mrneoluddite/history

From the page: ""The Most Dangerous Woman in America"
By Dave Sikula
Tue, November 11, 2008, 12:01 am PST


She was like a science-fiction story come to life. A woman who carried a highly infectious disease but who was herself immune (and who denied that she carried the disease at all). But the story of Mary Mallon, aka "Typhoid Mary," was far from fictitious, and ended with her death 70 years ago today.

Other than her ability to make people violently ill, Mallon's story was nondescript. She emigrated from Ireland to the United States at the age of 15 in 1884, finding work as a cook in New York. Her unintentional notoriety began when a family she was working for in Mamaroneck came down with typhoid. All of the members recovered (except for a laundress, who died), but no connection was made to Mary, who moved on to other jobs. But in 1901, another family she worked for was struck, and then another in 1906, and then three more. The authorities suspected Mary, but imagine how you'd feel if a stranger came up, accused you of spreading disease, and demanded samples of your bodily fluids. You'd probably act like Mary did and threaten that stranger with a carving fork.

Eventually the Department of Health had Mary arrested and confined in isolation, which she fought vigorously until she was finally released in 1910, on the condition that she not work as a cook again. Unable to make a living as a laundress, she soon returned to the kitchen (under the name "Mary Brown") at the Sloan Maternity Hospital, and in 1915, the cycle started again as 25 people came down with typhoid. After one of the women died, investigators discovered "Mary Brown's" real identity and sent her back into isolation for the remaining 23 years of her life. Although she never came down with the disease herself, her autopsy showed her to be as dangerous in death as in life, as her gallbladder was full of live typhoid bacteria.

We don't want to start a panic, but the next time you eat out and the food tastes a little funny, you may want to make sure the cook seems perfectly healthy -- you never know, after all..."

From the page: "The Biggest Game Show Question of Them All
By Dave Sikula
Fri, November 7, 2008

Television in the 1950s was different from today. There were four networks and not much else, programs were broadcast live, and quiz shows ruled the airwaves.

The longest-running of all such shows was "What's My Line?," which ran Sunday nights at the ungodly hour of 10:30. Being a simple game (celebrities guessed what people did for a living), it was untouched by the quiz-show scandals of the late 50s. One of "What's My Line?'s" most popular panelists was Dorothy Kilgallen.

Kilgallen was primarily a gossip columnist for the New York Journal-American, and she sparked bitter feuds with stars such as Frank Sinatra. But Kilgallen had ambitions beyond mere gossip; her reporting on the 1953 coronation of Queen Elizabeth was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, and her investigation of the Sam Sheppard murder trial was crucial in freeing Sheppard from prison. What she hoped would be her biggest scoop, though, was revealing the "truth" about John F. Kennedyâ€s assassination.

Kilgallen interviewed Jack Ruby while Ruby was on trial for killing Lee Harvey Oswald, and had somehow obtained a copy of his sealed testimony to the Warren Commission (sparking an FBI investigation). She promised that she had information that would â€oeblow the lidâ€� off of the case. On the morning of November 8, 1965, however, the apparently-healthy journalist was found sitting in bed in her apartment -- dead of either a "drug overdose" or a "heart attack." She was in the wrong bedroom, fully made-up and dressed, with a book she had finished weeks earlier by her side, and her reading glasses nowhere nearby. Her husband claimed she had come home at midnight, but eyewitnesses had seen her out on the town as late as 2 a.m. All her research on the assassination had mysteriously vanished.

While Kilgallen was hardly the only person involved in the JFK case to die under suspicious circumstances, she was the most famous. â€oeWhatâ€s My Line?â€� ran for two years after Kilgallenâ€s death, but never really recovered. She can still be seen on GSNâ€s reruns of the show, and her wit and intelligence make us wonder just what she did know."

He Believed a Man Could Fly
By Dave Sikula
Fri, October 17, 2008

You'd think a guy who created one of the world's most famous fictional characters would spend the rest of his life on Easy Street. In most cases, you'd be right. But in the case of Jerry Siegel, you'd be wrong.

Siegel was born on October 17, 1914, and grew up loving comic strips and science fiction. His world was shattered, though, when his father died of a heart attack brought on by the armed robbery of his haberdashery. Perhaps inspired by the crime, Siegel created a bulletproof Man of Tomorrow -- a "Superman," to borrow Nietzsche's term -- who would help the powerless. Siegel's final version of Superman was created with artist Joe Shuster, although recent research has shown that he first approached other artists, but this earlier vision of the superhero differed from the one we've come to know over the ensuing 70 years.

Siegel and Shuster tried to sell Superman to comic strip syndicates, but no one was interested until 1938, when DC Comics paid $130 for the rights to the character -- a move Siegel came to regret even before DC fired him in 1947. He was rehired in 1959, and wrote some of the greatest Superman stories of the 60s before being fired again in 1967.

In the 70s, as Warner Bros. was publicizing the then-upcoming Superman movie, Siegel and Shuster launched a campaign of their own, telling how DC had mistreated them. Eventually, the publisher was shamed into granting the men lifetime pensions and a guarantee that all depictions of Superman would carry their credit.

In recent years, the two men's families have sued to regain the copyright to the Man of Steel, and a court case is pending. In 2006, author Brad Meltzer launched a campaign to save the Cleveland house where Siegel created Superman. It's far from a Fortress of Solitude, but in its own way, it's as important to American pop culture as Broadway or Hollywood.

From the page: "
Diamonds Aren't Forever
By Dave Sikula
Mon, August 11, 2008

August 11 marks the 79th anniversary of Babe Ruth's 500th career home run. That in itself might make for an interesting post, but what caught our eye was that Ruth hit the homer in League Park, a stadium that served Cleveland Indians fans from 1891 to 1946, before being torn down -- well, most of it, anyway.

Thinking about League Park reminded us of all the other great ballparks that have gone to the great beyond -- and more specifically about Yankee Stadium: The "House That Ruth Built" will meet the wrecking ball after the 2008 season. But there's something irreplaceable about an old ballpark. Looking at the field at Yankee Stadium or Wrigley Field or Fenway Park, one can almost see the great players who stood on that grass and dirt in decades past.

Baseball is a game about constant comparisons between the past and the present, and old stadiums allow us to see both simultaneously. That's why it's so heartbreaking when a grand old lady like Tiger Stadium or Comiskey Park or Ebbets Field is demolished; something is taken out of the world that is irreplaceable. We're grateful for the new generation of quirky and individualistic stadiums like PNC Park and AT&T Park -- so many new ballparks, in fact, that 1962's Dodger Stadium will soon be the third-oldest in the majors -- but they just can't conjure up the memories that Sportsman's Park, Crosley Field, or Forbes Field did... or they won't for a while, anyway.

So, as we come down to the end of another season, we encourage you to get out and visit one of these parks while you still can They may not all be as old as Rickwood Field, but it'll be about as close to the Field of Dreams as you can come."

From the page: "Inventions: The Good, the Bad, and the Antiquated
By Amy Holzer
Thu, August 7, 2008

On August 8, 1869, Thomas Alva Edison was granted the patent for his mimeograph machine. This copying device was the predecessor of ditto machines and today's copiers. Such is often the story of great inventions -- they are improved upon with time. The cotton gin of old gave way to modern versions, and photographs have morphed from daguerreotypes to digitals. To improve upon a brilliant idea is understandable, but what about those inventions whose first incarnation should be their last?

From noodle-splash faceguards to the self-twirling spaghetti fork, the world is full of pointless and unnecessary inventions. While one can usually discern the impetus for the device's creation, that doesn't mean the idea is a good one. Sadly, many inventions appear to be inspired by profound laziness or an alarming lack of reason, and knowledge of their existence persists only because of their sheer entertainment value.

Though some of these imbecilic inventions may leave us fearing for the future (and the priorities) of mankind, we must remember that even the greats didn't always get it right."

From the page: Nazi Party Pooper
By Dave Sikula
Fri, August 1

Hitler thought it was a good idea. So did Goebbels. The rest of the world? Not so much. We speak today of the Berlin Olympics, which opened on this day in 1936.

To be fair, getting the Olympics for Germany wasn't originally a Nazi idea -- the Games were awarded in 1931, before Hitler came to power. Still, the National Socialist Party saw the Olympic Games as an opportunity to show off the alleged superiority of the Aryan race. There were calls for a boycott, which was opposed by worthies as different as Franklin Roosevelt and United States Olympic Committee President Avery Brundage (whom many suspected was a Nazi sympathizer). There was even an alternate competition set up in Spain, though it was cancelled due to the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War).

Despite the controversy, the games went on as scheduled -- and were even televised (granted, it was a limited broadcast, but there's no telling who was watching). Hitler's celebration was spoiled, however, when his German supermen were upstaged by a young African American from Alabama named Jesse Owens, who won four gold medals (thanks to tips from a German competitor and Brundige's demand that Jewish sprinter Marty Glickman be replaced on the 4x100 meter relay team), and shattered Hitler's scheme.

Of course, history being what it is, not everything went as we in the 21st century might have hoped. Germany did indeed win the most medals, but more interestingly, Owens had a freedom in Germany that he didn't in America, and was able to frequent the best hotels and restaurants with no worries about segregation. When he returned to America, not only did he not get so much as a telegram from FDR, but he had to take the freight elevator to attend his own welcome-home celebration at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel."

From the page: "Knowledge in Your Pocket
By Suzanne Duchacek
Mon, July 28, 2008

Seventy years ago today, the paperback book took America by storm. Previously, books were seen as luxury items for the elite, but the appearance of cheap, mass-produced books at local grocery stores, on newsstands, and in railroad stations had a powerful impact on society and culture by bringing literature to the masses. Similar to the rise of the Internet, the paperback revolution democratized knowledge and encouraged the growth of genre fiction, eliciting widespread shock and horror -- thanks to such titles as "'Junkie!'" and "The Blonde on the Street Corner," and provocative cover illustrations that were intended to titillate and entice customers.

Paperback books had previous incarnations in the dime novels and pulp fiction magazines of the 19th and early 20th centuries, and benefited from the pioneering efforts of German publisher Albatross in the early 1930s. The turning point was the 1935 emergence of Penguin in Great Britain, selling mass-produced quality literature. Penguin failed to capture the U.S. market, but its success inspired Pocket Books, which adopted Penguin's strategy -- but added cover illustrations to the mix. With the onset of World War II and increased factory production, Pocket Books met the needs of soldiers and shift workers who wanted books in a lightweight and easy-to-carry form. Publishers such as Avon, Dell, Bantam, Ace, and Harlequin soon sprang up and began to release original works by authors like Henry Miller and John Steinbeck, instead of simply issuing cheap reprints, and genres like crime, romance, detective, and horror took off.

Today, paperbacks are seen as a tool to attract new customers and try out new authors, but electronic books are right around the corner and have the potential to re-revolutionize knowledge in much the same way that paperbacks once did. But as book lovers will assure you, nothing beats sitting back and relaxing with an old, beat-up paperback."

From the page: "Today at High Noon: The First Showdown
By Mike McKiernan
Mon, July 21, 2008

James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok was famous for many things -- his long, curly hair; the buckskin clothing he wore; his career as a lawman, a scout, and a gunfighter; and the "dead man's hand" of cards he held on the day he was murdered. But above all, he was involved in the first of what would become an icon of the Old West and the quintessential event in dozens of Westerns and other films: the quick-draw showdown.

In Springfield, Missouri, on July 20, 1865, Wild Bill won a substantial amount of money in a card game against a man named Davis Tutt. Humiliated at losing so much in one game, Tutt reminded Hickok of a previous debt, and Hickok promptly paid him. Still unsatisfied, however, Tutt hurled out another debt Bill owed him, but this time, Bill disputed it. Davis leaned over and grabbed Wild Bill's pocket watch and said that he would keep the watch as collateral. Wild Bill was furious, but could do nothing at the time, as he was surrounded by a number of Tutt's allies. So Hickok told Tutt he could keep the watch, but threatened that if he ever saw Tutt wear it in public, he would shoot him on sight. Not afraid of Bill and concerned about his own reputation, Tutt accepted the challenge and said he'd wear the watch the very next day.

July 21, 1865, the next day: Word quickly spread to Wild Bill that Davis Tutt was in town and wearing the watch. When the two met in the street, they faced each other from several yards away. Tutt drew first and fired a round, but missed. Wild Bill drew, fired, and hit his opponent straight through the heart -- killing him almost instantly.

This account may sound too Hollywood to be true, but it was indeed documented in Harper's Weekly in 1867, in an article that launched Hickok to stardom as a gunslinger. The event is even engraved on Davis Tutt's tombstone. Poor guy -- even at his final resting place, he's humiliated by Hickok."