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What If Dewey Had Defeated Truman in 1948?
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AuthorTony Dunnell
August 22, 2025
Love it?26
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.
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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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Why Was the Battle of the Alamo Important?
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AuthorPaul Chang
August 12, 2025
Love it?53
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.
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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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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.
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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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What Was the Antebellum Period?
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AuthorNicole Villeneuve
July 30, 2025
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In the years before the Civil War, the United States was rapidly expanding geographically, economically, and politically. This era, roughly spanning from the end of the War of 1812 (which lasted until 1815) to the start of the Civil War in 1861, is often called the “antebellum” era, after the Latin term for “before the war.”
The term “antebellum” is also used more specifically in reference to the American South during this time, describing an idealized vision of plantation life and grand, columned estates that has been popularized by films such as Gone With the Wind. But the term has long been controversial, seen as a romanticization of a society built on slavery and racial oppression. In 2020, country band Lady Antebellum said that a newfound perspective on the “injustices, inequality, and biases Black women and men have always faced and continue to face everyday” prompted them to change their name to Lady A.
More broadly, the term refers to any period preceding a war, but it’s most often used in reference to the decades leading up to the U.S. Civil War. During this time period, the tension between reform and resistance reached a tipping point, setting the stage for the one of the largest conflicts in American history.
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A Nation Divided
One of the key issues leading up to the Civil War was whether slavery should be allowed to continue in the United States, and if so, where. While the Northern states were slowly moving toward abolition, the South’s economy was deeply tied to enslaved labor. Cotton production was booming, and it depended on the forced labor of millions of Black Americans.
Over the course of the 19th century, Congress passed a series of compromises to try to navigate these growing divisions. In 1820, the Missouri Compromise admitted Missouri as a slave state and Maine as a free one in order to maintain the balance. The Compromise of 1850 let California join as a free state but included a harsh law requiring the return of people who escaped slavery. And in 1854, the Kansas-Nebraska Act allowed residents in those territories to decide the issue for themselves.
These were ultimately attempts to maintain a delicate political balance and avoid Southern threats of secession, which were fueled by fears that the federal government would override state decisions. But they merely delayed conflict, and in some cases, these compromises actually highlighted how unstable the political climate had become: In the 1850s, a period of violent clashes known as Bleeding Kansas erupted between the opposing sides.
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Westward Expansion
At the same time, the United States was growing fast. The 1803 Louisiana Purchase nearly doubled U.S. territory, and during the antebellum years, that push westward continued. Driven by a belief in “Manifest Destiny” — the idea that Americans had a divine right to settle the entire continent — settlers moved steadily into new areas, often displacing Indigenous peoples and redrawing territorial boundaries along the way. Each new territory raised the question of whether slavery would be allowed, and with each debate, the stakes and tensions continued to grow.
Along with deepening ideological divisions over the future of the country, the antebellum years also saw dramatic changes in American life. The rise of the manufacturing industry was reshaping the North, where factory work, canals, and railroads connected people like never before. In the agrarian South, meanwhile, economic life still revolved around large-scale plantations. As demand for cotton soared worldwide, plantations expanded and the South’s reliance on enslaved labor only grew deeper.
The period before the Civil War was also a time of rapid social reform. Advocates pushed for public education, the temperance movement gained ground, and women’s rights groups organized. For many people, no movement felt more urgent than abolition, and the voices for it grew louder. Abolitionist leaders such as Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth, both of whom were formerly enslaved, helped bring the realities of enslaved people into wider public view. This era also saw the rise of transcendentalism, led by influential figures such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who often spoke out against slavery. The arts reflected the tensions of the time: hope for progress, but also fear of what was to come.
By the late 1850s, whatever fragile peace the country had maintained was unraveling. An 1857 Supreme Court decision in Dred Scott v. Sandford denied citizenship to Black Americans and ruled that Congress had no authority to stop slavery in the territories. The North was outraged, while the South celebrated.
In 1860, Abraham Lincoln ran for president on a platform that rejected the Dred Scott decision outright, calling it a “dangerous political heresy.” Lincoln’s election that November made the conflict unavoidable: South Carolina declared its secession from the U.S. the next month, and by February, six more Southern states seceded as well. One month after Lincoln’s March 1861 inauguration, Confederate forces attacked Fort Sumter, marking the end of the antebellum years and the start of a new chapter in U.S. history.
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5 of the Most Famous Dresses in History
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AuthorTony Dunnell
July 23, 2025
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Rose Bertin, an 18th-century French dressmaker often referred to as the world’s first fashion designer, once told her most famous client, Queen Marie Antoinette, “There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.”
Some gowns, however, steadfastly defy the passage of time and refuse to be forgotten. They are destined to remain fresh in the public consciousness, no matter how many years pass or how many trends come and go. Such dresses have transcended mere fashion to become enduring symbols of power or romance, tragedy or transformation, capturing moments in history in finely crafted fabric and thread.
Here’s a look at five iconic gowns from history, from the elaborate wardrobes of prerevolutionary France to the heights of Hollywood royalty.
Marie Antoinette was the epitome of excess in prerevolutionary France. Her name became synonymous with profligacy, promiscuity, and the decline of moral authority within the French monarchy, and her legendary quote, “Let them eat cake,” is widely known even today — despite there being no evidence that she ever uttered the words.
The French queen’s reputation for frivolity was only heightened by her magnificent court gowns. There was no holding back when it came to her dresses, which were often constructed using panniers — hoop skirts that added volume around the hips — giving her gowns impressively impractical width. Combined with luxurious silk garments, large box pleats, bodices, ribbons, bows, frills, and jewelry, the finished look was nothing short of glorious — and, for the increasingly irate revolutionaries, entirely inappropriate. Today we can still admire the splendor of Antoinette’s court dresses in various contemporary portraits, perhaps none more iconic than “Marie Antoinette in Court Dress” by French painter Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun.
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In 1840, England’s Queen Victoria married Prince Albert. It was a massive public occasion, and one that revolutionized bridal fashion. Rather than wear the traditional red ermine robe of state, Victoria decided to marry in white.
At the time, it was common for wedding dresses to come in a variety of colors, but white dresses were more rare as they were so hard to keep clean. But as soon as Victoria stepped out in her white satin wedding gown, made with English Honiton lace — a deliberate choice to support and stimulate Britain’s lace industry — she established a tradition that endures to this day. While initially embraced only by wealthier brides, the trend of wearing a white wedding gown eventually spread across all economic levels, becoming standard in the 20th century and beyond.
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Marilyn Monroe's “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” Dress
Marilyn Monroe wore an array of iconic dresses, but perhaps none pushed the boundaries as much as the skintight, crystal-embellished gown she wore to serenade President John F. Kennedy in 1962. It instantly became one of the most talked about dresses in history, seen by many as nothing less than scandalous, especially when combined with the star’s sultry and flirtatious rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
The sheer, flesh-colored gown, designed by French fashion designer Jean Louis, was so formfitting that Monroe had to be sewn into it. Overall, it created the illusion of nudity while technically remaining modest. Along with the performance, the gown became a symbol of 1960s glamour and rebellion against conservative social norms, and remains iconic to this day.
In 1961, the romantic comedy film Breakfast at Tiffany’s was released in cinemas to widespread critical acclaim. The fashion world also took note, thanks to star Audrey Hepburn’s instantly iconic little black dress. Designed by Paris couturier Hubert de Givenchy, the sleek, floor-length black satin gown was custom-made for Hepburn. Accessorized with pearls, long black gloves, and a tiara, the dress represented a sophisticated minimalism that went on to influence fashion for decades. Building on French designer Coco Chanel’s introduction of the “little black dress” in the 1920s, Hepburn’s gown is now considered one of the most influential dresses in the history of 20th-century costume design.
On the night of June 29, 1994, Prince Charles confessed on British television that he had cheated on his estranged wife, Princess Diana, after their marriage had, in his words, “irretrievably broken down.” The same night as the broadcast, Diana attended the Vanity Fair gala at London’s Serpentine Gallery, wearing a slinky and daringly short black dress with an off-the-shoulder, cleavage-baring neckline — something rarely if ever seen worn by British royals at the time.
The press caught on immediately, quickly dubbing it Diana’s “revenge dress.” While never confirmed, it was widely regarded as Diana’s unspoken and yet very public response to Charles’ infamous television interview. In the 1998 book Diana: Her Life in Fashion, author Georgina Howell called the princess’ gown “possibly the most strategic dress ever worn by a woman in modern times.” Whatever the intention, the “revenge dress” remains one of the most famous dresses of the last half century.
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Who Founded Each of the 13 Original Colonies?
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AuthorTony Dunnell
July 22, 2025
Love it?40
At the start of the 17th century, three colonial powers — France, Spain, and England — were competing for dominion in North America. Despite arriving later than their rivals, it was the British who finally took control. Within a century and a half, they had created 13 flourishing colonies on the Atlantic coast — the same 13 colonies that eventually broke away from British rule during the American Revolutionary War.
Each of these colonies was established for distinct reasons, reflecting the religious beliefs, economic interests, or social ethics of their founders. Here’s a look at who founded each of America’s original 13 colonies.
Virginia was founded by the Virginia Company of London, which was chartered by Britain’s King James I. The company set sail from England with three ships in 1606 and arrived the following year with 104 people. On May 13, 1607, the company established Jamestown — named after the king — as its first settlement, which became the first permanent English settlement in North America.
Two key events led to Massachusetts’ foundation. The first was the creation of Plymouth Colony, established in 1620 by the Pilgrims, a group of 100 or so people who set sail from England on the Mayflower in search of religious freedom. A decade later, the larger Massachusetts Bay Colony was founded by the Massachusetts Bay Company, which had obtained a charter from King Charles I. Later, in 1691, Plymouth Colony was merged into Massachusetts Bay.
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New Hampshire
New Hampshire was founded by the English merchant Captain John Mason, who had received the region in a series of grants made by the English crown. It was developed as a fishing and trading settlement in 1623, and was given the name “New Hampshire” in 1629 after Mason’s home county of Hampshire, England.
New York began life as New Amsterdam, a settlement founded by the Dutch West India Company in 1624. Over the next 40 years, the Dutch established the colony as a successful trading post and commercial center — but then the Brits showed up. They conquered the colony in 1664, and New Amsterdam — along with the wider colonial territory of New Netherland — passed to British control. The area was renamed “New York” after James II, Duke of York, the son of King Charles I.
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Connecticut
The Connecticut Colony was founded in 1636 by Thomas Hooker, an influential British clergyman and theologian. Hooker left the Massachusetts Bay Colony due to disagreements with its Puritan leadership. He and his followers moved to modern-day Connecticut, where they founded the settlement of Hartford.
In 1635, the Puritan minister Roger Williams was banished from Massachusetts Bay for his radical religious and political views, which included his firm belief in the separation of church and state. The following year, Williams set out for Narragansett Bay, where he purchased land from the Narragansett Indians and founded the town of Providence and the colony of Rhode Island. Providence emerged as a hub of religious tolerance and democratic governance, and became a refuge for people persecuted for their religious beliefs.
Delaware had the most chaotic founding of all the 13 colonies. The Dutch founded the first European settlement in the area in 1631, but it was soon destroyed by Indigenous peoples following a disagreement between the two groups. In 1638, Swedish settlers, led by merchant and politician Peter Minuit (famous for having founded New Amsterdam), built the next permanent settlement in Delaware, which was then taken by the Dutch in 1655. The colony was later seized by the English in 1664, and in 1681 came under the control of William Penn, the Quaker founder of Pennsylvania. Though he was not the colony’s original founder, it was Penn who shaped Delaware into the state we know today.
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Maryland
Maryland was founded in 1634 by Cecilius Calvert, who was a Catholic in Protestant England before traveling to America. He envisioned the colony of Maryland as a haven where his fellow Roman Catholics could escape the restrictions placed on them in Britain. As it turned out, relatively few English Catholics made the long voyage across the Atlantic. But the colony did attract a large number of Protestant dissenters, such as Quakers and Puritans, and ended up being a place of great religious diversity.
The English explorer Sir Walter Raleigh established the first settlement in North Carolina in 1585. But the majority of the settlers fled within a year due to conflicts with the Indigenous population. It wasn’t until 1663 that the first successful, permanent colony in the area was established by the “Lords Proprietors,” a group of eight English noblemen who were granted a royal charter by King Charles II to establish and govern what was then known as the Province of Carolina.
South Carolina, like North Carolina, emerged from the same Province of Carolina founded by the eight Lords Proprietors in 1663. The sprawling and sparsely populated colony of Carolina was hard to govern, which is why it was split into two separate colonies — North Carolina and South Carolina — in 1712.
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New Jersey
The first permanent European settlement in what is now New Jersey was established by the Dutch at Bergen (now Jersey City) in 1660, and was originally part of the wider New Netherland colony. After the English conquest of New Amsterdam, the territory was split up. The Duke of York granted a section of the colony to two English noblemen and close friends of King Charles II, Lord John Berkeley and Sir George Carteret, who founded New Jersey in 1664.
In 1681, King Charles II granted William Penn — an English Quaker leader and advocate of religious freedom — the charter for a large territory in North America as a way to pay off a debt the king owed to Penn’s father. A year later, Penn set foot in the new colony of Pennsylvania. Penn called the colony a “holy experiment,” envisioning a place that emphasized religious tolerance, fair treatment of Indigenous peoples, and democratic participation. As such, Pennsylvania attracted an array of settlers from across Europe, including those seeking religious freedom.
Georgia, the last of the 13 colonies, was founded in 1732 by English army officer and philanthropist James Oglethorpe and a group of 20 associates. In the British House of Commons, Oglethorpe had earned a reputation as a champion of the oppressed. He took this ethos to Georgia, which he saw as a place that could offer a new life to poor and debt-ridden settlers. The colony was also intended as a military buffer between British-controlled South Carolina and Spanish-controlled Florida — a role well suited to Oglethorpe’s background in the army.
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Our 50 Funniest Facts About History
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AuthorBennett Kleinman
July 15, 2025
Love it?33
For all of the somber and mundane events that have occurred throughout human history, others are absurd enough to make you laugh out loud. This includes amusing tales such as one of history’s greatest generals getting attacked by rabbits, bizarre phobias and famous fallouts, and the strange bathroom habits of one U.S. president. So, if you’re looking to broaden your knowledge and have a good chuckle in the process, read on for 50 of the funniest facts we’ve featured on History Facts.
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In one of history’s most shocking upsets, the emperor of the French was attacked by a horde of fluffy bunnies. The coup took place in July 1807 as Napoleon and his coterie celebrated a victory with a traditional rabbit hunt. Rather than run away, however, the bunnies began swarming Napoleon and his men. Though amusing at first, the situation quickly overwhelmed some of Europe’s foremost military strategists.
It’s odd enough that President Andrew Jackson had an African grey parrot named Poll, and stranger still that the bird was kicked out of Jackson’s funeral for foul language. As one attendee observed, “Before the sermon and while the crowd was gathering, a wicked parrot that was a household pet got excited and commenced swearing so loud and long as to disturb the people and had to be carried from the house.”
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The first woman in space, Valentina Tereshkova, went without a toothbrush during her three days aboard the Vostok-6 spacecraft in 1963. To be fair, it wasn’t her fault: Mission control was actually in charge of packing the essentials, as the pioneering cosmonaut had other, presumably more scientific, things to focus on.
In 1936, John Steinbeck, already a successful author, was knee-deep in what eventually became Of Mice and Men. Then, a "minor tragedy stalked," Steinbeck wrote. "My setter pup [Toby], left alone one night, made confetti of about half of my ms. [manuscript] book. Two months work to do over again. ... There was no other draft." Fortunately, Toby's drastic edits proved but a temporary obstacle in the classic novel's path to completion.
In 1907, one of the more unusual strikes in France’s history unfolded. Better wages and working conditions were at stake, but so was something unexpected: the right to grow a mustache. The facial hair was at its peak popularity, but servers were forced to be clean-shaven. After 16 days, the waiters returned to work. They did not get their desired one day off per week, but a fairer pay structure was in place — as were their mustaches.
In 1932, a drought in Australia caused some 20,000 emus to move inland, disrupting farmers’ crops. The government sent in World War I veterans to assist the beleaguered farmers, and though they were outfitted with machine guns, they soon found themselves overwhelmed by their flightless foes. The birds emerged victorious in what’s now known as the Great Emu War, and they still thrive Down Under.
Everyone’s favorite tuber took a break from being boiled, mashed, and stuck in a stew on April 5, 1943, when the crew of the USS O’Bannon was alarmed to see a Japanese submarine approaching. The ship was eventually close enough to its target for sailors to begin throwing objects at it — including, for lack of a better option, potatoes recovered from their deck lockers.
Lyndon B. Johnson was known for his untraditional tactics, which included conducting meetings while seated on the toilet. While some advisers would turn away in order to give the president privacy, Johnson would invite them to come closer so he could hear them better. LBJ treated other private facilities as meeting rooms as well — he was known to have aides stand just outside the shower, and he kept the conversation going while drying himself off afterward.
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France's King Louis XIV embraced opulence to a historic degree throughout his reign. Case in point: The Sun King, as he was known, reportedly owned no fewer than 413 beds, which were considered status symbols at the time. Lavish beds at Versailles and other palaces were frequently used by the king for official business, and he would sprawl out atop the gilded linens during these stately meetings.
On April 18, 1930, nothing at all newsworthy occurred — at least according to the BBC. At the start of its regular news broadcast at 8:45 p.m., the BBC announced, “Good evening. Today is Good Friday. There is no news.” This unexpected declaration was followed by 15 minutes of piano music, before the radio station resumed its broadcast of Wagner’s opera Parsifal.
The eagle seen on early U.S. coins was a real creature with a surprisingly common name: Peter. In a rather patriotic confluence of events, none other than an eagle took residence at the U.S. Mint in the 1830s, where he became a companion and mascot. Historians believe the eagle featured on the silver dollar was based on this beloved bird.
Long before anyone laughed out loud on the internet, “LOL” was in use by virtue of a different phrase: “little old lady.” The acronym was popularized in the 1960s by San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen, who used it in many of his works. In his 1960 book Only in San Francisco, for instance, he described an outfit that included a tricorn hat topped with a bird as the “regalia of the authentic LOL.”
Pythagoras, the namesake of the Pythagorean theorem, was a highly influential early Greek philosopher, and a major inspiration for the likes of Aristotle and Plato. He was also a notorious hater of beans — specifically fava beans, also known as broad beans — and he strictly forbade his followers, the Pythagoreans, from coming into contact with the legumes.
In 1786, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams took a weeklong tour of England, and one of their first stops was the house where Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon. Among the many relics at the house was the Bard's own chair, where the poet and playwright supposedly sat and wrote his great works. When the founding fathers left, they sliced off a piece of the chair to take home as a souvenir.
You’re probably familiar with Fabergé eggs, most of which were made for the Romanov family in their last few decades as Russian rulers. Fabergé didn’t just make eggs, however, and among all his intricate and ornate treasures, one unexpected subject stands out: a potato, just under 4 inches long, crafted in a realistic, irregular shape.
British novelist Charles Dickens and Danish fairy-tale writer Hans Christian Andersen were close pals for years, but their relationship quickly went south in 1857, when Andersen visited Dickens for what was supposed to be two weeks, but stretched on for five. After his departure, Dickens left a note on the mirror in the guest room: “Hans Andersen slept in this room for five weeks — which seemed to the family AGES.”
“Take Me Out to the Ball Game” is one of the most recognizable songs in American history, written in 1908 by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer. You would think this legendary anthem came from a diehard baseball fan, but the truth is that neither of the songwriters had ever even been to a baseball game. The idea for the song came to Norworth not while he was sitting in the stands, but instead, of all places, on the New York City subway.
Roughly 600 years before a certain sugar-free soda was created, a newborn entered the world with a most bubbly name: Diot Coke. Historian George Redmonds of the British National Archives happened upon Ms. Coke while researching 14th-century names. He suggests her first name was a diminutive version of “Dionisia,” a once-popular name that evolved into “Denise,” while her last name was a corruption of “Cook.”
Not every ship targeted by pirates was carrying high-value goods. Often, ransacking a vessel was just a means to run errands — picking up rum, food, or other supplies. Captain Benjamin Hornigold’s crew had a pretty short shopping list when they boarded a sloop off the coast of Honduras one day. One passenger recalled, “They did us no further injury than the taking most of our hats from us.” The crew had gotten very drunk the previous night and thrown their hats overboard, and simply needed replacements.
When Queen Victoria was gifted a replica of Michelangelo’s David by the grand duke of Tuscany in 1857, she was reportedly left aghast by the statue’s blatant nudity. So museum curators crafted a plaster fig leaf to obscure the offensive organ. This leaf was attached with the help of “strategically placed hooks” that allowed it to be lowered in place in anticipation of any visits from certain members of the royal family.
Few presidents had quite as much affection for their pets as Abraham Lincoln did for his cats, Tabby and Dixie. Many anecdotes from friends and colleagues speak to Lincoln’s unyielding affection for his feline friends, but the one that most cements his ailurophilia into history comes from his wife, Mary Todd. When asked if her husband had any hobbies, she had one simple reply: “Cats.”
Hollywood most likely wouldn’t be the movie mecca it is today if not for filmmakers traveling west to escape Thomas Edison’s stranglehold on movie production. To ensure the success of his films, Edison formed an alliance with other industry patent holders to quash competition. But his influence was weaker in the West. This led some filmmakers to seek refuge in California, and many settled in a newly formed Los Angeles neighborhood called Hollywood.
There are few hobbies more perfectly aligned than knitting and listening to classical music. But in 1915, Americans took their zeal for needlework a bit too far, forcing the New York Philharmonic to request that its audience refrain from knitting during live musical performances. The clacking of needles in Carnegie Hall proved distracting to performers and audience members alike.
In 1781, astronomer William Herschel discovered the planet we know today as Uranus, though the celestial orb nearly had a much more regal name. Herschel proposed naming the planet “Georgium Sidus” in honor of England’s King George III. However, the suggestion was met with pushback from other scientists, who noted that “George” didn’t quite mesh with the mythological names of the other planets.
Life with a bushy upper lip wasn’t without its challenges in Victorian-era Britain, especially when it came to enjoying a hot cup of tea. Englishmen often used mustache wax to style their facial hair, which melted straight off their upper lip into the warm drink. Enter the “mustache cup,” which featured a built-in ceramic ledge for men to rest their mustaches against while they sipped their tea.
Cotton candy consists of just two simple ingredients: air and sugar, making it about the last thing a dental health professional would promote. Yet the sweet treat was invented by Tennessee dentist William James Morrison in 1897. He worked with a local candymaker to build what they called the “electric candy machine,” which produced a cloudlike confection they dubbed “Fairy Floss.”
The practice of winning over voters with food and booze used to be widespread, despite being technically illegal, and was known as “swilling the planters with bumbo.” During George Washington's second run for the Virginia House of Burgesses, he spent nearly the entire campaign budget on 160 gallons of rum, rum punch, wine, beer, and cider, served to 391 voters — roughly a half-gallon per voter.
In ancient Rome, you didn’t have to pay a tax to pee, but for a while, you did have to pay a tax to use urine commercially. The fluid is rich in ammonia, and aged urine could be used to clean clothes, dye fabrics, and more. Aware of its wide applications, one Roman emperor, Vespasian, even taxed the stuff. Vespasian, who was known for implementing and increasing taxes, went so far as to impose vectigal urinae (literally: urine tax) on public restrooms.
The acronym “OMG” became popular as early internet lingo in the 1990s, but its first known use actually dates back to a letter written to Winston Churchill in 1917, during his time in the British navy. The letter was from First Sea Lord John Arbuthnot Fisher, who wrote, “I hear that a new order of Knighthood is on the tapis [table] — O.M.G. (Oh! My God!) — Shower it on the Admiralty!!”
Victor Lustig is among the most skilled con artists in history. The notorious scammer even went so far as to convince someone to buy the Eiffel Tower — not once, but on two separate occasions. He assumed the identity of a government official and told several scrap metal dealers that the Eiffel Tower was too expensive to repair and would instead be sold for scrap to the higher bidder.
In 1954, Hugh Beaver of Guinness Brewery began compiling a record book to settle pub disputes, inspired by a hunting trip debate over the fastest game bird. Unable to find answers in existing reference works, he hired two researchers and began working on what became the Guinness Book of Records. It debuted in 1955 as a brewery promotion, and within a decade more than a million copies had been sold worldwide.
In 1835, The New York Sun duped readers with the bizarre “Great Moon Hoax,” a series that claimed that life had been found on the moon, supposedly written by someone named Andrew Grant with the Edinburgh Journal of Science. It reported that using a giant telescope, astronomer John Herschel had discovered Earth-like landscapes, strange species such as single-horned goats and mini zebras, and even short, hairy humanoid bipeds with batlike wings.
The modern bicycle was invented in the 1880s, ushering in a bike craze in America. The popularity of cycling caused something of a moral panic — some doctors even claimed it could lead to a new condition called “bicycle face," which could include anything from a flushed and anxious look to a clenched jaw and bulging eyes. The crisis eventually subsided as the bicycle became more commonplace and hand-wringers turned their anxiety toward cars — and, naturally, “horseless carriage face.”
During one Georgia vacation in 1979, President Jimmy Carter was relaxing on a boat in a pond when what has since become known as the “killer rabbit attack” occurred. The swamp rabbit in question, which, according toThe New York Times, was said to be “hissing menacingly, its teeth flashing and its nostrils flared,” swam toward the president until he shooed it away with his paddle. As unbelievable as the incident might sound, it was photographed for posterity.
In Victorian-era Britain, few fashion icons were as influential as Alexandra, Princess of Wales. When a fever left her with a stiff knee and pronounced limp, high-society ladies were so eager to imitate her that they even adopted her gait. At first, imitators wore mismatched shoes to get the walk, but eventually retailers took notice and started stocking pairs of shoes with two different heel heights to capitalize on the trend.
Some small towns have animal mayors, but what about animal monarchs? Killorglin, Ireland, has one: a goat king it crowns in a festival every year. The Puck Fair is held each August and attracts visitors from near and far hoping to take part in the royal caprine festivities. On day one, a wild male goat found in the nearby wilderness is crowned for the duration of the festival by Queen Puck, a young girl from the town.
On March 10, 1879, a New York City arena was absolutely packed with screaming fans of America’s latest sports craze: pedestrianism. That day marked the start of the Astley Belt, essentially the Super Bowl of walking. Contestants had to circle the 1/8-mile track for six days straight and reach a distance of at least 450 miles. The sport was so popular it even spawned America’s first celebrity athletes, complete with trading cards and brand endorsement deals.
There’s a reason why the humble tomato used to be known by the far more sinister moniker of “poison apple”: Europeans feared tomatoes for centuries and believed they were poisonous. As recently as the 18th century, it was thought that aristocrats were falling ill and even dying after eating tomatoes — a misconception stemming from the use of pewter plates tomatoes were served on, which contained high lead content.
In 1738, the pope banned Catholics from participating in secret societies. In response, one Catholic leader established a para-Masonic society called the Order of the Pug, a reference to the breed’s qualities of loyalty and steadfastness. Members were known as “Mops” and each lodge had a Grand Pug. Prospective members were expected to mimic dogs by scratching at the door to gain entry, and new initiates were adorned with brass collars while fellow members barked at them.
When the Indiana Bell Telephone Company purchased the Central Union Telephone Company in 1929, rather than raze the existing eight-story headquarters, it decided to move the building across the lot — 52 feet sideways, followed by a 90-degree turn. Not only did the plan work, but the offices remained fully operational during the move. The building traveled roughly 15 inches per hour, and reportedly, the workers inside didn’t even feel the movement.
In 1913, the United States Post Office began offering parcel service, and Americans started shipping pretty much anything they could think of — including their children. The first recorded baby delivered via parcel post was James Beagle, an 8-month-old resident of Glen Este, Ohio. He was delivered to his grandmother just a few miles away; the postage cost 15 cents, and his parents insured him for $50.
You might be a Disney adult, but if you’re not planning to be buried with a Mickey Mouse accessory, it would appear you’re less of a fan than Japanese Emperor Hirohito, who was interred wearing his Mickey watch. The monarch, who reigned over Japan from 1926 to 1989, first visited Disney in 1975 after being a longtime fan of the cartoons. It was then that he was given the watch, which he was evidently quite taken by.
Long before he ruled Rome, Julius Caesar was kidnapped by pirates around 75 BCE. He reportedly laughed when he heard that his ransom was set at a mere 20 talents of silver (a huge sum of money) and suggested it be raised. He then proceeded to boss around his captors: He forced them to listen to his poems and speeches, ordered them to keep quiet when he slept, and announced — correctly — that they would all be executed once he was free.
At the end of World War II, ration restrictions were lifted, but the U.S. still found itself in short supply of a crucial item: diapers. The country was in the nascent stages of a postwar baby boom, and as the young population surged with soldiers returning home and starting families, cloth diaper production remained slow. The diaper shortage made headlines across the country for years, but by 1947, mention of it had tapered off.
Among all the Founding Fathers, Benjamin Franklin had the most interesting extracurricular activities, including writing essays for his brother’s Boston newspaper under the pseudonym “Silence Dogood.” The 16-year-old Franklin posed as a widow because the writing he submitted under his own name was rejected by the paper. Silence had much to say about a variety of subjects, and she was an instant hit with readers — she even received marriage proposals.
The groovy ’70s saw airlines go all out with attempts to please customers aboard their brand-new Boeing 747 jumbo jets. Case in point: Air Canada turned the upper deck of its 747 into a 5-mile-high club for transatlantic flights, with music blasting from 8-track tapes as passengers shimmied on a dance floor in lockstep with their reflections on a mirrored wall. Other airlines followed suit, but sadly, this era of the party plane was short-lived.
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Just because Leo Fender founded one of the most famous guitar companies in the world doesn’t mean he could play the instrument himself. His own musical ability didn’t extend beyond a few piano lessons and a little bit of saxophone; according to some, he couldn’t even tune a guitar. Rather, his prowess for creating instruments was rooted in a passion for electronics.
Leeks, of all things, have long been a national emblem of Wales. According to one prevailing theory, the symbol began back in the seventh century, when Welsh soldiers were ordered to pull leeks from the ground and affix them to their helmets during a battle against Saxon invaders, to easily differentiate them from their enemies. The leafy vegetable became a point of national pride, and the connection was even referenced in Shakespeare’s Henry V.
Bubble gum was invented in 1928 by candymaker Walter Diemer. He came up with a more pliable chewing gum that, for the first time, could easily form and hold a bubble. The idea was appealing, but the chewy gray substance needed some color, and the only dye Diemer had on hand at the time was red. With no other choice, he added it to his mixture, and the first batch of pink bubble gum was born.
The internet may have made spoilers more common, but it certainly didn’t invent them. Back in 1940, for instance, the Los Angeles Times accidentally revealed the winners of the 12th Academy Awards by publishing them before the end of the event. As the 8:45 p.m. edition of the L.A. Times came out before the ceremony concluded, the news spread that Gone With the Wind had won Best Picture before it was officially announced. Following the early reveal, the academy stopped giving out the winners early and started the sealed-envelope tradition that continues to this day.
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What Were TV Test Cards For?
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AuthorKristina Wright
July 15, 2025
Love it?21
If you grew up in the U.S. before 24-hour television programming, you might remember falling asleep to the sound of the national anthem or waking up to the eerie tone of a test pattern. Local stations typically signed off late at night — often with patriotic imagery and music — before going dark or switching to a test card. Early risers or insomniacs who turned on the TV were thus greeted by screens filled with color bars or geometric patterns accompanied by a high-pitched tone, holding the airwaves until regular programming resumed at dawn.
These static images, known as test cards or test patterns, weren’t just placeholders. They were created as calibration tools for engineers — and unintentionally became enduring symbols of a bygone broadcast era. Here’s a look back at TV before 24/7 programming changed the way we watched the tube.
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Programming Didn’t Always Run All Night
In the early decades of American television, viewers typically had access to only three to five local stations, and programming didn’t operate around the clock. In 1950, four networks — ABC, CBS, DuMont (which folded in 1955), and NBC — were producing just 90 hours of programming a week combined. Within a decade, the three remaining networks were producing about that much programming individually — about 12 to 13 hours per day.
Rather than broadcast dead air outside of programming hours, many stations displayed test cards. These images helped technicians adjust transmission quality and allowed viewers to fine-tune their analog sets. In the age of “rabbit ears” and vertical hold, achieving clear reception took a little finessing at home. Test cards served as visual guideposts, helping viewers align antennas and tweak picture settings to reduce flicker, ghosting, or image roll.
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Test cards date back to the 1930s, when the BBC used printed cards placed in front of cameras to help engineers align signals. The BBC’s first test card, used in 1934, was a simple black circle with a line underneath it. The practice caught on in the U.S. in the 1940s as commercial broadcasting expanded. These early test cards were often mounted on easels in front of studio cameras during off-air hours.
Black-and-white patterns featured radial grids, concentric circles, and crosshairs to reveal image distortion, framing errors, or technical noise. With the arrival of color broadcasting in the 1960s and ’70s, test patterns evolved into electronically generated images such as the SMPTE (Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers) color bars to test for hue, saturation, contrast, and brightness. Today, the calibration and troubleshooting of broadcast signals are handled by specialized test-signal generators, though they are not broadcast to viewers.
Some test cards became more than just technical tools — they evolved into pop culture artifacts. In the U.S., the RCA “Indian head” test pattern — featuring a Native American figure flanked by geometric markings — was created in 1939 and ran for more than two decades, becoming a kind of visual shorthand for early American television. CBS had its own “bullseye” test pattern, a striking design with concentric circles and resolution wedges used to check focus and sharpness.
Depending on where you grew up, you might remember a specific local station’s test card — one that not only included the TV channel number and the affiliate’s call sign but also the location it was broadcasting from. For instance, ABC affiliate WJZ-TV in New York featured the Empire State Building on its black-and-white test card in the early 1950s, giving the broadcast a distinctly regional identity. These static images became a familiar part of daily television viewing, connecting viewers to their local stations and communities.
Across the Atlantic, the BBC’s Test Card F became one of the most iconic test patterns of all. Introduced in 1967, it featured a young girl named Carole Hersee (daughter of BBC engineer George Hersee) playing tic-tac-toe with a slightly unsettling clown doll named Bubbles. Airing for thousands of hours between 1967 and 1998, Hersee’s face became the most-broadcast image in U.K. television history.
For viewers of a certain age, test cards were an unofficial signal that the day was over. When the test pattern appeared, you knew it was time to turn off the TV and go to bed.
In the 1980s and ’90s, however, 24-hour programming took over. Infomercials, syndicated reruns, and late-night variety shows replaced those once-quiet hours. Cable, satellite, and eventually streaming made content seemingly infinite and calibration test patterns largely obsolete. Today, if a station goes off the air (usually due to weather or technical issues), you’re more likely to see a local station logo or a digital error message than a test pattern.
Even though test cards have mostly vanished from live broadcasts, they still crop up in pop culture as a kind of retro shorthand — an inside joke for those who know what they represent. On The Big Bang Theory, Sheldon Cooper’sSMPTE color bars T-shirt turned vintage broadcast tech into a fashion trend; the image has been widely reproduced and sold on everything from clothing to coffee mugs.
Some of us who remember when test cards signaled the end of the TV viewing day still have a strange fondness for their eerie stillness. In a world of endless choices and the seemingly judgmental “Are you still watching?” prompt, test cards remind us of a time when television showed us everything it had to offer — and then signed off for the night.
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Was Homer a Real Person?
Credit: Universal History Archive/ Universal Images Group via Getty Images
AuthorBess Lovejoy
July 9, 2025
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For centuries, people have pondered one of the most enduring mysteries in literature: Was Homer, the legendary author of the Iliad and the Odyssey, a real person? Or is “Homer” simply the name we’ve given to a sprawling oral tradition, shaped and reshaped over time? The short answer is: No one knows for certain. But the long answer — rooted in a rich blend of linguistic clues, ancient traditions, and the remarkable staying power of two epic poems — is far more interesting. Here’s a look at the fascinating history and enduring legacy of Homer.
If Homer was indeed a real person, he likely lived around the eighth or ninth century BCE, possibly in Ionia, a region on the western coast of modern-day Turkey. Many ancient writers depicted him as a blind bard — much like the character Demodocus in the Odyssey — and tradition often claimed he was illiterate and his epic poems were passed down orally. His name first appears in the written record in the seventh century BCE, and several Greek cities, especially those in Ionia, claimed him as a native son.
There is no surviving contemporary biography, but ancient Greeks believed someone named Homer composed — or at least shaped — the Iliad and the Odyssey. These epics, delivered orally in a highly stylized and formulaic language, show what could be signs of a single organizing mind. Repetitive phrases like “rosy-fingered dawn” and “swift-footed Achilles” suggest a poet well versed in the techniques of oral storytelling, using set expressions to maintain rhythm and fluency in performance.
Still, not everyone has been convinced that one poet alone could have composed both the Iliad and the Odyssey. Even in antiquity, scholars noted that the two poems differ in style and subject: One is martial and tragic, the other picaresque and magical. Aristotle famously proposed that the Odyssey was the work of Homer’s old age. Others have suggested that the poems were built up over time by many voices, with Homer serving as the principal architect — or perhaps just the most famous name attached.
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One influential theory proposes that “Homer” wasn’t a single creator, but rather a kind of editor or compiler who shaped a diverse oral tradition into coherent epics. In this view, the Iliad and the Odyssey didn’t spring fully formed from the mind of one poet but were gradually pieced together from centuries of heroic tales.
This theory gained traction in the 20th century thanks to the work of scholars Milman Parry and Albert Lord, who together studied oral poetry in the Balkans. They found that bards working entirely from memory used formulaic language, repeating certain phrases and structures to ease the process of composition. The Homeric poems display similar traits, suggesting they originated in a culture where storytelling was primarily oral and based on memory, rather than manuscripts, to preserve the past.
As such, the figure of Homer might have been more like a master redactor — someone who stitched together countless tales, preserving the core themes of Greek heroism, honor, and human frailty.
There’s another, more poetic interpretation that “Homer” was not a person but a kind of guiding spirit, a symbolic name for the anonymous artistry behind the epics. Like the Muses invoked at the beginning of both poems, Homer may have become a personification of cultural memory.
This idea has its roots in antiquity. As early as the sixth century BCE, there was a group called the Homeridae (“descendants of Homer”), who were thought to preserve and perform the poet’s works. Whether they were literal descendants or merely devoted followers, the name “Homer” had already begun to represent something larger than a single human being.
Credit: Culture Club/ Hulton Archive via Getty Images
A Legacy Beyond Identity
Regardless of whether Homer was a single person, a collective effort, or a convenient fiction, the impact of the Iliad and the Odyssey is undeniable. In ancient Greece, these poems were central to education and civic life, offering models of heroism and moral complexity. Roman poets like Virgil looked to Homer as a master; his influence echoes through the Aeneid. During the Renaissance, Greek scholars brought Homer’s works to Italy, helping to ignite the classical revival. And in modern literature, authors from James Joyce to Derek Walcott have reshaped Homeric themes to fit new cultural contexts.
In a world where authorship is often equated with authority, Homer reminds us that stories sometimes transcend the teller. His works survive not because we can pin them to a single historical figure, but because they capture universal human themes: grief and glory, loyalty and cunning, homecoming and loss. Whether real or imagined, Homer’s legacy endures — not as a name etched in stone, but as a living force in the world’s imagination.
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