Cheeky History

Marie Besnard was Relatively Toxic

2013-05-21T07:26:00.001-05:00

By Grant Davies

On this day (-10) in 1949, authorities in Loudun, France, were leaning on their shovels after having spent a fair amount of time exhuming the body of a certain Monsieur Leon Besnard.

Poor Leon had left this earth in October, 1947, after consuming some bad soup. While examining Leon's remains, it was concluded that what made the soup bad was the amount of arsenic in it, 19.45 mg to be exact. At least that was the amount left in what was left of Leon a year and a half after he slurped the soup.

It seems that Leon was only one of many people who got fatal indigestion after being in close proximity to his wife, Marie. The number turned out to be thirteen. And when their remains had been similarly dug up, Marie Besnard found herself in the soup, too.

The local gendarmerie had been informed of the unusual string of fatally bad luck that befell almost everyone around Marie. Well, at least those who coincidentally had some franc français that would pass to Marie in the event of their failure to exist. Naturally, they told the magistrate, who ordered the above digging and counting of arsenic milligrams to be performed. Marie was charged with thirteen homicides.

The poisonous family relationships began soon after Leon's parents inherited a ton of wealth from someone who probably died a natural death. In one of the most unfortunate relocation decisions on record, they accepted their son and daughter-in-law's invitation to move in with them.

It turned out to be a short visit instead of a long residence. Leon's father died soon thereafter, apparently from eating poisoned mushrooms. (Perhaps the kind with arsenic in them?) His mother died of "pneumonia" three months later. No word on whether her condition had poisonous residue.

Subsequently the Besnard's decided to rent space to some wealthy friends who conveniently had named Marie as their sole beneficiary, and who even more conveniently soon passed away from "pneumonia" and "aortitis". (18 mg and 30 mg)

Marie's father also died, of cerebral hemorrhage (36 mg). Marie's cousins were not lucky either. Both of them died within nine days of each other from the same stupid mistakes. The first mistake they made was naming Marie their sole heir. The second was that they ate lye for dessert by accident. (48 mg and 20 mg) Hey, it happens all the time! Lye can get in your pie pretty easily. The list goes on but I won't poison your opinion of Marie's guilt or innocence by piling on.

So Marie was convicted and went to prison forever and everyone was satisfied.

Umm, not so fast. Not every story has justice being done. Marie had three trials, and in the end (1961), she beat the rap. Legal "Dream Teams" of the "OJ" variety are not exclusive to America it seems. Marie herself didn't pass away until 1980 but it seems likely that she didn't die of poisoning since there was no one left to spice up her soup. So if she did it, she got away with murder. Er..thirteen murders.

To mark the date, slip on down to the "Bad Luck Bar and Grill" and have a sip of something strong. But if the bartender asks "What's your poison?" watch closely while your drink is being mixed.

Post Script
Oh, I forgot to mention, Leon wasn't Marie's first husband. His name was Auguste Antigny, her cousin, who she married in 1920. His death was from pleurisy in 1927, (60 mg). I don't remember things as well as I did before I had that soup for lunch...

If You Need to be Tired, Don't Get Gassed so Often

2013-05-16T07:46:00.000-05:00

Image = Turnoffyourtv.com

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1942, the U.S. Government invoked the war status to proclaim the rationing of gasoline. The public understood. With a war on (WWII in case you forgot) it was clear we needed to conserve fuel.

Well that was a nice thought. But the real reason that government decided to give out A-cards or B-cards was not gas. It was tires.

When the war began America had more than enough fuel to last two decades. But it had no rubber. So it had no tires. How do you conserve tires? Well, knowing Americans, they knew that if they banned the sale of new tires, folks would just drive the same way until the old ones wore out and then park the car permanently. (To say nothing of the potential of guys jacking up your car and stealing all four tires - - in
New York City, they can do that while you're driving.)

Anyway, the Washington wizards decided that the most effective way to save rubber was to get us to drive less. And the best way to do that was to ration gasoline.

To celebrate stop by the "Garage" but be careful not to get gassed up. And, while you are sipping your ration, try to figure what they are trying to conserve with the prices (and taxes) at the pump these days.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Please Pardon the Interruption

2013-05-12T21:08:00.001-05:00

Too many projects, not enough time. Posts will resume shortly. Thanks for visiting Cheeky History.

The Allies got a Lucky Break

2013-04-30T07:33:00.003-05:00

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 1942 (according to published reports), the U.S. Navy turned to rather unusual sources for military information.

Actually, if you are any kind of student of U.S. history, and particularly of military and covert operations, the Navy's source may not have been all that unusual.

At this time, World War II had recently begun (for the U.S. anyway) and, while most eyes were on the Pacific, the Navy was already thinking about the invasion of Europe. And, since the only place the Allies were holding their own was North Africa, they figured that invasion would have to be across the Mediterranean. And, that meant Sicily would be the key.

Now, if this was 1942, and you were the U.S. Navy and, you went in the chart room, you'd have a problem. Because if you looked in the drawer marked Sicily, you might find its latitude and longitude but little else. There would be few files on the depth of harbors and almost no data on shore defenses. Not a very good data base on which to plan an invasion. So..…to get data on Sicily, you began to think what a less politically correct government might assume in time of war.

Having read the tabloids, the Navy assumed a guy named Lucky Luciano might know something about Sicily. And, since he was early in on a 40 to 50 year sentence, he would have time to listen. Mr. Luciano (according to the same published reports, your honor) did not recall much direct detail of Sicily but (according to the same reports) thought he might know a guy or two who did. And boy, did he!

Over the next 10 months the Mafia (er... an unknown group of partisans) provided enough data on Sicily's defenses that when the allies invaded (7/10/43), they captured the whole island in 37 days. And they killed 167,000 of the enemy while losing under 24,000 - - remarkable in any invasion at that time.

The story, of course is, we are sure, just a coincidence of history. And, the fact that Mr. Luciano's sentence was changed three years later (he was released from jail in 1946 and deported to - where else - Sicily - - despite about 35 years left on his term). The whole thing is, of course, wild conjecture (except for the facts). We also hope to disprove the Mafia/Castro/ Assassination linkage in a future episode. Imagine, the U.S. Government cavorting with gangsters. How very, very unlikely!

To mark the day find some guy named “Don” and see if he has any contacts in Afghanistan.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Rome Wasn't Built On Just Any Day

2013-04-23T10:08:00.003-05:00

Image= MHarrsch Photostream

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 753 B.C., the Ancient and Eternal City of Rome was founded. For the first quarter millennium of its existence it was ruled by kings - starting with Romulus (part of a notable brother act with a doggy home life) and ending with Tarquinius Superbus. (If your king sounded like an oversize van, wouldn't you give up the monarchy?)

Next came the Republic: lots of success, gladiators, scholars, arch-ways, public baths, Spartacus and Caesar (but no salads). During this period, Rome dominated, educated and even enumerated virtually all of the known world. (Doubters may look up "Census - Tiberius et. al.)

So - okay - you're sitting there saying "I learned all that in sixth grade." And you're also saying "does that dope expect me to believe he knows the precise date when Ancient Rome was founded." Well...the answer is - Yes! You see it's the "A.U.C." thing.

If you were living in Ancient Rome and wanted to count time, it was tough. You couldn't do "B.C." since you couldn't anticipate the date of the birth you were counting before. (Huh?) So, without the birth of Christ as a date of demarcation, the Romans had a problem. If you were opening a toga shop, would you put on the
letterhead....er....parchment head....e.g. "Founded - ???"

At first they tried the obvious: "In the third year of Romulus..." But that got to be a problem as new kings were envious of the names of old kings still having their names around on walls, letterhead, etc. Even worse, it could get confusing, "Was he born in the second year of Pliny the III or the third year of Pliny the II"

So, the Romans opted for something a bit more permanent like the city itself. So, they began dating everything from the time the city was founded which you will recall from Latin class would be Ab (from) Urbe (the city) Condite (founding). Thus, they made cornerstones and time clocks possible. "Annus 2768 A.U.C."

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Don't Let Stubby Bite You in the Ass

2013-04-17T11:36:00.000-05:00

Stubby was very fond of dogs.
Image = Esquire.com

By Grant Davies

On this day (give or take a few), in 1918, an American soldier was wounded in a WWI battle. It was during a raid to take the town of Schieprey that he was hit in the leg with shrapnel from a grenade thrown by a retreating German soldier. The soldier in question was a sergeant, known affectionately by his fellows as "Stubby."

Stubby had quite an interesting career in the war. At different times during his 18 months at war he participated in seventeen battles on the front.

He was gassed by the enemy, and although he recovered, he never forgot the smell of the poison or the sound of the shells as they came in. Everyone who served with him knew he had greatly enhanced senses of hearing and smell. So when he warned of a surprise mustard gas attack, they paid close attention.

Stubby was also very good at finding and giving comfort to his wounded comrades out in "No man's land." But his most impressive feat was when he caught a German spy single-handedly.

It was during the battle of Meuse-Argonne in September, 1918, when he spotted the spy mapping the American trenches. The spy tried to deceive him and pass by unnoticed, but ole Stubby wasn't fooled. When the German finally gave up the ruse and fled into the forest, Stubby, who could outrun almost any other soldier, ran him down. During the brief scuffle Stubby did what he had to do...he bit him in the ass! That's right, and he wouldn't let go until other soldiers caught up and subdued the scoundrel. It made the front page of almost every major newspaper back in the states.

So Stubby was famous. And when he returned to his beloved US as a hero he was honored by President Woodrow Wilson. Later he was also to meet Warren G Harding and Calvin Coolidge at the White House. He was given free rooms at the finest hotels, and lifetime memberships in the American Legion, the Red Cross, and the YMCA.

Starting in 1921, he was featured during halftimes at Georgetown University football games. He basically invented the halftime shows we enjoy today. Quite a guy that Stubby.

He was also invited to the Smithsonian Institute so people could see what he looked like, and he hangs out there everyday... to this very day. Yes, he's old, but he looks the same as he did back then. You see, they liked him so much they had him stuffed and put on display.

Stubby was after all... a dog.

A Toast to Walter Hunt

2013-04-11T03:57:00.000-05:00

Image = Moah.org

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 1849, the U.S. Government issued patent #6281, for a very remarkable and stunningly successful product. The product was so simple yet useful that most people think it's been around for centuries.

No smarty, it was not the telephone nor the fax nor even the radio, this product sold ten times as many items as every telephone, fax or radio ever made. Pointedly speaking, short of matches maybe no other product has sold so often or in such volume.

The product is....the safety pin! And its invention was a bartender's delight. In a saloon conversation a customer complained of the problem of fastening things easily without cutting your finger or harming the person wearing what you were fastening. After a couple of rounds, a guy named Walter Hunt opined that the solution to the riddle was not so tough. After calling for a piece of string steel (to the left of the olives and two shelves down from the boiled eggs - - doesn't every saloon have them) he began to twiddle.

Egged on by cynics and buyers of rounds he first resolved a loop at the end to give the gadget spring. But what helped was a spring with two pointed ends. Amidst hecklers and more drink buyers Hunt showed that by hammering one end (with a bartender's muddle); you could cap the sharp end of the pin. Thus in less than three hours Walter Hunt had invented one of the most widely sold items in human history.

But it wasn't over. The cynics at the bar said it would never work. Another round please! But one guy said, "Hunt, I'll pay you $100 for the rights." And Hunt said, "Sold!" Thus in three hours and ten minutes Hunt had conceived invented and then sold the rights to one of the simplest yet most successful inventions in history.

It’s hard to imagine. Whoever heard of a clever guy sitting at a bar giving away million dollar ideas for free? Pass those peanuts please.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

The Gipper and the Buck Fifty Dog

2013-04-03T01:00:00.000-05:00

image= business insider

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 1984, it was opening day of the baseball season. Of course, the U.S. President was there to throw out the first ball. And because he was a fan - - he stayed. But of course he was a fan. Early on in his life he had made a living broadcasting baseball games in the Midwest. Sometimes he even had to call the game when he wasn't there. He sometimes "reinvented" the game from teletype reports in an office miles from the stadium.

But he was good at it. In fact, he was very good at it. And so the Midwest came to love a radio sportscaster named "Dutch Reagan" and decades later all of America would love Ronald "Dutch" Reagan enough to elect him - - President of the U.S.

So, on this particular day, the fans, the players and the nation were happy to see him sitting in the stands - - with his secret service men - - enjoying America's pastime. Enjoying enough that when the hot dog guy passed by, the President waved his hand and ordered four dogs. The vendor served up four with Kraut and handed them to the President. The President smiled and handed the vendor a crisp $5 bill. Since inflation had raised the price to $1.50 per, the vendor kept his hand out. Since neither Pelosi, Boehner, Reid nor McConnell were present, someone else would have to resolve the issue. After a dramatic pause, an alert secret service guy stood up and made up the right change and included a tip. And, thus a national emergency was again averted.

To celebrate take a deep sip from an empty glass and explain to some young associate that this was surely the first and only time that someone in government ordered more than they had the money to pay for. But make sure your companion is either quite gullible or can't spell deficit.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Aw, Ya Throw Like a Girl!

2013-04-02T01:30:00.000-05:00

Image = latimesblogs

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1931, two fairly well-known baseball players were struck out, back to back, by a fairly unknown pitcher, in a game hardly anyone cared about. So why on earth would anyone care about it today?

Well, the players who struck out were none other than Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. And the pitcher, Jackie Mitchell, who took only seven pitches to send the two of them back to the dugout in embarrassment, was a virtual unknown who was playing the first (and only) game of a very short professional career.

The game was a preseason contest between the NY Yankees and the Chattanooga Lookouts, their AA minor league affiliate. Jackie had been signed to a contract just a few days before and had yet to appear in a game.

The pitcher had basically one pitch, but it was a doozy. A "drop ball", basically known as a sinker nowadays. Ruth and Gehrig probably struck out back to back dozens of times (at least) over the years. So what the heck is so interesting about this?

It may have something to do with who Jackie Mitchell actually was... a seventeen year old girl. Yep, that's right. Her name was Virne Beatrice "Jackie" Mitchell, and she was the first female to ever be signed to a professional baseball contract.

And the strikeouts were no fluke. She came into the game in the first inning as a reliever after the starter, Clyde Barfoot, gave up a double and a single to the first two batters. The next two hitters were Ruth and Gehrig and it didn't look like Clyde was up to the task, so in came Jackie and out went the fearsome duo.

Ruth took ball one low, but swung and missed the next two and watched the last one catch the corner for a called third strike before throwing his bat in disgust. Some say he cursed the ump and kicked the dirt in what might be called a "hissy fit" today. So much for the "Sultan of Not."

As for the next batter up, Lou Gehrig outright whiffed on three straight sinkers and Jackie got a standing ovation from the crowd. She walked the next batter and was pulled for a new pitcher by the manager, who obviously had a sense of the historical value of the moment.

But no good deed goes unpunished. A few days later the commissioner of baseball, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, voided her contract. He claimed that the sport was "too strenuous for women." As for the Babe, he whined to the press: "I don't know what's going to happen if they begin to let women in baseball. Of course, they will never make good. Why? Because they are too delicate. It would kill them to play ball every day."

But not on that day, Babe, not on that day.

The Straight Story

2013-03-27T10:28:00.000-05:00

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1998, a chemical substance of great significance was approved for use in the USA by the FDA, after having been discovered by medical researchers in the UK two years before. It sailed through the approval process in an extraordinarily short time.

What could this invention accomplish that would be so important that its application shot straight to the top of the list? The question is hard, to say the least, but let's look first at some of the benefits that have been uncovered since that day.

Researchers in Israel and Australia have found that if the drug is dissolved in a vase of water it can extend the shelf life of cut flowers. It can make them stand up straight for up to a week beyond their natural life span. Amazing! It does that by slowing the breakdown of cGMP-specific phosphodiesterase type 5(cGMP), but you probably already guessed that.

The same process also slows down plant ripening. According to Wikipedia, "Tests were done on strawberries, legumes, roses, carnations, broccoli, and other perishables." Truly a wonder drug.

But that's not all. In 2007, three people in Argentina won the Nobel Prize in Aviation when they discovered that the same stuff aids jet lag recovery in hamsters. This had previously been a huge problem for the many hamsters who fly across multiple time zones. But no more, thanks to this wonder drug.

As impossible as it seems, the drug wasn't initially intended to fix these pressing problems. It seems that millions of men were having problems getting things straight. They had the same problem as the flowers that went limp too soon. The drug fixed that problem and formerly lethargic men became upstanding citizens.

The drug was Sildenafil citrate, more commonly known as Viagra. The people who use it are firm in their support and it became one of the biggest blockbuster drugs of all time.

Murder Isn't Funny, It's Hysterical

2013-03-18T13:25:00.001-05:00

The crime scene
Image = soonerfans.com

By Grant Davies

On this day (-2) in 1881, a woman made it clear to her boyfriend that he would never lay eyes on her again.

She did so by shooting him in the eye. The wound was fatal, of course, so the last thing Francisco "Chico" Forster saw was Lastania Abarta, his eighteen year old jilted lover.

The incident took place after Francisco leaped from a carriage that he was sharing (at their insistence) with Lastania and her sister Hortensia.

The problem stemmed from a slight misunderstanding among the parties. It seems that Chico had a habit of promising girls that if they slept with him he would marry them. And as hard as it is to believe, he really didn't mean it.

After a flirtatious encounter at a party where Lastania was singing, the two stole away to a nearby hotel where Chico stole the poor girl's virtue. It wasn't the first time Chico had pulled such a heist, he had two children out of wedlock already. When the "passionate affair of short duration" had concluded, Chico's plan was to tell Abarta that he was leaving to fetch a priest and a ring. The part about leaving was carried out, the rest...not so much.

So after a while, Lastania figured out that it was time to enlist her sister Hortensia to help find Chico and show him the way to the church. They found him at the race track (an unlikely place for him to find a priest) and strongly encouraged him to accompany them to the waiting carriage. But on the way to the nuptials, it seems the forty year old Francisco decided his future bride could be a tad too young for him and decided to hop out of the cab and elope, minus his betrothed. For Chico, the shotgun wedding turned out to be a pistol affair instead, and the rest is history.

Lastania went on trial, but her lawyers were an early version of OJ's dream team and they claimed she was driven by "female hysteria" (all the rage in 1881) because her brain was "clogged with blood." They had an expert witness, a certain Dr. Joseph Kurtz, who told the court that "Any virtuous woman, when deprived of her virtue, would go mad, undoubtedly." The spectators in the courtroom exploded in applause when he made that assertion and the jury took only twenty minutes to find her not guilty. She disappeared from LA right after her acquittal and was not heard from again.

The moral of the story is: if you decide to tell a girl that you will keep an eye out for her, be careful she isn't packing heat, or you may end up never seeing her again.

Chief Charlie Tokohama

2013-03-13T11:44:00.000-05:00

By Grant Davies

On this day (-2) in 1901, a native American named Tokohama (first name Chief), was signed to a contract to play major league baseball for the Baltimore Orioles. He was signed by John McGraw, one of the top baseball managers of that time, or any time.

Before being discovered by McGraw, Tokohama had played second base for the Columbia Giants of Chicago, a Negro League team.

When he played with them his name was Charlie Grant, and he was as black as any of them. Or at least as negro as any of them, because his complexion was light and his hair was straight, even if his story wasn't. In fact, he could easily pass as a native American. At least that's what John McGraw thought when he cooked up the whole idea of putting him in an Orioles' uniform.

During spring training that year, McGraw's team was staying at the Eastland Hotel in Hot Springs, Arkansas. When he saw Charlie playing in a pick-up game with fellow employees of the hotel where he worked as a bell-hop, he signed him up. He changed his name to Charlie Tokohama (after a nearby river of that name he saw on a hotel map) and the whole righteous deception was on its way.

Back then there was an unwritten rule against black people playing in the major leagues, but McGraw was no fan of the rule, and neither were a lot of other people. According to History.com, folks like Bob Feller, Ted Williams, Dizzy Dean, Paul Waner, Lloyd Waner and Jimmie Foxx, Hall of Famers all, thought the whole thing was BS. McGraw had long coveted the talent in the Negro Leagues, scouted their games on many occasions, and had been a proponent of integration.

But the whole thing unraveled when the team traveled to Chicago to play the White Sox. It seems that "Chief" Charlie was recognized there because he was such a stand-out player with his old team, the Columbia Giants. It didn't help that his friends threw him a big public celebration.

Another guy named Charlie (last name Comisky), who happened to own the White Sox, got wind of the plan and objected. Grant and McGraw stuck to their stories for a while, with Charlie claiming his father was white and his mother was a Cherokee living in Kansas. But McGraw finally couldn't withstand the pressure and left Tokohama off the opening day roster, claiming he was inexperienced as a fielder.

So Charlie Grant returned to his real identity, played in the Negro Leagues on a few different teams until 1916 and tragically died in a freak auto accident in 1932 when a passing car crashed into him after its "Yokohama Chief" tire exploded. (Okay, I made up the tire name. I couldn't help myself.)

Sadly, John McGraw, after winning eight National League pennants and three World Series, died in 1934, two years after Grant, and twelve years before Jackie Robinson integrated Major League baseball.

Remember the Cottonwood!

2013-03-08T08:38:00.001-06:00

Editors note:

We hope you have enjoyed the great stories by Art Cashin while I was in Florida on a research sabbatical. (Okay, I was visiting family and playing golf for nine days.) I will return to my scribbling next week. But don't worry, there are many more great stories in Mr. Cashin's collection to be published when I can't think of anything to write about.

Image = Son of the South.net

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 1836, a real estate transaction took place in San Antonio, Texas. The property happened to be an old Spanish mission called the Cottonwood. The existing holders of the property were about two hundred men under the command of a certain Col. Wm. Barret Travis. It was a volunteer group including some interesting names like Davey Crockett and Jim Bowie.

The people who eventually assumed title to the property were several thousand Mexican soldiers under the command of a certain General Santa Ana. When the transaction was executed, so were all two hundred Texans (only a woman and a baby survived).

Tales of this amazing self-sacrifice swept Texas and were compared to the mythically heroic stand at Thermopylae by three hundred Spartans in 480 B.C. Although Santa Ana and his men clearly won the battle (albeit with nearly 25% fatalities), the General made a nearly fatal error in the area we now call "spin control".

He felt he could intimidate these Texans by tales that his forces had been overwhelmingly large and were ruthlessly efficient. He hoped that imagery would frighten the Texans enough that defections would surge, collapsing the incipient rebellion. He dispatched riders to carry that tale and image to every corner of the Texas territory. Unfortunately, the only part of the story that caught on was the word "ruthlessly".

From town to town, tales sprang up of shooting the wounded and torturing and executing prisoners. Most prominent of the latter was former U.S. Congressman and frontier hero, Davey Crockett. Rapidly spreading folklore claimed Crockett had surrender, hoping to beg mercy for four wounded associates. No mercy was shown and legend said that Crockett was tortured and summarily executed by Santa Ana.

While historians can find no proof of that tale, it is said so many Texans believed it at the time, that Sam Houston denied mercy to Santa Ana's troops in Houston's victory at San Jacinto because of Santa Ana's behavior at the Mission. He reputedly said –"Mercy Sir? The kind you showed back then?"

But a great battle needs a great slogan and "Remember the Cottonwood!" lacked zing - - So they opted for the Spanish word for Cottonwood - - Alamo….thus "Remember the Alamo"....and a legend took off.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

The Ice Man Cometh

2013-03-05T12:21:00.000-06:00

Image = Todayinsci

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1806, one of the best examples of American capitalism took place. It had it all. A product that could be produced very cheaply. A group of people who could use the product. A clever but inexpensive means to transport the product from where it was made to where people needed it.

On this day in 1806, Fred Tudor arrived in the Caribbean port of Martinique. Tudor had sailed from Boston with a shipload of ice that had been harvested in the dead of winter from his dad's pond. Despite the claims of critics, Tudor made the ice last by insulating it with sawdust and hay (which were naturally to be washed off when the ice was sold).

The first day of Tudor's arrival was a smashing success. People paid high prices for the product he offered. But the next day...that was a problem. They had unloaded all the ice and, the boys at the dock, trying to be helpful, had washed off the insulation. Net result...night two...puddle of water...lots of screaming people offering to pay any price for the ice they now missed. Thus Tudor's ice idea was a failure...but he had
learned two key parts of marketing...keeping a product fresh (storage) and how once you create demand people will pay up in scarcity. He returned to Boston, poorer but wiser.

There he raised new capital and bought the rights to harvest ice from several local ponds. But travel got risky as the War of 1812 broke out. After the war, however, Tudor sent a ship to Havana...not with ice but with thick cedar planking and sawdust...he was going to build an ice-house in Havana to keep the ice fresh. Then he sent some ice to see if the ice-house worked. It did.

He then asked for a 10 year exclusive contract to be the sole supplier of ice to Cuba and Martinique. No one thought it was a big deal since folks were not used to having ice in those locales. Then he started giving the ice away, especially to bartenders (along with exotic frosty drink recipes). The "free ice" created a demand, so then Tudor began charging higher and higher prices (remember the exclusive).

This ingenious marketing concept was later adopted by King Gillette and is commonly called the razor/razorblade theory. (You practically give the razor away and when they need new blades only your blades fit that razor....Op. Cit. "Barbie & Ken dolls.")

Tudor went back to New England bought up the ice rights of hundreds of ponds, commissioned the manufacture of huge ice saws to cut the blocks of ice from the ponds. He compounded the strategy all through the South (one source says he invented the mint julep just to sell more ice).

For 80 years, Tudor and his heirs were the "Ice Kings" of America. All from a product nature supplies for free. And he became a multi-millionaire in the process.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Sam Colt's Invention

2013-02-27T09:47:00.001-06:00

Image =Biography.com

By Art Cashin

On this day (-2) in 1836, the government of the United States granted a patent on a device that would become the prototypical American weapon. And, by accident, its development would become a prototypical story of American invention.

The patent, of course, was awarded to Samuel Colt for his "single barrel pistol with a six chamber revolving breech." You and I (as well as Hoppy, Roy and Gene) knew it as a "six shooter." Colt's idea was not entirely unique. Several patents for revolvers had been granted earlier (one of the earliest was for a "12 shooter" but it, like the others, didn't work well). But Colt, who was 22 when he got the patent, showed his gun was practical (and at the time....it was the only way a man on horseback could get several shots off successfully).

Therefore, it seemed like a good idea and Colt found backers who helped him open "The Patent Arms Company" in Paterson, N.J. But despite rave notices for the weapon, sales were slow and the factory closed in 1842. Colt slipped closer to bankruptcy. Then in 1846, fate took another weird turn.

The U.S. was going to war with Mexico. And the Texans they were fighting for, suggested to the American Secretary of War that many of them were very happy with Mr. Colt's six shooter. So the Secretary of War ordered lots of them. That left Mr. Colt with several problems. 1) He had no factory. 2) He didn't have a six-shooter left to his name. He attacked the second one first. He advertised for samples of his own gun. Gun owners thought the ads meant the revolver was now a collector's item…..so they refused to sell. Colt was reduced to hiring a gunsmith to work from Colt's own original diagrams (with suggestions from the famous Texas Ranger - Sam Walker).

Finally.....when they had developed a prototype…..Colt needed to hurry things up. So he hired…..who else.....the son of Eli Whitney to implement the concepts of mass production and interchangeable parts. Within a decade the Colt .44 was the gun that was winning the West.

To celebrate go to some place with a swinging door and order six shots of red eye. And tell the surly looking guy with a facial tic and a mustache (down at the end of the bar), the immortal words of Hopalong Cassidy. "No matter how loud or how fierce the guy behind a rock sounds, if you count the bullets, when he's out of ammunition he's out of luck." Thanks Hoppy!

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Washington's Birthday, It's All Clear Now

2013-02-22T13:41:00.002-06:00

Image = rittenhoused.com

By Grant Davies

On this day, February 22, (minus one year and eleven days) in 1732, George Washington was born in Virginia. Well..maybe.

Let's start over again. On February 11, 1731, George Washington was born in Virginia.

And that's why we celebrate his birthday on the third Monday in February, which mathematically cannot occur any later than the 21st. So, as shocking as it may be to observers of government efficiency, it's a certainty that the country will never celebrate on his actual birthday. Or even his alternate birthday.

And if you are wondering about the year difference, don't blame me, call your congressman. I got the info from an official government site, so it can't be wrong. (I'm a little confused about that.)

Don't panic if you're confused too, we're going to sort this all out for you so you can celebrate it properly on "Presidents Day", which of course doesn't actually exist. Not officially anyway. And as long as we're on the subject, Washington's birthday doesn't count as an official national holiday.

Heck, I'm still confused and I'm the one writing this clarification. So just to be clear, or less un-clear, let's get this all down in bullet points. Just don't use the bullets on me.

Washington was actually born on February 11th, 1731. The calender being used some places (like here) at that time was the Julian calendar which was named after the same guy they named the salad for. And if you think this birthday stuff is confusing, just try to figure out the whole change-over thing. The guy who figured it out originally was a few minutes short of a year, if you know what I mean.
In 1752, (not sure which day) the Gregorian calendar was adopted, which was named after the same guy they named the chant for. So someone had to tell poor George that he was actually born on February 22, 1732. History doesn't record whether George was surprised, pleased, or chagrined. (Or whether he grinned, for that matter.)
Washington's Birthday is not a national holiday, it's a federal holiday. It only applies to federal government employees and the District of Columbia.
"Presidents Day" doesn't actually exist at all, except maybe for certain individual states. It's never been proclaimed by the federal government. In 1968, Congress passed the "Monday Holiday Law", so people, particularly federal employees, could have more three day weekends because everyone was working too hard.

To celebrate this clarification, visit Fraunces Tavern in NYC, where Geo said bye-bye to his troops, and have a toast to clarity. But be sure to stop drinking before things start to get blurry again.

Congratulations to Bob and Sara Aldworth! The 15 Seconds of Fame award for the idea behind this story has gained them a place in history! At least in Cheeky History. This is the first time this year the award has been given. We hope you will send us great ideas like this too. If we don't keep getting ideas for new posts, we might be history ourselves.

Please don't blame them for the dreadful writing or any inaccuracies we may have committed. It was only their idea, anything awful is my fault.

Mardi Gras Quake

2013-02-22T08:59:00.000-06:00

image = oldprint.com

By Art Cashin

On this day (+1) in 1887, throughout large sections of the world, Christians prepared for 40 days of Lenten repentance by doing lots of repentable things.

In some countries, the carrying-on was called "Fasching" or "Shrovetide" or "Carnevale." But in France it was called "Mardi Gras" and was a national running, sinning start on Lent.

Anyway, on this particular day, along the French Riviera, the partying was grinding to a reluctant halt. In the pre-dawn hours, in costumes and in an alcoholic fog revelers began heading toward their villages. Suddenly, in village after village the church bells began to ring.

Clearly it was too early for morning Mass, be it Ash Wednesday or not. Then came the second realization - the bells were ringing because the earth had begun to tremble. Freshly laden with sin and lacking the expected luxury of 40 days of atonement, nervous villagers hastened for church and the chance of absolution.

Unfortunately, further shocks toppled steeples onto the would-be penitents. Then whole villages began to collapse or slide away. And the aftermath was particularly macabre as so many bodies in Harlequin and Jester costumes lay, peering out with lifeless eyes beneath the rubble.

Before it ended, thousands died in what became known as the Mardi Gras Quake. Back then folks thought natural calamity was brought on by sin. We, of course, know that this theory must be false since, thank goodness, we would have slid into a banking crisis by now.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

In the Line of Fire - A Short Story

2013-02-19T15:09:00.000-06:00

By Art Cashin

On this day (-4) in 1933, a man set out to change history. Now, I know it is hard for you to believe but this guy almost succeeded. Even harder for you to believe this guy was a…..well…..what they used to call a psychopathic malcontent. Now, living in the calm and peace of America in these times you probably wonder what a psychopathic malcontent might be.

Well, in this case, he was altitudinally challenged (4' 10"), authoritatively alienated (his father hit him once), stress raged (his stomach hurt and he threw up occasionally). Not having the opportunity to appear on a talk show he decided the only chance he had to resolve his problems was to kill somebody important.

So, in his late teens, in his native Italy, he decided to kill the King (Victor Emmanuell II). When he discovered the King lived too far away to commute on a donkey, he changed plans.

Eventually, he came to the U.S. Upon arriving in the U.S., he decided to kill the sitting President Calvin Coolidge. But ...lacking a donkey to reach the Prez…..he gave up on the idea. He spent several years pacing about in smoldering hostility. (Remember....no TV talk show outlets.) Then he resolved to kill President Hoover…..until he heard it was cold and snowy in Washington D.C.

Then it all came together. He learned that the President-elect (FDR) was to speak in Miami (rather close to home). So, on this day, he bought a gun and went out to become famous. Much to his surprise he discovered many people had come out to see the President-elect. Now if you are 4' 10", it is not only difficult to shoot the President in a crowd of thousands…..it's difficult even to see him. So, the would-be assassin pushed his way through the human sequoias, jumped up on a chair and started firing. He missed FDR completely but fatally wounded the Mayor of Chicago, Anton Cermak who was travelling with FDR.

The tiny terrorist, Guiseppe Zangara, was arrested on the spot. Within 33 days, he was arraigned, indicted, convicted and electrocuted. (Of course that was before the Patriot Act.)

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Fatty Got a Bum Rappe

2013-02-13T00:45:00.000-06:00

Image=callmefatty.com

By Grant Davies

On this day (-10) in 1922, a murder trial of a big Hollywood star was concluded. One of them anyway. In the final one, the jury found the defendant not guilty. In fact, they found him innocent. Some of you who watch "Court TV" know what a rare thing that is. The jury actually sent a statement along with the verdict. It read in part, "Acquittal is not enough. We feel that a great injustice has been done to him . . . there was not the slightest proof adduced to connect him in any way with the commission of a crime.”

When I describe the accused as a big star, I mean it literally. As in very, very big. His name was Roscoe, but you can just call him "Fatty", that's what everyone else called him. Roscoe was obese and had been since he was born. He weighed in at an unlucky 13 pounds. Unlucky for him, and definitely unlucky for his mother, (I can almost see you readers wincing right now) who only lived another dozen years. Some say she never quite recovered from the strain of delivery.

Roscoe's middle name was Conkling. Odd, you might think, to name your son after a pompous, philandering fool of a politician named Roscoe Conkling. (Thankfully we don't have any of those types now-a-days.) But his father had his reasons. You see, he was a skinny fellow and his wife was a small girl, so when he saw the size of the baby he immediately assumed she had been sleeping (okay, not actually sleeping) with someone other than him. To display his suspicions to the rest of the world he decided to name the child after a womanizer. And that is how Roscoe Conkling "Fatty" Arbuckle got his name.

Anyway, Fatty was charged with raping and murdering an actress named Virginia Rappe. The problem for the prosecution was simple in retrospect. The victim was never raped and she wasn't murdered. She died from a ruptured bladder and secondary peritonitis. But that didn't keep them from saying that Fatty caused the rupture when he sat on her while he was raping her at a cocktail party in his hotel.

It took three trials before they got it all sorted out. The witnesses for the prosecution were all discredited in the end and the truth seems to be that this poor girl, who was a tad troubled by alcoholism, venereal diseases, and "sleepwitheveryoneitis", probably died as a result of an abortion gone bad. (One of many she had in her life, two by the time she was 16 years of age according to some reports.) To this day there is plenty of controversy about the facts of the case.

The newspapers all got rich covering the whole sordid affair while Fatty got poor defending himself. Even though proclaimed innocent, he was blackballed out of show business and his career was destroyed by the media. He took to the bottle and died of a heart attack in his sleep at the ripe old age of 46.

To sum it all up, it looks like Roscoe got screwed alright, but it was by the DA and the media, not Virginia. Thank goodness that kind of sensationalism finally faded away. Today's news media is much more interested in reporting the news than hyping juicy celebrity scandals for money.

Editor's disclaimer.. The "facts" of this story are disputed by many. There seems to be a cottage industry built on speculation about it and several books have been written on the subject.

The Shortest Distance to Power is Not a Straight Line

2013-02-12T07:39:00.000-06:00

By Art Cashin

On this day (-1) in 1812, Governor Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts was asked to arbitrate an important matter in the new nation.

Who better could you want? Gerry had signed the Declaration of Independence, been part of the Constitutional Convention and served as a member of Congress, before becoming Governor of Massachusetts.

As a father of our country, Gerry was asked to determine the lines of reapportionment for the State's senatorial delegation. He proceeded to draw a group of crooked lines that made a random walk look like a moonshot.

Amazingly, these squiggles happened to coincide with the strong points of Gerry's party. And a new word entered the language - Gerrymander - meaning to abuse your power in order to enhance the election chances of your friends and yourself. In the American tradition of justice, Gerry was punished by being elected the Vice President of the United States under James Madison one-year later.

Luckily for the nation no person known to do anything crooked or even to show favoritism to his friends was ever sent to the White House again.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Don't Worry, the Dollar is as Good as Gold

2013-02-08T08:39:00.001-06:00

Image = businessinsider.com

By Art Cashin

On this day (-3) in 1895, America was in a funny financial spot. Well, it was a bit over a hundred and seventeen years ago today - so - I guess you deserve an explanation. Let me see....if I remember what Sister Herman Joseph taught me - that different America of a century ago looked something like this:

The economy appeared to be struggling. There was a Democrat in the White House. Congress was divided and squabbling, hostilely and uncivilly. Some thought the debates were so coarse and rude they spoke of forming a new political party.

Technology was the new mantra even after a bumpy start and telecommunications were exploding (in use if not profitability). Much of the country was in the grip of unusual and extreme weather. And...oh yeah....I almost forgot....suddenly folks had begun talking about gold....can you imagine "gold!"

Anyway, despite what pundits of the day thought, gold had begun to rise. Now, in 1895, the old U.S. was on the old "gold exchange standard." That meant, whether citizen or foreigner, if you thought public policy was not to your liking, you could hand in your green pictures of dead presidents and get gold - real, glistening, bite into it to check it, gold.

As hard as it is for us to believe today, a goodly number of those citizens distrusted what they saw in Washington. Gold rose and soon began to bubble and the dollar began to slide. The rush to exchange dollars might deplete the gold of the U.S. Treasury and cause a default. Imagine - a time when the government wrestled with the question of default.

So - to avoid chaos - the President sought the help of the one man who could control the banks, who could calm Wall Street, who - in short - could find a way to halt the run on the dollar and government reserves. (No Virginia, it was not Ben Bernanke - there was no Federal Reserve.)

Thus, on this day in 1895, the President of the U.S. sat down with a certain J.P. Morgan seeking the latter's help in saving the country. Morgan allowed as how he might just happen to know one fellow who could put the government into default that very afternoon. (The President never asked if it was Morgan, himself.) Morgan conveniently recalled some obscure Civil War legislation that allowed the President to issue bonds to buy gold. The same law said the bonds could be sold secretly (without bidding). But who would buy them? Well, Morgan allowed as how it was probably his civic duty (along with that of his syndicate) to not only buy the new secret bonds but to buy up some gold and recycle it to the Treasury for the dollars he paid for the bonds. And all this for just a small commission.

To mark this anniversary recall the words of Warren Buffett - "There's always a silver lining" - or was that Jimmy Buffett?

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Richard III, for the Second Time

2013-02-05T09:45:00.000-06:00

By Grant Davies

On this day in 2013, this blog is posting about King Richard III for the second time. It was just about six months ago that the first story was published. You can read that one here if you missed it the first time around.

Since then not much has changed, at least not for the King. He's still dead. But they have been poking around his bones ever since they dug him up from beneath a car park. (That's a parking lot for those of us who speak English, er, American.) And what they discovered was that the bones actually belonged to the King. A little DNA detective work confirmed what they already suspected; he was related to Michael Ibsen, a Canadian cabinetmaker.

Ibsen himself was a little taken aback by the news since he didn't think they could prove he was related to Richard and therefore couldn't be held responsible for funeral costs. I think Mike is off the hook, but you never know nowadays. Money is tight right now and he would have to make a lot of cabinets to raise the dough to pay for raising his dead relative.

So the proof is positive, and they learned a lot about the old King. At least about how he died anyway. Just as reported back then, someone on the battleground at Bosworth Field in 1485 gave Richard a mind expanding experience and he couldn't endure the strain. (All of this is explained, and there is some really cool, gory pictures at the link above if you are as ghoulish as I am.)

As for me, I gained a lot of respect for Richie. Anyone who will still go into battle himself instead of sending a drone, has some set of...bones. As you can see from the picture above, he had some significant spinal problems that might have kept him out of the military draft if there had been one. 4-F for sure at my draft board.

So here's a great video that explains the whole thing in a way that you might find interesting. The King is dead, long live the King's bones.

Hat tip to Jim Franzen for finding the video.

Drinking and Driving, It Could Save Your Life

2013-01-31T04:00:00.000-06:00

Editors foreword:
Last evening when I read the following story by our gracious contributor Art Cashin, in his highly regarded market letter "Cashin's Comments", I was a tad surprised to find that it was out of order. That's because his historical musings (as I refer to them) are found at the beginning of the market letter, not in the middle where I found this one.

Truth be told, it's the rare day anymore when I read much past the history lesson. I guess the 42 years I spent in the markets was quite enough for me and I don't keep up with the day to day ebb and flow of market movements like I did when I wore a younger man's trading jacket.

So even though Art still stays on the cutting edge of the markets, the man is no one trick pony, and he was wearing his reporter's hat when he passed this story along.

But your editor is no slouch either when it comes to recognizing history. And even though this tale is contemporary, I'm pretty confident that it's a historical first. I'm also more confident than Art that it's true.

By Art Cashin

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

This questionable story was passed along by a normally reliable source:

The County Kerry Council in southwest Ireland passed a measure on Monday that allows rural drivers to legally drive while under the influence of alcohol. The council voted 5-3 – with 12 absent and seven abstaining – to issue special permits to individuals who live in rural areas and wish to drive home on remote countryside roads after consuming two to three alcoholic beverages. The council will have to rely on Justice Minister Alan Shatter to implement the changes to current drinking and driving laws by issuing special permits.

Councilor and County Kerry pub owner Danny Healy-Rae introduced the bill, arguing that citizens driving while intoxicated in rural areas have never killed anyone. He defended the measure by asserting that it would prevent loneliness and reduce the risk of suicides among those who live in Ireland’s back-country.

“A lot of these people are living in isolated rural areas where there’s no public transport of any kind, and they end up at home looking at the four walls, night in and night out, because they don’t want to take the risk of losing their license,” Healy-Rae told The Journal.ie.

What raised strong doubts in my mind was the bizarre vote. The vote was 5 to 3 with 12 absent and 7 abstaining. That would make it a 27 seat panel that saw a key issue narrowly voted by 8 members. These folks would make the U.S. House of Representatives look like a pillar of rectitude.

To address our suspicious, we may have to arrange a research trip to County Kerry. We'll need a couple of rehearsal sessions first.

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Nothing More than a Poem

2013-01-29T11:03:00.001-06:00

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1845, a very troubled man had his very troubled poem published in the New York Evening Mirror, a very troubled newspaper. In fact, he was employed by the paper at the time but left that job within the next month, perhaps because he was paid only $9 for the effort. It made him famous but he may have preferred more money at the time. Since those are only my speculations, and I'm too lazy to do the research to find out why he left, you can be sure they will never end up in any credible account of his life.

The poem was of course, The Raven. And the poe was Edgar Allen Poet. (Based on that line alone, he wasn't the only writer with problems.) Anyway, the poem was a hit at the time and seems to be doing fairly well even 168 years later so, all in all, it was worth more than a measly 9 bucks.

Poe had a lot of well documented problems, and if you want to be as depressed as he seemed, you can look them up yourself. I don't want to be the one to drive anyone to drink since it might discourage them from driving me somewhere so I can have a drink.

But I will mention a few because they seem to have influenced many of his poems and stories. In addition to his drinking problem, Poe had a few problems with women. The latter almost certainly the result of the former. He failed at his goal of marrying a few different Sarahs, Sarah Elmira Royster, and Sarah Helen Whitman. And while he was married he was embroiled in scandals involving a few different women, Frances Sargent Osgood and Elizabeth F. Ellet. The scandals, it seemed, were a significant cause of his wife's health problems.

Oh, did I forget to mention his wife? Well, Poe seems to have had a peculiar interest in younger women, um, girls actually, since when he married Virginia Eliza Clemm in 1835 she was only thirteen years old. He was twenty-seven, and she was his first cousin. Today, either of those things might land a poet in a quiet place to write, with bars. Poe, it seemed, liked bars, but probably not the iron variety.

Image = Wikipedia

There is only one authenticated image of Virginia known to exist, the one on the right. If she looks a little lifeless it may be because it was painted after she was already dead. The artist used her possibly still warm body as a model a few hours after she died. There doesn't seem to be much in Poe's life that wasn't bizarre, including many of his stories, so a picture of a corpse fits right in.

To celebrate this day, gather some friends and visit The Annabel Lee in Baltimore so you can root for the Ravens to win the Super Bowl next weekend. But after putting in your drink order, when the waitress asks you if she can bring you something else, just answer as Edgar might have, "This it is, and nothing more."

Gottfried Kicked the Bucket

2013-01-24T11:20:00.001-06:00

Image courtesy
of Ale House.com

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1935, one of the most important innovations in history was introduced to a test audience. It received a 90% approval rating with that group, and that was enough to set a whole industry humming with its new offering.

The product itself was fairly new, only about 6000 years old, and was still being tested by a lot of people. I still test it myself to this very day. Almost every day.

But it was the method of delivery that was innovative, not the product itself. The product needed an improved method of packaging so it could be delivered more efficiently.

You see, the product was liquid. And before this time it tended to spill during delivery and it didn't keep well after it arrived. First it was carried in small buckets, and later it was packaged in glass bottles.

The bottles, even though far superior than the pails, had plenty of drawbacks. They were heavy, tended to break easily, and had to be washed out before being re-filled again. They also were expensive as hell and the end user had to pay a deposit on them each time they were purchased.

image courtesy of
Dan Morean's Breweriana.com

So on this day back then, a company named Gottfried Krueger did something no one else had tried; it put its product into a can. Of course various foods had been canned before, but not this most precious of all liquids, beer.

Once the whole brewing industry caught up, and canned beer became commonplace, people could get sloshed in their own homes without worrying that the golden nectar itself would slosh out while their 12 year old sons carried it home from the local gin mill, er..ale house, in a bucket. (Today, they put the bottles inside a bucket and sell them during "happy hour." Progress is a beautiful thing.)

Without this innovation my teen-aged friends and I couldn't have poked a hole in the bottom of a beer can, put it up to our mouths, and simultaneously popped the pull ring on the top so we could drink an entire beer in about 4 seconds. Think of all the fun we would have missed.

I guess you had to be there...

Editors note -- Permission to use the images of the early beer cans was not in time for original publication of the article, but I think they are very rare and quite interesting so they are being added now. The site they were taken from is quite interesting if you like "breweriana." In fact the site can be found at Breweriana.com.