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The Strange Origins of Common Food Superstitions
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AuthorTony Dunnell
August 27, 2025
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Humans are superstitious creatures by nature, with many strange habits that seem entirely illogical. We avoid walking under ladders or opening umbrellas indoors in fear of bad luck. We knock on wood to prevent disappointment. We shun the number 13 and we can’t quite decide whether black cats are good or bad omens. None of these actions makes much practical sense, and the same is true for a range of superstitions involving food.
Food is a necessity that keeps us functioning and alive, but eating is also a cultural experience, rich with symbolic gestures, long-held traditions, and curious rituals. These include plenty of superstitions believed to bring luck, prosperity, health, wealth, and a range of other supposed benefits. And while modern science may dismiss these practices as mere folklore with no logical basis, there are plenty of common food-based superstitions we just won’t let go.
Here are six superstitions involving food, all of which demonstrate the human desire to find greater meaning or significance in the otherwise simple and essential acts of cooking, eating, and sharing meals.
According to one common food superstition, if you accidentally spill salt, you should immediately throw a pinch of it over your left shoulder. The origins of this strange belief aren’t entirely clear. It possibly dates back to the ancient world, including the Romans and Sumerians, when salt was a highly prized commodity and therefore spilling it was frowned upon.
Later, during the Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci created one of his most famous works, “The Last Supper,” in which Judas Iscariot is portrayed knocking over a container of salt with his elbow, suggesting that the connection between spilled salt and bad luck was well established by that time. But why do we throw the spilled salt over our left shoulder? The common belief today is that the devil and evil spirits are said to lurk over the left shoulder, and the pinch of jinx-reducing salt is destined for their eyes.
In the American South, eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day is a common tradition and superstition said to bring luck and prosperity throughout the year ahead. When enslaved Africans brought black-eyed peas to America, the beans were initially used as food for livestock and enslaved people only. Black-eyed peas gained wider acceptance during the Civil War, when they were one of the few foods left untouched by Union troops, who considered them animal feed. Southerners therefore managed to survive on black-eyed peas during the winter, and so began the association with good luck and prosperity, and the tradition of eating them on New Year’s Day.
Breaking the wishbone of a cooked chicken or turkey is a common Christmas practice in the United Kingdom and a Thanksgiving tradition in the United States. Objectively, it’s a very strange thing to do, no matter how much luck might be up for grabs: It involves making a wish while pulling the bird bone in two with another person, and the person who gets the bigger piece will have their wish granted.
The origins of this peculiar superstition are debatable. One common theory goes all the way back to the ancient Etruscans, who saw birds as potent oracles. They extracted wishbones from chickens, dried them in the sun, and then touched the bones as a form of divination. The Romans picked up this practice later, by which time the bone was being snapped in half, possibly to double its power. The Romans then introduced the concept to Britain, and it eventually found its way to the Americas via English settlers.
It’s hard to say whether the superstition really has such a long and storied history with a direct link all the way back to the Etruscans. We do know that the wishbone-breaking tradition as we know it today existed at least as early as the 17th century or early 18th century, when the bone was known as a “merrythought.” The term “wishbone” first appeared a century or so later.
Statistically, about one in every thousand eggs has a double yolk. So, if you regularly crack open and cook eggs, there’s a chance you’ll come across one at some point. For the superstitious, an egg with two yolks is widely considered a sign of impending good luck. It’s not known where or when this superstition emerged, but the reasoning behind it is clear to see. Eggs have long been associated with life, rebirth, and potential, making a double yolk a natural candidate for a symbol of abundance, prosperity, and good luck. Double yolks are sometimes regarded as a sign of an upcoming marriage, or that a woman will soon become pregnant with twins.
The superstitious tradition of blowing out candles on birthday cakes has surprisingly ancient origins. Some historians believe it goes as far back as the ancient Greeks, who may have made cakes adorned with lit candles to honor Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and moon. This, in turn, was adopted by the Romans, who helped spread the tradition.
In modern Europe, the ritual of celebrating birthdays with a cake and candles — as we do today — has been around since at least the 18th century. One of the first documented accounts comes from the 1746 birthday party of Count Ludwig Von Zinzendorf, a German bishop, who had a massive cake covered in candles. At this point, in Germany at least, the act of extinguishing the candle flames was seen as a way to carry desires up to the gods — not dissimilar to how we blow out candles and make a wish today.
The tradition of eating a dozen grapes on New Year’s Eve comes from Spain, and while the origins are still debated, it dates back to at least the 1880s. According to some historians, the Spanish bourgeoisie decided to imitate the French New Year’s celebration of drinking champagne by skipping the middleman and going straight for the grapes. Others suggest the tradition began as a shrewd marketing tactic by grape growers who had a surplus harvest to unload in the early 1900s.
Either way, the ritual caught on: By eating one grape at each of midnight’s 12 clock chimes, you are destined for a lucky year, with each grape representing one of the 12 forthcoming months. The custom soon spread throughout Latin America, in countries as diverse as Cuba, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Argentina, and Peru. Some Latino populations in the U.S. have also maintained the grape-eating superstition.
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What If Dewey Had Defeated Truman in 1948?
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AuthorTony Dunnell
August 22, 2025
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On the evening of November 2, 1948, America’s newsrooms confidently prepared for what seemed inevitable: Thomas E. Dewey’s victory over Harry S. Truman in the U.S. presidential election. Radio commentators and pollsters had spent weeks predicting the Republican governor’s triumph. The media’s certainty was so complete that some newspapers even went to press before final results were tallied, and on November 3, the Chicago Daily Tribune famously ran with the headline “DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN.” Yet, in one of the greatest upsets in American political history, Truman defied the odds, winning 303 electoral votes to Dewey’s 189.
The photograph of a grinning Truman holding up the erroneous Tribune headline became an iconic symbol of journalistic overconfidence. But what if the media had been right? How might things be different if Dewey had actually won the presidency in 1948?
With Truman’s victory, the Democrats retained the White House and took control of the Senate and the House of Representatives. But if the pollsters had been correct and the Republican candidate had won, the most obvious and immediate difference in the White House may have been one of character.
In an interview with History Facts, historian A.J. Baime — author of The Accidental President: Harry S. Truman and the Four Months That Changed the World — pointed out how a Dewey presidency would have brought a fundamentally different personality to the White House. According to Baime, Truman was a comparatively down-to-earth, plain-speaking individual who drank bourbon, loved poker, and represented “the greatest manifestation of the common American man.” Dewey, on the other hand, had a stiffer demeanor and came across as more distant in public — a man, Baime said, who “drank gin and spoke in platitudes, in a deep baritone trained singing voice.”
Dewey played bridge and used his sharp, analytical mind to ponder issues of wider society rather than connect with the individual voter. While he was admired by many for his intelligence and integrity, he did not have Truman’s warmth — and this obvious difference of style, Baime said, “meant something to the American people and still means something to the American people.” It’s hard to say how these personality differences may have altered U.S. history, though. Dewey’s potentially more measured, deliberate approach to communication might have provided steadier leadership during times of crisis, but he may have lacked the populist appeal of Truman that resonated with ordinary Americans.
One of the most notable differences between Dewey and Truman would likely have been how they handled Senator Joseph McCarthy’s anti-communist crusade. Truman’s often reactive approach to McCarthyism allowed the senator to dominate headlines and spread fear throughout American society. Some political historians have criticized Truman’s actions on this issue, arguing that he responded too slowly and weakly to McCarthy.
Baime said he believes Dewey could have handled McCarthyism better than Truman, in part because Dewey was a trained attorney and a cutthroat prosecutor and debater. According to Baime, there’s an argument to be made that “the ’50s Red Scare might not have been as scary as it was, if Dewey were president.” With his prosecutorial background and understanding of legal procedure, Dewey might have been better equipped to counter McCarthy’s tactics and challenge the senator’s often evidence-free accusations, while still maintaining a strong anti-communist stance.
In terms of economic policy, Truman and Dewey had differing views on the relationship between government and business. Dewey, who had close ties to big business in New York, was Wall Street’s preferred candidate, and stocks rallied with his predicted victory. Truman had an arguably more complex relationship — he wasn’t afraid to speak out against corporate greed and the perceived dangers of excessive financial speculation — and in 1948 he railed against “privileged Wall Street gluttons.” According to Baime, “Truman feared that if he were not in the White House, Wall Street would become too powerful at the expense of the common man.” Dewey, on the other hand, “was an excellent and highly regarded governor of New York with deep relationships with the power elite.” Baime said he thought Dewey would have allowed Wall Street and big business more leeway, which in turn would have given the wealthy more power — but, he noted, not to the degree that Truman feared.
On the issue of civil rights, the differences between Dewey and Truman were more subtle. Truman’s decision to desegregate the military in 1948 was a bold move that helped define his presidency. Dewey, while considered a progressive Republican governor of New York, represented a party with different regional dynamics, and he might have approached civil rights more cautiously, pursuing a more incremental approach.
Despite their differences in style and domestic priorities, both Truman and Dewey shared fundamental assumptions about America’s role in the world. Both, for example, believed the U.S. should play an active role in international organizations such as the United Nations (rather than retreat into isolationism), and both considered it necessary to contain the spread of communism. When it came to foreign policy, the two men were often aligned. “I believe that foreign policy would not have been much different,” Baime said, “and that the Korean War and the Cold War would have moved along in a very similar fashion.”
Baine argued that no president could have solved “1950s conundrums like Soviet aggression, nuclear proliferation, the early posturing that later turned into the Vietnam War, the conflict in the Middle East, and Korea.” A lot of the major problems the country faced, he said, “are still with us today precisely because they appear to be so unsolvable, no matter who is president.”
There’s an argument to be made, therefore, that the fundamental challenges of the era would have remained largely unchanged even if Dewey had defeated Truman. But speaking to History Facts, Jeffrey Frank, author of The Trials of Harry S. Truman, pointed out one intriguing aspect of this theoretical discussion: the 34th U.S. president, Dwight D. Eisenhower.
“Alternative history is fun,” Frank said, “because there are so many forks in so many roads. But I would start with this basic assumption: If Dewey had won, Eisenhower would never have run for president in 1952 (he always said he didn’t want the job anyway), when Dewey would be running for a second term.” This alone would have brought about a major change. Among his many achievements, Eisenhower strengthened the Social Security program, increased the minimum wage, created the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, and signed the Civil Rights Act of 1957. He also negotiated an armistice in the Korean War, and managed to maintain peace during the crisis-filled 1950s. “Try to imagine the future of the GOP and the USA without Ike,” Frank said. “For me, not a happy thought.”
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I Tried U.S. Presidents’ Favorite Breakfasts and Here’s the Winner
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AuthorBennett Kleinman
August 22, 2025
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If you’re anything like me, you probably have a usual order at your local breakfast spot. Some folks opt for scrambled eggs and bacon, while others go for pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup. (I personally prefer a sesame bagel with lox and cream cheese.) U.S. presidents through history were no different: While some POTUSes enjoyed a traditional breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee, others preferred morning meals that ranged from decadent to bizarre.
This gave us an idea: Choose seven of the more unusual presidential breakfasts and spend a week eating like the commander in chief. So that’s exactly what I did, and here’s what I learned.
Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
George Washington: Hoecakes and Hot Tea
The first breakfast I made was, appropriately, a favorite of the very first U.S. president, George Washington.According to his Mount Vernon estate, “Hoecakes were among George Washington’s favorite foods. He invariably ate them at breakfast… along with hot tea.” Hoecakes are a pancakelike dish made of cornmeal, and were originally standard fare among Native Americans before they became popular with colonial settlers.
The dish was a staple of the Washington household, whose patriarch preferred hoecakes “swimming in butter and honey” — possibly because it made them softer and easier to chew, which would make sense given the president’s well-documented dental issues.
I went ahead and whipped up a plate of hoecakes based on a recipe by culinary historian Nancy Carter Crump in the book Dining With the Washingtons. While not as fluffy or airy as a typical pancake, the hoecakes were quite delicious. They boasted a rich corn flavor and pleasant crumbly texture, and drenching them with butter and honey made them all the more decadent.
As for the tea, I went with green tea — one of the many varieties preferred by the Washington family. George Washington reportedly drank three cups with breakfast, which I found to be a bit too much liquid for one sitting. But in terms of flavor, the tea acted as a nice, subtle compliment to the denser hoecakes.
Given Abraham Lincoln’s profound legacy and brilliant mind, I was surprised by the simplicity of his favorite breakfast. In fact, Honest Abe would sometimes skip meals altogether. According to President Lincoln’s Cottage — a historical museum in Washington, D.C. — the stress of the Civil War had a negative impact on the president’s eating habits. Lincoln’s private secretary John Hay once noted, “The pleasures of the table had few attractions for [Lincoln],” who “ate less than anyone I know.” When the 16th president did eat breakfast, it was usually nothing more than a single egg, one piece of toast, and a meager cup of coffee.
While it may be simple and somewhat bland, there’s nothing wrong with eggs, toast, and coffee in my book. There was no exact recipe for how Lincoln liked his meal prepared, so I went with a sunny-side up egg, sourdough toast (a popular type of bread in the mid-19th century), and black coffee, as there is no historical record of Lincoln preferring sugar or cream.
I certainly enjoyed what I’d consider to be a light breakfast, even if it didn’t fill me up. At the same time, though, I was amazed that Lincoln had enough energy to lead the country through one of its most tumultuous periods while eating bare meals such as this. I would definitely order Lincoln’s preferred breakfast at my local diner, but if I ever became president, I’d probably need a bit more fuel to start the day.
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Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
Theodore Roosevelt: Fat Rascals
Not only did Teddy Roosevelt “speak softly and carry a big stick,” but he also woke up each morning with a hearty appetite. In researching his favorite dishes, I came upon a breakfast treat that I’d never heard of before: the fat rascal. According toWhat Was Cooking in Edith Roosevelt’s White House? by Tanya Larkin, one of the first lady’s “most treasured recipes” was for fat rascals, which are essentially flaky biscuits filled with dried currants. The Roosevelts enjoyed these biscuits for breakfast served alongside hard-boiled eggs and coffee.
That said, Teddy wasn’t your typical coffee drinker. As a child, he was given cups of coffee to ease his asthma, and developed an early love for the beverage. Roosevelt was said to drink a gallon of coffee per day, and was known to put as many as seven sugar lumps into each cup. One of his sons even described Teddy’s huge coffee cup as “more in nature of a bathtub.”
All told, I have mixed feelings about this breakfast. On one hand, the food was delicious. The fat rascals were quick to prepare and turned out flaky and perfectly buttery without being overly sweet, and the dried currants were a delightful touch. The hard-boiled eggs were a nice complement as well, providing a little bit of savory protein that I personally feel is essential in every breakfast.
The coffee, however, was far too sweet, and I’m amazed that Teddy consumed so much coffee and sugar each day. I had two cups of joe in the morning in an attempt to keep pace with the gallon a day that Teddy drank, and even that felt like enough sugar to last me a lifetime. However, maybe this explains why Roosevelt had a reputation for being so energetic — he may have had a constant sugar rush and caffeine buzz going.
William Howard Taft is known for being one of the physically largest U.S. presidents, and he had an appetite to match. According to former White House head housekeeper Elizabeth Jaffray, Taft came down for his morning meal a little before 8:30 a.m., and “as a rule he would eat two oranges, a 12-ounce beefsteak, several pieces of toast and butter, and a vast quantity of coffee, with cream and sugar.” However, there was one breakfast standard you’d never find him eating: According to Jaffray, “President Taft liked every sort of food with the single exception of eggs.”
Sitting down for Taft’s daily breakfast, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was about to participate in some sort of food challenge. It was a lot of food. As I took a few bites, I realized that my stomach wasn’t ready for such an early-morning culinary marathon, but I kept going. I scarfed down the steak, buttered toast, oranges, and sugary coffee, all while wondering how Taft was able to consume this breakfast daily. After I finished the meal, all I wanted to do was go back to bed — I can’t imagine how the president went to work in the Oval Office afterward.
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Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
Woodrow Wilson: Grape Juice With Raw Eggs
America’s 28th president endured health issues while in office, struggling with his appetite and appearing quite frail at times. According toDinner With the President by journalist Alex Prud’homme, one doctor predicted that Woodrow Wilson wouldn’t last through his first term. In response, Wilson’s personal aide Cary Grayson, a former Navy doctor, stepped up in an effort to improve the president’s health and diet. This included one odd suggestion in particular: Grayson insisted Wilson drink “a glass of grape or orange juice with two raw eggs every morning, for strength.”
The president abided, though he compared the daily concoction to drinking “an unborn thing.” Given that review, it may not be entirely fair to call this drink Wilson’s “favorite” breakfast. But he still downed it each day, and so I had the chance to try it myself… Yippee.
During the preparation process, I chose to go with grape juice over orange juice. After I mixed in the raw eggs, it developed a lighter, purplish color that looked similar to a tasty fruit smoothie. But it was impossible to ignore the raw bits of egg that floated to the top and sat there almost mocking me. I really wasn’t excited to take a sip of this unusual beverage — but I did, and after a few swigs, I couldn’t help but agree with Wilson’s description.
While the flavor was surprisingly OK — it tasted more like grape juice than anything else — I was thrown off by the unsettling globs of albumin in each sip. My mind was far too aware of the unholy concoction I was drinking, and I couldn’t trick myself into thinking it was something more appetizing. In the end, I can safely say that I won’t be trying this breakfast again anytime soon.
Franklin D. Roosevelt: Jelly Doughnuts and Dark Roast
FDR had simple culinary tastes that were in line with those of the average American. According to former White House housekeeper Henrietta Nesbitt, some of his favorite meals included grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, and fruitcake. When it came to breakfast, he preferred a combination of jelly doughnuts and dark roast coffee above all else. Roosevelt’s favorite type of doughnut was the German-style Berliner Pfannkuchen, which was fried, filled with jelly, and topped with powdered sugar. The doughnuts were produced in large batches by Nesbitt, and Roosevelt would take them up to his private residence to enjoy each morning.
Much like his cousin Teddy, FDR was also quite particular about his coffee. He strongly preferred a French dark roast, and to make sure that it tasted right, he often prepared the coffee himself. According toThe Presidents’ Cookbook by Poppy Cannon and Patricia Brooks, “A coffee maker was placed on the president’s breakfast tray so that he could regulate the brewing to his satisfaction.”
My baking skills are somewhat lacking, so instead of trying to make jelly doughnuts myself, I went to a trusted bakery down the block and picked up a fresh one. I did, however, buy some French dark roast coffee beans and brew them myself, just like FDR would have done.
This combination of doughnuts and coffee was a truly delicious way to start the day, and one that feels unequivocally American — ironic given it’s a German doughnut and French coffee. While the dark roast beans were a little more bitter than I usually like my coffee to be, they served as a nice complement to the sweetness of the doughnut.
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Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
Harry S. Truman: A Shot of Bourbon
Last but not least, we jump ahead to the Truman administration. As noted in David McCullough’s Pulitzer Prize-winning biography Truman, the 33rd president kept a diary of his morning routine. In an entry from his seventh year in office, he wrote, “I eat no bread but one piece of toast at breakfast, no butter, no sugar, no sweets. Usually have fruit, one egg, a strip of bacon, and half a glass of skimmed milk for breakfast.”
What made Truman’s breakfast unique was the one special ingredient he regularly had in addition: a shot of bourbon. Truman enjoyed an ounce of Old Granddad or Wild Turkey each morning, which he consumed after a 2-mile walk to begin the day “to get the engine going.”
I’m not sure what was a bigger shock to my system — the early-morning shot of liquor or the lengthy walk. The booze made me a bit tipsy right off the bat, but that feeling soon faded, especially as the tasty food began to hit my stomach.
As for the meal, I consulted a White House breakfast menu from December 24, 1951, that listed grapefruit and a poached egg, so that’s what I went with. It was a pretty tasty and traditional breakfast, whiskey notwithstanding. All told, I’d definitely have Truman’s brekkie again, though I would maybe save the shot for after a long day of work.
While I enjoyed elements from all these breakfasts to some degree — Wilson’s juice and raw egg mix excluded — I’d say my favorite was the fat rascals that Teddy Roosevelt was so fond of. These flaky biscuits were downright delicious, and I’m sure I’ll make them again at my own leisure. As I mentioned, I’d prefer less sugar in my coffee than Roosevelt went for, but otherwise I was a big fan of Teddy’s favorite morning meal.
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10 Essential Films About the Great Depression
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AuthorMichael Nordine
August 13, 2025
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There’s never been a period of American history quite like the Great Depression, and hopefully there never will be again. Coming about at the same time movies were becoming an increasingly dominant cultural force, the economic downturn lasting from 1929 to 1939 was, perhaps counterintuitively, inextricably linked with the golden age of Hollywood. Some of the best movies made during the Depression were also about the Depression, though a number of later productions captured the era just as well. Here are the 10 best.
You might not think that a musical about the Great Depression made during the height of the economic crisis would be a good idea, but Gold Diggers of 1933 was the third-most successful movie at the box office the year it was released and has been considered a classic ever since. Going to the movies was a vital form of escapism throughout the 1930s, and spectacle-driven pictures like this one — big, bold, and fun — proved to be especially welcome distractions from life outside the theater. Based on the 1919 play Gold Diggers and following the story of four aspiring actresses hoping to improve their station, the movie featured themes of upward mobility that were clearly relatable to audiences of the time.
At just 67 minutes, Wild Boys of the Road packs more of a punch than its breezy running time suggests. William Wellman’s adaptation of the aptly titled story Desperate Youth is about two teenage boys forced to ride the rails as vagabonds just as hundreds of thousands of actual teenagers did during the Great Depression. (In the original trailer, the lives they turn to — “Vagrancy! Crime!”— are described as “fates worse than death!”) Deeply moving and offering a faint glimmer of hope at the end (albeit against Wellman’s wishes), the film offers a more youthful perspective than most Depression-era stories.
Between shorts and features, Charlie Chaplin played the iconic “Little Tramp” character more than 50 times between 1914 and 1936. The last of these portrayals may also be the best. Modern Times is a classic among classics, using the extreme economic downturn as the backdrop for a story about adapting to a rapidly industrializing society that the Tramp — and, indeed, millions of other Americans — would appear to have no place in.
Throughout his legendary career, actor William Powell somehow earned only three Oscar nominations. One was for My Man Godfrey, a screwball comedy in which he stars as a homeless man who is offered $5 to be a socialite’s “forgotten man” at a party. There’s more to Godfrey than meets the eye, of course, just as there’s hidden depth to this lighthearted romp that was made at the height of the Depression and never once feels like it’s exploiting that ongoing crisis for cheap laughs.
No writer captured the Depression era quite like John Steinbeck, whose work lent itself to unusually good movie adaptations. The first of these was Of Mice and Men, based on Steinbeck’s novella about two migrant workers eking out a meager existence in California. Burgess Meredith and Lon Chaney Jr. star as George and Lennie, respectively, whose intertwined fate leads to inescapable tragedy.
If you were to read just one book or watch one movie about the Depression, you could do far worse than The Grapes of Wrath. Steinbeck’s saga of the westward migration necessitated by the Dust Bowl is one of the 20th century’s most essential novels, and director John Ford’s take on the literary classic matches the power of its source material. Henry Fonda is superlative as the patriarch of an Oklahoma family that migrates to California in search of work, fertile land, and a better life — only to realize that some of the era’s problems extend far beyond the Dust Bowl.
If laughter is the best medicine, then Sullivan’s Travels deserves pride of place as one of the best movies made about the Depression. It’s also one of the best movies about movies. Preston Sturges’ screwball classic stars Joel McCrea as a Hollywood director who specializes in comedies but longs to mount a more serious production — and ventures among the downtrodden in order to do so. Veronica Lake co-stars as a struggling actress who accompanies him on his ill-advised journey, which ends up being as funny and socially relevant as he’d always hoped.
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To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Both Harper Lee’s novel and Robert Mulligan’s adaptation of it are about so many aspects of American society that the story’s Great Depression backdrop is sometimes forgotten in the larger discussion around racism and the loss of innocence. It’s nevertheless a crucial part of one of the most fundamentally American texts ever written or filmed, as many of the cases protagonist Atticus Finch takes on are from clients who can’t actually afford to pay him. It’s one of those rare movies that just about everyone should see.
A true watershed event that marked a before-and-after moment in the history of cinema, Bonnie and Clyde ushered in the director-driven New Hollywood era of filmmaking and became one of the most influential movies ever made, despite initially flopping with critics and audiences alike. And yet, on paper, the film was fairly traditional: a crime drama based on the true story of two lovers-turned-bank robbers active between 1932 and 1934, played by the glamorous stars Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty. Outlaws Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow might never have turned to a life of crime under different economic circumstances, something Arthur Penn's counterculture classic explores with grit and grace. Nominated for 10 Academy Awards and winning two, Bonnie and Clyde has since been hailed as one of the 100 greatest American films by the American Film Institute.
If you’ve ever wondered where the Coen brothers got the title for their turn-of-the-century screwball comedy, the answer is another movie on this list: Sullivan’s Travels. In that movie, the film that Joel McCrea’s character hopes to make is called O Brother, Where Art Thou? and is an adaptation of a fictional book about the Depression. A little intertextuality never hurt anyone, but what really makes this Coen brothers film a classic are the zany plots inspired by The Odyssey; a trio of memorable performances by George Clooney, John Turturro, and Tim Blake Nelson; and era-appropriate folk numbers so catchy, they inspired a concert tour. There were many men of constant sorrow in 1930s Mississippi, and O Brother captures their plight beautifully.
For similar articles, subscribe to our sister brand Movie Brief, brought to you by our resident film critic Michael Nordine. You’ll receive a weekly review and recommendation of a new movie, whether in theaters or available to stream, as well as a list of 25 must-see movies when you first sign up.
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Where Did the Heart Symbol Come From?
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AuthorKristina Wright
August 12, 2025
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We recognize it instantly: two rounded lobes meeting at a point, the universal symbol of love. The heart shape is found everywhere — on greeting cards, jewelry, bumper stickers, and emoji keyboards. It even stars in tourism campaigns such as “I ❤ NY” and drives the $27.5 billion Valentine’s Day industry. But while the symbol represents deep emotion, it looks nothing like an actual human heart. So where did the symbol come from? The answer lies in a long history shaped by philosophy, nature, and art.
The familiar heart shape we recognize today wasn’t inspired by the anatomy of the human heart — it evolved from ancient beliefs about what the heart represented. Long before modern science defined the purpose of the heart, cultures across the world viewed the organ as the center of emotion, thought, and even the soul. Ancient people had little understanding of the importance of the brain, but they could feel the heart beating rapidly when emotions were heightened and understood the organ’s vital connection to sustaining life.
In ancient Egypt, the heart was believed to hold a person’s essence — including memory, intellect, and morality. Embalmers often left the heart inside the body or preserved it with special care, considering it far more important than the brain. Later, in Greek philosophy, Aristotle described the heart as the source of sensation and life itself. He believed it was the first organ to form in an embryo and the center of human emotion. The brain, in his view, existed only to cool the heart’s fiery temperament.
Five centuries after Aristotle, the Roman-era physician and philosopher Galen brought a more anatomical perspective to the discussion. He believed the heart was a pine cone-shaped three-chambered organ that produced the body’s vital spirit — a life-sustaining force carried through the arteries. Many of his ideas were inaccurate, inspired by philosophical tradition and limited scientific observation. With little access to human dissection, early artists and illustrators relied on metaphor, creating stylized, symmetrical shapes that reflected the heart’s symbolic role in the soul rather than its actual anatomy.
In geometric terms, the heart shape is known as a cardioid, and forms resembling it can be found throughout the natural world. In fact, one of the most compelling theories about the origin of the heart symbol points to ancient agriculture and the symbolism of plants, rather than human anatomy.
In the ancient city of Cyrene (modern-day Libya), a species of giant fennel known as silphium was so highly valued that it drove the economy of the region. Its uses were wide-ranging: Silphium was a prized seasoning, a powerful medicine, and, most notably, a natural contraceptive. It was so essential to life and love in the ancient world that it was stamped onto Cyrenian coins.
The plant’s seedpod, in particular, bore a strong resemblance to the heart symbol we recognize today — a smooth, symmetrical form tapering to a point. Because silphium was closely associated with love, sexuality, and fertility, some historians believe the shape of its seedpod may have directly influenced the development of the symbolic heart.
Other plants have also echoed the heart’s curves. Ivy leaves, long associated with fidelity and eternal love in Greek and Roman symbolism, display a heartlike silhouette. The fig leaf, tied to sensuality in ancient art and myth, and even water lily leaves, often shaped like rounded hearts, may have subtly reinforced the motif in art and decoration.
By the Middle Ages, the symbolic heart began to appear more frequently in religious art and literature in Europe, often representing divine or spiritual love. In Christian iconography, saints such as St. Augustine were depicted holding or pointing to flaming hearts, symbolizing their devotion to God. The Sacred Heart of Jesus, which emerged in medieval devotional art, emphasized themes of love, sacrifice, and compassion — establishing the heart as a spiritual symbol.
At the same time, more secular interpretations of the heart were gaining popularity. In illuminated manuscripts from the 13th and 14th centuries, lovers were sometimes shown exchanging hearts — both literally and metaphorically. A notable example appears in the 14th-century French manuscriptRoman de la Poire (“Romance of the Pear”), in which a man offers his heart, shaped much like the modern symbol, to his beloved. These early heart illustrations were often red, symmetrical, and stylized — but they didn’t always follow today’s orientation. Some were shown with the point facing upward, while others were more angular or leaflike.
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The Printing Press Helped Solidify the Symbol
The invention of the printing press in the 15th century helped standardize and spread the heart symbol across Europe. As printed materials became more widely available, so did visual motifs — and the heart, already associated with courtly love and devotion in art, literature, and music, was a popular choice. Early printers used woodcuts to embellish books and pamphlets with heart shapes in religious texts, emblems, and romantic illustrations. Around the same time, in 1498, Leonardo da Vinci created one of the first anatomically accurate drawings of the human heart — but his scientific rendering had little influence on the romanticized symbol already taking hold in popular culture.
As Valentine’s Day evolved into a romantic holiday in England and France, printers began mass-producing cards and tokens adorned with cupids, flowers, and heart motifs. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the heart was everywhere — on embroidery, porcelain, stationery, and jewelry. In the Victorian era, heart-shaped lockets and lace-trimmed valentines became cherished expressions of sentiment. No longer tied to anatomy or philosophy, the heart symbol fully transformed into a visual shorthand for love and emotional connection — a role it still plays today in greeting cards and text messages around the world.
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10 Rare Coins That Are Worth a Fortune
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AuthorTony Dunnell
August 12, 2025
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Most of us, at some point, have probably seen a scattering of strange coins — perhaps at a yard sale or tucked away in a dusty drawer — and asked ourselves, “I wonder if those are worth anything?” For many of us, that’s about as close as we get to the fascinating world of coin collecting, or, to give it its technical name, numismatics. But there are plenty of proper numismatists out there. According to data from CivicScience, 38% of U.S. adults have collected coins at some point during their lives.
It’s easy to understand the appeal of collecting rare coins. For one, they offer a glimpse into the past. They can also be worth an awful lot of money. In numismatics, a decades-old manufacturing mistake can make you rich and a simple penny might pay off your mortgage. Part of the thrill of coin collecting is knowing that unexpected treasures can be hiding in plain sight, and that once-simple pocket change can become a highly collectible artifact worth thousands — or even millions — of dollars.
Here are 10 facts from the world of numismatics, from the oldest coin ever discovered to the most expensive ever sold.
The Lydian Lion is widely considered the world’s oldest coin. Minted around 600 BCE in the kingdom of Lydia (modern-day Turkey), these coins were made of electrum, a mixture of gold and silver. The creation of the Lydian Lion marked a truly significant milestone in economic history by establishing the concept of money as we know it today. A Lydian Lion coin is worth an estimated $2.5 million today due to its historical significance and rarity.
The Chain Cent Was the First Circulating Coin From the U.S. Mint
The chain cent was the first mass-produced, regular-issue coin to be struck at the fledgling U.S. Mint. Named for the interlocking chain design on its reverse, the chain cent was minted from February 27 to March 12, 1793, with only around 36,103 produced in total. Today, likely no more than 1,500 to 2,000 chain cents exist, with maybe only 10 or so in mint condition.
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The First Official Silver Dollar Was Struck in 1794
The first silver dollar is known as the “Flowing Hair” dollar, as one side features a bust of Lady Liberty with noticeably flowing hair. It was produced by the U.S. Mint in 1794, and only 1,758 coins were struck in its first year. Far fewer exist today, making Flowing Hair dollars produced in 1794 rare and highly prized, even in imperfect condition. One of these rare coins went up for auction in 2013 and sold for $10 million — a world record at the time.
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A Rare Gold Coin Proved a “Fake” Roman Emperor Was Real
In 1713, a collection of eight gold coins, of five different design types, was found in Transylvania, Romania. One of the coins featured an image of an unknown Roman emperor with the name Sponsian. For hundreds of years, the coins, and therefore the emperor, were believed to be fake. But in 2022, scientists at University College London proved that the coin had been in circulation 2,000 years ago. In doing so, they proved that Sponsian — whose name and portrait appear on the incredibly rare coin — was indeed a Roman emperor back in the third century.
A pattern coin is a prototype or proof of concept made to evaluate the design, composition, and technical aspects of a coin before it goes into mass production. They are normally produced in extremely limited quantities, potentially making them highly collectible. A prime example is the 1856 Flying Eagle cent. Only around 1,500 to 2,000 examples were ever minted, primarily to distribute to members of Congress and influential figures to gain support for the new coin design. As such, the rare 1856 Flying Eagle cent is highly collectible. In 2024, one was sold at auction for $312,000.
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A Wartime Mistake Created a Rare Copper Penny
Due to copper shortages during World War II, most 1943 pennies were made from zinc-coated steel. But the U.S. Mint accidentally made a small batch of copper pennies, of which only around 40 are believed to exist today. That, of course, makes these 1943 copper pennies highly valuable, with one selling for $82,500 in 1996. Collector beware, however: There are plenty of fake 1943 copper pennies out there. If you think you’ve found one, first test it with a magnet. Genuine 1943 copper pennies are not magnetic, so if a coin sticks, it is made of steel and thus is not authentic.
A coin die is a specialized metal stamp used to create coins by pressing an image into a blank metal disc. A double die coin is produced when the coin die is not manufactured correctly. This error causes parts of the finished coin’s design to be slightly misaligned, with elements doubled in overlapping positions. In the world of numismatics, such errors can increase a coin’s value, and in many cases the more obvious and distinct the error, the more the coin will be worth. In 2023, a rare 1958 double die penny sold for $1.136 million.
Unpopular Initials Turned a Lincoln Cent Into a Collector’s Item
In 1909, the U.S. Mint in San Francisco began production of the Lincoln cent, the first everyday U.S. coin to feature an actual person. Controversy soon arose, however, as people began to object to the coin designer’s inclusion of his own initials, VDB (for Victor David Brenner), on the coin, which was regarded as too prominent and too self-promotional. Three days later, production was stopped and the initials removed. Only 484,000 examples of the 1909 VDB-initialed Lincoln cent were struck, making it quite rare — especially today, more than a century later.
A Missing “S” Added Half a Million to the Value of a 1975 Dime
In 1975, the San Francisco Mint produced a proof set of more than 2.8 million coins. Three years later, eagle-eyed collectors realized that, due to a manufacturing error, two of these dimes were missing the “S” mark for San Francisco, instantly making them two of the rarest and most sought-after coins in the world. Both coins have since been sold at auction for around half a million dollars.
The World’s Most Expensive Coin Sold for $18.9 Million
In the midst of the Great Depression, the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia produced a $20 gold coin known as the 1933 Saint-Gaudens Double Eagle. But nearly all of the 445,500 Double Eagles struck that year were melted down before they could circulate, thanks to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Executive Order 6102, which prohibited the private ownership of gold coins. Only 13 of these coins exist today, and they are extremely valuable. In 2021, one 1933 Double Eagle sold at auction for a whopping $18.9 million, making it the world’s most expensive coin.
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Why Was the Battle of the Alamo Important?
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AuthorPaul Chang
August 12, 2025
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In February 1836, an outnumbered band of Texan independence fighters faced a Mexican army in what would become one of the most storied conflicts in American history: the Battle of the Alamo. Although they lost the battle, the Texan fighters’ final stand became a historic symbol of resistance and freedom, immortalized in the famous battle cry, “Remember the Alamo!” Here’s a look back at why this fascinating battle was important — militarily, politically, and symbolically.
After winning independence from Spain in 1821, Mexico allowed pioneers from the expanding United States to settle in the northern Tejas region of Mexico that eventually became the state of Texas. Over the next decade, these “Texians,” as they were known at the time, enjoyed a relative degree of autonomy far from Mexico’s capital.
However, as the number of settlers grew, the Mexican government responded by prohibiting U.S. immigration and imposing tariffs on the Texas settlers, causing tensions to escalate. This eventually boiled over into armed clashes between the settlers and the Mexican government with the Battle of Velasco in 1832 — a prelude to the brewing Texas Revolution.
Against this backdrop, the Texas settlers believed that Antonio López de Santa Anna — a celebrated general vying for the Mexican presidency — backed their continued autonomy due to his Federalist campaign platform, which supported a division between federal and local governance. However, upon winning the presidency in 1833, Santa Anna did an about-face and abolished the Mexican Constitution of 1824, which had enshrined the Federalist system, seeking to centralize power as a military dictator. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back: On October 2, 1835, tensions reached a breaking point and the Texas Revolution began in earnest with the Battle of Gonzales. The revolutionaries won their first fight, but the quest for independence was just beginning — and the stage for the Battle of the Alamo was set.
Named after the Spanish word for the cottonwood trees that surrounded it, the Alamo is a former Spanish mission used as a military fort starting in the early 19th century. In December 1835, a group of Texan volunteers captured the Alamo from Mexican forces. Its location in the town of San Antonio de Bexar (now San Antonio, Texas) was of strategic importance for supply lines and communications, making it one of the first frontier outposts to encounter the advancing Mexican army.
On February 23, 1836, General Santa Anna arrived at the Alamo with an army, intending to take back the fort and put down the revolution. Though estimates of the Mexican army’s size vary between 1,800 and 6,000 people, what’s not in dispute is that the Alamo’s defenders were greatly outnumbered with fewer than 200 fighters. Santa Anna’s demands for unconditional surrender were met with a cannon shot from the Alamo — and thus began a 13-day siege.
The Texan volunteers, led by Colonel James Bowie, a famous adventurer and knife fighter, and 26-year-old Lieutenant Colonel William B. Travis, came from all walks of life. In addition to early American settlers — including Davy Crockett, the legendary frontiersman and Tennessee congressman — their number included native-born San Antonians of Mexican heritage and European immigrants.
On February 24, surrounded by enemy forces, Travis penned one of U.S. history’s most famous letters. Addressed “To the People of Texas & All Americans in the World,” the letter was a passionate call for aid from supporters of the revolution, reprinted in newspapers all around the United States and even Europe. Seen by many as emblematic of the courage of the fighters, Travis’ missive ended with the battle’s only possible outcome: “victory or death.”
On March 6, Mexican forces breached the fort and overpowered the defenders. On Santa Anna’s orders to take no prisoners, almost all of the Alamo’s defenders were killed and their remains burned, including Bowie, Travis, and Crockett. The Mexican forces also suffered significant losses, estimated between 600 and 1,600. In the end, the outnumbered defenders held off the Mexican army for 13 days, buying time for Texas General Sam Houston to gather forces and prepare for future victories in the Texas Revolution.
Though the Battle of the Alamo was a military loss for the revolutionaries, it became a powerful symbol of resistance. When Texas forces led by Houston ultimately defeated Santa Anna’s army at the Battle of San Jacinto on April 21, 1836, ending the revolution and establishing Texas as an independent republic, the Texan fighters shouted the legendary rallying cry, “Remember the Alamo!” The Republic of Texas existed as an independent country for nearly a decade before being annexed by the United States in 1845 — an event that sparked the Mexican-American War.
The story of the Alamo has been invoked by U.S. leaders throughout history — including Franklin D. Roosevelt, Lyndon B. Johnson, and George W. Bush — to inspire courage, patriotism, and sacrifice. It was also immortalized in the 1960 film The Alamo starring John Wayne as Davy Crockett. Yet in recent years, some have argued that the traditional story of the Alamo omits darker motivations behind the Texas revolution: namely, the Texan settlers’ desire to continue using slave labor to cultivate cotton, which Mexico aimed to abolish. While the role of slavery in the story of the Alamo and the Texas Revolution continues to be a source of heated debate, the famous battle cry “Remember the Alamo!” endures as a call to stand firm even against overwhelming odds.
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Who Was John Hancock?
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AuthorTimothy Ott
August 12, 2025
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The apparent one-hit wonder of the U.S. Founding Fathers, John Hancock is largely known today solely for inscribing the first and largest signature at the bottom the Declaration of Independence — an act that resulted in his name becoming a synonym for the legally identifying scribbles we apply to checks and other important forms today.
It may seem curious that Hancock’s name stands front and center among the signatures on this most cherished document of American history, ahead of far more famous founders such as Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, or Benjamin Franklin. Yet Hancock was very much a leading man of his time. His reputation rendered him worthy of the handwritten flourish that placed him first among the luminaries who called for independence on July 4, 1776, even if his memory has all but vanished beyond the contours of that famous signature.
As described in Brooke Barbier’s biography King Hancock, John Hancock was born on January 23, 1737, in Braintree, Massachusetts, the son and grandson of Harvard College-groomed ministers (also both named John). Hancock likely would have headed down a similar career path, but his life took a sharp turn after his father died in 1744, and he was sent to live with his wealthy uncle, Thomas, in the large port city of Boston.
A largely mediocre student — although he proved adept at penmanship — Hancock went to work for his uncle’s import-export business after graduating from Harvard in 1754. He became a partner after a stint overseas in London in the early 1760s, and then inherited the firm following Thomas’ death in 1764. As befitting a man who then ranked among the wealthiest in Boston, Hancock was named a city selectman in 1765, before earning election to the Massachusetts House of Representatives the following year.
His rising social and political clout came at a time of increasing tensions toward the British Parliament, with many Bostonians frustrated by the taxes imposed by the Sugar Act of 1764 and the Stamp Act of 1765. A merchant with strong business ties to London, Hancock did not share the rebellious viewpoints harbored by local firebrands such as Samuel Adams and James Otis. Nevertheless, he joined a network of merchants who agreed to stop importing British goods as long as the Stamp Act remained in effect, an endeavor that proved successful with the act’s repeal in 1766.
Hancock’s shift toward resistance leader continued following a new round of import duties with the passage of the Townshend Acts in 1767. Drawing suspicions of smuggling from the local customs board, Hancock was celebrated for ejecting a pair of prying customs officials from one of the ships. Another of his vessels was seized two months later, and he was arrested in the fall of 1768 for smuggling, before getting the charges dropped the following spring with the help of lawyer and childhood friend John Adams.
Meanwhile, Hancock was among the group of assemblymen who helped draft the widely distributed “Circular Letter” that argued against the Townshend Acts, and he was also among the majority that voted to reject British demands to retract the letter. Two years later, following the violence of the Boston Massacre on March 5, 1770, Hancock chaired a committee that demanded the removal of British soldiers from Boston, and he agreed to oversee their safe and orderly withdrawal via the harbor.
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Boston’s Leading Citizen
Although he took a step back from politics following the partial repeal of the Townshend Acts in 1770, Hancock again found himself at the center of a growing storm with the passage of the Tea Act in May 1773. After moderating committees that sought to block the latest unpopular tax, he endorsed — and may even have been a primary instigator of — the December 1773 destruction of cargo that became known as the Boston Tea Party.
After Parliament responded in early 1774 with the punitive Coercive Acts, which led to the shutdown of the port of Boston and elimination of the state assembly, the assembly members reorganized in October as the Provincial Congress, the first autonomous government in the colonies. Hancock was subsequently elected its president, making him the most powerful colonist in Massachusetts.
This also made him a target of increasingly agitated British authorities. As part of his famous midnight ride on April 18, 1775, Paul Revere made a beeline to Lexington, Massachusetts, which was hosting the Provincial Congress, to warn Hancock and Sam Adams that they were in danger of being captured. The two men slipped out of town, hours before the opening shots of the American Revolution.
A few weeks later, Hancock led a procession of carriages to Philadelphia as a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, receiving a rousing reception from colonists along the way. He was also warmly welcomed by the other delegates; after Continental Congress President Peyton Randolph was recalled to the Virginia Assembly, Hancock was deemed a suitable replacement by both the conservatives who valued his business acumen and the radicals who admired his track record of resistance. According to John Adams, Hancock also sought the position of commander in chief of the Continental Army, and was distressed when the job instead went to George Washington.
As president, Hancock mainly moderated congressional meetings and occasionally joined in the debates. His moderate stances infuriated John Adams and Samuel Adams, who pushed for independence from Britain, although Hancock found it harder to advocate for compromise after Parliament passed the Prohibitory Act in December 1775, cutting off all British trade with the colonies. By the summer of 1776, Hancock was on board with the momentum that was carrying the delegates toward declaring independence.
As president of the Continental Congress, Hancock was the first to sign the Declaration of Independence on August 2, 1776. According to popular legend, after he applied his famous signature to the engrossed copy of the document, he said something along the lines of, "Let King George read that without spectacles!" While that story is apocryphal, it is true that Hancock and Continental Congress Secretary Charles Thomson were the only two people to have their names affixed to the original printed version of the document, initially leaving them as the two people liable for treason had the quest for independence been squashed by the British. Hancock's large and bold signature was likely deliberate — a signal of his courage and resolve in affixing his name to the rebellious document.
Although Hancock gamely pored through the voluminous congressional paperwork and worked to raise money and troops for the Revolution, he eventually tired of the long hours required of the job, worn down by his recurring battles with gout, and he requested a leave of absence in October 1777. He briefly returned to the Continental Congress the following summer, but left again after it became clear that the new president, Henry Laurens of South Carolina, had no intention of relinquishing the job.
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Massachusetts Governor and U.S. Constitution Proponent
In 1780, Hancock easily defeated fellow merchant James Bowdoin to become the first nonroyal governor of Massachusetts. A beloved figure throughout the state for his years of service and acts of charity, the governor nevertheless saw his popularity tested as citizens struggled to pay the high taxes to settle the Revolutionary War debts. A sympathetic Hancock neglected to crack down on tax collecting and dragged his feet on signing bills that would add to the financial burden of the people. The stresses of the job again taking a toll on his health, he stepped down from the position in 1785.
After Bowdoin took over as governor in 1786 and the discord fomented into Shay's Rebellion, Hancock refused to join the group of wealthy merchants who funded an army to put down the uprising. Instead, after being reelected governor in 1787, he accepted a salary cut and pardoned all but two of the most egregious participants in the rebellion.
Hancock enjoyed one more moment in the limelight as the states weighed in on whether to approve the U.S. Constitution. Named president of the Massachusetts Ratifying Convention in January 1788, Hancock missed the first three weeks due to his poor health before making a dramatic entrance, carried by servants, to deliver a speech in favor of ratifying the Constitution with amendments. He delivered another stirring speech a few days later, urging unity no matter the outcome, before a final vote gave the pro-ratification side a narrow victory.
Said to have been interested in either the presidency or the vice presidency, Hancock lost out to Washington for the former role and to fellow Massachusettsan John Adams for the latter. Regardless, he remained an esteemed figure in his home state, and even found common ground with ally-turned-critic-turned-ally Samuel Adams over their shared distrust of federal government overreach. Holding office until his death on October 8, 1793, Hancock was honored with a funeral procession that drew a massive turnout of mourners and shut down his adopted home city of Boston for the day.
Ultimately, Hancock never logged the military service that made Washington a national hero and the first president, and he also lacked the intellectual gifts and ideological passions that enabled John Adams and Jefferson to succeed Washington and cement their legacies. Nevertheless, he was an accomplished businessman and battle-tested leader who left his fingerprints all over Revolution-era Massachusetts, making it fitting that he's uniquely remembered for another deft touch of finger work.
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What’s the Real Story of Ben Franklin’s Kite Experiment?
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AuthorTimothy Ott
August 6, 2025
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It’s one of the most well-known moments in American history: Ben Franklin attaching a key to a kite during a thunderstorm to demonstrate the electrical nature of lightning. Yet, like a centuries-long game of telephone, the details of the celebrated 1752 experiment have been exaggerated or misinterpreted through countless retellings, creating a popular myth that may be more fiction than fact.
Look no further than the oil-on-canvas work “Benjamin Franklin Drawing Electricity From the Sky,” painted by Benjamin West in the early 19th century. In the painting, a confident Franklin raises his fist to receive a charge from a key suspended by a kite string, hair and cape billowing around him, as a team of cherubs wrestles with the string and another pair engage with some sort of electrical apparatus in the background.
This work of art encapsulates much of the myth surrounding the famous experiment. The dramatic portrayal clearly isn’t meant to be taken as a historically accurate re-creation, and West took several liberties with his depiction of the event. For one thing, Franklin was actually assisted in this endeavor by his young adult son William, not a team of cherubs. The inventor was also a relatively spry 46 at the time, not yet the wizened elder seen in the painting. And he likely undertook his experiment from the shelter of a shed, as opposed to being exposed to the elements of a thunderstorm.
What’s more, the kite and key story, retold to countless schoolchildren over the past two centuries and often repackaged as Franklin’s “discovery” of electricity, may not have taken place at all. While that’s certainly a more extreme interpretation of what happened, it also underscores the scarcity of verified details about the most famous experiment from one of the most famous figures in American history. So what really happened?
As told in Walter Isaacson’s Benjamin Franklin: An American Life, the titular polymath, then best known as a Philadelphia printer, turned his considerable intellectual gifts toward exploring the little-understood properties of electricity in the 1740s. Conducting an array of experiments with a Leyden jar, a simple capacitor fitted with a cork and wire, Franklin formed what became the single-fluid theory of electricity with his observation of a flow between “positive” and “negative” bodies with an excess or absence of the fluid.
Franklin also became intrigued by the similarities between electrical sparks and lightning, and devised ways in which to demonstrate their shared nature. In a 1749 collection of notes, later relayed in a 1750 letter to Franklin’s London business partner Peter Collinson, Franklin described how such a demonstration could be administered: “On the top of some high tower or steeple, place a kind of sentry-box, big enough to contain a man and an electrical stand. From the middle of the stand, let an iron rod rise and pass bending out of the door, and then upright 20 or 30 feet, pointed very sharp at the end. If the electrical stand be kept clean and dry, a man standing on it when such clouds are passing low, might be electrified and afford sparks, the rod drawing fire to him from a cloud.”
The European scientific community began seriously considering Franklin’s work around this time, particularly after a series of his letters and notes were published in the 1751 pamphletExperiments and Observations on Electricity. In May 1752, French naturalist Thomas-François Dalibard followed Franklin’s proposed instructions for drawing sparks from a storm cloud, his success inspiring colleagues to produce their own demonstrations that proved the American’s theory that lightning is a form of electrical energy.
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The Kite Experiment
Meanwhile, Franklin was impatiently waiting for the steeple of Philadelphia's Christ Church to be completed so he could use its lofty height for his own tests. Apparently unaware of the successes of the "Philadelphia experiments in France, he eventually elected to forgo the steeple and embark on a modified version of his initial plans.
According to contemporary accounts of the event, Franklin and his son William trekked out to a field as a thunderstorm approached in June 1752. They brought a homemade silk kite with a sharp metal wire affixed to the top, a hemp string connected to the bottom, and a metal key attached to the hemp line. Franklin also tied a silk string to the hemp one, surmising that the dry silk would be insulated from the "electric fire" running through the wet hemp line and therefore be safe for holding.
With the kite aloft in the air, Franklin waited for a telltale sign of electrical activity that wasn't apparent until he noticed a few loose threads of the hemp string standing erect. Extending his hand toward the key, he felt the anticipated spark, and held up his trusty Leyden jar to collect more of the charge for later investigations.
Curiously, Franklin provided no immediate documentation of the experience. Even after learning of the French demonstrations sometime that summer, and reprinting a letter about them in a late August 1752 edition of his Pennsylvania Gazette, Franklin neglected to mention that he, too, had proved the electrical properties of lightning.
The first public notice of Franklin's efforts came with a letter he wrote to Collinson that October, which was reprinted in the Pennsylvania Gazette that month and later read before the Royal Society of London. The letter describes how a version of the electrical experiments in France "succeeded in Philadelphia," without mentioning that he was the one who pulled it off, and proceeds to list the steps for following through with his modified plan.
The only other contemporary account of Franklin and his kite came with the 1767 publication of scientist Joseph Priestley's The History and Present State of Electricity. Priestley's retelling, derived from his recent personal introduction to Franklin, provides most of the known plot points of the story: that it took place in June 1752, how the charged threads of the string hovered in the air, and even how the inventor was anxious about being ridiculed and as such told no one besides William of his intentions.
Even with the details furnished by Priestley, there remain a few important unresolved questions surrounding this event. For example, we don't know exactly when Franklin sent his kite into the turbulent sky. The date is often cited as June 10, 1752, although other dates in June, and even other months, have been floated. It's also unclear why Franklin himself said so little about the subject, and why his confirmation of the experiment's success failed to place him in the middle of it.
Given the lack of clarity, it was perhaps inevitable that someone would push the theory that it was all a hoax, as suggested by author Tom Tucker with his 2003 book Bolt of Fate. Tucker is in the clear minority in this opinion, however. Other historians have pointed out that Franklin's kite experiment was never disputed at the time, and that he had little reason to lie about his actions after acknowledging that the French beat him to the punch.
Even if the key and kite anecdote can't be proved beyond the existing evidence, there's no arguing that it was Franklin's ideas that opened the pathway to our modern understanding of electricity, and led to the practical — and lifesaving — invention of the lightning rod. In the meantime, the mythical element exemplified by West's painting nicely fills in the holes of a celebrated American origin story, illustrating the ingenuity of one of the cleverest founding fathers.
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Does the Thumbs-Up Sign Come From Gladiator Fights?
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AuthorTony Dunnell
August 5, 2025
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The thumbs-up sign is one of the most instantly and universally recognized symbols of approval in modern Western culture. This ubiquitous gesture appears in everyday acknowledgments between friends and colleagues, in emojis across social media, and in numerous TV shows and movies, with famous fictional proponents including “The Fonz,” Borat, and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s T-800 in Terminator 2: Judgment Day.
Despite this popularity, a fair amount of confusion and misinformation surrounds the origin of the thumbs-up sign. Most notably, many people believe the gesture has its origins in ancient Roman gladiator fights, where spectators supposedly used a thumbs-up to spare defeated fighters and a thumbs-down to condemn them to death. This narrative has been reinforced by popular culture — particularly the 2000 Academy Award-winning movie Gladiator. The historical reality, however, is not nearly as clear cut as Hollywood would have us believe.
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The Problem With Pollice Verso
It’s true that there’s a link between thumb gestures and gladiator fights in ancient Rome, but we don’t know exactly how the gesture was used. At the heart of the historical debate is the Latin phrase pollice verso, meaning “with a turned thumb.” This phrase appears in ancient Roman literature, including in connection with gladiatorial contests, but its exact meaning remains unclear to historians. We don’t know whether pollice verso referred to a thumb being turned up, turned down, held horizontally, or concealed inside the hand to indicate positive or negative opinions — or, in the arena, to signal whether a gladiator was spared or killed.
The ambiguity of ancient sources has allowed later interpreters to project their own meaning onto the gesture. The most significant example of this in the modern era is Jean-Léon Gérôme’s 1872 painting “Pollice Verso.” The painting brilliantly captures the power and drama of a gladiatorial contest, with one gladiator standing above his fallen opponent, who, lying stricken on the ground, raises two fingers to plead for mercy. In the stands of the Colosseum, Roman spectators, including an animated group of vestal virgins, signal death for the defeated gladiator with a thumbs-down gesture. The painting greatly popularized the idea that a thumbs-up signaled life, and a thumbs-down signaled death for a defeated gladiator.
It didn’t take long, however, for scholars to highlight the painting’s lack of a solid historical foundation in its portrayal of the gladiatorial contest. In 1879, a 26-page pamphlet titled Pollice Verso: To the Lovers of Truth in Classic Art, This Is Most Respectfully Addressed presented evidence against the historical accuracy of the thumb gestures in Gérôme’s painting.
Debate surrounding the gesture did not end there — to this day, historians argue about the meaning of the thumb sign in gladiatorial contests. In recent years, for example, Anthony Corbeill, a professor of classics at the University of Virginia, told Timethat the commonly held belief about the thumbs-up gesture is incorrect. According to Corbeill, “Sparing [a gladiator] is pressing the thumb to the top of the fist and death is a thumbs-up. In other words, it’s the opposite of what we think.”
But widely held notions can be hard to shift, especially when Hollywood puts its full weight behind something. Ridley Scott’s hugely successful historical epic Gladiator cemented in the public consciousness the idea that the thumbs-up we use today came from ancient Rome. Gladiator was itself inspired by Gérôme’s “Pollice Verso”painting, which was shown to the director to convince him to make the movie. Scott in turn took some ideas from the painting, including the use of the thumb gesture, despite a lack of historical evidence for it. In the same way that “Pollice Verso” shaped public opinion regarding the thumbs-up sign in the 19th century, Gladiator reinforced the idea through the power of the modern-day blockbuster.
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A Wartime Gesture
Despite the persistent Roman gladiator narrative, the modern positive meaning of the thumbs-up gesture likely developed through different cultural channels over many centuries. Though the exact origins are unknown, historians believe the gesture gained widespread recognition during the 20th century, particularly in English-speaking countries. And the reason for its spread might be found in war.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, one of the first recorded instances of the thumbs-up gesture used to indicate approval occurs in the 1917 book Over the Top by Arthur Guy Empey, an American who served in the British army in World War I. In the book, he explains the thumbs-up sign as being “Tommy’s expression which means ‘everything is fine with me’” (“Tommy” being a slang term for a British soldier).
Another theory suggests the gesture was used by pilots to communicate with the person starting a propeller in early preflight checks. The gesture then became common among fighter pilots during World War II, who used it to indicate to the crew that everything was good and they were ready to take off. So, while the modern thumbs-up sign might not have come from the gladiatorial arena, it was likely popularized during the two largest conflicts of the modern age.
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