation to the outside world. Phelps Dodge had taken control of the local telephone lines, as well as the telegraph office.

The train was bound for Columbus, New Mexico, but officials there wouldn't allow the strikers to be left there. They were taken instead to Hermanas, New Mexico, a nearby station. They were abandoned there, and left to fend for themselves.

The Governor of New Mexico, Washington Ellsworth Lindsey, instructed the local sheriff to treat the men humanely, and to feed them. He also contacted President Wilson and asked for instructions. Wilson sent federal troops to take the strikers to Columbus, where there was a federal refugee camp for Mexicans escaping the conflict between the U.S. Army and Mexico's Pancho Villa. They were allowed to stay there until September 17.

Meanwhile, Back at Bisbee

The Citizen's Protective League was running a tight ship in Bisbee. They collected residents and interrogated them about their beliefs -- about unions, politics, the war, and the draft. Sheriff Wheeler set guards at the entrances to the town, and no one was allowed to enter or leave without a "passport." Many more residents were ordered to leave Bisbee.

Amazingly, even national press coverage of the deportation tended to be less than sympathetic to the miners. The prevailing opinion seemed to be that the strikers had "gotten what they deserved." Some of the more liberal papers thought that the deportation had been too much -- the men should simply have been arrested for vagrancy and imprisoned. Former President Theodore Roosevelt said, "...no human being in his senses doubts that the men deported from Bisbee were bent on destruction and murder."

Deported citizens applied to President Wilson for help. He appointed a commission, headed by his Secretary of Labor, to investigate. On November 17, 1917, they announced, "The deportation was wholly illegal and without authority, either State or Federal."

The Aftermath

In May, 1918, 21 men -- various executives of the three mining companies (including Walter Douglas), elected leaders, and law enforcement officials -- were charged by the U.S. Department of Justice. (Sheriff Wheeler was not among them, because he was serving in France in the war effort.) The case was dismissed on the basis that there had been no federal laws broken. An appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court, United States v. Wheeler, found that the federal government did not have the authority to protect the rights of the deportees, and that the individual states retained the right to deal with questions of ingress and egress.

Arizona authorities never instituted legal proceedings against the deporters. A few workers filed civil suits, but after the first case against the strikers -- the jury found that the deportation was sound public policy -- most of the other cases disappeared.

The main consequence of the Bisbee deportation was the enactment of various laws -- such as the Sedition Act of 1918 -- to empower the federal government to deal with speech and actions that could be construed as disloyal to the United States. If such laws had existed in 1917, it was argued, the involvement of private citizens would not have been necessary to deport the striking minors.

It Happened on July 11th

2015-07-11T06:00:00.000-04:00

Born, Thomas Bowdler, 1754

Title page of Bowdler's Shakespeare.

July 11, 1754 was the birth day of Thomas Bowdler, the man whose expurgated version of Shakespeare's works made the bard's work "safe" for women and children. The word bowdlerize, in fact, has come to mean just such an act of censorship or expurgation.

The first to "Bowdlerize" Shakespeare's works, however, was Thomas Bowdler's father, a country squire also named Thomas. He was in the habit of reading to his family in the evenings, and his favorite author was William Shakespeare. He must have been very familiar with the plays, and a quick thinker to boot, for he managed to omit or change the more "offensive" passages to something suitable for his wife and children as he read. Later, Thomas Bowdler decided to prepare an edition for those families not blessed with such a quick-witted father.

The first edition of The Family Shakespeare was published in 1807 and contained 24 of the plays. Each play was introduced by a commentary by Bowdler explaining where and why he had changed the text. It was a popular work in its time, and by 1850 the work had gone through 11 editions.

Some of changes made involved language, such as changing "God!" to "Heavens!", and Lady Macbeth's "Out, damned spot!" to "Out, crimson spot!" Other changes involved plotlines: Ophelia died an accidental death in Hamlet, for example, rather than as a suicide. The character of the prostitute Doll Tearsheet was deleted entirely from Henry IV, Part 2, although the (slightly) more respectable Mistress Quickly remained in the text.

It was nearly 160 years later that scholars made the discovery that it was not Thomas Bowdler after all, but his sister Henrietta (sometimes called Harriet) who had made most of the expurgations. As an unmarried lady, it would have been unthinkable for her to admit to having read -- much less understood -- Shakespeare complete with all the unseemly incidents and language. Consequently, The Family Shakespeare was published in her brother's name. Harriet also wrote a work called Sermons on the Doctrines and Duties of Christianity, a work that went through nearly 50 editions. Sermons was published anonymously, of course.

1819 advertisement: "My great objects in this undertaking are to remove from the writings of Shakespeare, some defects which diminish their value; and, at the same time, to present to the public an edition of his Plays, which the parent, the guardian, and the instructor of youth, may place without fear in the hands of the pupil; and from which the pupil may derive instruction as well as pleasure; may improve his moral principles, while he refines his taste; and without incurring the danger of being hurt with any delicacy of expression, may learn in the fate of Macbeth, that even a kingdom is dearly purchased, if virtue be the price of acquisition."

For Thomas's part, he tried to duplicate the success of Shakespeare with a similarly edited version of Edward Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. This work was published posthumously, and was not as successful as the Shakespeare edition.

Thomas Bowdler had other interests beside Shakespeare. He had trained to be a doctor, although he disliked the sight of blood and never practiced. He devoted much of his time -- and his inheritance -- to the cause of prison reform. He was also an extremely good chess player. He once played eight games against Francois-Andre Danican Philidor, known as the best chess champion of the age. Bowdler won two games, lost three, and tied three. This is not quite as remarkable an achievement as you might think; it is known that Philidor played with handicaps against Bowdler. It is not known, specifically, what the handicaps were in all of the Philidor-Bowdler games, but we do know that Philidor was known to have played multiple opponents simultaneously, sometimes blindfolded, and sometimes after having spotted his opponent a pawn or a rook, or having given odds.

It Happened on July 10th

2015-07-10T06:00:00.000-04:00

Lady Jane Grey Becomes Queen of England, 1553

Only 16 years old, Jane Grey reigned for exactly 9 days.

Lady Jane Grey was Queen of England -- for exactly nine days. Only 16 years old at the time of her death, she was almost entirely innocent of the intrigues committed on her behalf.

Was This Even Legal?

Henry VIII, as you probably recall, had some real problems with his quest for a male heir. Finally, he produced a son, Edward VI, with his third wife, Jane Seymour. Edward became king after Henry's death, at the age of nine. He was only 15 when he died.

Henry had produced only four children who lived past infancy. (Another seven had died either in the womb or shortly after birth.) There was Mary, the daughter of his first wife, Katherine of Aragon. There was Elizabeth, the daughter of Anne Boleyn. Edward was his only legitimate male heir. There had also been an illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, who had died the year before Edward was born.

Edward wanted a Protestant successor.

Henry had declared both Mary and Elizabeth illegitimate, but he wanted to leave behind a sturdy line of succession. Consequently, he enacted the Third Act of Succession, which named first Mary, and then Elizabeth, as Edward's successors, should Edward die without issue. It did not, however, declare the girls legitimate. The Act was passed by Parliament and became the law of the land. It also removed Henry's older sister, Margaret, and her heirs from the succession. Margaret's first husband had been the King of Scotland, and Henry did not wish England to be governed by a Scot.

Edward, as he approached manhood, had different ideas. Although he was fond of his sister Mary, she was a devout Catholic and Edward was almost as determined a Protestant. He did not wish England to become a Catholic nation, and he had no doubt that Mary would see to it that it did if she ever became queen. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was a nominal Protestant, but Edward wasn't too sure just how deeply her Protestantism went. Perhaps he felt that Elizabeth would bend whichever way the wind blew, when it came to religion. If he did think so, he wasn't far wrong.

As Edward came into his teen years and his health began to fail, he began to think seriously about what would happen to the realm when he was gone. He penned a "device" -- a document dictating the order of succession after his death. Since he was still a minor, any will he wrote wasn't really binding, and even as king he couldn't override an act of Parliament, but he wrote it nevertheless. It would be up to those who survived him to make sure it took effect.

Edward's "Device"

You can see where Edward edited his work.

Edward was in the unusual position of having nine women candidates for a successor. Sex wouldn't even enter into his calculations -- they were all on equal footing as far as that was concerned.

Henry VIII had had two sisters, Margaret and Mary. Margaret, the elder, had been married twice, first to the King of Scotland, and then, after he died, to Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus. The second marriage had proved rocky and had ended in divorce, giving rise to speculations of illegitimacy regarding their daughter, Margaret. Margaret Douglas still lived, as did Mary Stuart, granddaughter of Margaret's from her first, royal marriage. Mary Stuart became Queen of Scots when she was 10 years old, and was, like Mary Tudor, a strong Catholic.

Mary Stuart was Margaret
Tudor's grand-daughter

Henry's other sister, Mary, had been married, first to the King of France, producing no children, and then, as a widow, to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk and Henry's best friend. A daughter, Frances, still lived, and had produced three daughters: Jane, Katherine, and Mary Grey. A younger Brandon daughter, Eleanor, had died but left a daughter who still lived, Margaret Clifford.

Margaret Douglas was still alive,
too.

Ignoring questions of legitimacy, the line of succession under normal circumstances would be: Mary Tudor, Elizabeth Tudor, Mary Stuart, Margaret Douglas, Frances Grey, Jane Grey, Katherine Grey, Mary Grey, and Margaret Clifford. But Edward wanted to avoid a Catholic successor, so both his sisters and the Scottish branch of the family were out of the running. That left the Greys, who were descended from the Brandon family -- with whom Edward had close ties -- as well as his own.

Edward's device initially left the throne to first, any male heirs which Frances Grey might yet produce, and then, to any male heirs of Jane, Katherine, or Mary. Edward was only ill at this point.

When he felt death approaching, he amended his document. Where it had previously read "to Lady Jane's male heirs" he changed it to "Lady Jane and her male heirs."

From Edward's point of view, it was a logical decision. It helped, of course, that Jane was a serious-minded, devout Protestant.

After Edward's Death

Mary Tudor had her own ideas about the succession,
and the support to achieve them.

Of course, making a law of succession and seeing it happen are two different things. Edward may have been influenced in his preference for Jane by his chief advisor and Protector, John Dudley, the first Duke of Northumberland. Dudley had married his son, Lord Guildford Dudley, to Lady Jane Grey just six weeks before Edward's death.

The Privy Council seemed more than willing to have Lady Jane as their monarch, and she was proclaimed Queen of England on July 10, 1553, four days after Edward's death. She took up temporary residence in the Tower of London, the traditional home for British monarchs between their ascension to the throne and their actual coronation. Her husband, Guildford, wanted her to name him King of England, but she refused to do so without the consent of Parliament. As a consolation, she made him Duke of Clarence. "I will not be Duke, I will be King," Guildford replied.

Mary Tudor meanwhile had ridden north as soon as Edward's death was confirmed. She was off to rally her supporters.

Mary Wins

John Dudley, Duke of
Northumberland, and Jane's
father-in-law.

Troops from London needed to be sent off to deal with Mary's uprising. The question was, who was to lead them? Jane's father, Henry Gray, the Duke of Suffolk, wanted to go, but Jane forbade him. Instead, Northumberland, Jane's father-in-law, took command.

No sooner was Northumberland out of town than the Privy Council decided to switch their loyalties to Mary. Jane and her husband, already conveniently residing in the Tower, were simply switched to other apartments. They were now both prisoners of the Crown.

Northumberland was executed for treason almost immediately. Jane and Guildford were charged with treason, tried, and found guilty. They were both sentenced to death. Jane's was to take the form of being burned alive (the traditional death for females convicted of treason) or beheaded -- at the Queen's choice. It appeared, however, that the Queen was disposed to be merciful.

Complications

In a separate rebellion, Jane's father
sought to put Elizabeth on the throne.

At about the same time, Queen Mary had decided to marry. It was the logical next step, seeing as she wished to prevent her Protestant sister from inheriting the throne. Her choice was Prince Phillip of Spain, the only son of the reigning Charles V. The choice was unpopular in both countries.

In England, objections to the marriage took the form of a rebellion led by four English nobles. The plan was to overthrow Mary, put Elizabeth on the throne and marry her to her cousin, Edward Courtenay. The planned uprising, known as Wyatt's Rebellion, was caused by a mixture of political and religious motives. One very strong motive was the fear that the combined forces of Mary and Phillip would bring the Spanish Inquisition to England.

The leaders of the rebellion were Thomas Wyatt, James Croft, Peter Carew, and Lady Jane's father, Henry Grey. Among the many casualties of the quelled rebellion were Lady Jane and her husband, who had had nothing to do with it. Pressured by Charles of Spain, and anxious to eliminate Jane as a focus of future dissent, Mary ordered both Jane and Guilford executed.

The End of Jane

Guilford was executed first, beheaded in public on Tower Hill. His remains were brought back to the Tower of London in a horse and cart that passed immediately outside Jane's window. Jane was taken to the Tower Green (inside the Tower) and executed privately, a privilege generally afforded only to the royal family.

Jane gave her forgiveness to her executioner, and then blindfolded herself. Once blindfolded, she had difficulty finding the block and began to panic, but was led to it and was able to regain her dignity. Her last words were, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit."

Jane had a little trouble finding the block once she was blindfolded, but died with dignity.

It Happened on July 9th

2015-07-09T06:00:00.000-04:00

Henry VIII Divorces Anne of Cleves, 1540

Anne of Cleves: Henry called her "the Flanders mare."

Anne of Cleves was the fourth wife of King Henry VIII of England. She was only married to Henry for six months, and she not only survived her marriage -- no small feat in itself -- but she became the King's "Beloved Sister", and outlived Henry and all his other wives.

The Search for a Wife

After the death of Jane Seymour in 1537, Henry found himself once again in need of a wife. This time, he didn't have one waiting in the wings -- he appears to have been relatively faithful to Jane, of whom he seemed to be quite devoted. True, he now had a son, but sons are tricky business for royalty, and it's best to have at least one spare. No one understood this better than Henry, who had himself been a younger son. His older brother Arthur had not lived to take the throne.

Henry's first marriage had been a matter of foreign policy, but his next two marriages had been affairs of the heart. Henry was not in the habit of letting others decide his fate. He sent his ambassadors out to make overtures to various royal families, but instructed them to make no offers of marriage until he had approved of his potential bride's appearance. "The thing touches me too dear," he said.

Thomas Cromwell arranged
the match.

The women approached to wed Henry were mostly Catholic princesses, or women of high standing and political importance. Although England had broken with the Catholic Church, this was almost wholly on the issue of papal authority. Henry was determined that he, not the Pope, was to be the head of the Church of England. On other matters, he was at heart a Catholic. After all, he had been raised and educated for the clergy -- no one expected that he would ever be king.

Henry's Chancellor, Thomas Cromwell, had other ideas. Cromwell was more sympathetic to the rising influence of the middle class in these times, and was ideologically aligned with the growing Protestant movement. He preferred for Henry to align himself with one of the Lutheran duchies.

The Contenders

Mary of Guise: "I may be a big woman, but I have
a very little neck."

One of the women courted by the ambassadors was Mary of Guise. She was a daughter of Claude of Lorraine, the Duke of Guise, and his wife, Antoinette de Bourbon. At the age of 18 she had married the Duke of Longueville, and had been widowed less than three years later. Mary had already captured the eye of the widowed James V of Scotland, who was seeking another French bride to further his alliance with Scotland.

Part of Mary's appeal to Henry was undoubtedly his wish to stop the Scottish-French alliance. When speaking with the French ambassador, Henry said that he was a big man and needed a big wife. (Mary was a tall woman.) Mary is said to have responded, "I may be a big woman, but I have a very little neck." Mary was soon wed to the King of Scotland. Henry then pursued Mary's younger sister, but she soon married someone else, as well.

Christina of Milan: "If I had two heads, one should be
at the disposal of the King of England."

In truth, Henry's reputation as a bad husband was known throughout Europe. He had humiliated and abused his first wife, Katherine. Some thought he had hounded her into an early grave. His next wife he had beheaded. His reputation was so bad that rumors hinted that he had even caused the death of Jane Seymour, ordering the doctors to cut her open to secure a healthy heir. It wasn't true, of course. Jane had died of an infection 12 days after her son's birth.

Henry was also interested in Christina of Milan, a 16 year old widow famed for her beauty. Christina was the daughter of the King of Denmark, and had been married to the Duke of Milan, who had made her a widow when she was only 13. Christina was not much interested in Henry, but consented to have her portrait done for him. She told the English ambassador, "If I had two heads, one should be at the disposal of the King of England."

The Royal Courting next turned its attention to Anne and Amalie of Cleves, two German noblewomen. Anne had previously been betrothed to Francis, the Duke of Lorraine. Since the boy was only 10 when the betrothal was performed, it was considered "unofficial" and was later broken off. (Francis ended up marrying Christina of Milan.) Although the girls' older brother was a staunch Lutheran, their mother was a strict Catholic and they themselves were thought to be flexible in religious matter. Thomas Cromwell pressed strongly for an alliance with Cleves.

Amalie of Cleves -- Anne's sister.

Henry had never seen either of the ladies and was taking no chances. He sent his trusted court painter, Hans Holbein the Younger, to paint their portraits. He was told to be as accurate as possible -- Henry didn't want to find out later that he had flattered the ladies.

Of the two, Henry decided that he preferred Anne. An offer was made, and the marriage treaty was signed on October 4, 1539. It had taken nearly two years to arrange a marriage.

Off to a Bad Start

Anne came to England with an English court. It was planned that she would meet the king at Greenwich Palace. However, Henry being Henry, he decided to catch an early look at his wife-to-be. Henry and five of his men "disguised themselves" and paid an unexpected visit to Rochester, where Anne had stopped on the journey. Bear in mind that Henry was over six feet tall and nearly as wide, and had flaming auburn hair. It really wasn't possible for him to disguise himself effectively. It was also the type of thing that Henry was always doing, and most of his other women had had the wisdom to see through the ploy and be swept of their feet by the handsome, dashing "stranger."

Henry really couldn't disguise himself very much.

Anne of Cleves, however, was no Anne Boleyn. She didn't speak English, she didn't know the king, and she had no idea of the customs of the English court, let alone its monarch's foibles. She had no idea who the fat, pushy stranger was. When he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away, and cursed in German. He presented a token to her, "from the King", which she accepted with thanks. She then spent the rest of his visit looking out the window at the bear-baiting taking place outside.

Despite their rocky first meeting Henry and Anne were married on January 6, 1540. It was a reluctant union on the part of the king. He told Cromwell, "If it were not to satisfy the world, and my Realm, I would not do that I must do for none earthly thing."

The End of the Marriage

Henry never really warmed up to his marriage with Anne. The morning following his wedding night he told Cromwell, "I liked her before not well, but now I like her much worse." He called her the "Flanders mare." And, he made it very, very clear to everyone that he had not consummated their marriage.

The naive Anne, for her part, may not have been aware that anything was wrong. She told her ladies, "When he comes to bed, he kisses me and takes me by the hand, and biddeth me, 'Good night, sweetheart,' and in the morning, kisses me, and biddeth me, 'Farewell, darling.' Is this not enough?" Her embarrassed attendants had to explain to her that that was not the way to produce an heir.

The marriage was over in six months. She agreed willingly to an annulment. Perhaps she feared a fate like Anne Boleyn's; perhaps she was as repulsed by Henry as he was by her. In the meantime, Henry had begun a relationship with Catherine Howard and was in some hurry to be free to marry her. The marriage was officially annulled on July 9, 1540. The grounds: non-consummation and Anne's previous contract to Francis of Lorraine.

A speedy divorce cleared the way for wife #5,
Catherine Howard.

Once freed of Anne, Henry could afford to be generous. He gave her several properties (including Hever Castle, formerly the home of the Boleyn family) and a generous allowance of 4,000 a year. Henry called her his "Beloved Sister," and she had precedence over all the ladies of England, excepting only his wife and daughters.

Anne chose to remain in England, an independent and wealthy woman, rather than return to Cleves where she would be under her brother's control. She learned to love English ale and gambling, and spent a considerable fortune on her gowns. She visited the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth often, and King Henry from time to time. Her last public appearance took place at Mary's coronation, when she rode to the ceremony at the side of Princess Elizabeth. She died in 1557, just a few weeks short of the age of 42. She had outlived Henry, Henry's male heir, and all Henry's other wives.

It Happened on July 8th

2015-07-08T06:00:00.000-04:00

Etienne De Silhouette Born, 1709

Etienne de Silhouette was a man made famous by his insignificance.

Silhouette was in charge of Louis XV's finances --
a thankless job if there ever was one.

Silhouette was the Controller-General of Finances in the reign of Louis XV, a thankless position if there ever was one. He was appointed to the position on March 4, 1759, in approximately the middle of France's Seven Year War with England, which ran from 1754 to 1763. In North America, the conflict was known as the French and Indian War.

His job was to strengthen the treasury and curb the national deficit during this very expensive period. To do so, he reduced royal spending, instituted some new taxes (and eliminated others), and tried to bolster trade wherever he could.

Silhouette had studied in England, and favored their system of taxing the wealthy rather than the poor. (In France, both the nobility and the church were tax-exempt.) To accomplish this, he taxed the symbols of wealth -- windows, doors, luxury goods, and servants, among others. Naturally, he was not a popular man with the upper classes.

Silhouette lasted only eight months in his new position, and then retired to his chateau. His name, however, will be remembered forever.

Silhouettes were an inexpensive alternative
to portraiture.

At about this same period, a new art form was gaining popularity, which consisted of profiles cut from black paper and mounted on a white background. It could be done quickly and easily by those proficient in the art, and it was a type of portraiture that was accessible to people of most income classes.

By many, the newly popular type of portrait was thought to look cheap, and was called a "silhouette" after Etienne de Silhouette, who had, in his short term, acquired quite a reputation for his cost-cutting methods. In fact, to do something a la Silhouette meant to do it in the cheapest way possible.

Silhouette portraiture expanded beyond France, becoming very popular in England. It even made its way to the North American colonies, and was a cheap and available method of creating a likeness. In the 19^th and 20^th centuries it was also used in printed material, as a cheap way of making book illustrations. Blocks with silhouette illustrations would last far longer during the printing process than those of more intricate illustrations.

It remained popular in American from about the 1790's to about 1840, and even then, did not die out altogether. Well into the 20^th century, travelling silhouette craftsmen plied their trade at state fairs and other locations. The popularity of the silhouette, however, never reached the levels that it had before the invention of the camera.

It Happened on July 7th

2015-07-07T05:24:00.000-04:00

Anton Karas Born, 1906

Anton Karas at the zither.

If you've ever seen the stunning 1949 thriller The Third Man -- and if you haven't, you really should -- you were probably entranced by the musical score. The melancholy jangling of the music seems to perfectly complement the images of post-war Vienna, and intensifies the "film noir-ish" atmosphere of this stunning film.

The music was written and performed by Anton Karas, a Viennese zither player discovered by director Carol Reed while he was searching Vienna for "authentic" Austrian music. He was looking for something that didn't reflect the gaiety of the traditional waltzes, which would have been entirely inappropriate for his film. At a production party he heard Karas play and realized that he'd found his music. He asked Karas to come to his hotel room and record for a particular section of the movie. Later, he realized that he simply had to have Karas create the entire score.

Karas had been born in Vienna, the son of a factory worker. Although he loved music and longed to become a band leader, his family simply couldn't afford that kind of musical education for their son. He was, however, allowed to learn to play an instrument -- an old zither, which he had found in his grandmother's attic.

The Wiener Riesenrad is one of the Vienna
locations featured prominently in the film.

At the age of 14 Karas began an apprenticeship at a tool and die factory, and took music classes in the evening. After he finished his apprenticeship he began to work in a car factory, but became unemployed in 1925 -- when he was 19 years old. This freed him to follow his true vocation, and soon he was performing at a heuriger, a particular type of wine bar common in Austria. Operating a heuriger requires a special license: it can only be operated by a wine-grower serving only his own product, and only his most recent year. The word heuriger means "this year's." Music provided at a heuriger would normally be provided by live musicians, playing on request for tips.

Once Reed decided he wanted Karas for his movie score, Karas was flown to London where he lived with Reed, working up to 14 hours a day for 12 weeks. More than once, he asked to return to Vienna, but Reed wouldn't let him leave. Karas later said that Reed had "kept him like a slave." When he had finished recording the score, a fire in the cutting room destroyed it, along with about half of the other film material. Karas had to re-record the entire score.

The movie was a phenomenal success, partly due to Karas's contribution. He found himself an international star when his The Third Man Theme was released as a single and immediately became a best-seller. Karas toured the world and performed for such notables as the British Royal family, Queen Juliana of the Netherlands, and Pope Pius XII.

In Austria the film was not much appreciated in some circles, since it focused on Vienna in its demolished, post-war state. The public, however, adored Karas's contribution, and he became a star in his own country. He disliked the publicity and glamour and in 1954, he retired from touring and opened his own heuriger, which became a popular place with the Hollywood crowd. After 12 years, he retired from that, also. In his remaining years he only performed at special events.

Here's Anton Karas performing The Third Man Theme:

It Happened on July 6th

2015-07-06T06:00:00.000-04:00

Sedan Nuclear Test, 1962

The Sedan Test

In the 1960's, the United States made a series of tests attempting to find peaceful uses for nuclear explosives. The project was called Operation Plowshare, or Project Plowshare. The name was inspired by a Biblical quote from Micah 4:3, "And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

The United States was not alone in its studies of PNEs -- Peaceful Nuclear Explosions. The Soviet Union also had a program. Theirs was called Nuclear Explosions for the National Economy.

Among the uses that were suggested for PNEs were such projects as widening the Panama Canal, creating new canals and waterways, blasting through mountains to create interstate highways and railways, and various mining operations. It was also believed that PNEs could be useful in freeing up natural gas and oil deposited in difficult formations.

If the thought of these types of projects sends a shudder down your spine, think of the implications in the 1960's, when we knew even less about what we were doing than we do now. Testing came first, of course, and over a period of 11 years, from December 10, 1961 to May 17, 1973, 27 nuclear tests for peaceful uses were made by the United States.

The second of these tests was performed on July 6, 1962, and was called Storax Sedan. Sedan was a 104 kiloton bomb. That would be the equivalent of 104,000 tons of TNT, or about five times the power of the bomb dropped on Nagasaki. The bomb was buried 635 feet below the surface, in the Nevada National Security Site at Yucca Flat.

The Resulting Crater

The resulting crater was about a quarter of a mile in diameter and 320 feet deep. It displaced 6.6 cubic yards of earth, about 11 million tons. At the blast, a dome of earth was lifted 290 feet into the air before it exploded. It must have been quite a site to see.

And then, of course, there was the radiation. The cloud of radiation rose into the air, and then separated into two separate plumes that began traveling, first northeast, and then east, roughly parallel to each other. Fallout was heaviest in eight counties in Iowa and one county each in Nebraska, South Dakota, and Illinois. Of all the nuclear tests ever performed in the United States, Sedan was highest in the amount of radionuclides released. It accounts for about 7% of the total amount of radiation released by testing in the United States, peaceful and otherwise.

In 1977, funding for Operation Plowshare was quietly terminated. Over the course of its existence, the total cost of the program has been estimated at over $770 million.

All of the nuclear testing that took place in this country over the years has had one significant effect. The radioactive debris is still out there. There are at least 839 underground test locations that have radioactive debris buried, and the Department of Energy has evaluated it as impractical to be removed.

In 2005, Ellen Tauscher, a Congresswoman from California, gave testimony to the U.S. House of Representatives regarding the containment of nuclear debris, and specifically cited the example of Sedan. Unfortunately, in the Congressional Record, the word was transcribed as Sudan, which immediately attracted world-wide attention -- particularly on the part of the Sudanese government. The United States has, of course, explained the typographical error, and the Sudanese apparently accept our explanation. Nevertheless, they continue to investigate the situation.

Original Military Film of the Sedan Nuclear Test

It Happened on July 5th

2015-07-05T06:00:00.000-04:00

Dolly the Sheep Cloned, 1996

Taxidermied Dolly ©Tom Barros/Wikimedia Commons

Dolly has been called the most famous sheep in history, and with good reason. She was a most extraordinary animal. She was the first mammal of any kind cloned from an adult somatic cell.

Dolly had three mothers: one who provided the egg, another the DNA, and a third who carried her to term. The cell used as the donor was taken from the mammary gland of an adult sheep, and Dolly got her name as a tribute to Dolly Parton. Ian Wilmut, of the cloning team, said, "Dolly was cloned from a mammary gland cell, and we couldn't think of a more impressive pair of glands than Dolly Parton's." The experiment was also significant in that it proved that a complete animal could be cloned from a cell taken from a specific part of the body.

Dolly was a creation of a team at the Roslin Institute near Edinburgh, Scotland. The team was headed by Ian Wilmut. According to Wilmut, about 65% of the work on the project was done by Keith Campbell. She was born, strong and healthy, on July 5, 1996, but her birth was not announced until the following February, to allow for scientific publication.

Dolly the Sheep lived out her entire life at Roslin Institute. The plan was for her to have as normal a "sheep life" as possible. She was bred to a Welsh Mountain ram and produced, in total, six offspring. In 1998 she had a single lamb, Bonnie. In 1999, she produced twins, Sally and Rosie. The year after that she had triplets: Lucy, Darcy, and Cotton. She shared a pen with other sheep until some of the sheep contracted sheep pulmonary adenomatosis (SPA), an incurable disease caused by a virus that causes the growth of tumors in the lungs. After that, Dolly was placed in isolation.

When one of Dolly's twin lambs was diagnosed with SPA, it was determined that Dolly almost certainly had it also, and there was no reason to keep her isolated. She was checked by a veterinarian daily, and remained healthy until February, 2003, when she was noticed coughing. A CT scan conducted on February 14^th revealed that she had tumors in her lungs, and, in order to protect her from further suffering, she was euthanized during the procedure.

The Roslin Institute ©Ting-Chun Yeh/Wikimedia Commons

Dolly had an unusually short life, living only to the age of six. A normal lifespan for a Finn Dorset, such as Dolly was, is more in the line of 11 to 12 years. An autopsy revealed that she had a form of lung cancer called Jaagsiekte, which is a fairly common disease among sheep. It is even more common for sheep that are kept indoors, as Dolly was for security reasons. The autopsy also confirmed that Dolly had advanced arthritis, which had been suspected for some time.

One interesting finding about Dolly was that her telomeres, the portion of DNA at the end of a chromosome that prevents fraying, were abnormally short for a sheep of her years. It was speculated by some that her genetic age may have been six years longer (the age of the donor sheep at time of donation) than her chronological age, and may have contributed to her early demise. (Shortened telomeres are normally the result of the aging process.) There appears, however, to be little basis for such speculation. Her telomeres were not that much shorter -- that is, not short enough to indicate an age of 12 years -- and the disease that felled her is not related to aging.

Dolly's remains were donated to the National Museums Scotland, where they were preserved by taxidermy. She is now on display at the National Museum of Scotland, in the Connect Gallery.

It Happened on July 4th

2015-07-04T06:00:00.000-04:00

Lewis Carroll Tells Alice A Story

The Story of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (Lewis Carroll), self-portrait

On a beautiful summer day in 1862, two young men took three little girls out for a picnic outing. The date was July 4^th, and the two men were the Reverend Robinson Duckworth and Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, a lecturer in Mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. The little girls were the three oldest daughters of Henry Liddell, the new Dean of Mathematics: Lorina, Alice, and Edith.

While Duckworth rowed the company up the River Thames, Dodgson told the three girls a story about a bored little girl who went looking for adventure. It was quite a long story -- it lasted the whole of the five mile river trip. The Liddell girls loved the story, and Alice begged Dodgson to write it down for her.

He did write it down, beginning the next day. Another river expedition the following month provided some further plot complications. Dodgson also did a little research on the animals he presented in the stories, to make sure that his interpretation on their habits was based on facts. In November, 1864, he presented Alice with a manuscript copy of the story, complete with his own illustrations.

In the meantime, Dodgson had begun to think that the work might be publishable, and he showed it to his friend, George MacDonald, a successful author of fantasies and fairy tales. MacDonald's children loved the story, and MacDonald urged him to publish it.

Dodgson asked John Tenniel to illustrate the book for publication. Tenniel was a well-known illustrator and political cartoonist, whose work Dodgson was familiar with through his reading of Punch magazine. Tenniel provided 42 woodcut illustrations for the book, which was published in 1865 as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Dodgson published it under his pen name, Lewis Carroll.

Dodgson and Little Girls

Alice Liddell as the beggar-maid (story of Cophetua),
photograph by Dodgson.

There's been a lot of speculation over the years as to the nature of Dodgson's relationship with the Liddell girls, and particularly with Alice. Dodgson was also a passionate amateur photographer, and took many pictures of young children, the Liddells among them. Of his surviving photographs, about 50% of them are of young girls. Of course, only about 40% of his photographic work still exists, so we have no idea what the original proportion might have been. At least five photographs survive in which the girls are nude.

It's important to realize, however, that in Victorian times, this wasn't as unusual or as suspicious as it now appears to us. Children were considered innocent creatures, and nudity was an expression of their innocence. It appears that most of Dodgson's child photography sessions were supervised by mothers or caretakers, and the majority of them were taken in outdoor locations, since natural sunlight provided the best light.

One event that cast additional suspicion on Dodgson is the sudden break in relations between Dodgson and the Liddell family in 1863, a break that has led to no end of speculation as to its cause. Dodgson kept diaries throughout his life, but out of the 13 diaries, four complete books and an additional seven pages are missing. It is thought that they may have been deleted after Dodgson's death, by relatives wishing to preserve his reputation.

Alice as Queen of the May, photograph by Dodgson.

One page that is missing is the entry for June 27, 1863, an entry that, it is believed, might have told what happened between Dodgson and the Liddell family. A document, discovered in 1996, may provide a clue. It was allegedly written by Dodgson's niece, Violet Dodgson, but the author is by no means certain. (It has also been suggested that it was written by a great-nephew based on memories of conversations he had with Violet and another of Dodgson's nieces, Menella.) The note provides a summary of the missing page. It says,

"L.C. learns from Mrs. Liddell that he is supposed to be using the children as a means of paying court to the governess -- he is also supposed to be courting Ina."

"L.C.", of course is Lewis Carroll. Ina was a nickname for Lorina, Alice's older sister, who would have been about 14 at the time. The children's mother was also named Lorina, however, so it could have referred to her. Whatever the truth of the matter may have been, if the note is authentic, it appears that Dodgson and the Liddells separated in order to put a stop to some type of rumor. Dodgson stopped visiting the Liddells altogether for about six months and then resumed the relationship, although without the former closeness.

What Happened to Alice?

Alice Liddell as a young woman.

Alice grew up, of course. She took a tour of Europe in her young adulthood, accompanied by her sisters Lorina and Edith. There was a rumor that Alice had a romantic entanglement with Prince Leopold, the son of Queen Victoria, when he attended Christ Church, but that is not certain. (It has also been suggested that he was involved with Edith, rather than Alice.)

At the age of 18 Alice married Reginald Hargreaves, a local magistrate and well-known cricket player. They had three sons, two of whom died in World War I.

Alice found herself in a difficult financial position after her husband's death in 1926, and sold her manuscript copy of Alice's Adventures Underground (the earlier title for Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.) Eventually, the book came to be owned by Eldridge R. Johnson, who displayed it at Columbia University on the 100^th anniversary of Charles Dodgson's birth. Alice attended the celebration. On the trip, she met another legend -- Peter Llewelyn-Davies, one of the Llewelyn-Davies brothers who inspired James M. Barrie's Peter Pan.

Alice and her sisters. Left to right: Edith, Lorina, and Alice.

It Happened on July 3rd

2015-07-03T06:00:00.000-04:00

The Dog Days of Summer

I've been acquainted with the phrase "dog days of summer" for as long as I can remember, but I never thought too much about what it actually meant. I knew it referred to the hottest part of the summer -- those lazy, sultry days when it's really too hot to feel like doing anything. I suppose I thought that's why they were called the dog days. I know that in heat like that, all I feel like doing is lying under the porch with my tongue hanging out.

As it turns out, the phrase has nothing to do with a dog's laziness, either real or perceived. The Romans named this time of year after the Dog Star, Sirius. Sirius is the brightest star in the constellation known as Canis Major, the Large Dog. At a certain time of year, Sirius rose above the horizon at just about the same time as the sun did. (Well, actually a second or two before, so that you can actually see it.) The Romans thought that the star was so bright that it actually made the weather hotter.


Sirius A & B - artist's impression, provided by NASA.

The Egyptians, too, were cognizant of Sirius. They called it Sopdet, which was translated into Greek as Sothis. In fact, they based their calendar on Sopdet's heliacal rising, which is what you call the rising of a star just before sunrise. Since this occurred just before the Nile flooded, Sirius made a handy "watchdog" for the event.

To the Ancient Greeks, the Dog Days were a time of evil and trouble. Because the weather was unsettled in the early summer, and the Dog Star was so bright, it tended to twinkle more than usual. The Greeks believed that this was because of malevolent emanations. People under Sirius's influence were called "star-struck." Just how bad the evil emanations would be in any given year depended on Sirius's appearance: if it shone clear and bright, it would be a good year; if it twinkled or was dim, you could expect pestilence. The Romans carried things one step farther, and sacrificed a brown dog to appease the gods.

Sirius is actually quite a bright star. In fact, it's the brightest in our heavens, and twice as bright as the next brightest. It can be seen by nearly every one on earth -- the only place you can't see it is if you live north of 73 degrees latitude. It can even be seen in daylight, under very special conditions. (You'd have to be at a high altitude, and have a very clear sky, Sirius directly overhead, and the sun low on the horizon. Oh, and it helps if you're in the Southern Hemisphere.) One reason Sirius is so bright is that it's actually a binary star.

To the Romans, the Dog Days took place from July 24^th through August 24^th, more or less. The dates have changed since ancient times, however, due to a phenomenon called the procession of the equinoxes. Put simply, that just means that the constellations move around a bit over the years. This year, it will take place in early August. The exact date will depend on what latitude you live in.

The Old Farmer's Almanac has been around
for quite awhile.

So why am I calling July 3^rd the beginning of the Dog Days of Summer? The Old Farmer's Almanac gives the traditional dates of the Dog Days as July 3^rd through August 11^th. Modern mythology is not much different than that of the ancients. According to the Almanac,

"Dog Days bright and clear
Indicate a Happy Year.
But when accompanied by rain,
For better times our hopes are vain."

If it's good enough for the Old Farmer, it's good enough for me.

It Happened on July 2nd

2015-07-02T06:00:00.000-04:00

Charles Guiteau Shoots President Garfield, 1881

Charles Guiteau: Never Quite Sane

Afterwards, Charles Guiteau would claim that he hadn't killed Garfield. He had merely shot the man, he said; the doctors had killed him. The man had a point.

Charles Guiteau appears to have never been completely sane. He was born in Freeport, Illinois in 1841 and grew up there, except for a few years in Ulao, Wisconsin. When he was a young man, he inherited $1,000 from his grandfather, and decided to become a lawyer. He set off for Ann Arbor to study law at the University of Michigan.

Unable to pass the entrance exam, he enrolled at Ann Arbor High School to brush up on Latin and mathematics. Soon, however, he left school and, at his father's urging, went to New York to join the Oneida Community, a utopian group of which his father was a member.

The Oneida Community had been founded by John Humphrey Noyes in 1844. Noyes believed that the Second Coming had already occurred, in 70 AD. As a consequence, we were now living in a New Age. True Christians -- such as Noyes -- were already living in a state of perfection, and anything that their spirit led them to do was free of sin.

At the free-love community of Oneida, he was known as "Charles Git-out".

The Oneida group believed in communal property and complex marriage. In general, menopausal women mated with young men, in order to initiate them into sex, and older men mated with young women. Members who wished to produce children had to obtain permission from a committee, and were matched with others according to their spiritual qualities. Noyes himself fathered at least nine children. The group supported itself by making palm-frond hats, silk thread, and animal traps. Their most enduring contribution, however, was Oneida silverware, an endeavor which has evolved into the Oneida company of today.

Guiteau tried to sue Noyes.

Despite the Oneida community's liberal stance on marriage (Noyes is considered to have coined the term, "Free Love"), Guiteau was generally rejected by the women. He stayed there for five years, long enough to earn the nickname "Charles Git-out."

Guiteau left the Oneida group and tried to start a newspaper based on the community's religion, but was unsuccessful. He then returned to Oneida, left again, and this time filed lawsuits against Noyes. Guiteau's father was deeply embarrassed by his son, and wrote letters supporting Noyes's evaluation of Charles as irresponsible and insane.

Guiteau managed to pass the bar exam in Chicago and started a practice there. He had testimonials from nearly every influential family in the United States -- all forged, of course. Most of his business was concerned with bill collecting, and he wasn't a popular man with either his clients or the local judges.

He also lived for awhile in New York City, where he became known for skipping out on his debts. He had a string of boarding house landlords looking for him, and on some occasions his bills were paid by his brother, John. He also lived with his sister, Frances -- until he went after her with an axe he was using to chop wood. Frances attempted to have him committed, but he managed to evade her before she succeeded.

Guiteau saw himself as a man of politics.

Guiteau next decided that he was meant to be a man of politics. He supported Ulysses S. Grant in his attempt for a third term as President, and wrote a speech called "Grant vs. Hancock." When Grant lost the Republican nomination to James A. Garfield, Guiteau revised his speech, now calling it "Garfield vs. Hancock." He changed little of the content besides the candidate's name.

It's not clear that Guiteau ever delivered his speech -- if he did, it was, at most, twice. Nevertheless, Guiteau had copies made which he passed out freely. He felt that his speech had been the deciding factor in Garfield's election, and expected to be rewarded for it. He preferred the ambassadorship to Vienna, but, when that was not forthcoming, he decided that Paris would be equally desirable.

Having written to Garfield and other political notables, Guiteau then decided to make a personal appeal. He arrived in Washington on March 5 (the day after the Presidential Inauguration), and actually managed to get into the White House and see Garfield. He left him a copy of his speech.

"Never speak to me again of the
Paris consulship as long as you live,"
said Secretary of State James Blaine.

To augment his desirability as an ambassador, Guiteau claimed that he was soon to marry the daughter of a recently deceased Republican millionaire. There was, in fact, such a lady. Guiteau had seen her once, from a distance.

Guiteau had only the clothes on his back, and spent the next two months wandering around Washington. He became increasingly dirty and disheveled, but kept making the rounds, accosting various cabinet members and loitering in the White House waiting room. Finally, the Secretary of State, James G. Blaine, told him, "Never speak to me again of the Paris consulship as long as you live." On May 13^th, he was banned from the White House waiting room.

This is when, according to Guiteau, God spoke to him. He borrowed $15 from an acquaintance and used it to buy a .44 Webley British Bulldog revolver. He spent an extra dollar for one with an ivory handle, because he believed that it would look good in a museum exhibit afterwards.

Smithsonian photograph of Guiteau's gun. It has since been lost.

He planned carefully for the event. He spent several weeks practicing his shooting. He wrote a letter to the Commanding General of the US Army asking for protection from the mob -- in advance. He tried to get a peek at his future lodgings in the District of Columbia jail, but they told him to come back later. And, of course, he spent a lot of time stalking the President.

The Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station

On July 2^nd, Garfield was leaving for his summer vacation. He was scheduled to deliver a speech that day at Williams College. He came to the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad Station, accompanied by his sons, James and Harry, Secretary of State James G. Blaine, and Secretary of War, Robert Todd Lincoln. There was no Secret Service in those days -- the only President who had ever been guarded had been Abraham Lincoln, and that was because of the Civil War.

Guiteau was waiting for him. He fired two shots. One grazed the President in the shoulder, and the other struck him in the back. The second shot lodged in his lumbar vertebra, missing the spinal cord. Guiteau was immediately arrested by an off-duty policeman who was so agitated that he forgot to take the perpetrator's gun until after he'd taken him to the police station.

Garfield was still conscious. Naturally, all those with him were extremely upset -- Lincoln was no doubt remembering his father's death, as well. He was taken back to the White House, and doctors did not expect him to last the night.

Contemporary illustration of the shooting of Garfield.

He did live the night, however. He didn't pass away for another 80 days, and then died more from his medical care than the actual injury. The doctors kept trying to locate the bullet, mostly by probing his wound with their dirty fingers. One of the doctors actually punctured his liver with his groping. Garfield became a victim to infection, fevers, and blood poisoning. His weight dropped from 200 pounds to 135. He suffered hallucinations. He developed bronchial pneumonia. Finally, on September 19^th, Garfield died of a massive heart attack.

Garfield might have lived if his doctors had left him alone.

Guiteau was charged with murder and was represented by his brother-in-law, George Scoville, Frances's husband. Guiteau insisted on participating in his own defense, to the extent of contradicting Scoville, the judge, and the witnesses, and offering his own testimony -- in epic verse. He also passed notes to random spectators in the courtroom, asking for legal advice.

In particular, Guiteau objected strenuously to Scoville's assertion that Guiteau was insane. Guiteau insisted that, although he had been legally insane at the time of the shooting, he wasn't medically insane -- ever. He seemed delighted to be the center of so much attention, and waved gaily to his perceived "fans". He made plans for a lecture tour following his acquittal, and even considered running for President.

Guiteau was, of course, found guilty. He danced on his way to the gallows, smiling and waving at spectators and reporters. As his last request, he was allowed to recite a poem he had written, "I am Going to the Lordy." He had asked for orchestra accompaniment, but was denied.

I am going to the Lord, I am so glad,
I am going to the Lordy, I am so glad,
I am going to the Lordy,
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!
I am going to the Lordy.
I love the Lordy with all my soul,
Glory hallelujah!
And that is the reason I am going to the Lord,
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!

-- Charles Guiteau

It Happened on July 1st

2015-07-01T06:00:00.000-04:00

Grover Cleveland's Secret Surgery, 1893

Painting of Cleveland by Anders Zorn, 1899

Later, he would say that he had done more lying on the days immediately preceding and following his operation than he had done in the entire remainder of his life.

Grover Cleveland, as you may recall, was the 22^nd and 24^th President of the United States. He is the only President ever to have served two non-consecutive terms. When he began his second term of office in March 1893, he had a number of problems to deal with. Not the least of them was the state of the economy.

The Panic of 1893, a serious economic depression, began soon after Cleveland took office. The Panic was made worse by the shortage of gold that occurred largely as a result of the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. Cleveland believed that the only way to stem the depression was to repeal the Act, and he was certain that it would take his leadership to make it happen.

The last thing the country needed was a rumor of an ailing President. Consequently, when Cleveland discovered a small "rough patch" on the roof of his mouth in mid-June, he decided to keep it quiet.

He consulted privately with the White House doctor, Dr. O'Riley. O'Riley took a sample of what appeared to be a tumor on the left side of Cleveland's mouth and hard palate, and sent it to the army medical museum, not disclosing from whom he had obtained it. The sample was diagnosed as a probably non-malignant tumor.

Dr. Joseph Bryant

Under the guise of an Independence Day holiday, Cleveland absented himself from Washington. On the Oneida, a yacht owned by his close friend Commodore Benedict, Cleveland met with his surgical team. Benedict had even repainted the yacht a different color, to make it less likely to be recognized.

The surgical team was made up of Cleveland's personal physician, Dr. Joseph Bryant, Dr. W. W. Keen of Philadelphia, three other doctors, and a dentist. Keen would, 24 years later, publish an article about the operation in the Saturday Evening Post.

In order to avoid any scars or other obvious signs of surgery, Bryant operated through the mouth, using a cheek retractor which Dr. Keen had brought from Paris in 1866. The two upper left bicuspids were removed, and then the left upper jaw nearly to the middle, along with a small portion of the soft palate. Nitrous oxide was administered for the early stages of the procedure, and ether for the later stages. Cleveland was a corpulent 56-year old, and the doctors were somewhat worried about the possibility of his suffering a stroke during the procedure. After the surgery, one-sixth of a grain of morphine was administered for pain.

The surgery was performed on the Oneida.

A week later, an implant of vulcanized rubber was inserted to replace the missing section of the President's upper jaw. It was said to have been extremely successful -- so much so that both his speech and his appearance were unaltered after the operation.

Despite all the precautions, a rumor had leaked about a possible health problem for President Cleveland. At a press conference, reporters were told that the President has merely had a couple of teeth pulled. The reporters weren't quite sure whether they believed that or not, but after discussion between themselves, they all printed the same story. The President had had a toothache.

Dr. Keen later published the details in the
Saturday Evening Post.

A second operation was performed on July 17^th to remove some portions of the tumor that had not been removed the first time. It is believed today that the tumor was a verrucous carcinoma, a type that is unlikely to metastasize. It appears more often in those who are heavy smokers or drinkers. Cleveland was both.

Cleveland was well enough to return to Washington by August 7^th -- the date scheduled for the special session of Congress. Cleveland was able to lead the Congress to a successful conclusion. The Sherman Act was repealed.

It Happened on June 30th

2015-06-30T06:00:00.000-04:00

The Tunguska Event, 1908

Location of Tunguska Event. © Bobby D. Bryant/Wikimedia Commons

Imagine yourself in Siberia on June 30, 1908. You sit on the porch outside a trading post, eating your breakfast, and looking at the view to the north. It's a little after seven o'clock in the morning. Suddenly, the sky splits open and a wall of fire appears in the split. The split opens, the fire spreads. The whole northern sky appears to be on fire.

You feel like you're on fire, too. Your shirt is so hot that you go to tear it off, fearing it will ignite. But then, just as suddenly, the sky snaps shut. You hear a loud boom as you're thrown from your chair and land a few yards away. Briefly, you black out, and when you regain consciousness, you feel the earth shaking, and a continuous barrage of noise, as though rocks are falling or cannons are being fired, repeatedly.

When the noise ends, you look around, gingerly. You see a wide swath has been cut through the grass between the houses, as though it was burned when the hot air rushed through. Some of your crops have been damaged. The iron lock on your barn snapped. Many of the windows have shattered.

The Event

This is exactly what happened to S. Semenov on the day of the Tunguska Event. He reported it, in 1921, to an expedition led by Leonid Kulik. Mr. Semenov was about 25 miles away from the center of the blast.

Others reported similar stories. The noise was intense. The light was blinding. The heat was incredible, and swept over them in intense winds coming from the north.

The Kulik Expedition

Leonid Kulik

You may be wondering why the first major expedition to investigate the event took place 13 years after the explosion. It's possible, or course, that it wasn't the first expedition. What we do know, however, is that there is no documentation of any investigation before Kulik's. Remember, though, that Russia underwent some turbulent times in those years. The Second World War, the Russian Revolution, and the Russian Civil war all took place during that era. That's a lot of turmoil -- and a lot of chances to lose paperwork.

Leonid Kulik got the Soviet government to fund his expedition, based partly on the chance that there would be a lot of meteoric iron that could contribute to the economy. It wasn't easy to get there. Local guides would only go so far -- they were afraid of the site. When Kulik finally arrived at the site, he was astounded to find, not only no meteor, but not even a crater. Instead, the area around the epicenter was covered with blasted trees, devoid of branches and standing straight up. The area extended about five miles in diameter.

Farther away than that, the trees were still burned, but had fallen, away from the center. The entire area comprised a rough "butterfly" shape, with a wingspan of 43 miles and a body length of 34 miles. The whole area covered about 830 square miles.

Kulik made multiple expeditions to the area over the next decade, and even took aerial photographs. The aerial photographs were burned in 1975 by the Chairman of the Committee on Meteorites. He claimed that they created a fire hazard, but a more likely explanation is that the scientists disliked anything that presented an unexplainable phenomenon. After all, they might be held responsible for not explaining it.

What Caused It?

Photograph from the Kulik Expedition, May 1929.

What is generally believed today is that the event was caused by a meteoroid that exploded about five miles above the earth's surface. It is classified as an impact, even though it didn't touch the earth's surface except as debris. The explosion created was most likely in the neighborhood of 10 to 15 megatons. That's about the same as the United States' hydrogen bomb, Castle Bravo, that was tested on the Bikini Atoll in 1954, or about 1,000 times as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. It's also about one-third the power of the most powerful nuclear weapon ever detonated, the Tsar Bomba, detonated on Novaya Zemlya archipelago in 1961.

As far as we know, it's the largest meteor impact that's taken place on land in recorded history. Of course, if a similar impact had taken place over certain ocean regions, we might not have known about it.

It's not unusual for meteoroids to enter the Earth's atmosphere and explode. In fact, it happens every day. Larger explosions are more rare, but even so, the U. S. Air Force estimates that meteoroids as large as 30 feet in diameter -- creating an explosion about equivalent to the bomb dropped on Nagasaki -- explode in the upper atmosphere at least once a year. Explosions like Tunguska take place perhaps every 300 years.

Alternate Theories

Kulik Expedition photograph, 1927.

Of course, there are other theories as to what caused the event. The most common -- and most rational -- is that it was a comet, not a meteoroid. (The chief difference is that a comet is made largely out of ice.) It is also speculation that it could have been a piece of a larger comet, such as Comet 2005NB56, which bounced off the Earth's atmosphere and then back into space. If that is the case, it's due to return in 2045.

Another theory surmises that it could have been a comet containing a large pocket of deuterium, which had a nuclear fusion reaction and exploded, creating a natural H-bomb. It's also been posited that the event could have been caused by a black hole, a chunk of antimatter, or an explosion of natural gas within the Earth's crust.

It's even been suggested that the explosion could have been caused by Nikola Tesla, experimenting with the Wardenclyffe Tower, an early telecommunications project. And of course, there are always the aliens. The explosion could have been a spaceship accident, or a weapon going off, either as a threat, or to save us from a natural disaster.

It Happened on June 29th

2015-06-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

"LIttle Eva" Born, 1943

"Little" Eva Boyd, 1962

If you were a teenager in the 1960's, you probably remember a song called The Loco-Motion that was a big hit around 1962. The song was sung by a young African-American girl named Eva Boyd. Her stage name was "Little Eva."

Boyd was born on June 29, 1943 in Belhaven, North Carolina. She was the 10th in a family of 13 children. Her family was fairly religious; in fact, her grandfather was a church minister. Eva loved to sing from an early age. She and four of her siblings even had their own gospel group for awhile.

When Eva was 16, she spent a summer with her older brother, Jimmy, and his wife, who lived in Coney Island, New York. She loved the city life. A few months later, she went back home and back to school, but she couldn't get New York out of her mind. Pretty soon Eva quit school and went back to New York, this time planning to stay.

Jimmy's wife was a friend of Earl-Jean McCrea, one of The Cookies, a girl band of the era. The Cookies were busy cutting demo records for music publisher Don Kirschner, and were on the outlook for another girl singer. Kirschner was also professionally associated with the husband-and-wife songwriting team of Carole King and Gerry Goffin. The Goffins were looking for a babysitter.

Eva applied for both jobs. She tried out for the singing group by singing Will You Love Me Tomorrow, a song that had reached #1 in a rendition by The Shirelles. The song had been written by King and Goffin -- it was their "breakout hit."

Eva got the babysitting job, and soon was taking care of little Louise Goffin. Soon Louise was joined by another Goffin baby, Sherry. Eva was making $35 a week in addition to her room and board.

The Goffins had written a new song, a dance number, called The Loco-Motion, and had their babysitter record a demo of it. When Kirschner heard the demo, he was impressed. He wanted to release it just the way it was.

Eva Boyd was soon restyled "Little Eva." She was less than five feet tall. The studio also knocked two years off her age to make her more marketable. The song was released in June, and by the end of the month it was in the Top 100. By August it was #1, replacing Neil Sedaka's Breaking Up is Hard to Do. To celebrate, Eva married her long-time boyfriend, James Harris.

Little Eva on Shindig! in March, 1965

Soon Little Eva was appearing on American Bandstand, lip-synching the song and demonstrating the Locomotion dance moves, which she had created herself. She was soon producing more records, and being paid a salary of $50 a week -- $15 more than she earned as a babysitter. Her little sister, Idalia, came to New York to take over the babysitting job. Idalia did a little work on the backup vocals, too.

Eva toured and made records throughout the 60's, but never duplicated her initial success. Some of her other singles were Keep Your Hands Off My Baby, Some Kinda Wonderful, Let's Turkey Trot, and a remake of Swinging On a Star. She never owned the rights to any of her recordings.

In 1971, Eva had had enough of the music business, and returned to Belhaven. Her mother had recently died, and Eva was estranged from her husband and had three young children to support. She worked menial jobs when she could and collected welfare. In the 1990's she briefly returned to music, releasing a gospel album and doing some performances on the "oldies" circuit. She died of cervical cancer in 2003 at the age of 59.

It Happened on June 28th

2015-06-28T05:12:00.000-04:00

Ned Kelly Captured, 1880

Ned Kelly, 1880

The Kelly family had been in trouble with the law since long before Ned was born. His father, John "Red" Kelly, came from Ireland. He was transported to Tasmania in 1843, apparently for the theft of two pigs. It's difficult to say for certain what his offense was -- the court records were destroyed in Ireland's Civil War in the 1920's.

A Family Made for Trouble

After his release from prison, Red Kelly moved to Victoria, Australia, where he found work on a farm and married the farmer's daughter, Ellen. Red and Ellen had seven children who survived infancy. Ned was the oldest son.

The whole Kelly family seemed to be constantly in trouble of some kind or another. Before Ned was proclaimed an outlaw, there were eighteen arrests against members of his immediate family. Only about half of them ended in conviction, and it's difficult to say now whether or not they were legitimate arrests or whether the Kelly family was a victim of police harassment. It certainly wasn't unknown for that to happen to Irish-Australians in the mid-19^th century.

He kept the green sash with him all his life.
© bronzebrew/Wikimedia Commons

As a young boy, Ned did have at least one heroic moment. He saved the life of another boy, Richard Shelton, from drowning. The family gave Ned a green sash as a present showing their appreciation. Ned kept it his whole life. In fact, he was found to be wearing it under his armor during his final showdown.

Ned's Early Crimes

When he was 14, Ned had a run-in with a Chinese farmer named Ah Fook. Ah Fook claimed that the boy had robbed him. Ned's story was that Ah Fook had gotten into an altercation with Ned's sister, Annie. Whatever the truth was, Ned was arrested and spent ten days in jail before the charges were dismissed. The authorities called him a "juvenile bushranger."

Kelly at 15.

Bushrangers were criminals hiding out in the bush in colonial Australia. They had the skills necessary to live out in the wild, and supported their lifestyle with the occasional coach or bank robbery. Think of them as the equivalent of our Old West outlaws.

The year after the Ah Fook incident found Ned arrested again. This time he was accused of being an accomplice of a well-know bushranger, Harry Power. Ned was held for a month, and then the charges were dismissed. Again, this could have been an example of the police harassment of his family. Or, it could be that Ned's family intimidated the witnesses.

He served time in 1870 for assaulting a hawker, and for delivering the hawker's wife a package containing a calf's testicles -- three months for each charge. It seemed to be a case of Ned getting mixed up in somebody else's argument. And then, as soon as he got out, he got tangled up in a mess involving a visitor, and a horse that ran away and was recaptured and turned out to be stolen. He got three years for that one.

In 1877, Ned was arrested for public drunkenness. He escaped, then turned himself in, and received only a fine. During the scuffle, however, Constable Lonigan grabbed him by the testicles and gave them a hard squeeze, an act that Ned never forgot. "If I ever shoot a man, Lonigan, it'll be you," Ned said.

The Fitzpatrick Affair

Sister Kate.

There was another Constable, Alexander Fitzpatrick, who made trouble for Ned in those days, too. In 1878 he went to the authorities with a bandaged wrist, claiming that he'd been attacked by a group including Ned, his brother Dan, his mother, and sundry other friends and relatives of the Kellys. All of them except Mrs. Kelly had been armed with revolvers. The Kellys claimed that he had come to the Kelly's home to question Dan about a cattle duffing incident. (Cattle duffing was the act of removing or altering a cattle brand.) While there, he had made a pass at Dan and Ned's sister and Mrs. Kelly had clobbered him with a coal shovel. The men had merely knocked him to the floor -- no guns.

No one knew where Ned and Dan were -- it isn't even clear that they were actually in the vicinity at the time of the alleged crime. Despite a doctor's testimony that Fitzpatrick had been drunk when he treated him, and his inability to confirm that the man had even been shot, the judge accepted Fitzpatrick's uncorroborated story. Mrs. Kelly and the two associates who were there for the trial were found guilty of attempted murder. The judge said that if Ned were there, he would "give him 15 years."

Shootout at Stringybark

Lonigan Kennedy, and Scanlon -- all killed by the Kelly Gang.

Ned and Dan, of course, heard about the incident and figured out that they'd better not come home anytime soon. They hid out in the bush, and were soon joined by their friends, Joe Byrne and Steve Hart.

Out looking for the Kellys were four men: Sergeant Kennedy, and Constables McIntyre, Scanlon, and Lonigan. Yes, the same Lonigan who had had Ned Kelly in his iron grip. They set up a camp at Stringybark Creek, then split up into two pairs. Kennedy and Scanlon went out to look for the Kellys, and McIntyre and Lonigan remained in camp.

Ned and Dan discovered them there, and decided their chances were better with two than with more. They had a plan to force them to surrender, and then take their guns and horses. McIntyre surrendered, but Lonigan tried to draw. Ned shot him dead. Now the boys were guilty of murder.

When Kennedy and Scanlon returned, they tried to get them to surrender, too. Neither did. They were both killed, as well.

The outrageous nature of these killings led to the Felons Apprehension Act which made the boys outlaws, and authorized anyone to shoot them on sight. No need for an arrest or a trial.

Euroa and Jerilderie

Declared outlaws.

Next, Ned and Dan turned to bank robbery. They held up the National Bank at Euroa on December 10, 1878. They took hostages, collected all the money they could find, and then gave a riding exhibition for their hostages. After supper, they released the hostages, telling them not to notify anyone for another three hours. They got away with about £2,260 -- about $100,000 in today's money. No one was hurt or killed.

In retaliation, police arrested all of the Kellys' known family, associates, and sympathizers. They held them for three months without charging them with any crime. The result of this abuse of authority was that the Kelly boys got even more support from the public.

In Jerilderie, the following February, the boys robbed another bank. This time, they first locked up the police officers and dressed in their uniforms. After mingling with the townspeople and buying them drinks, they removed about £2,414 from the bank. They also burned all the mortgage deeds that the bank held on local properties. It's easy to understand why the Kellys were quickly becoming folk heroes.

At about the same time as the Jerilderie heist, Ned Kelly wrote a lengthy letter (over 7,000 words), giving his account of his life and actions. He also dealt with the treatment of the Irish Catholics by the police and civilians. He intended the letter for publication, but it didn't make it into the press until 1930, when it was rediscovered and published by the Melbourne Herald.

The End of Ned Kelly

Kelly's Last Stand. He couldn't really manage the gun.

The Felons Apprehension Act expired on June 26, 1880. Ned and Dan were still wanted for the "attempted murder" of Fitzpatrick, but Hart and Byrne were now free men. The men discovered, however, that Byrne's best friend, Aaron Sherritt, was a police informer, and Hart and Byrne went to his house and killed him. They were all wanted men again.

The Kelly gang next went to Glenrowan to take the bank there. The date was June 28, 1880. They held about 70 hostages, and ordered the railway tracks pulled up, since they were aware that the police were on their way to arrest them. They let one of the hostages go, however -- Thomas Curnow, the schoolmaster. Just why they released him we don't know, but it proved to be a big mistake. He flagged down the train, and prevented the train from being derailed. The inn where the men were holed up was soon under siege.

Bizarrely, the Kelly gang had decided to fashion their own armor. Each man had a suit that weighed about 96 pounds, and protected their torso and arms but left their legs unprotected. All four men also had helmets. They believed themselves impervious to bullets while wearing their armor. It is considered very possible that alcohol may have had something to do with their decisions.

The men wore gray cotton coats over the armor. The police had been informed that the men had armor, but hadn't believed it, and were mystified as to why their bullets had so little effect. "There is no use firing at Ned Kelly," one of them said. "He can't be hurt."

Kelly's armor is now in the State Library of Victoria in Melbourne.
© Chensiyuan/Wikimedia Commons

In truth, Ned Kelly was hurt by the bullets. As he dismounted from his horse, a bolt in his armor jammed. As he attempted to free it, he was hit in the arm and the foot. The rest of the men, inside the inn, began to return fire. Ned then began walking toward the police, stiffly, and with a "lurching motion," according to their accounts. Because of the armor, he could only hold his rifle in one hand, away from his body, and fire randomly. The police kept firing at him, and eventually they hit his legs, repeatedly, which brought him to the ground.

Joe Byrne, the only member of the gang whose armor didn't include an apron in the front, was struck by a bullet in his femoral artery, and bled to death. Dan Kelly and Steve Hart were burned to death when the police set fire to the inn. Only Ned lived to stand trial.

Ned Kelly was tried for the murder of Constable Lonigan, found guilty, and sentenced to be death.
He was hanged on November 11, 1880 at Melbourne Gaol. In an effort to save him, over 30,000 people signed a petition asking that his life be spared.

It Happened on June 27th

2015-06-27T06:00:00.000-04:00

Seven Sleepers Day

The Seven Sleepers

June 27^th is celebrated as Siebenschläfertag, or "Seven Sleepers Day", in Germany. According to weather lore, whatever the weather is like on this day will determine (or predict) the weather for the next seven weeks.

I had never heard of this holiday before, and as I read about the day, several sources made a statement that rather startled me. Seven Sleepers Day does not take its name, "as is commonly thought" from the edible dormouse, but rather from the legend of the Seven Sleepers.

At this point, my mind didn't quite know where to turn. Several parts of my brain were vying for attention. One part -- the more sedate, logical part, I'd like to think -- was eager to find out about the legend of the Seven Sleepers. Another part was wondering just who these people were -- the ones who "commonly thought" that the name of the day was derived from the edible dormouse. A third section seemed to be screaming, "Edible dormouse? Edible dormouse?!!"

The Edible Dormouse

Glis glis: delicious with honey and poppy seeds.

There is, in fact, a variety of dormouse known as the edible dormouse, or fat dormouse. Its Latin name is Glis glis, and, like most dormouse species, it's native to Europe. The word dormouse comes from the Anglo-Saxon dormeus, meaning "sleepy one" -- a perfectly logical name, considering that the dormouse hibernates a lot. Our friend Glis glis hibernates from October to May, which is a lot of sleep, even for a dormouse. Later on, dormeus got altered to dormouse, which was also logical, since the dormouse is a small rodent, similar to a mouse.

As for the edible part, the ancient Romans liked to eat them, and even raised them especially for that purpose. They had special terra cotta containers that they kept them in, called gliraria, sort of like an early version of the hamster cage. Edible dormice could be eaten either as an appetizer, or as a dessert, dipped in honey and poppy seeds.

Lionel Rothschild let the dormice escape.

The edible dormouse is native to much of Europe, but not to England, although, curiously enough, about 10,000 Glis glis live there now, all in a 200 square mile area around Tring, in Hertfordshire. It seems that Lionel Walter Rothschild, of the Rothschild financial dynasty, had a private zoological collection. The dormice escaped, and ... Well, you know what rodents do best.

In Germany, the edible dormouse is known as Siebenschläfer, which means something like "seven sleeper" probably because it hibernates for seven months of the year. The day we're celebrating today is called Siebenschläfertag, Seven Sleepers Day, for reasons altogether unrelated to the dormouse. We'll get to that story next.

The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus

The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus were a group of Christian youths who lived neared Ephesus somewhere around the year 250 AD. The Roman Emperor Decius was trying to eliminate Christianity from his domain at the time, and the young men were given their choice of recanting their beliefs, or of being executed. They went to a cave to pray and fell asleep.

The Seven Sleepers in the cave.

When they awoke, they realized they were hungry, and sent one of their number into the village to buy food, warning him to be careful to elude capture. When he got there, he was amazed -- there were buildings there with crosses on them, prominently displayed. The townspeople were equally dumbfounded when the young man attempted to pay for his purchases with coins that were 200 years old. The Christians told their story to the local bishop and then died, praising God for the miracle.

Various versions of the story have the men sleeping for anywhere from 150 to 250 years. There is also a version in which they were sealed into the cave by the Emperor, and only awoke when a farmer unsealed the cave to use as a pen for his cattle.

The story appears to have originated in Ephesus, and then to have spread outwards. Many pilgrims made the pilgrimage to Ephesus. A church was built over a collection of graves in the area. During the Crusades some bones from the area were brought to Marseilles, and found a home at the church of Saint Victoire.

And Back to the Weather...

St. Swithun gets the credit in England.

I'm not sure exactly what the connection is between the Seven Sleepers and June 27, although I'm guessing that at one time it was a feast day. In any event, according to folk wisdom, whatever sort of weather occurs on this day will be pretty much the same sort of weather that will fall for the next seven weeks. There are various rhymes to help one remember:

Das wetter am Siebenschläfertag
Sieben wochen bleiben mag.

["The weather on Seven Sleepers Day, seven weeks will remain."]

and

Wie's wetter am Siebenschlafertag,
So der Juli werden mag.

["As the weather is on Seven Sleepers Day, so will it be in July."]
As you'll note, the saying actually rhymes in German.

The closest thing to Seven Sleepers Day that we have in the English language is probably Saint Swithun's Day, the 15^th of July. We are told:

St. Swithun's Day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain.
St. Swithun's Day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain nae mare.

As a prediction of weather, neither holiday is noticeably accurate.

It Happened on June 26th

2015-06-26T06:00:00.000-04:00

Patrick Branwell Brontë Born, 1817

Self Portrait by Patrick Branwell Bronte

To the Brontë family, Branwell was probably considered the most talented of the lot. His father certainly thought so. Branwell was the fourth child and the only boy of the remarkable Brontë family. You are no doubt familiar with Branwell's more famous sisters: Charlotte (Jane Eyre, Villette), Emily (Wuthering Heights), and Anne (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Agnes Gray.)

The six Brontë children were the offspring of the Reverend Patrick and Maria Bronte. They grew up in a small parsonage in a remote village in Yorkshire and were very close to each other, creating a fantasy world together and filling it with characters and stories. The four oldest girls were sent to a charity boarding school for the daughters of poor clergymen. The two oldest came back ill, and died soon after their return. Maria was 11 and Elizabeth 10 when they died of tuberculosis. After that, the remaining girls were schooled at home by their aunt.

Branwell, on the other hand, was carefully educated at home by his father. He studied the classics (Greek and Roman literature), English literature, and European history. His father intended for him to be prepared to enter university.

Branwell's painting of his sisters: Anne, Emily, and
Charlotte

He also displayed a great interest and aptitude in art, and, at the age of 18, his father sent him to London to apply to the Royal Academy of Arts. Branwell went to London, all right, but he never quite got around to applying to the Royal Academy. He attempted to employ himself as a portrait painter for awhile, but he lacked the initiative to stick with it. The most famous of all Branwell's portraits it the one of his three sisters. Branwell was originally in the portrait as well, but he painted himself out and painted in a pillar. As the years passed and the paint faded, his figure began to appear again, as a somewhat ghostly image.

In 1840, at the age of 23, he found employment as a tutor for a family of young boys, but was dismissed within six months. There was some scandal connected with the dismissal, and it was thought that he may have had a sexual affair with a servant there -- and perhaps even fathered a child.

Shortly after that he found employment with the Luddendenfoot railway station, but was dismissed after a shortage of 11 pounds was found in monies he was responsible for. He was not suspected of theft, however -- just incompetence.

This is not to imply, however, that Branwell was idle during much of his youth. He wrote as copiously as his sisters did. His surviving work comprises about 30 volumes of stories, journals, poetry, literary criticism, translations, and essays. It is estimated that this is only about 10% of his total output, however -- his heirs destroyed much of his writings because they believed them objectionable in terms of moral values or religious outlook.

His sister Anne found him his next job. Anne was employed as a governess at the time, and her employers, Reverend and Mrs. Robinson of Thorp Green, were looking for a tutor for their young son. Branwell took the job -- and soon was corresponding with his friends about the attractions of the young boy's mother. He was dismissed from that job suddenly, too. Apparently Branwell was caught in a compromising position with the somewhat older -- but still alluring -- Mrs. Robinson. (At any rate, he was told that his actions were "bad beyond expression" and he was forbidden to communicate with any member of the Robinson family ever again.)

Branwell's caricature of himself, summoned by Death

Branwell then returned home to the family parsonage, a broken man. He was depressed, in debt, alcoholic, and addicted to laudanum. His behavior became increasingly erratic and he sometimes spoke of suicide. He rallied, briefly, when the Reverend Robinson died -- he thought he could rekindle the relationship with Mrs. Robinson. The 43-year-old widow, however, wanted nothing further to do with the penniless young man.

Sadly, Branwell's drug and alcohol problems were masking another ailment. Branwell was ill with tuberculosis. By the time the family realized he was ill -- he collapsed outside the house -- and summoned a doctor, he was already in the terminal stages. Branwell Brontë died at the age of 31. His sister Charlotte remarked on his death, "I do not weep from a sense of bereavement ... but for the wreck of talent, the ruin of promise, the untimely dreary extinction of what might have been a burning and shining light."

Two of Branwell's remaining three sisters, Emily and Anne, would also die of tuberculosis before a year had passed.

It Happened on June 25th

2015-06-25T06:00:00.000-04:00

Rose Cecil O'Neill Born, 1874

Rose Cecil O'Neill, circa 1907

She called them Kewpie Dolls, after Cupid, the Roman god of erotic love. They made their first appearance in 1909, as illustrations in the Ladies' Home Journal. After that, it wasn't long before they were manufactured as dolls, first in bisque, and later in celluloid. The hard plastic ones didn't come along until 1949.

Rose O'Neill was born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania on June 25, 1874. She was the second of eight children born to William and Alice O'Neill. Fortunately for Rose, she loved taking care of the younger children.

She also loved to draw, and her father encouraged her, providing her with plenty of art materials and not worrying about her getting educated in anything other than the arts. He also had romantic ideas about country life, and when Rose was three, he moved the family out of their comfortable middle-class existence to a sod house in Nebraska. He had an idea that the family could lead an idyllic country life, getting by on nothing but love and poetry.

In real life, this worked out to his traveling to the neighboring towns and attempting to sell books -- which the townspeople didn't need and weren't interested in. Rose's mother, "Meemie", tried to adapt to the country life too, but she had never cooked, sewn, or planted anything in her life. Pretty soon the family moved on to Omaha.

At the age of 14, Rose entered an art contest and won first prize. The judges were a little suspicious about the originality of her work, however, deeming it a pretty sophisticated topic for a 14-year-old -- Temptation Leading Down into an Abyss. They had her come in and demonstrate her talent before they would allow her to accept her prize, a five-dollar gold piece.

O'Neill illustration from Puck magazine, 1904.
"Ethel: He acts this way. He gazes at me tenderly, is buoyant
when I am near him, pines when I neglect him. Now, what
does that signify? Her mother: That he's a mighty good actor,
Ethel."

Within a few years, Rose was selling her work for publications in Chicago and Denver. She was well on her way to her life's ambition, becoming a full-time illustrator.

When Rose was 18, her mother sold the family cow so that Rose could visit New York to find work. She found housing with the Sisters of St. Regis, who also accompanied her on sales calls. Rose was definitely successful, selling work to Colliers, Life, Harpers, and other well-known publications.

After about a year, Rose returned to her family, who had moved again, this time to a homestead in the Ozarks. She fell in love with the place immediately, and named it Bonniebrook.

When Rose finally returned to New York, she married her first husband, Gray Latham. Gray Latham made a habit of spending Rose's money just as soon as she made it, which distressed her greatly. She needed that money to send home to the family, who was depending on her as their main source of support. After five years they divorced, and Rose returned to Bonniebrook.

Back at Bonniebrook, Rose began receiving mysterious gifts and letters from an admirer. It turned out that the admirer was Harry Leon Wilson, a literary editor that she had worked with at Puck magazine. They wed in 1902, and both husband and wife spent several years writing, Rose producing her first (illustrated) novel, The Loves of Edwyn. The couple had multiple homes by this time -- in Bonniebrook, Cos Cob, Connecticut, Paris, and the Isle of Capri.

Rose's second marriage didn't go so well either. Harry became moody and easily irked by Rose's mannerisms, especially her penchant for speaking to him in baby talk. They also divorced, although they remained friendly throughout their lives.

1909 was a banner year for Rose O'Neill, as it was the year the Kewpies first appeared in the Christmas issue of the Ladies' Home Journal. Later, they would also appear in Good Housekeeping and the Woman's Home Companion, and would continue being published for the next 25 years. The Woman's Home Companion also featured the Kewpies as paper dolls, called Kewpie Kutouts. They were designed to have both a front and a back -- the first paper dolls ever designed this way.

A whole chain of Kewpie merchandise became available starting in 1913 that would continue for decades. They were produced in Germany, in nine different sizes. Demand was so great that twenty-one factories were set up to produce the dolls. Rose O'Neill became a very wealthy woman.

Rose added an apartment in Greenwich Village and an estate in Westport, Connecticut to her collection of homes. Now, besides supporting her family, she was able to provide support for young artists that she took under her wing.

Rose O'Neill was a successful and sought-after artist until the 1930's, when photography began replacing illustrations in magazines. The Kewpie Doll business fell off a bit too, although it has never -- even today -- dried up entirely. Rose began to find her obligations too much for her, and began selling off some of her properties. She tried to replicate her Kewpie Doll success with a Buddha-like character called "Little Ho Ho," but he never caught on.

Rose O'Neill died in 1944 at the age of 69. She had created nearly 5500 drawings in her lifetime, in addition to her work as an oil and watercolor painter, sculptress, businesswoman, suffragette, poet, and novelist.

It Happened on June 24th

2015-06-24T06:00:00.000-04:00

Outbreak of the Dancing Sickness in Aachen, Germany, 1374

"Dance at Molenbeek" by Pieter Brueghel the Younger.

They danced until they dropped.

A very strange phenomenon took place in Europe in the 13^th through the 17^th centuries. People danced. Hundreds of them, sometimes thousands, involuntarily and uncontrollably. They danced until they dropped from exhaustion, or until their feet were bloody, or until they died. Sometimes they sang, shrieked, begged for deliverance. Sometimes they had visions.

There were reports of all types of bizarre behavior among the afflicted. Some engaged in lewd behavior. Some could not stand the color red, or pointed shoes. There were reports that some dancers enjoyed having their feet hit. Many of them experienced visions, or achieved a state of ecstasy.

No one today knows what caused this behavior, but it seems to have stopped, suddenly, in the 17^th century. The outbreaks started small, with only a few people. More people would join them. Sometimes musicians were provided by the town, in the belief that music would calm the sufferers or exorcise the demons. Usually it just led to more dancing.

One of the best-documented cases is the one which occurred in Aachen, Germany, beginning on June 23, 1374. There was no widespread agreement, even then, as to the cause. It was sometimes called the "dancing plague" and it was believed that it was sent by St. John, or by St. Vitus, or that, if the saints hadn't caused it, at least they could cure it. Consequently, the ailment was also known as "St. John's Dance" or St. Vitus's Dance." (This is different ailment than the one which later became known as "St. Vitus's Dance" which is actually Sydenham's chorea, and involves jerking movements of the face, feet, and hands.)


In Italy, they said the bite of the Wolf Spider was the cause. © Alvaro/Wikimedia Commons

It's possible of course, that the outbreaks may have been started by someone with a case of Sydenham's chorea, or even epilepsy. Others could have joined them. It's important to remember that the people of the time believed in the possibility of possession, and that tales of outbreaks of the Dancing Plague had been heard since the 7^th century or so. Suggestibility can account for a lot.

Of course the music -- which had been provided as a cure or easement of the condition -- no doubt contributed to the contagious effect of the ailment. It also appears that those who didn't participate in the dance were sometimes likely to be assaulted.

Was the story of the Pied Piper inspired by the phenomenon?

In Italy the phenomenon was called Tartanism, and it was believed that it was caused by the bite of a type of wolf spider called a "tarantula." (Not of the same family as what we call a tarantula today.) Many of those who danced admitted that they had not been bitten, but believed that they had contracted the disease from exposure to someone who had. Supposedly the dance, the tarantella, was derived from the dancing done by the victims. We know today, however, that there is no organic reason for someone bitten by the wolf spider to need to dance.

One explanation that has been offered for the manifestation is ergot poisoning. Ergot is a parasitical fungus that grows on grain, and that, when ingested, can cause hallucinogenic effects. The alkaloid produced by the fungus has many qualities similar to lysergic acid diethylamide -- LSD. (In fact, ergot is one of the possible explanations that have been suggested for the Salem witch trials, as ergot poisoning can cause many of the symptoms that the Salem inhabitants attributed to being "bewitched.") It is really difficult to explain, however, how ergot poisoning could come to manifest itself in dancing -- and why it would affect everybody in the same way.

Whatever the cause, the Dancing Plague was no trivial matter. The outbreak that started in Aachen in 1374 soon spread to Cologne, Flanders, Franconia, Hainaut, Metz, Strasbourg, and Utrecht. After that it traveled to Italy, France, and Holland.

Another major outbreak took place in Strasbourg, France in 1518. It started with one woman, who danced for somewhere between four and six days. Within a week, there were at least 35 people dancing, and within a month, there were 400. Some of them died from heart failure, dehydration, or exhaustion.

It Happened on June 23rd

2015-06-23T06:00:00.000-04:00

Vincent Chin Killed in Highland Park, 1982

Vincent Chin wasn't even Japanese.

He was, however, a young man about to be married, and on June 23, 1982, he was having his bachelor party at a strip club called Fancy Pants in Highland Park, Michigan. Highland Park is a city in Michigan almost completely surrounded by the city of Detroit, except for a small section that touches the city of Hamtramck. Hamtramck, in turn, is also surrounded by Detroit -- except for the section that touches Highland Park.

Also present in the bar that night were Ronald Ebens and his stepson, Michael Nitz. Ebens was a plant superintendant at a Chrysler factory. Nitz had recently been laid off from his auto-industry job. Back in the early 1980's the American auto industry was in big trouble. Not helping matters much was the way the smaller, more economical Japanese cars were becoming more and more popular.

Ebens and Nitz believed Chin was Japanese. He wasn't. Vincent Chin was a Chinese-American, adopted from China, who had lived almost all his life in the Detroit area. He was a draftsman for an automobile supplier.

Words were exchanged between Chin's party and Ebens and Nitz. A witness heard Ebens say, "It's because of you little mother####ers that we're out of work!" A fist fight took place inside the bar, which it appears that the Chin party started. The entire group got thrown out of the bar and parted ways. Then Ebens and Nitz reconsidered, and started looking for Chin.

They caught up with him at McDonald's

After about 20 minutes they found him in a local McDonalds. He tried to escape, but Nitz held him, while Ebens beat him with a baseball bat. He got at least four solid blows in -- at least some of them to the head -- before he was arrested by two off-duty policemen. Chin was taken to the hospital, unconscious, where he lapsed into a coma and died four days later. His last words before he lost consciousness were, "It's not fair."

If the crime hadn't attracted the attention of the advocacy groups, the sentencing certainly did. A number of groups staged demonstrations and wrote letters to newspapers, politicians, and the Department of Justice. Even Lily Chin, the victim's mother, who could barely speak English traveled around the country to raise funds. A journalist named Helen Zia and a lawyer named Liza Cheuk May Chan were particularly instrumental in getting the attention of the Federal prosecution. Ebens and Nitz were soon charged in Federal court.

There were two charges for each: violation of Chin's civil rights and conspiracy. Ebens was found guilty of the first charge, but not of the second. Nitz was acquitted of both. Ebens received a 25-year prison sentence.

On appeal, Ebens's conviction was overturned. It seemed that a prosecution attorney was guilty of coaching witnesses improperly. A new trial was ordered.

Vincent's mother Lily.

This time the venue was moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, in an effort to give the men a fair trial. Residents of Cincinnati, however, had had almost no exposure to Chinese-Americans. Out of 200 potential jurors, only 19 had ever met one -- and they were dismissed. They also had little inkling of the hostilities that existed between the Detroit car manufacturing community and the Japanese. The jury -- made of 10 Caucasians and two African-Americans -- found Ebens guilty of all charges.

A subsequent civil trial was settled out of court in 1987. Nitz was ordered to pay $50,000 in $30 weekly payments to Chin's estate over the next 10 years. Ebens was to pay $1.5 million at $200 a month for the next two years, and then $200 a month or 25% of his income, whichever was greater. Ebens disposed of his assets shortly before the trial. The suit was renewed 10 years later. As of that date, the total Ebens owed came to $4,683,653.89.

Lily Chin moved back to China in September 1987, hoping to avoid being reminded of her son's death. She died in 2002, after having established a scholarship in Vincent's memory.

It Happened on June 22nd

2015-06-22T00:00:00.000-04:00

"Tom Dooley" Born, 1845

The real Tom Dula.

In the Appalachian area where he was born and died, Tom Dula's name was pronounced "Dooley." You've probably heard of him -- the Kingston Trio version of the song about him sold over six million copies.

Tom Dula was a real person, however. He was born on June 22, 1845 and was executed on May 1, 1868 for the murder of Laura Foster. Other than that, the details are a little hazy.

We do know that Tom was born to a poor family in Wilkes County, North Carolina. He joined the Confederate Army three months before he turned 18, and served there until the war ended.

He appears to have been somewhat of a ladies' man. He and a neighbor, Ann Foster, had been lovers before he left for the war, and they apparently resumed the relationship when he returned, even though Ann had married James Melton in the meantime. (Some accounts indicate she was married before he left.)

He also seems to have been involved with Pauline (sometimes called Perline) Foster, a cousin of Ann's -- some say at Ann's instigation, to prevent her husband about finding out about her own affair with Tom. He also may have had an affair with another cousin of Ann's, Laura Foster. It seems that all four individuals had syphilis, and it seems that Pauline was most likely the one who infected Tom.

James Grayson turned him in.

Laura -- according to some accounts, and disputed by others -- was pregnant. On the last day of her life she was seen by a neighbor, riding her father's horse. She told the neighbor that she was going to Tennessee, and that she was going to be married there. When her father was told the news, he said that he didn't care whether or not he ever saw his daughter again, but that he wanted his horse back.

Mr. Foster did get his horse back. It returned a few days later with a broken rein, as though it had been tethered and had escaped. No one looked for Laura for awhile; she was assumed to be safely in Tennessee. Tom, however, was still in town. If Laura had eloped, it had been with somebody else.

According to local lore, it was Pauline who found the body. She told officials that Ann had told her where it was buried, and when they looked, there she was. She had been stabbed multiple times with a large knife. One of the stab wounds had pierced her heart.

At about this time, rumors began to circulate that Tom Dula had done the deed. He found it expedient to leave town, and started making his way for the state border, to Tennessee. Along the way, his boots wore out, and he found it necessary to take temporary employment, at least until he could afford a new pair of boots. He found work with James Grayson, a former lieutenant colonel in the Union Army.

The former Governor defended him.

After a short while, Tom had earned enough for a new pair of boots, and had moved on. Soon after that the posse arrived, and Grayson recognized that the description they furnished fit his former hired hand, who had passed himself off as Tom Hall. Grayson joined the posse, and soon found Tom sitting by a stream bathing his feet. His new boots had blistered his feet.

Tom was brought back for trial, and defended by Zebulon Baird Vance, the former Governor of North Carolina. He insisted that he hadn't killed Laura, but was found guilty. An appeal to the Supreme Court of North Carolina resulted in another trial, and he was found guilty once again.

Historical Marker

Before his execution, Tom wrote a 15-page account that exonerated Ann Melton. He was hanged, not from a "white oak tree" as the song says, but from a post near the train depot. His neck did not break, but he strangled slowly, taking about 10 minutes to die. Just before he was executed, he claimed "I never hurt a hair on that girl's head."

Did Tom Dula kill Laura Foster, and if so, why? Was he upset about the pregnancy and didn't want to get married? Did he blame Laura for the syphilis? Was Laura actually on her way to marry someone else and had she and Tom had a falling out?

Some believe that Tom didn't commit the murder, but that Laura was killed by Ann in jealousy, or even by Pauline. Even Tom's 15-page document is a little suspicious, considering that when he joined the army he signed his name with an X -- he was apparently illiterate.

And here are the Kingston Trio singing their 1959 hit:

It Happened on June 21st

2015-06-21T06:00:00.000-04:00

Marie-Joseph Angelique Executed for Burning of Montreal, 1734

Marie-Joseph Angelique was a black slave born in Portugal in about 1710. After a few transactions, she ended up in Montreal, the property of a French businessman named Francois Poulin de Francheville. Francheville died in 1733 and ownership of Marie-Joseph passed to his widow, Therese de Couagne.

Marie-Joseph was apparently not a very submissive slave. She was known to talk back to her mistress, and she once tried to escape with her lover, a white indentured servant named Claude Thibault. They were recaptured about two weeks later.

Therese de Couagne was a busy woman, handling her deceased husband's estate. She didn't have time to deal with a recalcitrant slave and so she arranged to sell her to one of her husband's former business partners. De Couagne would pay for Marie-Joseph's transport to Quebec City and would receive 600 pounds of gunpowder in exchange for the slave.

Thibault, meanwhile, was still being held in prison for his part in the escape, and was not released until April 8^th, two days before the fire. Upon his release, he went to see de Couagne and demand his unpaid wages. She paid him, and forbade him to ever set foot on her property again. She also told him that Marie-Joseph would be sent to Quebec City as soon as the ice on the St. Lawrence River cleared.

On the evening of April 10^th, fire broke out at the de Couagne home. Despite the best efforts of the townspeople, the fire spread through the town, burning down 46 buildings -- homes, shops, and the local hospital and convent. No one was killed, but some householders lost everything they owned. Looting was also taking place in the midst of the turmoil.

Soon rumors began to spread that Marie-Joseph had started the fire. A young Native American slave named Marie-Manon seemed to be the source of the rumors. She claimed that she had heard Marie-Joseph say that Madame de Couagne would not sleep in her house that night. Soon, nearly everyone in town believed that Marie-Joseph and Thibault had started the blaze.

The next morning, Marie-Joseph was arrested. Two days later, a warrant for Thibault's arrest was also made up, but he had disappeared, and was never seen again. The trial lasted over six weeks. Every witness called believed that Marie-Joseph had started the fire, but no one had actually seen her do it. The prosecution was about to ask for permission to question Marie-Joseph under torture, since there was no evidence to convict her.

At this point, an eyewitness appeared. It was a five-year-old girl named Amable Moniere, who said that she had seen Marie-Joseph carrying a shovelful of coals to the attic on the day in question. No one questioned why the child had remained quiet about it all this time.

The verdict was guilty and the punishment was severe. Marie-Joseph was to be taken in a cart to the parish church. There, after she admitted her crime and asked forgiveness, she was to have her hand cut off. She would then be taken in the cart to a public place where she would be burned alive. Before all this happened, she would be tortured in "both ordinary and extraordinary ways." They still hoped that she would name Thibault as her accomplice.

Fortunately for Marie-Joseph, the verdict was automatically appealed, as it was on all criminal verdicts. The Superior Court was more merciful. She was no longer to have her hand cut off, or to be burned alive. Now, the sentence was that she would be hanged until dead and then burned. The torture still stood, however.

The torture method used was called the "boot." It consisted of four planks that were nailed together and tied to the prisoner's legs. Wedges were then inserted between the planks and the legs, and hammered in. Four wedges constituted "ordinary" torture, and four more were administered for "extraordinary" torture. The increased pressure slowly crushed the victims' legs.

Marie-Joseph confessed to her own involvement, but insisted that she acted alone. She was then executed on June 21, 1734.

Alexander J. Dallas Born, 1759

Alexander J. Dallas, volunteer

Alexander J. Dallas was born in Kingston, Jamaica on June 21, 1759. His family moved to Scotland when he was five years old. He also lived in London for awhile, and moved back to Jamaica after his marriage. His wife's health, however, was not good in Jamaica, so they settled in Philadelphia.

Dallas was a lawyer, but not a very busy one. In order to eke out a living, he also edited the Pennsylvania Herald and the Columbia Magazine. One of his functions as editor was to report the legal cases that took place in Philadelphia.

In 1791, when the U.S. Supreme Court -- along with the rest of the Federal Government -- moved to Philadelphia, it was a natural development for him to begin reporting their cases and decisions. He was unpaid and unofficial, but the results of the work were his own, and he was allowed to profit by publishing them and selling the volumes. He was the first Reporter of Decisions of the Supreme Court of the United States.

His work was criticized by his contemporaries for being incomplete and inaccurate. They were also produced very late -- in some cases as much as five years after the decisions.

The Supreme Court moved to Washington DC in 1800, and Dallas stayed behind. He said, "I have found such miserable encouragement for my reports that I have determined to call them all in, and devote them to the rats in the State-House."

Dallas's successor, William Cranch

Dallas was succeeded by William Cranch as Reporter of Decisions. Cranch was another unpaid volunteer. In 1817 the position was made an official one, which paid an annual salary of $1000. Since this was not adequate to pay for the publication of the reports, the Reporter was still allowed to profit from their publication.

In later life, Dallas served as Secretary of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, and U.S. Secretary of the Treasury. He was also Acting Secretary of War and Acting Secretary of State for a brief time.

It Happened on June 20th

2015-06-20T06:00:00.000-04:00

British Soldiers Die in the Black Hole of Calcutta, 1756

The area inside the fence contained the cell and 146 prisoners.

The East India Company had established Fort William in Calcutta, India, for the purpose of the protecting the Company and its trade. In 1756, the British, expecting trouble from the French, began to build up the fort's defenses. The Nawab of Bengal objected, seeing the British presence as a threat to his own power. He insisted that they stop the upgrade immediately. The British refused.

The Nawab then laid siege to the fort. Most of the men escaped, leaving a token force inside the fort. The fort was quickly taken by the Indian forces.

There were about 65 to 70 British soldiers in the fort, and a number of Anglo-Indian soldiers and civilians. All were taken prisoner. Some managed to escape quickly, and some others attacked the guards. The guards decided that it would be a good idea to lock them up.

The room they used was a small cell, about 14 by 18 feet. It was intended for use to lock up two or three men at a time. They forced in 146.

The room had two small windows, one of which opened onto a veranda, where a guard was stationed. Some of the men offered the guard 1000 rupees if he would have them moved to a larger room. He left to check on that, and then returned, saying it was impossible. They doubled the bribe. He left again and returned to say no. The Nawab was asleep, and no one wanted to wake him.

The Nawab was not to be disturbed.

Several men had died in the first few hours, and the rest were desperate for water. One of the guards brought some to the window, where the men closest to the window put it into hats, and attempted to pass it back. The men were frantic, and nearly all of the water was spilled. The men farthest in the back pushed forward, trying to get to the window, and crushed and suffocated those in front of them. Some fell to the ground, and were trampled and suffocated where they lay.

The Nawab rose the next morning at 6:00 am and ordered his men to open the door. Of the 146 men, only 23 were still living. One of the survivors was John Zephaniah Holwell, whose account of the incident is the basis of most of our information. (Other survivors basically agreed with him, but differed as to details. Modern historians think the whole story may have been exaggerated.) The Nawab expressed no regret over the incident. He did, however, offer the British commanding officer a glass of water and a chair.

The Sack of Baltimore, 1631

Pilchards were big business in Baltimore

In the 17th century Baltimore, Ireland, was an important site of the pilchard industry. Pilchards are oily fish, similar to sardines -- in fact, in some areas, sardine is just another name for a young pilchard. The fish were collected and then heaped into piles, with each layer covered with salt. After they had been piled in this fashion for a month, they would keep for up to a year, and could be placed into hogshead barrels. The barrels were then pressed for their oil, which was used for lamp oil, among other things. The fish, of course, were good eating, and kept well. Both the fish and the oil could be exported.

The pilchard industry in Baltimore was under the control of the O'Driscoll chieftain, Sir Fineen O'Driscoll. Most of the residents of Baltimore were English Protestants who had come there for the pilchard trade. They were resented by the local Irish Catholics.

The Barbary Pirates were feared with good reason.

On June 20th, 1631, Algerian pirates from the Barbary Coast sailed into the harbor of Baltimore. The pirates were under the command of a renegade Dutchman named Jan Janszoon van Haarlem, also known as Murat Reis the Younger. They had been led there by an Irish captain, John Hackett. Hackett had been captured by the Barbary Pirates and had agreed to lead them to Baltimore in exchange for his freedom. He was no doubt also motivated by the idea of leading them away from his own village.

They took the villagers entirely by surprise. There were 200 armed pirates, who torched the thatched roof cottages and took away men, women, and children. It was the worst raid ever made by the Barbary pirates on the mainland of Ireland or England. They took 108 English settlers, and undoubtedly a few of the local Irish as well. Three of the women were later ransomed, but the rest were never heard of again. Most would spend the rest of their lives as laborers or concubines in the Sultan's household, or sold as galley slaves.

One theory that has been suggested is that the raid was engineered by Sir Walter Coppinger, a rival of Fineen O'Driscoll, who wanted to control the village himself, and to send the English packing. If it was his plan, it worked. Most of the remaining settlers moved to Skibbereen, and Coppinger did eventually gain control of the village.

John Hackett, who led the pirates to Baltimore, was captured and arrested, and ended his life by being hanged on a cliff just outside of the village.

It Happened on June 19th

2015-06-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

Colonists Leave Roanoke Island, 1586

1585 map of the area

This was the first British settlement on Roanoke Island, not the famous Lost Colony that disappeared. Things ended much more happily for most of this first group of settlers.

The story begins on March 25, 1584, when Queen Elizabeth granted a Royal Charter to Sir Walter Raleigh. He was given seven years. During that time he needed to establish a settlement in Virginia, or he would lose his right to do so. Both the Queen and Raleigh were anticipating that they would be able to gather riches from the New World. They also wanted a base for their privateers, who were charged with raiding the Spanish.

Raleigh never visited Virginia -- or any of North America. He did, however, lead several expeditions to South America, searching for gold in the legendary city of El Dorado. He sent an expedition in April, which arrived on July 4th, and made the acquaintance of the local tribes, the Secotans and the Croatans. The ship returned to England (leaving the settlers behind) and brought back two Croatans to Raleigh, who furnished him with information about the place.

In April of 1585 Raleigh sent five more ships to Roanoke. The Englishmen had barely started exploring the area when an incident occurred. A silver cup had vanished from the English settlement, and the natives were blamed for stealing it. In retaliation, the English sacked and burned an Aquascogoc village.

Tensions were high and food was low, but the leader of the group, Sir Richard Grenville, decided to leave a group of 107 men to form a permanent settlement at the north end of Roanoke Island, while he went back to England for more men and supplies. He left on August 17, 1585.

Sir Francis Drake -- brought them home.

By the following spring, Grenville still hadn't returned, and the natives had attacked the settler's fort, probably in retaliation for the village-burning incident. Soon after that, the settlers were visited by Sir Francis Drake, who had been raiding in the Caribbean and was returning to England. He offered to take the settlers. They accepted. The ship left Roanoke on June 19, 1586. They took with them samples of tobacco, corn, and potatoes -- all New World plants that the Europeans had never seen before.

Sir Walter Raleigh -- protecting his interests.

A small party was left behind on Roanoke, in order to protect Raleigh's claim to Virginia. When the next expedition arrived at Roanoke, they found no one there -- all that remained was a single skeleton that may have belonged to one of the Englishmen. The people of the second settlement -- all 118 of them, including the baby Virginia Dare, the first English child born in the New World -- would disappear before 1590. To this day, no one knows what happened to them. But that is another story.

Garfield Debuts, 1978

Today, Garfield is the most widely syndicated comic strip in the world, according to the Guinness Book of World Records. His career got started on June 19, 1978, when the first Garfield strip was published in 41 newspapers across the country.

Garfield's creator, Jim Davis, was no stranger to cartooning -- or to cats, for that matter. The feisty hero of the strip is based on the 25 or so cats he knew growing up on his parents' Black Angus farm in Fairmount, Indiana. Garfield's name, however, as well as certain aspects of his personality, comes from Davis's grandfather, James A. Garfield Davis, whom Davis remembers as a "large cantankerous man."

As a child, Davis suffered from allergies and asthma -- a rough problem to have on a cattle farm. He spent a lot of time inside, and learned that he loved to draw. After high school, he attended Ball State University, where he majored in art and business.

Davis's first job after college was at an advertising agency, but he soon found something more to his liking. Tom K. Ryan, a cartoonist who lived in Muncie, Indiana, needed an assistant. Ryan's strip was called Tumbleweeds, and Davis learned a lot about the business from him.

Jim Davis's first solo cartoon was called Gnorm Gnat. It ran for five years in a local Indiana newspaper, but he was never able to syndicate it. One editor told him, "Your art is good, your gags are great, but bugs -- nobody can relate to bugs!" Davis finished Gnorm Gnat by having a giant foot come out of the sky and crush him.

His next strip was Garfield. It was picked up by the United Feature Syndicate and was an instant success. Nevertheless, after it had run a few months, one Chicago paper decided to cancel it and try something else. 1300 angry fans wrote in. The strip was quickly reinstated.

By 1982, the strip was appearing in 100 newspapers, and by 1987, in 200. Today it runs in over 2600 newspapers, and it is estimated that 263,000,000 people read it every day.

It Happened on June 18th

2015-06-18T06:00:00.000-04:00

Susan B. Anthony Fined for Voting, 1873

Susan B. Anthony in 1870

In November of 1872, Susan B. Anthony voted in the national election. She had been planning to do this for some time; in fact, she had stated that she "had been resolved for three years to vote in the first election when I had been home for thirty days before." (Voters in New York State were required to have been a resident for the thirty days preceding the election.)

The Fourteenth Amendment had been adopted in 1868. The amendment states that "all persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." All such citizens were guaranteed the rights and privileges which belonged to them. Anthony thought that meant her, too.

And so, on November 1, 1872, Anthony and her three sisters went to the local barbershop where the voter registration office was located. The young men acting as registrars didn't know quite what to do. At first they refused to register the Anthony sisters. But Anthony insisted, citing the Amendment, and threatened to bring criminal charges against them if they refused. That was probably the clincher.

After about an hour's discussion, and under the advice of the Supervisor of Elections, the registrars allowed the women to register. In fact, 14 women registered that day, a fact that led some citizens to call for the arrest of the voting officials.

When Election Day arrived on November 5th, Anthony and seven other women were present to vote. The officials had to discuss whether or not they should accept Anthony's ballot, but ultimately they accepted it. They were acutely conscious of the fact that they could get into trouble either way. Anthony voted a straight Republican ticket.

A poll watcher (and Democrat) named Sylvester Lewis filed a complaint against Anthony, charging her with voting illegally. William Storrs, United States Commissioner acted on the complaint and filed a warrant for Anthony's arrest on November 14th. The crime carried a maximum penalty of $500 or five years in prison.

Four days later, Anthony was arrested. She refused to enter a plea at the time she was arrested, and appeared at a preliminary examination on November 29th. Her lawyer did his best to present the argument that Anthony believed that she was acting legally when she voted.

Susan B. Anthony wasn't the only one charged with election violations. Fourteen other female voters were also arrested, along with the officials who had authorized their votes. Anthony, however, was the only one who refused bail.

Anthony regarded her arrest as an unexpected windfall. She had never expected to be arrested -- she had thought that her Election Day actions would result in giving her the opportunity to charge the voting inspectors of wrongdoing. She began making plans to have her lawyer apply for a Writ of Habeas Corpus. Her greatest hope was that it would get all the way to the Supreme Court.

The Writ was denied by U.S. District Judge Nathan Hall, who also increased Anthony's bail to $1000. She refused to pay that, also, but her lawyer, Henry Selden, paid it for her. It was a great disappointment for Anthony.

Former President Fillmore attended the trial.

The trial opened on June 17, 1873. The courtroom was filled, and even included Former President Millard Fillmore. The presiding Judge was Ward Hunt. The prosecution's case was mainly a factual representation of the events: how Anthony had registered to vote, and then voted in the November election. The defense's chief argument was that Anthony was being prosecuted simply for being a woman, and that, even if her vote was, in fact, illegal, she had not "knowingly" voted illegally -- she believed that what she was doing was entirely legal. Selden also attempted to call Anthony to the stand, but the judge ruled that she was not a competent witness in her own behalf.

The defense gave a three hour speech, which was followed by the prosecutor's two hour rebuttal. At that point, Judge Hunt took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and read his opinion on the case to the court -- an opinion that he had apparently written before hearing arguments. He then directed the jury to find her guilty.

Judge Hunt wrote his opinion beforehand.

The following day, June 18th, Selden argued for a new trial on the basis that Anthony had been deprived of her right to trial by jury. The judge denied the motion, and gave Anthony an opportunity to speak before being sentenced. Anthony had plenty to say.

In short, her arguments were basically a rehash of what her attorney had presented the day before: that she was being discriminated against for being a woman, that she had not appeared in front of a jury of her peers, but rather of her (legal) superiors, and that she had not even been allowed to be judged by them. The judge ordered her to desist her arguments several times, but Anthony just kept on going.

When she was finally finished, the judge pronounced sentence. She was fined $100 plus the cost of the prosecution. She insisted that she would never pay a penny of the fine, and she was true to her word. The U.S. Government never took any measures to collect, either.

James Montgomery Flagg Born, 1877

Flagg was his own model.

You may have never heard of James Montgomery Flagg, but I'll bet you've seen his work. Flagg was an artist and illustrator, born in Pelham Manor, New York. His work was published by Life when he was only 14 years old, and he worked for another magazine, Judge, when he was 15. He did numerous illustrations for books and magazines, as well as advertising, and even produced a comic strip for a time. At one time, he was said to be the highest paid illustrator in the country.

In 1917, Flagg created a recruiting poster for the U.S. Army. The illustration is of Uncle Sam pointing directly at the viewer. The caption reads, "I Want YOU for the U. S. Army." Over four million copies of the poster were printed during World War I. Later, it was used again during World War II.

The British version came first.

The poster was based on a similar one used by Great Britain, which showed Horatio Herbert Kitchener in a similar pose, with the caption, "Britons. [Picture of Kitchener] Wants YOU. Join Your Country's Army! God Save the King." Kitchener was Britain's Secretary of State for War.

The face that Flagg used for Uncle Sam was his own, somewhat aged, and with the addition of a goatee. He said later that it was easier than going to the bother of finding a model.