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 "Hey! Shouldn't you be gettin' back to work or somethin'? |
Greetings once again from The Spark. We don't know about you, but last week's epic nearly killed us in the writing, so this week's will be shorter, and, we hope, sweeter.
Monday:
Let's begin by noting that it's Ask a Stupid Question Day, created by teachers to let their students ask away without fear of mockery. We agree that the idea is a good one, for those questions may well lead to good answers, though probably not as good as the one Albert Einstein asked in 1905, when the physics journal "Annalen der Physik" published his paper "Does the Inertia of a Body Depend Upon Its Energy Content?" and got the answered "E=mc²." We’re not claiming to understand either the question or the answer, but physicists sure did.
That wasn't the only question answered on this day, though. In 1822, French linguist Jean-Francois Champollion announced that he had deciphered the Rosetta Stone. For those unwilling to ask, it’s an engraved slab that had been discovered in 1799 in Rashid (or Rosetta), Egypt, and combined ancient hieroglyphics with Egyptian and Greek letters. Champollion’s deciphering of the text gave archaeologists their first real means to interpret ancient pictographs. It’s been on display in the British Museum since 1802, and is the most-visited object in that institution to this day.
If you're still interested in trivia, we point you to the small town of Lancaster, PA. In 1777, it was the capital of the United States -- but for only one day. Speaking of the capital reminds us of politics, which reminds us of cartoonist Thomas Nast, born on this day in 1840. Nast was, among other things, the man who gave us the Republican elephant, the Democratic donkey, Uncle Sam, and the modern depiction of Santa Claus.
Not so jolly was Henry Ford. In 1908, Ford’s first Model T rolled off the assembly line. The automobile went on sale Oct. 1 for $825 (just under $20,000 in modern currency), but soon became a national sensation, opening up personal transportation for the masses. By 1925, Ford's assembly line technique had become so efficient, that the price of the car had dropped to $265 -- or just over $3,000 today).
Turning to television, we see that today is not only the 56th anniversary of "Tonight!" -- which soon became "The Tonight Show" hosted by Steve Allen (and today is the 90th birthday of Steve's widow, Jayne Meadows), we also see that coming up on the October 1st is the 48th anniversary of Johnny Carson taking over the "Tonight" host's chair he'd occupy for the next 29 years. Unfortunately, NBC, not sensing any historical value in the show, erased most of the tapes of the show's early years. In fact, it's only in the last couple of weeks that the audio track of the first three minutes of Carson's first show surfaced after decades of being lost. (Unfortunately, the video is still missing.) "Tonight" was a real gamble on the part of NBC executive Sylvester "Pat" Weaver (father of Sigourney Weaver, by the way), in that no one knew if anyone would stay up into the wee hours to watch TV. I think we know the answer to that particular question nowadays ... (For those who need help, though, it is National Coffee Day.)
We see that the new season of "Sesame Street" begins today, but we assume we won't be seeing any sign of Katy Perry.
Tuesday:
In 1901, Ed Sullivan was born. Sullivan came to fame in the 1920s and '30s covering Broadway and Hollywood gossip (not to mention his bitter feuds with rival columnist Walter Winchell). From 1948 to 1971, though, he became in integral part of American culture by hosting a weekly variety show that featured singers, plate spinners, ventriloquists, comedians, and everything in between in an attempt to entertain every part of the audience.
Variety shows like Sullivan's have all but disappeared from the airwaves, but there's one that began decades before his program and continues to the present day -- this day especially, as, following the tragic floods in Tennessee this spring, the Grand Ole Opry will return to its home to continue its 85-year tradition of broadcasting the finest in country music.
That's not the only show tonight, though. On PBS, Ken Burns's "The Tenth Inning" premieres, continuing his 1994 series on the history of baseball. Ironically, the show airs on the 90th anniversary of one of the game's greatest scandals: the indictment of eight members of the Chicago White Sox, who were accused of throwing the 1919 World Series to the Cincinnati Reds.
Gambling itself may be a disease, but it’s not one that can be cured with antibiotics, like penicillin, which Alexander Fleming discovered on this day in 1928. Dr. Fleming noticed that one of the molds in his lab was killing bacteria. Within months, he had released it to the world, giving doctors an irreplaceable tool in the treating of disease. (Speaking of gambling, we’d like to think we could win a bet that the transition into that paragraph was one of the most awkward ever.)
Wednesday:
On the docket today: the 110th birthday of singing cowboy Gene Autry. Autry had worked as a ranch hand in his youth, but realized his future lay in entertainment. By 1928, he was singing on the radio; by 1929, he was making records; and by 1934, he was making movies. The pictures were cheaply made, but from 1936 to 1954 (with time out for service in World War II), he was one of the top-grossing stars in Hollywood. He was able to parlay his screen fame into a broadcasting empire and ownership of the (then) California Angels. When he died in 1998 (a mere three days after turning 91), he was one of the wealthiest men in America and remains the only person with five stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Thursday:
You ever played with a Frisbee? Of course you have -- well, either a Frisbee or a generic flying plastic disc. In 1958, the Wham-O company patented the toy. It, which was originally named the "Pluto Platter," but got its present name with Wham-O executive heard that Boston college kids (who were used to sailing pie plates from the local Frisbie Pie Company) were calling the platters "frisbies," and the rest is marketing history.
We don't believe they had Frisbees in Bedrock (after all, everything in that town is made of rock, which doesn’t tend to sail real well), but if they did, we would have found out about them starting 50 years ago tonight, when "The Flintstones" premiered in prime time on ABC.
While the Frisbee and "The Flintstones" were good ideas, tonight is the chance to celebrate not-so-good ideas, as the annual Ig Nobel Prizes will be awarded for discoveries "that cannot, or should not, be reproduced." In other words, they're the gold standard for bad ideas.
In 1954, singer and actress Julie Andrews made her Broadway debut, starring in the musical "The Boy Friend," the day before she turned 19. (She, of course, turns 75 tomorrow.)
On a sadder note, it was on this day in 1955, that actor James Dean was killed in a car crash. Dean had made only a few films (though he'd made numerous appearances on live television dramas), but his personality and acting style influenced and impacted a generation of Americans and actors.
Friday:
Beginnings and endings today:
In 1890, both Yosemite National Park and Yellowstone National Park were established by the U.S. Congress.
In 1957, the words "In God We Trust" made their first appearance on U.S. paper currency. (Frankly, we were surprised it was so late in American history.)
In 1968, George A. Romero's "Night of the Living Dead" opened, beginning a cycle that has subjected audiences to an endless series of zombie and vampire movies. Talk about not dying!
For those who can't get enough Disney (in which number we do not include ourselves), in 1971, Walt Disney World opened in Orlando, FL, followed in 1982 by the EPCOT Center. EPCOT, which is an acronym for “Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow” was intended by Uncle Walt to be a testing ground for new and innovative domestic theories and products, soon turned into just another tourist trap. Oh, well; the best-laid plans of mice ...
On the same day that EPCOT opened, Sony introduced their first compact disc player (the CDP-101, which looks about as big as a Buick). While nowadays, the CD is just about as dead as vinyl, it was, in its time, beyond ultra-modern.
The farewell is from Babe Ruth. Ruth's name has come to be synonymous with baseball, and while his hitting prowess speaks for itself, he’d be a Hall of Famer for his pitching alone. He was one of the greatest left-handers of all time, winning almost 100 games in his career. In 1933, he made his final appearance on the mound, beating his former team, the Boston Red Sox, 6-5. He pitched all nine innings, giving up twelve hits (no strikeouts), and hitting a homer.
Finally, today is International Raccoon Appreciation Day. If only it were Weasel Appreciation Day, we could feel sorry for Tony Hayward, who's stepping down as the head of BP.
Saturday:
Today's birthdays include three of the greatest comedians in showbiz history. First is Groucho Marx (1890), the most verbose of the Marx Brothers, who turned insults and wisecracks into an art form. Second is Bud Abbott (1895), who partnered for years with Lou Costello, and who is generally considered the greatest straight man of all time. Last is George "Spanky" McFarland, the child actor who became the leader of the kid group known as either "Our Gang" and "The Little Rascals."
Two other birthdays are of men who couldn't be more different. 1452 saw the birth of England's King Richard III. Shakespeare painted Richard as a manipulator who lied and murdered his way to the throne, but recent reappraisals have called him either benevolent or, at worst, benign. The other is Mohandas Gandhi (1869), better known as Mahatma Gandhi, whose nonviolent policies led to the independence of India from the British Empire.
In that period of history (the late 19th century), that empire spanned the globe, so that it was the perfect atmosphere for the fictional Phileas Fogg to make his 1872 wager that he could travel around the world in eighty days. Fogg used almost every means of transportation available to him in those less-advanced times, except a hot-air balloon, which makes this week's International Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque, NM, slightly ironic.
Three anniversaries that we've tried to link, but just can't: In 1919, President Woodrow Wilson suffered a massive stroke, which left him partially paralyzed and unable to fulfill his duties, so until his recovery, the country was basically run by his wife Edith. Charles M. Schulz's comic strip "Peanuts" began running. Schulz ended the strip in 2000, and in an odd twist of fate, died the day before the last Sunday page ran.
Finally in 1959, "The Twilight Zone" premiered. Even though it ran only five seasons, it's still the gold standard for creepy television, and its guitar-riff theme song, which signifies something odd happening, is known to even those who never saw the show.
Sunday:
Let's begin the end of the week by wishing Barack and Michelle Obama a happy 18th wedding anniversary. (And just to remind you, Mr. President, porcelain is the traditional gift.)
Like the "Odd Couple" juxtaposition of Gandhi and Richard above, today's pairing is just as jarring. In 1873, Emily Post was born. She devoted her life to the gospels of etiquette and good manners. On the other hand, we have Harvey Kurtzman, born in 1902. Kurtzman gave us, among other things, Mad Magazine (the original, funny version), and his sense of humor has influenced pretty much everyone from the Pythons to the writers of the National Lampoon (again, the original, funny version), who went on to create or inspire everything from "Animal House" to "Saturday Night Live," and even David Letterman. By extension, Kurtzman influenced almost every American comedian and comedy movie of the second half of the Twentieth Century.
There are exceptions, though, such as "The Andy Griffith Show," which premiered in 1960, or "The Dick Van Dyke Show" (1961). The contrast of the two shows, with their respective rural and urban perspectives, set the standards for television comedies for the next ten years, even if they were neither particularly satirical nor Kurtzmanesque.
We'll close the week by mentioning that it’s the 15th anniversary of O.J. Simpson being acquitted of the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, and then pausing while you say, "That's fifteen years ago? Wow."
See you next time!
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 The most famous shot in "A Trip to the Moon." Special effects have gotten slightly better in the century since. |
Welcome once more to The Spark, your weekly digest of events and happenings and information in the Yahoo! Directory to help you appreciate them more.
As we begin this last Spark before the Labor Day holiday, we have to ask just where in the heck the summer went. Seems like it was Memorial Day about five minutes ago, and now kids are back in school and Fall is lurking around the corner.
Anyway, let's look at the week ahead.
Monday:
It's a day for monsters and creators. In the former category, we have Benedict Arnold, who on this day in 1780, secretly promised to surrender the Continental Army's fort at West Point, NY, to the British. Arnold was an egomaniac, who was frustrated with the lack of attention he had received, and what better way to get attention than to commit treason?
Speaking of outsized egos, we note that today would have been the 127th birthday of Huey Long, the "Kingfish" who ran Louisiana like a private fiefdom until he was gunned down in 1935. Long ruled the state as both governor and senator, and his campaign slogan of "Every Man a King" mixed populism and fascism in equal measure.
But let us not mention only those who destroy, let's celebrate those who create. When thinking of monsters, one almost automatically turns to thoughts of Dr. Frankenstein and his creation, for which we owe thanks to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, born in 1793, she wrote her novel, "Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus," at the tender age of 18.
And where would kids (and parents) be today without Babar? Laurent de Brunhoff (born in 1925), is son of Jean de Brunhoff, who created the elephant king, and who continued his adventures when his father died.
Of course, those kids grow up to be teenagers and young adults, and where would they be without Robert Crumb, who turns 73 today? Crumb was in the vanguard of the underground comix movement of the 1960s, and he’s still active and creative, and his influence on modern pop culture is incalculable.
And what would pop culture be without the Beatles? One hesitates to guess, but you can try to get a handle on it this week at the International Beatle Week in Liverpool, England.
Of course, the Beatles played in the Ed Sullivan Theatre in New York when they made their American debut in 1964, and that theatre is today home to the Late Show with David Letterman, which made its own debut in "the Ed" in 1993.
A nice contrast to end the day. Gazillionaire Warren Buffett hits the big 8-0 today, and out in the Nevada desert, Burning Man begins. The best thing we can say about Burning Man is that it gets all those people who want to go to Burning Man in one spot away from the rest of us.
Tuesday:
More monsters. In 12, Gaius Caligula was born. Though the surviving sources are incomplete, Caligula was one of the most notorious Roman emperors of them all, known for the stories of his cruelty, instability, and sexual perversion. (We won’t deal with them here, but you can find the stories easily enough.)
But Caligula isn't the only monster we note. On this date in 1888, Mary Ann Nichols was murdered and became the first of known victim of Jack the Ripper.
And, of course, in 1928, Berlin saw the premiere of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill’s "Die Dreigoschenoper" (known in English as "The Threepenny Opera"), with its main character, the vicious murderer Captain Macheath, better known as "Mack the Knife." In 1959, Bobby Darin had a huge hit with that song (which is really odd, when one considers it's about a mass murderer killing people), and Friday will see the 51st anniversary of that song being banned by WCBS radio in New York City. At the time, there had been a series of teenage stabbings in the city, and the station didn't want to those crazy teens any ideas.
And while marijuana possession is small potatoes compared to all of the above, we see that, in 1948, actor Robert Mitchum was arrested in a Hollywood drug bust, and was eventually sentenced to 60 days in prison, a scandal which in those days threatened to kill his career, but nowadays would rate only a passing mention on "Entertainment Tonight."
All this talk of criminals and murderers makes us long for a hero, and fortunately, in 1942, "The Adventures of Superman" radio series began airing on the Mutual Broadcasting System.
Wednesday:
All we have for today is that in 1902, George Melies’s "A Trip to the Moon," was released in France and became the world’s first science fiction film.
Thursday:
So, in 490 BCE, the Athenian army was at Marathon, battling with Persia. The herald Pheidippides was sent to Sparta for help. He ran the 150 miles in two days, but because of religious laws, the Spartans couldn't send any help, so he ran back. In spite of not having the extra troops, Athens won the battle. And poor Phidippides took off again, this time running the 26.2 miles from Marathon to Athens to carry the news of the victory. He gasped out his last words, "We have won," and dropped dead of exhaustion. The lesson: do not underestimate the usefulness of warm-ups and warm-downs.
In 1666, the Great Fire of London began in the wooden house of King Charles II's baker. By the time it ended three days later, more than 13,000 houses, including St Paul's Cathedral, had burned to the ground -- but amazingly, only six people had died.
If you were living in England in 1752, tomorrow would have been September 14th. While most of the rest of the world had switched from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar in 1582, the stubborn Brits had stuck to their guns. But, after nearly 200 years, there was an eleven-day discrepancy between the two calendars, and the English had no choice but to convert. There were actual riots, as people cried, "Give us back our eleven days!" But it was to no avail. Great Britain and her colonies were dragged kicking and screaming into the 18th century.
Speaking of fighting against reality, in 1934, singer Russ Columbo accidentally shot himself to death. Columbo was a wildly popular singer and actor, and when he killed himself (with an antique gun that was supposedly unloaded), his friends thought the news would prove fatal to his mother, so for the last years of her life, those friends created an elaborate ruse, sending postcards and letters from far-off locations, and using his records to simulate a radio show. In 1944, Mrs. Columbo died, never suspected that her son had died a decade before.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday:
Let's talk about pioneers this weekend.
First, there's Louis Sullivan, born in 1856. Sullivan is, for all intents and purposes, the man who invented the skyscraper. Since Chicago had had its own giant fire in 1871, Sullivan had the opportunity and the laboratory to erest steel-framed buildings that towered over anything built before.
In 1833, 10-year-old Barney Flaherty answered an ad in "The New York Sun" and became the first world's first newsboy, which is why we celebrate Newspaper Carrier Day today -- at least for those relatively few Americans who still have newspapers carried to them.
Sunday would have been the 163rd birthday of Jesse James. Jesse was not the first Western outlaw, but he was the first to become world famous while plying his dubious trade.
1885 saw the opening of the Exchange Buffet in New York City. It was the first self-service restaurant (read, "cafeteria") in the United States. We don't know if they served chocolate (we'd guess yes), but whether they did or not, it's World Chocolate Day Friday, so you can serve yourself and indulge.
In 1888, George Eastman registered the trademark "Kodak" (for the clicking sound a camera's shutter makes) and received a patent for his camera that used rolled film. Eastman's "Brownie" camera came from the factory loaded with enough film for 100 photos. When the roll was complete, the customer would mail the whole camera back to the factory in Rochester, NY, where the pictures would be developed and sent back along with a new camera.
Sunday is the 81st birthday of comedian Bob Newhart. Newhart is a two-time pioneer, having been in the forefront of the stand-up comedy revolution of the 1950s, when he transformed himself from "button-down accountant" to a comedian with the top-selling album in America. Then, in the '70s, his sitcom, "The Bob Newhart Show," set new standards for writing, ensemble acting, and just plain goofiness.
The weekend before Labor Day always marks the annual Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon. While it's easy to criticize the telethon for its corniness and out-of-date show business aesthetic, it's impossible to deny Lewis's commitment and ability to raise money -- nearly a billion-and-a-half dollars since 1966.
Lastly, we'll note the 98th birthday of the late avant-garde composer John Cage with 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence.
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 Well, that's what it all comes down to, doesn't it? |
Welcome once more to The Spark, your source for a deep dig into the week's events. Let's begin, shall we?
Monday:
The week begins with the anniversaries of the deaths of a couple of prominent Southerners. It's hard to determine which was the more notable, though. Obviously, Elvis Presley dying in 1977 got more ink (and the good people at FTD had more orders for flowers to be delivered to Graceland than for any other event or place), and his effect on pop culture is incalculable, but in 1888, John Pemberton died in Atlanta, three years after inventing Coca-Cola. Memphians will note the anniversary with Elvis Week, but we don’t think Atlantans will be celebrating Pemberton Week, so Mr. Presley may get the nod.
But Elvis and Dr. Pemberton aren’t the only prominent folks who died on this date. In 1956, Bela Lugosi died. Lugosi was so identified with Count Dracula that he resented the way the role had typecast him, so it was odd that he chose to be buried in the Dracula cape he had worn on stage and screen. In 1948, baseball legend Babe Ruth died. Had he lived another six years, he might have made the cover of "Sports Illustrated," the first issue of which hit the newsstands in 1954.
In birthdays today, we note two creators and an icon (of sorts). In 1884, Hugo Gernsback was born. Gernsback is all but unknown today, but in the 1920s, he nurtured not only the genre of science fiction (which he called "scientifiction"), but also created what has come to be known as fandom by printing names and addresses of readers in his science fiction magazines. (Coincidentally, the World Science Fiction Convention opens tomorrow in Reno, NV.) 1892, Otto Messmer was born. Messmer was an artist and animator who may or may not have created Felix the Cat, who, until the advent of Mickey Mouse in the late 1920s, was the biggest animated star in movies. The icon is Fess Parker, who was born in 1924. In the 1950s, he played frontiersman and Congressman Davy Crockett (whose own birth in 1786 we note tomorrow) on television, causing a mania for coonskin caps. In the 60s, he played frontiersman and legislator Daniel Boone.
In the oddity file, we see that Chang and Eng Bunker, the original "Siamese Twins," arrived in Boston in 1829. Though they were joined at the sternum, the Bunkers married sisters and fathered 21 children between them. We needn't dwell on the details. And it's the 90th birthday of bohemian writer Charles Bukowski, who managed to turn a life of dissipation and alcohol into poetry.
Tuesday:
Last week, we mentioned that "The Wizard of Oz" had had its world premiere in Oconomowoc, WI. Well, on August 17, 1939, it finally reached New York, opening at the Capitol Theatre on Broadway. Speaking of things reaching the Big Apple, it was on this day in 1790, that the U.S. capital moved from New York to Philadelphia (the government would open shop in Washington DC in 1800.)
Speaking of things leaving New York, Robert Fulton's steamboat, The Clermont, left New York for Albany in 1807. (That route later became notorious in the early 20th century, as philandering husbands and wives used it to follow through on trysts. "Taking the night boat to Albany" became shorthand for having an affair.)
And speaking of illicit affairs, how could we forget that, on this day in 1893, Mae West was born? West was an actor an playwright who traded in the power of sex to scandalize, so much so that a number of her plays were shut down for their scandalous plots and she herself was arrested more than once.
Some musical events of note today. In 1954, Billy Murray died. Murray is all but unknown today, but he was a staggeringly popular recording artist in the first quarter of the 20th century, becoming the first person to sell a million records. In 1959, Miles Davis's "Kind of Blue" was released. It marked a new type of cool jazz that hadn't been widely heard before, and Miles struck gold, with the album being generally considered to the best-selling jazz album of all time. Beach Boys frontman Brian Wilson will release an album of his arrangements of songs by George Gershwin today. It’s also the 27th anniversary of the death of George’s brother Ira, though we don't know if the though of Wilson messing with the Gershwin songbook is what killed him.
Wednesday:
Today is a day for all types of women's events. In 1587, Virginia Dare became the first child of European parents to be born on American soil. She was born in the Roanoake colony in North Carolina, an outpost from which every resident mysteriously vanished soon after. In 1920, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, guaranteeing women the right to vote. And today, the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders will release a swimsuit calendar. Whether this is a step forward or backward, we leave to you, dear reader.
In three completely unrelated events, we note than, in 1227, Genghis Khan, who created the largest empire the world has ever known, died; that today is International Homeless Animals Day; and that an expedition to create the first 3D map of the wreckage site of RMS Titanic will begin.
Thursday:
Not a good day for witches or those suspected of being witches. In 1612, three women from the Lancashire village of Samlesbury, England, were put on trial, for allegedly practicing witchcraft, and eighty years later, in 1692 in Salem, MA, one woman and four men ere executed after being convicted of witchcraft.
Following the death of Elvis earlier in the week, the death of Groucho Marx in 1977 didn't cause much of a ripple, but to fans of classic comedy, it was a bigger event.
Thanks to the efforts of birthday boy Philo T. Farnsworth (1906), who invented the television, news travels faster than ever -- or certainly faster than it did in 1848, when the news of the California Gold Rush finally reached the New York Herald, a mere seven months after gold had been discovered. Had airplanes been around in those days (and today is National Aviation Day, to commemorate the 1871 birth of Orville Wright), the east coast might have gotten the word sooner, though.
Friday:
Speaking of getting the word late, it was on this day in 1866 that President Andrew Johnson formally declared the Civil War over, a mere 16 months after the surrender at Appomattox.
(We might also mention in this context that in 1858, Charles Darwin first published his theory of evolution in "The Journal of the Proceedings of the Linnean Society of London," alongside Alfred Russel Wallace's same theory, though there are still some folks who either haven’t gotten that news, or who choose to ignore it.)
In musical anniversaries, in 1882 Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture" debuted in Moscow and in 1885, Gilbert and Sullivan’s "The Mikado," opened in New York.
Some sports stuff today, too. It's the 90th birthday of the National Football League, founded in Canton, OH, as well as the being the openings of the World Series of both mahjong and Little League baseball. A less happy reminder of football also occurs today, when "The Tillman Story" opens; it's a documentary investigating the life and the cover-up of the death of NFL star and Army Ranger Pat Tillman.
On a (much) lighter note, a "Twilight" convention opens today in Parsippany, NJ. Why Parsippany, we have no idea.
Saturday:
In 1878, the American Bar Association was founded. We'd make a joke here, but we don't want to get sued.
Speaking of theft, it was on this day in 1911 that the Mona Lisa was stolen by an employee of the Louvre Museum (There must be something about art thefts this weekend. Sunday is the sixth anniversary of the thefts of two paintings by Edvard Munch from the Munch Museum in Oslo.)
And speaking of exaggeration, it's Wilt Chamberlain’s birthday. Wilt was born in 1936, and while he was one of the most prolific scorers in NBA history, he also claimed to be one of the most prolific scorers off the court, boasting in his autobiography that he had slept with over 20,000 women (nearly as many as his 31,419 career points).
In other birthdays today, piano legend Count Basie, who lead the swingingest big band ever, was born in 1904; Oscar-winning animation director Friz Freleng was born in 1906; Christopher Robin Milne, who inspired (and resented) the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, was born in 1920; and in 1938, country singer Kenny Rogers was born. We're not quite sure when his face was born, however.
And on this day in 1959, Hawaii became a state -- just in time to either be or not be the birthplace of Barack Obama.
Sunday:
In 1485, King Richard III was killed in the Battle of Bosworth Field. Shakespeare's play of 100 or so years later painted him as an utter villain, but contemporary historians have rehabilitated him somewhat. Guess history will also be written by the victors.
Speaking of writers, we close the week by noting that, in 1893, Dorothy Parker was born. Mrs. Parker was generally considered to be the wittiest woman in America in the 1920s and '30s, with a pen dipped in poison and a tongue to match. In her later years, she tried to renounce her fame and wit, but any woman who could say, "If all the girls who attended the Yale prom were laid end to end, I wouldn't be a bit surprised" had something going on.
Earlier, we mentioned how Hugo Gernsback more or less created science fiction fandom, and one of those early fans celebrates his 90th birthday today: Ray Bradbury. Bradbury wrote more than just science fiction, but that's what he's best known for. "If you enjoy living, it is not difficult to keep the sense of wonder," he once said. Over nearly a century, that"s a heck of a lot of wonder.
See you next time!
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 It's not a Casio, that's for sure (Photo by Don Pezzano) |
What do you get when you combine Victorian corsets, aviation goggles, and rocket ships? Why the glorious world of steampunk, of course! This week we celebrated International Steampunk Day, and although June 14th has (like the Victorian Era) sadly come and gone, there are still plenty of ways to embrace your inner 19th century Western space explorer. Steampunk is as much a fashion statement as it is a quirky sub-genre of science fiction. Although the genre is itself inspired by such Victorian science fiction writers as H.G. Wells and Jules Verne, steampunk is a relatively new artistic movement. Coined in the 1980's, the term is generally attributed to writer K.W. Jeter, who used it to describe a new type of science fiction novel that combined futuristic technologies with 19th century fashion and old-fashioned steam power.
Today, some of the most well-known examples of steampunk fiction include such films as "Van Helsing" and "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," and Joss Whedon's television series "Firefly" and its companion piece "Serenity" -- although some fans argue that the last two more closely resemble space opera than true steampunk.
Beyond the silver screen, many steampunk fans have adopted elements from the genre and turned them into a lifestyle. Fans spend hours creating intricately-designed costumes,
retrofitting modern machinery, and crafting sculptures that look like they
belong on the inside of a pocket watch. However, unlike other fantasy genres, steampunk culture often requires a large investment of time (and money) to recreate its unique look. Since the genre heavily revolves around 19th century machinery, aficionados find that simulating the mechanical look of spinning cogs and brass gears takes long hours and a
keen eye.
When you're finally done creating your souped-up Victorian look, you'll want to show all that hard work off, of course. There are several steampunk conventions in the United States, each paying homage to neo-Victorianism, bastardized industrial fashion and other mechanical marvels.
So strap on your goggles, hop into your Utopian flying machine, and set sail for uncharted territory. It's going to be a stylish ride.
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 John T. Scopes, the man who caused all the fuss |
It started out as a publicity stunt designed to bring tourists to the small town of Dayton, Tennessee. By the time it was over, it had brought together three of the most famous men in the world, killed one of them, and left ripples that we still feel today.
While the event we note today is the 85th anniversary of schoolteacher John T. Scopes being arrested for teaching evolution, the events that prompted that arrest go back to 1922, when the Tennessee legislature passed the Butler Act, which prohibited any teacher in a public school from teaching "any theory that denies the Story of the Divine Creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals." The law had been written by a Tennessee farmer, who had "read in the papers that boys and girls were coming home from school and telling their fathers and mothers that the Bible was all nonsense."
The law, which had a fatal flaw (the state's required biology text had a chapter about evolution) sat unchallenged for three years, while the American Civil Liberties Union hunted for a teacher willing to challenge the law, even announcing its willingness to pay for the trial and any fines (the penalty was $100). There were no takers.
Finally, in 1925, a group of Dayton businessmen were sitting around Robinson's Drugstore, trying to come up with a scheme to draw tourists to their town of 1,800. Someone mentioned the Butler Act, and before Scopes knew it, he had agreed to become the sacrificial lamb (or perhaps, "ape"). On May 5th, Scopes was "arrested" and all hell broke loose.
The local fathers, hoping to secure maximum publicity for the trial, contacted such notables as novelist H.G. Wells (who declined, stating that he wasn't a lawyer). The prosecution countered with William Jennings Bryan, the three-time presidential candidate who was America's most respected public figure. Spurred by Bryan's presence, Clarence Darrow, the country's most famous defense attorney and defender of civil liberties, agreed to head Scopes' defense. Drawn by not only the spectacle of those two giants going head-to-head in the courtroom, but by the circus that developed around the trial, H.L. Mencken, the reporter who was one of the country's sharpest social commentators, came to report on the doings -- along with hundred of other reporters, an unprecedented national radio hookup, newsreel photographers, trained chimpanzees, and tens of thousands of spectators.
The trial finally began on July 10 and things went badly for the defense. Witnesses were not allowed to testify and Darrow fought with the judge -- dodging more than one contempt citation. Finally, in a desperate stroke of genius, Darrow put Bryan himself on the stand -- or, rather, under the tree, since the judge moved matters outside to accommodate both the huge crowds and in an attempt to beat the stifling heat. Darrow cut him to ribbons, challenging his opponent's literal belief in the Good Book, and generally making a monkey of him. Bryan died five days after the trial, possibly the victim of his exertions.
It was all for naught, though. The jury, deliberating only nine minutes, found Scopes guilty, and the judge fined him $100. That verdict was overturned on a technicality, but the law remained (unenforced) on the books until 1967.
Even though no one else was every prosecuted under the Butler Act, its effects are felt today in controversies over Creationism, and the curricula proposed by the Kansas and Texas Boards of Education. And, for all the spectacle the trial provided, that kind of carnival atmosphere could never happen today... right?
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