Today, it’s hard to imagine a president traveling without a motorcade. But when automobiles first appeared in the late 19th century, many Americans considered them loud, dangerous contraptions that frightened horses, terrified pedestrians, and seemed unlikely to replace the trusty carriage.
So it makes sense that the White House didn’t embrace the automobile overnight. Instead, several presidents each claimed a different automotive “first,” reflecting America’s gradual transition from the horse-and-buggy days to the automobile era.
The earliest presidential automotive milestone belongs to William McKinley. During his presidency, McKinley became the first U.S. president to ride in an automobile, traveling briefly in a steam-powered vehicle in 1899 at a time when autos were still rare curiosities.
This wasn’t an official presidential vehicle, however — it was more of a demo, and the car was driven by its co-inventor, F.O. Stanley. The ride reflected the novelty of a technology that was just beginning to attract public attention. Later in his life, McKinley was known to take at least two other car rides.
In August 1902, President Theodore Roosevelt achieved another milestone when he became the first sitting president to make a public appearance in an automobile. While touring Connecticut, he rode through cheering crowds in an electric motorcar driven by two professional chauffeurs. Newspapers noted that the vehicle allowed more people to catch a glimpse of the president than would have been possible from a traditional carriage, making the automobile an unexpectedly effective political tool.
Roosevelt’s public embrace of the automobile may have helped legitimize a technology that many Americans still viewed with suspicion. But Roosevelt wasn’t necessarily a fan of cars personally. Three years later, he wrote to a friend: “Motor cars are a trial, aren’t they? I suppose that ultimately we will get them into their proper place in the scheme of nature, and when by law and custom their use is regulated in proper fashion their objectionable features will probably be eliminated; but just at present I regard them as distinct additions to the discomfort of living.”
If Roosevelt introduced the automobile to the presidency, William Howard Taft made it part of the institution. When Taft took office in 1909, Congress appropriated $12,000 to purchase the first official White House automobiles — a controversial decision at the time. Critics argued that automobiles were nuisances and questioned whether taxpayer money should be spent on such extravagant machines. Nevertheless, the purchase went forward, marking the beginning of the presidential motor fleet.
Taft’s own vehicle was a White Model M, a seven-passenger, 40-horsepower touring car built in his home state of Ohio. It featured the Great Seal of the United States painted on its doors. Meanwhile, First Lady Helen Herron Taft received a blue Pierce-Arrow Suburban car, from a different company but also adorned with the national seal.
Perhaps Taft’s most symbolic act, however, was clearing out the White House’s federal horse stables and converting them into a garage. It was a practical decision, but it also marked the end of an era.
Taft didn’t merely ride in automobiles — he also became one of the country’s most influential advocates for them. He attended automobile shows, welcomed endurance motorists to the White House, praised the rapid progress of the industry, and publicly argued for better roads. At a time when much of America’s road network remained little more than muddy tracks, improved highways were essential if automobiles were ever going to become practical for ordinary Americans.
The prestige of the presidency added weight to Taft’s endorsements. Historians credit his administration with helping to accelerate both the acceptance of automobiles and the growing movement for a national system of improved roads. His successor, Woodrow Wilson, continued that momentum by supporting highway improvements and signing the 1916 Federal Aid Road Act, which provided the first major federal funding for rural roads.
By the early 1920s, automobiles had become a familiar part of American life, and the presidency reflected that change. When Warren G. Harding was elected in 1920, he became the first president who actually knew how to drive. Harding rode to his inauguration in a Packard Twin-Six, a sign of just how quickly the automobile had become woven into American culture. It was the first time a president had ridden to and from his inauguration in a car.
In the space of just two decades, the presidency had traveled an extraordinary distance. What began with McKinley taking a curious ride in an experimental machine evolved into Roosevelt publicly embracing the automobile, Taft making it the official vehicle of the White House, and Harding representing the first generation of presidents who grew up alongside the car.
At the turn of the 20th century, the U.S. was in the midst of a significant and rapid transformation. Industrialization was creating new wealth for those it favored, sprawling cities were replacing rural towns as the centers of American life, and an entirely new layer of society was emerging between the working class and the hereditary rich.
This was the American middle class — a term already in use in the 18th century, albeit subject to various definitions — and it was a group defined not just by what people earned, but also by how they lived, how they were educated, and what they valued.
In 1900, America’s middle class was, in large part, a product of industrialization — a process that began in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, followed by what is often called the Second Industrial Revolution around 1870. At the turn of the 20th century, factories, railroads, banks, and corporations continued to expand rapidly across America, creating a growing demand for a new kind of skilled worker — professionals who worked not with their hands, but with their minds, such as managers, accountants, engineers, lawyers, doctors, and merchants.
These occupations came to be known as white-collar jobs, distinguished from working-class labor by the nature of the work itself. (The term “white collar” first appeared in 1919, referring to the collared dress shirts typically worn by office workers.) A middle-class worker typically sat at a desk, wore a suit, kept regular hours, and earned a salary rather than a daily wage.
But these middle-class jobs were still the minority in the industrial era. While today the middle class makes up about half of the U.S. population, in 1900 it was far smaller and still in the process of forming. The vast majority of Americans remained working class — factory workers, farm laborers, domestic servants — with a small wealthy elite at the top and a relatively thin, but growing, professional layer in between.
According to U.S. Census Bureau data, middle-class homes in 2024 earned between $55,820 and $167,460 a year. Unsurprisingly, the earnings of middle-class Americans in 1900 were considerably lower due to inflation. A lawyer or architect could expect to earn around $1,200 a year, a banker or broker $1,600 a year, and a surgeon $1,625 a year (that’s about $47,000, $63,000, and $64,000 respectively in today's money). In comparison, the average farm worker, industrial worker, brewer, or tanner earned somewhere between $300 and $500 annually ($12,000 and $20,000 today).
These middle-class salaries, while modest by modern standards, went considerably further in 1900. Sugar cost about 5 cents a pound (equivalent to about $2 today), a dozen eggs 19 cents ($7.50 today), coffee 22 cents a pound ($8.80 today), and a loaf of bread about 4 cents (about $1.60 today). A comfortable family home in a midsize American city could be purchased or rented at a fraction of what a middle-class salary could support today.
Today, a college-level education is considered common among the American middle class, and a bachelor’s degree is standard for many professional careers. But back in 1900, the educational landscape was different. Around 78% of all American children between ages 5 and 17 were enrolled in schools, but the average child was in school for no more than eight years. In 1900, a high school diploma or college degree was a rare privilege — fewer than 10% of Americans graduated high school and only 1 in 50 graduated college.
A middle-class worker in 1900 tended to be better educated than a typical working-class laborer, and middle-class families were more likely to invest heavily in their children’s schooling.
The middle-class household of 1900 was organized around a clear division of labor, with men earning the bulk of the income and women managing the home. This arrangement reflected the cultural norms of the time — which included the notion that a man’s success could be measured by his ability to keep his wife out of the workforce entirely, and that a working wife was to be frowned upon. It wasn’t until the 1940s, when World War II shifted views about women in the workplace, that the idea of a middle-class married woman going to work became more socially acceptable.
Within the home, however, both working-class and middle-class women often exercised real authority. They managed household budgets, directed domestic servants (if they had any), oversaw their children’s education, and were considered the moral and emotional center of the family. And in 1900, middle-class homemakers had a new challenge to face: technology. This period saw the emergence of gas and electric appliances, running water, prepared foods, ready-made clothes, and factory-made furniture, all of which brought about major changes in how homes were managed.
One clear marker of middle-class life in 1900 was access to leisure. Amusement parks, vaudeville theaters, stadium sports, and the very first movie houses were becoming fixtures of urban middle-class entertainment. These places also catered to the working class, but the growing middle class had more disposable income and, in many cases, more free time. Music, too, was finding its way into the more affluent households. Pianos became affordable to many middle-class families, as did new phonographs.
The emergence of the middle class also ushered in new forms of consumerism. Department stores, which had proliferated through the 1870s and 1880s, specifically targeted middle- and upper-class shoppers with a new kind of consumer experience designed to appeal to buyers who prized respectability, had money to spend on impulse, and had time to go shopping as a leisure activity.
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7 Funny Things That Happened in the 1970s
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AuthorNicole Villeneuve
July 6, 2026
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The 1970s were a time of contradictions in the United States. The fallout from the ongoing Vietnam War and Richard Nixon’s Watergate scandal led to widespread cynicism, but that tension was cloaked in polyester and mirror balls. Sandwiched between 1960s idealism and 1980s excess, the ’70s were a time when serious concerns about the economy, environment, politics, and shifting social values coexisted with an unabashed pursuit of fun and self-expression. That mix is what makes the era so endlessly fascinating — and, at times, uniquely amusing. Here are seven of the funniest things that happened in the 1970s.
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The Streaking Sensation
For a few surreal years in the 1970s, America was in the throes of what TIME magazine called an “epidermis epidemic.” Though public nudity wasn’t new — the ancient Greeks famously competed nude in the Olympics, for goodness’ sake — streaking, or running naked through a public place, became a bona fide trend early in the decade.
The streaking mania started on American college campuses in the late 1960s. By 1973, the phenomenon was sweeping the nation; it’s believed the fad got its name that same year when a TV reporter covering a nude run at the University of Maryland said, “They are streaking past me right now. It’s an incredible sight!”
Streaking hit its peak in 1974. Universities competed for world records, professional sporting events became irresistible targets, and singer Ray Stevens immortalized it all in “The Streak,” a catchy novelty song that topped the Billboard Hot 100 in the U.S.
The fad’s most infamous incident took place on April 2, 1974. During the 46th Academy Awards, LGBTQ+ activist and art gallery owner Robert Opel bolted across the stage in his birthday suit, flashing a peace sign to the audience and leaving the host, actor David Niven, surprisingly unfazed. But thanks largely to crackdowns on public nudity laws, the streaking craze faded by the end of that year, almost as suddenly as it arrived.
It’s not uncommon for politicians — including, and maybe especially, presidents — to be the subject of endless jokes. That certainly proved true for Gerald Ford, who became president of the United States in 1974 following Richard Nixon’s resignation. As a former University of Michigan football star, Ford was actually quite athletic, but a series of stumbles during his presidency led to a lasting clumsy image.
Ford’s missteps — literal and otherwise — might have faded into obscurity if not for Saturday Night Live. In the fall of 1975, comedian Chevy Chase debuted a slapstick impression of the president that turned Ford’s every stumble into a running joke. Ford himself took the ribbing in stride, and while those close to him reportedly didn’t consider him exceptionally clumsy, his accidental falls nonetheless became one of his most enduring legacies.
Long before social media, people across the U.S. chatted with each other on CB radios. Citizens band radios had been around since the 1940s and were used by niche hobbyists throughout the 1960s. But during the 1970s, they became a full-blown cultural phenomenon, in part due to the 1973 oil crisis. Gas prices soared, and with nationwide fuel shortages, the U.S. government imposed a speed limit of 55 miles per hour in 1974. Truck drivers formed CB communities, sharing gas station prices and availability, organizing protests, and warning each other about police speed traps.
The CB radio craze hit a new level in 1975. That year, the Federal Trade Commission expanded CB usage permissions, and "Convoy," a hit country song by CW McCall, told the story of a rebellious trucker movement, making trucker culture a mainstream obsession. Millions of Americans bought CB radios, adopted nicknames, and mastered truck driver lingo such as “breaker” and “10-4.” The CB fad peaked in 1976, when 11 million U.S. customers became new CB radio owners. By 1978, the trend had largely faded.
It was one of the most unexpected meetings the White House has seen: On December 21, 1970, Elvis Presley walked into the Oval Office to meet with President Richard Nixon. The King of Rock ’n’ Roll had arrived at the White House unannounced earlier that morning to deliver a handwritten six-page letter; in it, he outlined his concerns about the country’s drug culture and offered to “be of any service that I can to help the country out.” By midday, Presley — in a purple velvet suit, an oversize-collared shirt, and a massive embellished belt buckle — was sitting across from the president. Together, they chatted about America’s drug problems, communism, and the Beatles.
Before leaving, Presley, a police badge collector, requested a badge from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs — and Nixon granted it to him. The pair also posed for photographs, but both decided the meeting would be kept a secret. The meeting was revealed in the press the following year, but it didn’t make a splash until the 1980s, when the images were released for public research and demand for the photo of the bizarre encounter exploded. While the hype has since dissipated, a photo of the meeting remains one of the most requested items from the U.S. National Archives.
Few hairstyles have reached the cultural saturation of Farrah Fawcett’s signature feathered locks. When Charlie’s Angels debuted in the fall of 1976, Fawcett was not yet a household name; though she’d appeared in other TV shows and films, she was still mostly known from shampoo commercials. It seems fitting, then, that shortly after Charlie’s Angels hit the air, Fawcett quickly became famous for her tresses: soft, feathered waves layered and teased voluminously away from her sun-kissed face. The hairstyle was unlike anything else that was popular at the time — think of 1976 Olympic gold-medalist figure skater Dorothy Hamill’s short, brunette bob — and it was instantly iconic.
By 1977, Fawcett was no longer on Charlie’s Angels, but her hair was already a defining style of the decade. Millions of women around the world flocked to their hairdressers to replicate the look. The actress may have made the style look laid-back and natural, but it was anything but. “I’d curl, pin, curl, pin. And when it was done, I took the pins out, turned the hair upside down and brushed it out so you wouldn’t have a ‘set’ look,” said hairstylist Allen Edwards, one of the people credited with creating the defining look. Hugh York, another stylist who worked with Fawcett, said it took “hot curlers, rollers, lots of pampering and care” to keep up the look. It may have required a small arsenal of styling tools, but mastering the ultimate badge of ’70s glamour was worth it.
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The Pet Rock Phenomenon
Few ’70s fads were as simple — and as successful — as the Pet Rock. Dreamed up by California advertising copywriter Gary Dahl, the Pet Rock was exactly what it sounded like: a small, smooth stone nestled in a cardboard “pet carrier” box that came complete with breathing holes and an instruction manual with tongue-in-cheek rock-training tips. It may have started as a joke between Dahl and his friends about hassle-free pets, but it turned into a bona fide phenomenon.
Pet Rocks debuted at a San Francisco trade show in August 1975. By Christmas that year, Dahl was selling up to 100,000 rocks a day for $3.95 each. At the time, the U.S. was in the thick of the Watergate scandal and dealing with the 1973 oil crisis recession. Melanie DiLeo, a department store buyer at the time, said it was unsurprising that the novelty toy took off. “The Pet Rock made you laugh. You could spend $5 for it and still laugh. We needed that.” Dahl became a millionaire practically overnight, but by the following year, the novelty had worn off, and the Pet Rock was already a relic of its time.
By the late 1970s, disco had fully infiltrated American culture. What started in underground clubs exploded into the mainstream in unexpected places. The 1977 sensation Saturday Night Fever brought platform shoes, bell-bottom pants, and polyester jumpsuits to the big screen, while fast-food titan McDonald’s ran a Big Mac ad set to disco sights and sounds.
Beloved Sesame Street characters grooved to disco tracks on not one, but two albums — 1978’s Sesame Street Fever and 1979’s Sesame Disco (“Disco Frog,” anyone?) — while a disco-fied version of John Williams’ iconic Star Wars theme song spent two weeks at the top of Billboard’s Hot 100 in 1977. Even Broadway legend Ethel Merman released an album of disco covers, the Ethel Merman Disco Album, now a camp cult favorite. The backlash, of course, wasn’t far behind. With public sentiment turning and punk rock nipping at its heels, the genre was dealt a tough blow at the infamous Disco Demolition Night at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1979.
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Which U.S. Presidents Were Multilingual?
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AuthorNicole Villeneuve
July 6, 2026
Love it?111
English has always been the dominant language of United States presidents, but many have also spoken other languages. Some presidents were well versed in classical tongues such as Latin and Greek — a standard component of education in colonial America for those who could access it — while others spoke languages such as French, German, and even Mandarin to varying degrees.
More than half of the 45 people who have served as POTUS (across 47 presidencies) are known to have spoken only one language: English. While determining fluency and proficiency can be difficult, 16 U.S. presidents are considered multilingual, meaning they spoke or competently understood three or more languages. Another five presidents were proficient enough in two languages to be considered bilingual. Here’s the full list of America’s most linguistically gifted commanders in chief.
John Quincy Adams, the sixth president of the United States and also the eldest son of President John Adams, was proficient in many languages. At 10 years old, he accompanied his father to France during the American Revolutionary War. While in Europe, Adams attended schools and became fluent in Dutch, German, and French. He was so skilled at the latter that at age 14, he joined diplomat Francis Dana in Russia as a secretary and translator for the French language commonly spoken by the Russian aristocracy. According to the Adams Presidential Center, the younger Adams also spoke Greek, Italian, Latin, Russian, and Spanish.
Theodore Roosevelt’s boundless energy and curiosity extended to his love of languages. Raised in a wealthy family, the 26th president was taught Latin, German, and French starting at age 13. (Secretary of State John Hay once described Roosevelt’s French as “lawless as to grammar.”) Roosevelt could also read Italian and Greek and was known to sing his children a Dutch lullaby, though he didn’t use the languages regularly otherwise.
Thomas Jefferson: English, French, Italian, Latin, Greek, Spanish
Thomas Jefferson was an avid learner, and his extensive personal library featured titles in numerous languages. According to his own travel notes from 1788, Jefferson spoke Italian, French, and Latin in addition to English. He also claimed to read and understand Greek and Spanish, the latter of which he said he learned in 19 days while reading a copy of Don Quixote on a 1784 sailing trip to France. John Quincy Adams, after dining with Jefferson in November 1804, recalled this anecdote and quipped that the nation’s third president was a teller of “large stories.”
James Madison: English, Latin, Italian, French, Greek, Hebrew
From around age 10, James Madison studied Spanish, French, Italian, Latin, and Greek at a prestigious Virginia school. Although it’s not likely he maintained fluency in all of his early languages, he was a skilled Latin translator. Later, at the College of New Jersey — now known as Princeton — he started learning Hebrew, and he furthered his studies after graduation.
Franklin D. Roosevelt: English, French, German, Latin
Starting when he was about 9 years old and for five consecutive years, Franklin D. Roosevelt traveled to Europe every summer with his family as they sought treatment for his father’s heart condition. It was there that he learned German, French, and to a lesser extent Latin, taught to him by governesses.
James A. Garfield: English, Latin, Greek, German, Hebrew
Before his political career, James A. Garfield was a respected Greek and Latin teacher at Ohio’s Western Reserve Eclectic Institute (now Hiram College). He continued his love of learning by later picking up German and Hebrew as well.
Rutherford B. Hayes: English, Latin, Greek, French
In 1837, when he was 15 years old, Rutherford B. Hayes took a similar educational path to many of his presidential contemporaries: He enrolled in a preparatory school, relocating from his hometown of Delaware, Ohio, to Middletown, Connecticut. At Isaac Webb’s Preparatory School, Hayes initially struggled to keep up in his classes, but soon succeeded in learning Latin and Greek. He also studied French on Saturday afternoons.
John Adams laid the groundwork for his language skills early on, studying Latin during his younger years at school in Braintree, Massachusetts. At just 15, he continued his studies at Harvard, where he also learned Greek. Later in life, after admitting some regret over not speaking French, the founding father took matters into his own hands: When he was sent to Paris during the American Revolution, he worked tirelessly to master the language, eventually becoming fluent and using it to help navigate rough diplomatic waters.
Martin Van Buren grew up speaking Dutch as his first language. Born in Kinderhook, New York, a predominantly Dutch area, Van Buren learned English in school as a child, and by the time he entered law school, he was fluent in both languages. He also studied Latin during his early schooling, but was not known to use it much later in life.
At Virginia’s Hampden-Sydney College, William Henry Harrison took a liking to learning Latin — primarily to satiate his interest in ancient Roman military history. While there, he also learned French, although he did not acquire the same proficiency as in Latin.
Compared to some of his early-19th-century contemporaries, James A. Polk started his education relatively late. At age 18, he convinced his parents to enroll him in a Presbyterian school near Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Though his formal education was scant up until that point, he quickly rose to the top of his class, learning Greek and Latin along the way. He later attended the University of North Carolina, where he even gave his commencement speech in Latin.
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Herbert Hoover: English, Latin, Mandarin
Herbert Hoover is the only U.S. president known to have spoken Mandarin. He wasn’t entirely fluent, but his wife, Lou Henry Hoover, was. The couple lived in China for two years while Herbert Hoover worked as a mining engineer, and it’s been said they sometimes spoke Mandarin in the White House to prevent eavesdropping. (According to the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library and Museum, however, this popular tale isn’t true.) Hoover was also proficient in Latin, and he and Lou once spent five years translating a 16th-century Latin text into English.
James Buchanan followed a traditional classical curriculum. He attended the Old Stone Academy in Mercersburg, Pennsylvania, where he studied Latin and Greek. He later continued his studies at Dickinson College.
The College of William & Mary is the second-oldest institution of higher learning in the U.S. (after Harvard), and it was at this storied Virginia school that John Tyler received his classical language education. He entered the preparatory branch at age 12, excelling at his studies, including Latin and Greek.
James Monroe received a thorough Latin education at Virginia’s prestigious Campbelltown Academy, starting when he was about 11 years old. It was eclipsed by his French skills, however: As George Washington’s ambassador to France, he developed a deep knowledge and appreciation for the language during his time overseas, and he and his family often spoke French with their daughters while living in the White House.
Chester A. Arthur’s strong academic foundation earned him admission to Schenectady, New York’s Union College as a sophomore at just 15 years old. His father, a Baptist minister, had taught him Latin and Greek, and the 21st president remained able to converse in both languages throughout his life.
Woodrow Wilson’s time at Johns Hopkins University immersed him in the German academic tradition, which often meant reading primary sources in the language. Wilson once said he’d “worn out a German dictionary” writing a paper.
Jimmy Carter always maintained that he wasn’t fluent in Spanish, but the 39th president may have been selling himself short. After learning the language in the United States Naval Academy, Carter made an effort to continue using it — Southern drawl and all. He spoke it on the campaign trail, in speeches, and even at home with his wife, Rosalynn; each night, the couple took turns reading the Bible to each other in Spanish as practice.
While a freshman at Georgetown University, Bill Clinton chose German as his required language course. “I was interested in the country and impressed by the clarity and precision of the language,” Clinton wrote in his 2004 memoir My Life. He occasionally used it in speeches throughout his presidency.
George W. Bush studied Spanish growing up and, during his presidency, occasionally addressed the public in the language. Campaign spokesperson Sonia Colin confirmed in 2000 that while he may not have been completely fluent, he could “read and write conversationally.”
During his early childhood years living with his mother and stepfather in Indonesia, Barack Obama learned to speak Indonesian. Though he later said his fluency faded without practice, he retained enough knowledge to exchange occasional pleasantries over the years.
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6 Photos That Bring the Roaring ’20s to Life
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AuthorMark DeJoy
July 6, 2026
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The 1920s were a transformative decade: A convergence of economic prosperity, technological and industrial advancements, and flourishing artistic movements led to a cultural transition from the reserved social mores of previous eras to a modern age. In the United States, the decade became known as the “Roaring ’20s” because it was a time of exuberance, optimism, and rapid social change. Here are six photographs that capture the spirit of the era.
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Olympic Athletes
The 1924 Olympic Games in Paris were a pivotal moment for the event, as the Olympics reached a heightened level of popularity. Forty-four countries participated, and there was so much interest that more than a thousand journalists traveled to Paris to report on the Games.
The U.S. swim teams dominated the swimming events, winning nine gold medals out of a possible 11, and 19 medals in total. This circa-1927 photograph depicts Olympic swimmer Harold Kruger in the midst of performing a series of irreverent stunt dives at an Olympic Pool in Long Beach, New York. Beginning with the release of the Leica camera in 1925, advancements in camera technology enabled capturing more kinetic images such as this one, as faster 35 mm film and shutter speeds could eliminate the motion blur that would’ve been present in previous years.
The 1927 film The Jazz Singer is known as the first film to introduce the sound of spoken dialogue to motion pictures — albeit only in a short passage. In 1928, The Lights of New York became the first feature-length film to include sound for all its dialogue. It was billed at the time as an “all talking picture,” and cemented Hollywood’s shift away from silent films to “talkies.”
Clara Bow became one of the biggest stars of 1920s cinema after starring in the 1927 silent film It, which was so popular, the term “it girl” entered the lexicon. She also starred in 1927’s Wings, which won the first Academy Award for Best Picture. This photo is a production still from her first foray into talking pictures in The Wild Party. The image captures Bow’s flapper sass as she reacts to her co-star (and cousin) William Bow’s singing. While the transition to talking films infamously ended the careers of many silent-era stars, Clara Bow was able to persist into the talking era, though her rigorous schedule and the persistent celebrity gossip around the star led to her retirement from film by 1933.
The Charleston gained popularity in the 1923 Broadway show Runnin’ Wild, a revue of Black music written by composers James P. Johnson and Cecil Mack. The dance became such a phenomenon that it’s nearly synonymous with the Roaring ’20s, and it spurred a dance competition fad that often took the form of dance marathons. While it’s unclear if this photo depicts a marathon, the dancers here are participating in some form of Charleston dance contest.
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Speakeasies
The hidden bars of the 1920s, known as “speakeasies,” were an unintended consequence of Prohibition, as the illicit businesses served a demand for alcohol that couldn’t be legislated away. By the end of the 1920s, New York City Police Commissioner Grover Whalen claimed there were 32,000 speakeasies operating in that city alone.
In this photo, we see a group entering a Washington, D.C., speakeasy, the Krazy Kat Klub, which was opened by artist Cleon Throckmorton and located on the second floor of a stable. At far right, wearing a hat, is Throckmorton himself. At far left is his wife, Kathrine Mullen (also spelled Kathryn Mullin), glancing at the camera.
The energetic, improvised hot jazz that emerged in New Orleans during the 1920s quickly spread to New York and Chicago, as artists such as Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, King Oliver, and Jelly Roll Morton developed the genre to such a point of popularity that another nickname for the 1920s is the “Jazz Age.” The wild abandon of jazz matched the zeitgeist of the time, and this photo of the St. Louis Cotton Club Band provides a visual expression. Note the difference in instrumentation from later eras of jazz: The tuba and banjo at the far left were later replaced by double bass and guitar, respectively.
In 1913, industrialist Henry Ford’s moving assembly line — a refinement of the stationary assembly line pioneered by automotive pioneer Ransom Olds — enabled larger-scale production of automobiles, and by the 1920s, approximately 8 million Americans owned a car. By the end of the 1920s, that number had spiked to 23 million. In this photo, we see an assembly line at Ford’s Dearborn, Michigan plant, circa 1928. The workers are manufacturing the new Model A, Ford’s replacement for the Model T it had been selling for nearly 20 years.
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Was Lady Godiva Real?
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AuthorTony Dunnell
July 6, 2026
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Britain is a land of countless myths and legends, including King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men, and King Canute commanding the tide not to rise. Many of these staples of British folklore mix fact and fiction, blurring actual historical realities and often leaving readers somewhat confused as to which parts are based on truth.
The legend of Lady Godiva is no exception. It’s a compelling tale of noble sacrifice and protest that has captivated the public imagination for centuries. And it’s a tale that blends historical fact with creative embellishment, which has led historians to debate what exactly happened. The most pertinent question, of course, regards our central character, Lady Godiva. Was she real? Did she actually exist? And if she did, did she ride naked through the streets of Coventry? Let’s take a look at this enduring legend and sort the facts from the fiction.
According to popular legend, Lady Godiva, an 11th-century Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, was disturbed by the heavy taxation that her powerful husband, Leofric, Earl of Mercia, had imposed on the citizens of Coventry, England. She repeatedly pleaded with him to reduce this burden on the townspeople. After numerous refusals, Leofric finally agreed to lower the taxes but only if his wife accepted what he considered an impossible condition: She would have to ride through the streets of Coventry in the nude.
Lady Godiva called her husband’s bluff and took up his challenge. She issued a proclamation that all citizens must remain indoors with their windows shuttered on the appointed day. She then mounted her horse, naked save for her famously long hair, which covered her body as she rode through the silent streets of Coventry. Impressed by his wife’s bravery and devotion to her people, Leofric kept his promise and abolished the oppressive taxes.
Later versions of the legend introduced another character who has endured to this day, and whose name has become a common expression in the English language: Peeping Tom. Tom, according to folklore, was a tailor who, unlike his fellow townsfolk, couldn’t resist looking at the beautiful Lady Godiva as she rode by his window. For this violation, he was allegedly struck blind instantly — a divine punishment for disrespecting Godiva’s noble sacrifice.
So did these events really take place? We can at least say for sure that Lady Godiva was unquestionably real. Her husband, Leofric, appears more often than Godiva in the historical record, and we know a fair amount about his life. He was a powerful earl who was influential in public affairs during the reign of King Canute, and he helped avert a civil war when he mediated between the quarreling Edward the Confessor and Earl Godwin in 1051.
Lady Godiva also appears in historical records, although her name is often written as “Godgifu,” the Old English form of Godiva, meaning “God's gift.” There’s less information about her life than Leofric’s, but we know she was a wealthy Anglo-Saxon noblewoman who lived during the mid-11th century. One of the most reliable pieces of evidence comes from the Domesday Book, William the Conqueror's great land survey of 1086. It lists Godiva as one of the few Anglo-Saxons, and one of the few women, to retain substantial landholdings after the Norman Conquest. This document confirms she held estates across Warwickshire and Leicestershire, including after Leofric’s death in 1057.
Thanks to a number of medieval chronicles, we also know that Leofric and Lady Godiva wielded considerable influence during the reign of Edward the Confessor — an Anglo-Saxon king and saint known for his piety — and that they were known as generous religious benefactors. The couple founded and endowed churches and monasteries, including the Benedictine monastery in Coventry around 1043. Around 1140 (after Godiva’s death sometime between 1066 and 1086), the English monk John of Worcester wrote this about the couple: “[Leofric] and his wife, the noble countess Godgiva, who was a devout worshipper of God, and one who loved the ever-virgin St. Mary, entirely constructed at their own cost the monastery there [in Coventry], well-endowed it with land, and enriched it with ornaments to such an extent, that no monastery could be then found in England possessing so much gold, silver, jewels, and precious stones.”
It’s important to note that none of these historic chronicles mentions any naked horse rides through Coventry. This silence around what would surely have been a remarkable event at the time suggests the legendary ride never happened.
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An Enduring Legend
The first known written account of Lady Godiva’s naked ride appears in the chronicle of Roger of Wendover, a monk at St. Albans Abbey. In it, he presents the basic narrative that we’re familiar with today: Godiva’s pleas for tax relief, Leofric’s condition, and her subsequent ride that prompted him to abolish the onerous tax. However, the monk’s account was written sometime between 1215 and 1235, around 150 years after Lady Godiva’s death. The significant time gap between Godiva’s life and the first mention of her legendary ride is enough to raise questions about the story’s historical reliability.
Later accounts, such as that of the chronicler and Benedictine monk Ranulf Higden in the mid-14th century, added more details to the story. It was Higden who told how Leofric, after his wife’s ride, freed the town from all tolls except those on horses. The legend then continued to evolve over subsequent centuries. The character of Peeping Tom, for example, appears remarkably late, first mentioned in the 17th century.
These additions to the narrative show how the legend continued to develop long after Lady Godiva’s death. By the Victorian era, the story had become firmly entrenched in English culture, inspiring renowned paintings such as “Lady Godiva” by John Collier, and the poem “Godiva” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Today, despite the enduring popularity of the Lady Godiva legend, most medieval scholars agree that the naked ride never took place. According to Daniel Donoghue, a Harvard professor and author of Lady Godiva: A Literary History of the Legend, the Benedictine monks at St. Albans developed the colorful narrative centuries after Lady Godiva’s death. As Donoghue put it, “Nobody knows quite why the legend was invented and attached to her name, but it does seem to function as a kind of myth of origin for the town of Coventry.”
Coventry still celebrates its connection to Lady Godiva with statues, annual festivities, and processions, showing its civic pride in a woman who appears to have been a remarkable historical figure. Regardless of whether she made her famous ride, Lady Godiva was a powerful woman whose philanthropic legacy endured even through the upheaval of the Norman Conquest.
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Why Were They Called the ‘Dark Ages’?
Credit: North Wind Picture Archives/ Alamy Stock Photo
AuthorTony Dunnell
July 6, 2026
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The term “Dark Ages” conjures images of a bleak, backward world, a period of human history marked by ignorance, barbarity, and intellectual stagnation. The term is typically used to refer to the era spanning roughly from the fifth to 10th centuries, but at times has referred to the entire Middle Ages, from the fall of the Western Roman Empire in 476 CE all the way to the beginning of Europe’s Renaissance in the 15th century.
But were these centuries really so dark? Was the period — sandwiched between the advanced societies of classical antiquity and the cultural rebirth of the Renaissance — truly one of stark cultural regression? The reality of the “Dark Ages” is far more nuanced and complex than this pejorative label would suggest, and the term perhaps reveals more about the perspectives of later historians than the actual lived experiences of medieval people.
The concept of the “Dark Ages,” if not the term itself, is associated with one name more than any other: Francis Petrarch, a 14th-century Italian scholar, poet, and humanist who was regarded as the greatest scholar of his time. He saw classical antiquity as an age of light due to its cultural achievements, while what followed — including the time in which he lived — was an age of darkness. “This sleep of forgetfulness will not last for ever,” he wrote. “When the darkness has been dispersed, our descendants can come again in the former pure radiance.”
Petrarch was so influential in his time that the humanist attitudes of 15th-century Italy — attitudes that led directly to the Renaissance — would not have been possible without him. It’s no surprise, then, that his concept of a long dark age took hold in both popular and academic circles, and remained a potent and widely accepted idea for centuries to come.
It’s worth noting that historians have also used the term “Dark Ages” to refer to something more specific and less pejorative. In his work Annales Ecclesiastici, the Italian cardinal Caesar Baronius (1538-1607) coined the term “Dark Ages,” albeit in its Latin form, saeculum obscurum. But Baronius was using the term to refer specifically to the scarcity of written documents around the 10th and 11th centuries relative to earlier periods.
This was not a moral judgment, but a statement of fact: There were indeed fewer written records from this period. The Romans were excellent record keepers, so when the empire fell there was a notable decline in historical texts and documents for several hundred years afterward. The Early Middle Ages have been seen by historians as “dark” simply because it’s difficult to know what happened.
Contrary to popular belief, the so-called “Dark Ages” were not a time of complete intellectual stagnation. In Rome’s absence, and with Europe lacking a large kingdom or other political structure as a centralizing force, the Christian church grew to fill the void. Monasteries became crucial centers of learning and literacy, and monks became patrons of the arts. Universities developed, and learning continued apace. In the Arab world, meanwhile, this period coincided with the Golden Age of Islam — around the eighth to 13th centuries — a time of significant scientific, economic, and cultural progress.
While later historians wrote of the “Dark Ages” as a time of intellectual and social decline in Europe, in reality the period saw many advancements. Innovations such as crop-rotation, the heavy plough, and the horse-collar changed agriculture forever, while power generation was revolutionized with the implementation of water and windmills. Gothic architecture emerged, musical notation was refined, and European battlefields saw the first use of cannons and heavily armored cavalry. Groundbreaking advances in mathematics, astronomy, and medicine were also made during these centuries.
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New Terms for This Era
Most modern historians now reject the pejorative “Dark Ages” label, although it continues to be used in popular culture. Typically, the term “Early Middle Ages” is now used to describe the era, or, in a wider sense, the “medieval era.” Another term, “Migration Period,” is sometimes used to refer to the early medieval period of Western European history, when so-called “barbarian” peoples — including the Huns, Goths, Vandals, Bulgars, Alani, Suebi, and Franks — moved into the former Western Roman Empire.
Archaeological evidence continues to reveal a much more complex picture of early medieval life — one of innovation, cultural richness, and significant social development — further consigning the term “Dark Ages” to the pages of academic history. While the period certainly had its challenges, it was far from the uniformly bleak and intellectually barren time that historians once portrayed. It was, in fact, a crucial transitional era that bridged classical antiquity and the Renaissance, laying the groundwork for developments that shaped the future.
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The Best Historical Movies on Netflix
Credit: FlixPix/ Alamy Stock Photo
AuthorMichael Nordine
July 6, 2026
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Endlessly scrolling through Netflix without being able to decide what to watch is an all-too-common problem, but it’s easier to solve if you have a specific genre in mind. And while most of the history dramas streaming on the platform aren’t exactly historical themselves (as Netflix’s catalog is known to skew toward newer films), that doesn’t mean they aren’t worth watching. Here are five of the best, which tell stories ranging from complex biographies to a single day in World War I.
Steven Spielberg finally won Best Picture and Director for this wrenching World War II drama about Oskar Schindler, who is credited with saving the lives of more than 1,000 Jews during the Holocaust by employing them in his enamelware and ammunition factories. Schindler’s List won seven of the 12 Oscars for which it was nominated, with Liam Neeson’s performance as Schindler and Ralph Fiennes as SS officer Amon Göth among the nominations. It is widely considered one of the greatest films of all time.
Elsewhere in the canon of heartbreaking World War II pictures, writer/director Isao Takahata’s animated classic might just be the saddest movie ever made. If this story of two orphaned Japanese brothers struggling to survive the final months of the war is notorious for how hard it can be to watch, it’s even more famous for how essential it is to witness. A deeply humane addition to Japan’s Studio Ghibli catalog, any viewing of Grave of the Fireflies is best accompanied by a box of tissues.
Even if you’ve read Erich Maria Remarque’s classic World War I novel or seen its prior two film adaptations, you might not be prepared for 2022’s All Quiet on the Western Front. The film follows a fresh-faced German soldier whose idealistic view of the conflict is immediately (and tragically) shattered by the realities of trench warfare in a losing battle. It was nominated for nine Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and the four it won (most notably Best International Feature) place it alongside Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander, Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite as one of the most-awarded foreign-language films in Oscars history.
“What if there were a murder mystery at West Point in which a young cadet by the name of Edgar Allan Poe plays a pivotal role?” This might not be a question you’ve asked yourself, but the answer can be found in 2022’s The Pale Blue Eye. The movie stars Christian Bale as a grief-stricken detective asked to come out of retirement to investigate said case, and Harry Melling as Poe, the latter all but unrecognizable from his time playing Dudley Dursley in the Harry Potter movies. If you’ve followed his post-Potter career, which includes scene-stealing turns in everything from The Ballad of Buster Scruggs to The Queen’s Gambit, you’ll be unsurprised to learn that Melling is once again great here. Those familiar with director Scott Cooper’s previous work (namely Crazy Heart and Hostiles) will be equally unsurprised by The Pale Blue Eye’s grimmer moments, but the film’s evocative air is what makes it so memorable.
All Quiet on the Western Front isn’t the only great World War I movie from the last few years. Released in 2019, Sam Mendes’ film 1917 was just as riveting. The American Beauty and Skyfall director worked with legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins to make the film appear as though it’s unfolding in just two continuous shots. There’s a reason for that feeling of urgency: Taking place in a single day near the end of the war, the plot follows two British soldiers tasked with delivering a message on foot in order to prevent 1,600 of their compatriots from walking into a trap.
In 1962, while Americans anxiously followed escalating Cold War tensions, witnessed the violent racial integration of the University of Mississippi, and mourned the tragic death of Marilyn Monroe, a quiet but monumental shift was occurring in the way people shopped.
In the space of just seven months, three retail chains opened their very first stores: Kmart, Target, and Walmart.
Before this, the retail landscape consisted of department stores, five-and-dime variety stores, hardware specialists, supermarkets, and mom and pop stores — all of which would face a new reckoning with the arrival of these giant retailers.
Of course, they weren’t the only companies to see how suburbanization, a booming middle class, and widespread car ownership had opened up new retail opportunities. Woolco (owned by the F.W. Woolworth Company) and Meijer (Thrifty Acres) also opened in 1962, along with a handful of other discount retailers. But it was Kmart, Target, and Walmart that managed to outlast the competition.
At the time, however, perhaps none of them could have foreseen quite how much they would change the retail landscape — and, together, permanently alter the way Americans shopped, spent, and lived.
Kmart was first out of the gate. On March 1, 1962, the S.S. Kresge Company — a long-established chain of five-and-dime variety stores founded in Detroit in 1899 — opened its first full-sized, 80,000-square-foot discount store in Garden City, Michigan. It was the brainchild of Kresge President Harry Cunningham, who had spent years studying the emerging discount retail model before deciding to go all in.
The discount model itself was not a brand-new invention, but Kmart revolutionized how it was scaled, operated, and marketed. The company was able to undercut traditional retail stores through extreme supply chain efficiency, high-volume sales, and centralized distribution.
The results were swift and staggering. Seventeen additional Kmart stores opened before the year was out, and the company continued its aggressive expansion, opening an average of 85 stores per year over the next two decades. For about 30 years, Kmart was one of the clear front-runners among American discount retailers, reaching its peak in 1994 when it operated more than 2,400 stores globally and employed some 350,000 people.
But Kmart’s dominance eventually faded. Increased competition from Walmart and Target, combined with a series of poor strategic decisions in the 1990s, sent the company into bankruptcy in January 2002. It merged with Sears in 2005 and has since dwindled to near extinction, with only a handful of remaining stores. But for several decades, the blue light special — Kmart’s iconic flash sale — was about as American as apple pie.
On May 1, 1962 — just two months after Kmart’s debut — a would-be rival opened its doors in Roseville, Minnesota. It was called Target, and it was the creation of the Dayton Company, a respected Minneapolis department store business founded in 1902. Target’s founders believed there was a market for a discount chain that offered lower prices without sacrificing the quality or aesthetics found in the best department stores. As such, it marketed itself slightly differently from its rivals. Where Kmart and Walmart were aggressively positioning themselves on low prices alone, Target placed an emphasis on design, cleanliness, and a more pleasant shopping experience — something that has remained part of its philosophy to this day.
Target’s growth was slower than Kmart’s in the early years. It opened its fifth store in 1965 — a considerably more measured expansion than Kmart — but made a profit of $39 million in sales that same year. Target has had its ups and downs over the ensuing decades, but it’s still going strong.
The last of the three retail giants to open — but ultimately the largest of them all — was Walmart. On July 2, 1962, Sam Walton opened the first Walmart store in Rogers, Arkansas. Rogers was a small, rural town — exactly the kind of place that other major retailers had long ignored. This was a very deliberate strategy, as Walton was convinced that small-town America represented an untapped retail goldmine.
According to consumer strategist Richard Hastings, Walmart took advantage of rural and semirural opportunities “with an almost military-like strategy.” The retailer often built stores in these specific geographic areas five to seven years ahead of suburban sprawl — a smart way to bake in future growth. This strategy, combined with a commitment to keep costs as low as possible and pass the savings on to the customer, soon established Walmart as a major player. By 1970, Walmart was a publicly traded company — and by 1990, it was the largest U.S. retailer by revenue, outpacing its main rivals Kmart and Sears.
Walmart eventually grew into a retail behemoth. Like Kmart and Target, it had recognized the opportunities presented by rapid suburban growth, rising car ownership, and a new consumer appetite for self-service shopping at lower prices. Together, the three discount retailers found themselves at the heart of everyday American life, ensuring that the weekly shopping trip would never be quite the same again.
Crossing your fingers for luck is one of the most familiar gestures in the English-speaking world. We nervously do it before a big moment, ask friends to keep their fingers crossed for a specific outcome, and use the crossed fingers emoji as a shorthand for hope. But where did the custom come from? How did looping our middle finger over our index finger become a symbol of good luck and hopefulness?
Today, crossing your fingers is a solitary act. Historically, however, it was a social ritual. One widely cited origin theory traces the custom to pre-Christian Europe, where the shape of a cross was believed to possess special power. According to this interpretation, the point where two lines intersected was seen as a place where beneficial spirits gathered. A wish made upon a cross could become anchored at that intersection until it came true.
Originally, making the gesture of a cross required two people. One person would make a wish while another crossed their index finger over the wish-maker’s finger, forming a small cross. The second participant effectively lent support to the wish, helping guide it toward fulfillment.
Over time, the ritual became simpler. Instead of requiring a partner, people began creating the symbol themselves, first by crossing the index fingers of both hands and eventually by crossing the index and middle fingers of one hand. The modern gesture may be the descendant of this much older cooperative custom.
Another theory points to the rise of Christianity. For early Christians, the cross carried obvious religious significance. The symbol had existed in various forms long before Christianity, but Christians gave it a distinct meaning through its association with the crucifixion.Making the sign of the cross was believed to offer protection, ward off evil, and invoke divine favor. Some folklorists have suggested that crossing one’s fingers may have developed as a smaller, more discreet version of this protective gesture.
According to one explanation, persecuted Christians used hand signs to identify fellow believers. One such gesture reportedly involved crossing the index fingers while touching the thumbs, helping form the outline of the ichthys, or fish symbol — an important early Christian emblem. While this theory does not fully explain how finger-crossing became associated with luck, it’s another line of thinking for why the crossed-fingers gesture may have carried connotations of blessing, protection, or hope long before it became a secular expression of good fortune.
Evidence for some of these specific stories is difficult to verify, and folklorists continue to debate how much influence early Christian practices had on the modern custom. Nonetheless, the association between the cross and good fortune became deeply embedded in European culture, making Christianity a plausible contributor to the gesture’s evolution.
Whatever its exact origins, finger-crossing gradually moved from the realm of ritual into everyday life. Many customs that began as serious religious or supernatural practices eventually became casual habits. Few people who knock on wood today are consciously invoking ancient beliefs about spirits dwelling in trees. Likewise, most people who cross their fingers are not thinking about pagan wishes or Christian symbols of protection.
Instead, the gesture has become a simple expression of hope. Language reflects this shift. By the early 20th century, English speakers were commonly using phrases such as “keep your fingers crossed” to mean “wish me luck” or “let’s hope things turn out well.” The gesture has become less important than the sentiment behind it.
Today, crossing your fingers requires no ceremony, no partner, and no special belief system. Yet every time someone crosses their fingers in hopes of a good outcome, they’re participating in a tradition that stretches back centuries.
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