Whether you love wandering through museums or only studied art back in school, chances are you recognize many of the world’s most iconic paintings on sight. These images appear everywhere — on posters and calendars, in movies and magazines, on book covers and social media feeds. History’s most famous paintings are reproduced so widely that most of us encounter their images hundreds or even thousands of times over the course of our lives, even if we never see the originals in person.
With so much exposure, it’s hard to be surprised by these works. But many masterpieces contain little-known stories that can permanently change how we see them. Here are surprising facts about some of the most recognizable paintings in Western art.
Mona Lisa isn’t the name of the woman in Leonardo da Vinci’s famous portrait. “Mona” is a shortened form of Madonna, meaning “lady” in Italian, and the sitter is widely believed to be Lisa del Gherardini, the wife of Florentine silk merchant Francesco del Giocondo. The painting’s name, then, simply means “Madam Lisa.” The title likely emerged as a respectful way to identify the subject rather than a personal name, a convention common in Renaissance Italy.
Leonardo’s careful sfumato technique is a major reason the portrait became so enduring. By layering thin, translucent glazes of paint, he created the famously elusive smile, which seems to shift depending on the viewer’s angle and focus. Rather than depicting a single fixed expression, Leonardo designed an expression that subtly changes with human perception — and that face has fascinated audiences for more than five centuries.
The Couple in “American Gothic” Aren’t Husband and Wife
Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” has become one of the most recognizable images of rural American life, and it’s easy to assume that the stern-looking pair are husband and wife. In reality, Wood intended them to represent a farmer and his adult daughter. The models were his sister, Nan, and his dentist, Byron McKeeby, chosen for their striking, angular features. By leaving their connection deliberately ambiguous, Wood created a tension that continues to shape how viewers interpret the painting.
When “American Gothic” debuted in 1930, many Iowans took offense, reading it as a bleak satire of rural life. Wood insisted he meant it as a sincere tribute to Midwestern character, but the painting’s lasting power lies in its uncertainty — a portrait that can appear either affectionate or critical, depending on who is looking.
When Vincent Van Gogh painted “The Starry Night” in 1889, he was living inside a psychiatric asylum in southern France, where he had voluntarily committed himself following a mental health crisis. Confined to the hospital grounds, he worked largely from memory and imagination, transforming the limited view from his barred window into one of the most recognizable skies in art history.
The quiet village in the foreground of “The Starry Night” was not visible from Van Gogh’s room and appears to be largely invented, shaped more by memory and emotion than by the actual landscape around him. The dramatic whorls of the sky, long seen as purely symbolic, have been compared by scientists to mathematical patterns found in turbulent flow — phenomena formally described decades after the painting was made. Whether intentional or instinctive, Van Gogh’s brushwork captured a natural rhythm that science would only later begin to explain.
“The Last Supper” Began Falling Apart Almost Immediately
Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” is one of the most reproduced religious images in history — yet surprisingly little of the original surface remains. It was painted on the wall of the refectory of the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, and Leonardo did not use traditional fresco, which required painting quickly on wet plaster. Instead, he experimented with a slower, experimental technique that allowed him to rework details and facial expressions. The paint failed to properly bond with the wall, and the image began deteriorating within just a few years of its completion.
What visitors see today is the result of centuries of repair and restoration layered over the fragile remains of Leonardo’s original work. Wars, humidity, pollution, and repeated retouching further compromised the surface, leaving conservators to stabilize rather than truly preserve the paint. While modern restoration efforts have carefully reconstructed missing sections, experts agree that just 20% of what is visible today reflects Leonardo’s original brushwork.
“Girl With a Pearl Earring” Isn’t Really a Portrait
Johannes Vermeer’s “Girl With a Pearl Earring” is not a traditional portrait of a specific individual, but a tronie— a Dutch Golden Age character study that emphasizes expression, costume, and lighting rather than identity. The girl’s exotic turban and luminous earring enhance the painting’s drama, turning her into an idealized, timeless figure rather than a known sitter. Tronies were popular among Dutch artists as a way to experiment with light, color, and facial expressions, and Vermeer’s work exemplifies this approach.
Even the pearl itself may not be a real gemstone. Its simplified brushwork and reflective highlights suggest it could be glass, metal, or even a painterly effect designed to catch light and draw attention to the girl’s gaze. Vermeer’s true focus was the interplay of light and shadow across the subject’s face and costume, using the earring as a visual anchor that emphasizes her expressive look.
Seurat Used Color Science To Paint “La Grande Jatte”
Georges Seurat’s “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” may look serene, but it was constructed based on scientific color theory. Influenced by scholars such as Michel Eugène Chevreul and Ogden Nicholas Rood, Seurat applied thousands of tiny dots of pure, unmixed pigment side by side, letting the viewer’s eye optically mix them at a distance. This method, called pointillism, forms the basis of neo-impressionism, a movement Seurat helped pioneer that emphasized luminous color, systematic technique, and scientific principles in painting.
The resulting scene feels controlled and still, despite depicting leisure in a Paris park. Figures are arranged with geometric precision and rarely interact, giving the painting a formal, almost frozen quality. Scholars interpret this composed stillness — along with the meticulous technique — as a reflection of modern urban life, social order, and the tension between observation and human isolation in late 19th‑century Paris.
At first glance, Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World” may appear to show a woman resting in a sunlit field, but the story behind the image is far more compelling. The painting depicts Anna Christina Olson, a lifelong resident of Cushing, Maine, who lived with a degenerative muscular disorder that left her unable to walk by her mid‑20s. Rather than use a wheelchair or other mobility aid, Olson pulled herself across the ground using her arms.
Wyeth and his wife Betsy were close friends with Christina and her brother Alvaro, and Wyeth spent decades capturing their world in drawings, watercolors, and tempera. While Wyeth’s painting reflects Christina’s lived experience, the torso and youthful form in the painting were modeled by Betsy — a choice that has sparked some debate over authenticity and the ethics of representing another person’s body in place of the subject’s own.
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9 Facts About the Vice Presidents Who Succeeded to the Presidency
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AuthorAdam Levine
May 31, 2026
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In the United States presidential line of succession, it falls to the vice president to succeed to the presidency if their predecessor is no longer able to carry out the duties of the office. This has happened nine times in the history of the country, under a wide variety of circumstances. Some vice presidents, such as Calvin Coolidge, succeeded to the top spot during a time of relative peace and economic prosperity. Others, such as Harry Truman, were appointed to the office in a climate of war and political turmoil. Vice presidents only inherit the presidency under unusual circumstances, and each instance is unique. Here are nine facts about the U.S. vice presidents who have succeeded to the presidency.
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John Tyler Was Nicknamed “His Accidency”
John Tyler was elected vice president in 1840 as the running mate of William Henry Harrison. Unfortunately, Harrison’s administration did not last long: The president died in 1841 just 31 days after taking office, which meant Tyler quickly found himself the nation’s commander in chief. Tyler’s presidency was marked by tension with his own Whig Party. He vetoed bills proposed by Whig leaders in Congress and began to advocate for policies that broke with the Whig Party line. As a result, the Whigs expelled President Tyler from their party, and some even called for his impeachment on the grounds that he had abused his veto power. To further disparage Tyler, his political critics saddled him with the nickname “His Accidency,” a pejorative reference to the fact that he had become president through chance, and was never elected to the office.
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Millard Fillmore Was the Last President Who Was Not a Democrat or a Republican
When Vice President Millard Fillmore ascended to the presidency in 1850, after his predecessor Zachary Taylor died following a mysterious illness, he did so as a member of the Whig Party, which was founded in 1830 to oppose the policies of then-President Andrew Jackson, a Democrat. President Fillmore proved to be the last Whig Party member to become president of the United States. The party largely disbanded a year after his administration ended in 1853, with many of its anti-slavery members branching off to form the Republican Party. In fact, Fillmore was the last U.S. president to belong to neither of the two major parties that continue to dominate American politics today. Fillmore’s successor, Franklin Pierce, was a Democrat, and every U.S. president since has been either a Democrat or a Republican.
Andrew Johnson Was the First President to Be Impeached
Andrew Johnson became president in 1865, during one of the most turbulent moments in American history. The Civil War had just ended, and the nation was still reeling from that violent conflict and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. When Vice President Johnson took office following Lincoln’s death, his principal task was the reconstruction of the former Confederate states. President Johnson, a Democrat from Tennessee, was criticized by Republicans in Congress for being too lenient with former members of the Confederacy, and for vetoing legislation designed to protect the rights of newly freed Black Americans.
The escalating tensions between Johnson and the congressional Republicans reached a crisis point in 1868, when the president fired Edwin Stanton, his Republican secretary of war, without the required congressional approval. In response, the House of Representatives voted to impeach Johnson, marking the first time in U.S. history such an action had been taken against the president. Johnson narrowly escaped conviction by just one vote, but by the end of his first term, he found himself with few political allies in Washington, and was not elected to a second term.
Chester A. Arthur Earned the Approval of Mark Twain
Chester A. Arthur succeeded to the presidency following the death of President James Garfield in 1881. During Arthur’s one term in office, he advocated lower tariffs for businesses and tax cuts for American citizens. President Arthur also passed the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act, which made some federal government jobs attainable only through merit-based examinations instead of through the “spoils system.” The “spoils system” allowed politicians to hire and fire civil servants based on their loyalty and political affiliations, and had frequently been denounced as a tool of political corruption. Through policies like these, Arthur managed to earn the praise of one of the sharpest and most unsparing satirists of his day, Mark Twain. Though Twain was noted for his pointed criticisms of many politicians, he claimed that it would be “hard to better President Arthur’s administration” — glowing praise indeed from a writer who once called President Teddy Roosevelt “the most formidable disaster that has befallen the country since the Civil War.”
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Theodore Roosevelt Was the First President to Win a Nobel Peace Prize
Theodore Roosevelt was vice president to William McKinley until President McKinley’s death in 1901. During his time in the White House, President Roosevelt became many things: a conservationist, a trust buster, and, in 1906, a Nobel Prize-winning peace negotiator. From 1904 to 1905, Japan and Russia were locked in the Russo-Japanese War over conflicting imperial ambitions in Manchuria and Korea. The war threatened to destabilize Asia and disrupt the balance of power in the Pacific, so Roosevelt decided to intervene to de-escalate the conflict. In August 1905, Roosevelt invited delegates from Japan and Russia to convene in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for peace negotiations. The president presided over the peace talks for 30 days before the two warring countries ended the conflict by signing the Treaty of Portsmouth. For his role in brokering the peace, Roosevelt was awarded the 1906 Nobel Peace Prize, making him the first U.S. president to receive the honor.
Calvin Coolidge Was Administered the Oath of Office by His Own Father
After serving as vice president from 1921 to 1923, Calvin Coolidge became president of the United States after Warren G. Harding passed away following a sudden illness. Coolidge was at his family home in Vermont when he learned that Harding had died and he needed to take the oath of office. While the oath is typically administered by the chief justice of the United States, Coolidge wound up going for someone less formal: his own father. As a notary public, Coolidge’s father, John Calvin Coolidge Sr., had the legal power to administer the oath. The modest inauguration ceremony was attended by just a handful of people, and since it was the middle of the night and the house had no electricity, the new president took his late-night oath by the flame of a kerosene lamp.
Harry Truman Had the First Televised Presidential Inauguration
Harry S. Truman had been vice president for just 82 days when Franklin D. Roosevelt passed away in 1945. After completing his first presidential term, during which he oversaw the end of World War II, Truman ran for a second term (the first to which he would need to be elected) in 1948. In a famous upset, the incumbent president beat his Republican challenger Thomas E. Dewey. When it came time for Truman to take the oath of office, the event was a far cry from Calvin Coolidge’s candlelit affair. The inauguration ceremony was the first in history to be broadcast on television, and was watched by some 10 million viewers.
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Lyndon B. Johnson Was Elected by the Widest-Ever Margin at the Time
Lyndon B. Johnson’s first presidential term began in 1963 under tragic circumstances following the death of President John F. Kennedy. During his time in office, Johnson laid out his “Great Society” platform, which included new social policies such as Medicare and numerous laws designed to alleviate poverty. In 1964, when it was time for Johnson to seek election to a second term, it quickly became clear that his first term had made a good impression. Johnson won the presidential race against Republican challenger Barry Goldwater by 15 million votes, the widest margin of any U.S. presidential election at the time. (Richard Nixon later won the 1972 election by nearly 18 million votes, and Ronald Reagan won reelection in 1984 by around 16.8 million votes.)
Gerald Ford Replaced a Resigning Vice President and a Resigning President
Though Gerald Ford served as Richard Nixon’s vice president from 1973 to 1974, he was never Nixon’s running mate. Ford was a leading Republican congressman when, in 1973, Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned amid a corruption scandal. To fill the vacancy left by Agnew’s resignation, President Nixon appointed Ford as his new VP. Ford’s tenure as Agnew’s replacement didn’t last long, however, because just one year later he became Nixon’s replacement. Following the events of the Watergate scandal, Nixon resigned the presidency in 1974, leaving Ford to take his place in the Oval Office. To this day, Ford remains the only person to serve as U.S. president without winning a general election as either a presidential or vice presidential candidate.
For drivers in many parts of the globe, the red, yellow, and green sequence of traffic lights has become an instinctual part of how we move through the world. But why these three colors? How did they come to govern the movement of billions of people across the planet every day? As it turns out, there are a few factors in play, including the history of transport, color psychology, and basic physics.
The colors used in traffic lights today were not invented for roads. They were largely inherited from the railway industry, which began developing light-based signaling systems in the 1830s (based on even older semaphore flagging). But in the early days of railroads, the colors were slightly different: While red was used to signal “stop,” white meant “go,” and green was the color used to indicate caution.
The use of red in the original system was never really in doubt. In the human psyche, red has an innate connection with warning and danger — a psychological and possibly biological response that might be due to the color’s association with blood and fire.
That alone makes red a natural choice for warning signs. But there’s also some physics in play. Red has the longest wavelength of any color in the visible light spectrum, making it visible over greater distances than many other colors. Red light also dissipates less in the atmosphere when compared to shorter-wavelength light.
So, when a signal must be seen from as far away as possible — and remain visible in fog, rain, or at night — red is the perfect choice. The people in charge of developing railway signals were well aware of both the psychology and physics of the hue, and as it worked just fine for trains, it was later used as the color for “stop” in the world’s first mechanical, electric traffic lights, which appeared in Paris in 1923.
While red was a no-brainer for “stop” for both train and traffic lights, the choice of yellow and green wasn’t so inevitable. The railway system originally used white as the color for “go” — but it soon became apparent that this was problematic and potentially dangerous, simply because of the sheer prevalence of white lights in our surroundings. A train driver could easily mistake a star, streetlamp, oil lantern, or the light from a building for a “go” sign. So the railroads decided to adopt a new color — something more distinctive and not easily confused with the light pollution of the modern world.
The solution was to replace white with the color initially used to indicate caution: green. Green light has a shorter wavelength than red but remains highly visible over long distances — and, due to the nature of the photoreceptors in the human eye, green is actually a more widely visible part of the light spectrum at any distance.
The human eye contains photoreceptor cells called cones, which come in three types sensitive to roughly red, blue, and green wavelengths. The green-sensitive cones are the most numerous and most sensitive, so our eyes process green light more efficiently than any other color. This, combined with the psychological association that green has with calm and safety, made it a good option for “go.” It also offered an obvious contrast with the red lights already used for train traffic.
With green selected for “go,” the railroads chose yellow (or amber) to represent caution. Yellow was distinct enough from red and green to make it a viable option — it sits between those two colors in the visible spectrum. As well as being bright and easy to spot, yellow occupies a middle ground psychologically, having neither red’s alarm nor green’s calm.
When William Potts — the Detroit police officer credited with designing the first three-way colored traffic lights in the 1920s — adapted the system for the road, he continued the use of yellow as the intermediate cautionary light. The system — colors included — spread rapidly, and in 1935 the Federal Highway Administration officially standardized red, yellow, and green as the required colors for all traffic lights in the United States.
If you were to go back in time and step into an average American kitchen in 1900, it would feel both familiar and strange. A lot of items would be instantly recognizable — the pots and pans, knives and forks, plates and bowls — but you’d soon notice the lack of certain modern tools. There would be no electric mixer, no blender, no coffee machine, and no refrigerator or freezer.
Back then, everything that happened in the kitchen was done by hand. Homemakers were expected to bake bread, preserve fruit, grind coffee, render lard, and cook hot meals on a stove that required constant attention. The luxury of pressing a single button to heat food, mill ingredients, or toast bread was nothing but a fantasy. Instead, cooks relied on a selection of manually powered devices and appliances. Here are seven such tools that would have been found in most kitchens at the turn of the 20th century.
The cast-iron range was the heart of the kitchen in 1900. These wood- or coal-burning stoves were the standard method of cooking at the time (except in some rural homes, where people still used open-fire cooking). They came in many shapes and sizes, but a typical cast-iron range had an oven and a flat-top surface for pots, pans, and kettles, not unlike modern stoves.
Using and maintaining a cast-iron range was a lot more labor intensive than using and maintaining today’s appliances, however. The fire had to be stoked well in advance to bring it up to a suitable cooking temperature, and this alone required some skill and experience. Fuel had to be added frequently, ash had to be emptied out, and the oven had to be cleaned regularly — a tall order for most home cooks today.
Most kitchens in 1900 had a meat grinder — a hand-cranked device that clamped to the edge of the kitchen table. Cooks would grind up various types of meat, forcing chunks through a perforated cutting plate to produce ground meat in an era before prepackaged minced meat was available. The home grinder could be used to transform tough, cheap cuts into something workable; could double as a sausage maker (using specialized attachments); and could grind leftovers for use in pies, hash, or rissoles, ensuring that nothing was ever wasted.
The first domestic electric refrigerators appeared in the 1910s, at which time they were considered a rare luxury. Even by the start of the 1930s, only 8% of U.S. households owned a fridge. In 1900, refrigeration required an icebox. This was typically a wooden box lined with metal, into which a large block of ice was placed in a compartment, cooling the shelves below where perishable produce was stored. Fresh blocks of ice were delivered by the local carrier. It was an imperfect system, but it kept milk from souring and meat from spoiling, and was the most effective form of food preservation available at the time.
The first electric mixer was patented in 1908, but it was intended for commercial use; domestic electric blenders didn’t become popular until the 1920s and ’30s. Before that, home cooks had to rely on the essential hand-crank mixer, one of the period’s small but invaluable triumphs of mechanical ingenuity. These mixers, sometimes known as rotary egg beaters, used a simple gear mechanism to spin two wire whisks simultaneously when a handle was cranked. The rotary beater made meringues, cakes, and souffles genuinely achievable for the home cook, reducing mixing times from potentially more than an hour to just a few minutes. The basic design was so effective that it remained largely unchanged for decades — and some people still keep them on hand today for quick and easy tasks.
Humans have been using the mortar and pestle since the Stone Age, and many chefs and artisanal home cooks still swear by the tool set today. Back in 1900, it was a standard kitchen apparatus used daily for grinding spices, crushing salt, pounding dried herbs, and preparing medicines. It could be made from a variety of materials, including stone, glass, and clay. Blenders, food processors, and spice grinders eventually made the mortar and pestle less common, but the tools are still frequently found in both commercial and domestic kitchens, partly because they’re quick and easy to use for simple tasks. Using a mortar and pestle is also the best way to grind and crush ingredients without losing flavor and aroma.
Instant coffee wasn’t readily available in the U.S. in 1900, and wouldn’t be for at least another 10 years. A coffee mill was therefore an absolute necessity for coffee lovers, and you’d find one in most American kitchens at the time. Ground coffee went stale quickly, so in 1900 you ground your own — every morning, by hand, in a small box-shaped mill with a crank handle on top and a drawer at the bottom to collect the grounds. The hand grinder produced a fresh, coarse grind that went directly into a stovetop pot.
Not everyone owned a butter churn in 1900 because in urban areas people could buy butter from a local shop. But for people living in more rural areas, it was an essential kitchen tool. Butter churns were normally tall, wooden or ceramic vessels with a hand crank that moved paddles or plungers inside, turning cream into butter. This was a physically demanding kitchen task — often assigned to older children or servants, when available — that could take more than an hour. The resulting butter was then lifted out and further worked with wooden paddles to squeeze out the remaining buttermilk, which could be used in pancakes, bread, and biscuits. In 1900, very little was thrown away if it could be used somehow in the kitchen.
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Shockingly Dangerous Toys Your Grandparents Played With
Before the age of cellphones and even TV screens, kids spent much more time outside, running rampant with unsupervised abandon and relying largely on their imaginations for entertainment — as well as the popular toys of the era.
It may seem like a rosy picture, but what’s often forgotten in the hue of nostalgia is how dangerous some toys were back in the old days. Your grandparents and possibly even your parents were kids before a wealth of emergency-room data had been analyzed, and no one knew how lethal certain toys could be.
From explosive Ping-Pong ball guns to radioactive science kits, the toys of the mid-20th century operated under a simple philosophy: If children enjoy it, then it’s probably fine to sell. (The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission wasn’t even established until 1972.) Here’s a look at the toys your grandparents played with that would never even make it off the production line today.
Credit: Image courtesy of manufacturer
Austin Magic Pistol
In the late 1940s, a Michigan company released a toy that, by today’s standards, would be categorized as a firearm in many states. The Austin Magic Pistol was a toy gun that fired a Ping-Pong ball. But the ball wasn’t launched by a spring or anything else so benign — it was launched by an explosive chemical reaction between calcium carbide and water.
This produced acetylene gas, a colorless, highly flammable gas that could turn into a fireball. Firing the Austin Magic Pistol was therefore fraught with danger, not only because of the flames shooting out the end of the barrel, but also due to the risk of the gun itself exploding. Sales began to dwindle after a few years and the toy was largely removed from stores by the late-1950s.
As early as the mid-1950s, people began playing lawn darts, also known as jarts. The premise was simple: Toss heavy, 12-inch-long pointed darts (essentially little metal-tipped spears) at a ground target from several feet away. It sounds easy enough, but the darts had to be thrown with some force, which wasn’t ideal in a garden full of children.
Despite the obvious risks, jarts grew in popularity in the 1970s and ’80s, when manufacturers created cheap and attractive lawn dart sets marketed directly to children. Things soon got out of hand. From 1978 to 1986, lawn darts were responsible for an estimated 6,100 injuries treated in the emergency room, including at least three deaths, with about 81% of the victims under 15 years old. The Consumer Product Safety Commission (CPSC) eventually took action, banning the sale of jarts in 1988.
Clackers — alternatively named Clankers or Ker-Bangers — consisted of two polymer balls attached to either end of a string. When swung, these two balls collided with each other, creating the satisfying clacking sound that gave them their name. They became very popular among American kids in the late 1960s and ’70s, but there was one major problem: The balls had a tendency to shatter after prolonged or overly forceful contact, sending sharp plastic shrapnel flying like tiny glass grenades.
Soon, a growing number of reports of facial and eye injuries emerged, prompting the Food and Drug Administration (which regulated toy safety before the CPSC was formed) to issue a public warning in 1971. Many schools banned the nefarious toy, but it continued to be sold in shops. Eventually, Clackers were banned entirely by the CPSC in 1985.
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Belt Buckle Gun
In 1959, Mattel introduced the Agent Zero Buckle Gun — a belt buckle holding a small gun. To fire it, kids had to push out their stomachs, which would make the gun flip out and fire the cap. . While kind of cool in principle, the toy had a major flaw: Any sudden movement could accidentally ignite the cap, potentially causing serious burns. With the CPSC not yet established, it was up to Mattel to do the right thing. The company quietly discontinued the dubious belt buckle gun — a toy that would be instantly banned today — consigning it to the annals of dangerous toy design.
Widely considered one of the most dangerous toys ever produced, the Gilbert U-238 Atomic Energy Lab was a children’s science kit containing actual radioactive material. (At the time, people were aware of the harmful nature of radioactive materials, but not fully aware of the risk posed by lengthy exposure to very small amounts.) Sold in the early 1950s, the $49.50 set came with four samples of uranium-bearing ores, a Geiger counter, and an instruction manual outlining various experiments to try at home.
Thankfully, the Atomic Energy Lab sold fewer than 5,000 units before being quietly discontinued after about a year — not because of safety concerns, but because of the high price point and poor sales. The toy was never actually banned, which is pretty shocking by today’s standards.
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7 Things You Forgot Happened During the Revolutionary War
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AuthorNicole Villeneuve
May 20, 2026
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During the American Revolution, 13 British colonies in North America fought for independence from English rule in what became one of the most defining conflicts in history. Certain moments from the Revolutionary War — which spanned from 1775 to 1783 — have certainly been etched into popular memory. But it was a long, complex conflict, and for every renowned tale such as the Boston Tea Party or Washington crossing the Delaware, there are lesser-known events that don’t always make it into textbooks. Here are some of the most fascinating but often overlooked events that unfolded during America’s fight for independence.
Women weren’t permitted to serve in the military during the Revolutionary War, but they were nonetheless instrumental throughout the conflict — whether they were sewing uniforms, tending to the wounded, or even acting as spies. Some, such as Massachusetts weaver and school teacher Deborah Sampson, took an even more direct approach.
In 1782, Sampson disguised herself as a man and joined the Fourth Massachusetts Regiment under the name Robert Shurtliff. She served in the Continental Army for more than a year, fighting in several battles and even tending to her own wounds — including removing a bullet from her leg. (Another bullet, too difficult to remove, remained in her leg for the rest of her life.)
After serving for a year and a half, she fell ill while in Philadelphia in 1783. She was taken to a hospital, where a high fever caused her to lose consciousness, ultimately leading to the discovery of her true identity. Sampson was honorably discharged in 1783, and, after starting a family, petitioned for back pay and a disability pension for injuries sustained on the battlefield.
Gunfire and bayonets weren’t the only threats during the Revolutionary War — smallpox also loomed large. The highly contagious disease had been an epidemic in the colonies at several times throughout the 1700s, and at the outset of the Revolutionary War in 1775, a particularly grim outbreak was taking place in Boston.
General George Washington knew the risks well: Having survived a monthlong battle with the virus as a teenager, he warned that smallpox could be “more destructive than the sword,” and in 1777, made the bold decision to order mass inoculations for his Continental Army. The procedure involved making a small incision in the arm and inserting a dose of the virus. Though it was controversial at the time, it paid off, reducing death rates and helping keep Washington’s army in fighting shape.
Winning a war against the mighty British military required more than just soldiers — it also took sleuthing and secrets. From 1778 to 1783, the Culper Spy Ring, led by Continental Army Officer Benjamin Tallmadge, relied on informants who were not professional agents but ordinary citizens — shopkeepers, farmers, and merchants — to gather intelligence from British sources in English-occupied New York.
Through code names, cipher messages, invisible ink, and even laundry strategically placed on clotheslines, the Culper Ring provided crucial intelligence to General Washington, including a key report in 1780 that saved French troops in Newport, Rhode Island, from a British attack. Despite the constant danger, none of the Culper Ring’s agents were ever discovered by the British, and their underground work helped win the war not with weapons, but with whispers.
While the conflict raged on land, thousands of American soldiers and even civilians faced a different kind of horror during the war: British prison ships. Stationed along the Eastern Seaboard, these makeshift jails were overcrowded, disease-ridden, and notoriously brutal, and could be just as deadly as the battles themselves.
The most infamous was the HMS Jersey; it housed as many as 1,000 prisoners at a time, most of whom suffered from starvation and rampant disease. Captured Americans were given a choice: Switch sides and fight for the British or face the harsh reality of imprisonment on the ship. Many refused to switch sides — historians estimate that only about 8% of prisoners joined the Brits — and instead endured unimaginable conditions. It’s estimated that around 11,000 people died on the ships because they chose not to betray the cause.
George Washington’s Security Helped Plot His Assassination
In 1776, as Washington and his troops prepared for battle in New York, a plot on his life by the Loyalists — American colonists who remained loyal to the British crown — was uncovered. The conspiracy involved members of his own Life Guard, an elite security detail, and was allegedly orchestrated by New York’s Loyalist governor, William Tryon. But the plot was exposed before it could happen: One of the conspirators, Washington’s security guard Thomas Hickey, had been jailed for suspected money counterfeiting and leaked the details to fellow inmates while behind bars.
Ironically, Washington himself wasn’t above similar schemes — he later approved a plan to kidnap Prince William, the son of King George III, as leverage for prisoner exchanges. (The prince remained out of reach and the kidnapping plan fell through.) Hickey, though he pleaded innocent, was found guilty for his role in the plot to assassinate Washington and was executed for treason.
The Continental Navy was no match for Britain’s powerful 18th-century fleet, so the colonies turned to a different maritime strategy during the Revolutionary War: privateering. Privateers were ships owned and manned by private citizens, hired by the government to attack and capture British vessels. It’s estimated that nearly 800 vessels — ranging from whaling boats to schooners and brigantines — were commissioned during the war.
These legal pirates not only disrupted British shipping and supply lines but also took valuable cargo; whatever was seized was usually sold and profits were split with the privateers, while the rest was used to help fund the new nation. Privateers weren’t universally accepted — some colonists saw them as money-hungry opportunists — but they ultimately played a critical role in weakening the Brits. By the war’s end, American privateers had captured or destroyed an estimated 600 British ships.
Submarines are a common part of naval fleets around the world today, and the first one ever used in combat debuted during the American Revolution. The Turtle, as it was known, was designed by American inventor David Bushnell. The single-passenger, hand-cranked submersible consisted of two shell-shaped wooden halves that were fastened together with iron bands and covered in a thick waterproof coating. It was built to maneuver under and attach explosives to enemy ships, and on September 6, 1776, the Turtle set out on its first mission.
Deployed to target the British warship HMS Eagle in New York Harbor, the Turtle did successfully make its way under the massive ship, but was ultimately unable to secure the explosive. Though rudimentary by today’s standards and never able to successfully sink an enemy vessel, the Turtle was dubbed “an effort of genius” by Washington and helped lay the groundwork for future naval technology.
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Why Don’t We Write in Cursive Anymore?
Credit: FPG/ Archive Photos via Getty Images
AuthorBess Lovejoy
May 20, 2026
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For generations, American children learned to loop their letters into graceful, flowing words. Notes passed in class, signatures practiced on notebooks, the elegance of a handwritten letter — all of it once depended on cursive. Yet for much of the last two decades, cursive seemed destined to fade into history.
The decline was especially sharp after 2010, when cursive was omitted from the Common Core education standards. Typing skills were prioritized instead, and many schools quietly dropped cursive instruction altogether. An entire cohort of students grew up with little or no exposure to this form of penmanship. In 2022, former Harvard President Drew Gilpin Faust recalled that in one of her history seminars, two-thirds of the students admitted they couldn’t read or write cursive. So how did cursive, once a cornerstone of education, fall out of favor? And is there any chance it will return?
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Why Cursive Faded
For much of the 19th and 20th centuries, and even earlier, penmanship was regarded as a marker of both education and refinement. Historically, handwriting instruction — including cursive — was considered a cornerstone of elementary education. It was seen not only as a practical skill but as a way to instill discipline, patience, and even character in young students.
The reasons for cursive’s decline are layered. Some educators argue that while handwriting in general aids child development, cursive is no more beneficial than writing in print. The digital shift also played a role: By the mid-2000s, schools were investing heavily in computer labs and keyboarding classes.
When Common Core omitted cursive for K-12 education, many districts saw little reason to keep it. (Although school curriculums are set at the state and not federal level in the U.S., 41 states agreed on the Common Core standards.) Teachers prioritized developing digital skills and “teaching to the test” — meeting the demands of standardized testing.
Credit: Albin Guillot/ Roger Viollet via Getty Images
What We Lose Without Cursive
Though cursive may be less practical than other forms of writing today, nostalgia lingers. Cursive is more than just pretty penmanship; it connects us to the past in a literal way. The Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, soldiers’ letters home, and many historical diaries are all are written in cursive. Without the ability to read it, future generations risk losing direct access to these documents.
In her widely read Atlantic article, Faust argued that this loss is not trivial. Relying on experts or software to “translate” old handwriting puts distance between people and their own history. Even in everyday life, not being able to read a grandparent’s letters or decipher a handwritten recipe represents a small but meaningful rupture in cultural continuity.
There’s also the simple tactile joy of cursive. Anyone who remembers the thrill of getting their first fountain pen, or the way a signature can feel like an extension of the self, understands its emotional weight. Cursive embodies the idea of writing as a personal expression, not just a utilitarian skill.
Fortunately, cursive is not gone just yet. In fact, it’s staging a comeback. As of 2025, 25 U.S. states require some form of cursive instruction in schools. California, which stopped teaching it in 2010, reinstated the requirement in January 2024 for grades one through six.
Supporters see this as more than a nostalgic gesture, arguing that neuroscience research supports the idea that writing in cursive activates brain pathways that help with learning and language development.
Even so, instruction is inconsistent. In many of the states that require cursive instruction, that requirement is neither enforced nor funded, meaning that teachers will be forced to squeeze cursive into already crowded lesson plans.
The return of cursive instruction doesn’t mean children will stop learning to type, and digital literacy remains essential. But California’s move — and similar laws in other states — suggests that many educators and policymakers believe there is still room for the old alongside the new.
Perhaps cursive’s survival is not so much about utility as it is about connection. In a world where so much of our communication vanishes into screens, cursive offers something tangible — ink pressed into paper, loops and swirls carrying the imprint of a hand. It links students not just to their own learning but to the generations before them.
We may never return to a time when cursive was the default way of writing, but its resurgence suggests that we are not ready to let go of it entirely. Cursive endures as a bridge between past and present, history and memory, function and art. And as long as children are still being taught to form their letters in flowing script, the story of cursive is not over yet.
The conflict dubbed the “war to end all wars” didn’t actually end all wars, of course, but it did inspire countless works of art. Among them are a lot of great movies, which, like World War I itself, tend to get overlooked while more attention is given to the Second World War. That’s a shame, as there’s no shortage of films illuminating the world-altering conflict of the early 20th century and putting a human face on it. Here are seven essential movies about World War I.
To say that 1917 is most memorable for its cinematography isn’t to damn it with faint praise. Presented as though it unfolds in just two continuous takes by masterful cinematographer Roger Deakins, the movie’s visuals lend an immediacy to every excruciating moment. Director Sam Mendes, who previously helmed American Beauty and Skyfall, based the film — which follows two British soldiers racing to tell a fellow battalion that it’s walking into a trap — on stories his veteran grandfather told him.
Deakins won his second Oscar for his work on the film, which received a total of 10 nominations, including Best Picture and Best Director. The plot is thrilling in its simplicity: Above all else, 1917 is about how fraught each moment of this conflict was. Sometimes surviving another day is victory enough.
“This story is neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it,” reads the opening caption of All Quiet on the Western Front. “It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war…”
Lewis Milestone’s 1930 take on Erich Maria Remarque’s novel is both the first adaptation and the best. It’s the rare Hollywood production to tell the story of either world war from the German perspective, and it is haunting in its depiction of the wartime experience. Following a group of impressionable young men who enthusiastically enlist to fight for the fatherland, All Quiet on the Western Front shows the inevitable outcome of that decision: the loss of innocence, disenchantment, and, more often than not, the end of life.
“If I had only one film to save,” Orson Welles once said, “it would be Grand Illusion.” The first movie ever added to the Criterion Collection, Jean Renoir’s prisoner-of-war drama follows a group of French officers plotting their escape from a Nazi POW camp and pairs wonderfully with Renoir’s The Rules of the Game, released two years later and startlingly prescient in its vision of France on the brink of World War II. There’s a good chance Renoir is your favorite filmmaker’s favorite filmmaker — countless directors admired him greatly, from Welles and Martin Scorsese to Akira Kurosawa and François Truffaut. and Grand Illusion is probably the movie that made them fall in love with his work.
Have you listened to Lawrence of Arabia’s majestic overture recently? Do you even remember the last time you saw a movie with an overture? If the answer to either question is no — or if you’ve never seen the epic of all epics — there’s no time like the present to (re)watch Peter O’Toole deliver one of the greatest performances in the history of film. Based on the life of T.E. Lawrence and set in the Middle Eastern theater of World War I, Lawrence of Arabia is, quite simply, one of the greatest films ever made about this or any other subject.
If you’re curious about the tone of Stanley Kubrick’s World War I drama starring Kirk Douglas, look no further than the poem from which it takes its title: “The paths of glory lead but to the grave.” Based on Humphrey Cobb’s novel of the same name, it follows a French colonel defending three of his soldiers from charges of cowardice after they abandon a suicidal attack and are court-martialed for it.
Kubrick’s first true masterpiece sits proudly alongside such later works as 2001: A Space Odyssey, Dr. Strangelove, The Shining, and Full Metal Jacket as an aggressively anti-war exploration of the physical and spiritual toll that being a commanding officer takes. Paths of Glory was so anti-war, in fact, that it stirred controversy both in Europe and the U.S. Few today would argue with any of the points Kubrick made, however.
Though best known for directing The Lord of the Rings, Peter Jackson has also made several documentaries. The best of them is They Shall Not Grow Old, which restored and colorized a trove of previously unseen footage belonging to the Imperial War Museum. The result is a highly immersive, emotionally devastating look at the on-the-ground reality of daily life as a soldier in one of the most brutal conflicts in human history. Jackson dedicated it to his grandfather, a veteran of World War I, creating an emotional connection to the material that comes through in nearly every scene.
War movies have been wowing the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for as long as it has existed, as evidenced by the fact that this World War I drama was the first-ever Best Picture Oscar winner. (Another film, Sunrise, took home the prize for Unique and Artistic Picture, a category that was discontinued the following year.) William A. Wellman’s endlessly influential film is the only fully silent production ever to win the most coveted Oscar, and it features a bravura tracking shot that’s just as impressive today as it was nearly a century ago.
A romantic drama about a love triangle involving two fighter pilots vying for the affections of Clara Bow (understandable) when they aren’t fighting the Germans, Wings has stood the test of time — especially its dogfight sequences, which have rarely been bested.
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Depression-Era Homemakers Swore by These Kitchen Tricks
The typical kitchen in 1930s America didn’t have high-tech appliances or convenience foods, but it was filled with ingenuity. During the Great Depression, when money was scarce and waste wasn’t an option, homemakers became experts at stretching every dollar — and every ingredient — as far as it could possibly go.
Even as the economy began to recover in the early 1940s, frugality remained essential, reinforced by wartime rationing and shortages. Meals had to be filling, affordable, and built from whatever was on hand, which often wasn’t much.
For many families, these habits didn’t disappear when times improved — they were passed down to the next generation. You might remember a parent or grandparent saving bacon grease in a tin or creating a meal from the previous day’s leftovers. These were hard-earned skills shaped by necessity. And many of these kitchen tricks feel practical and surprisingly modern, even now.
Meat was one of the most expensive items in a Depression-era household budget, so homemakers learned early on that it couldn’t be the centerpiece of every meal. Instead of serving whole cuts, they stretched small amounts of ground meat with inexpensive fillers including oats, breadcrumbs, cracker crumbs, cooked rice, or even grated vegetables such as carrots and onions.
A typical meatloaf might contain as much filler as meat — sometimes more — but seasoning made it taste just as hearty and satisfying. This approach carried over into a wide range of dishes, such as casseroles bulked up with pasta or potatoes and hash made from finely chopped leftovers. Even a small portion of roast meat could be diced and stirred into gravy or sauce, allowing it to flavor an entire dish. The goal wasn’t to disguise the lack of meat, but to make sure everyone at the table left full.
In many ways, this strategy reshaped how meals were built. Rather than centering a dish around protein, cooks focused on combining textures and flavors to create something filling from modest ingredients. It’s a technique that still shows up today, especially in budget-conscious or plant-forward cooking.
Wasting food wasn’t even a consideration during the Depression because every scrap had potential. Bones from roasts or poultry were saved and boiled for broth, sometimes more than once, extracting every bit of flavor before being discarded. Vegetable scraps such as onion skins, celery ends, and carrot peels were saved and added to stockpots, creating a rich base for soups and stews.
Stale bread became French toast or bread pudding, or was dried and crushed into breadcrumbs for future use. Vegetables that were wilted or soft were added to soups, and overripe fruit could be cooked down into sauces or preserves. What couldn’t be used immediately was often repurposed in another form.
Fat, in particular, was treated as a valuable resource. Bacon grease, chicken fat, and drippings from cooked meat were saved in tins and jars and reused for frying, baking, or flavoring vegetables. Coffee grounds were often brewed a second time for a weaker pot, then dried and used as a mild abrasive for scrubbing. This kind of frugality helped get the most out of everything that came into the kitchen.
For Depression-era homemakers, efficiency was as important as thrift. One-pot meals were the go-to because they minimized fuel use, reduced cleanup, and made it easier to stretch ingredients into something substantial and filling that could last all week.
Soups, stews, and skillet meals allowed homemakers to build layers of flavor over time. Tough, inexpensive cuts of meat could simmer for hours until tender, while potatoes, beans, or dumplings helped bulk up the dish. Ingredients were often added in stages, depending on what needed to cook longer and what could be stirred in at the end.
These meals were also highly adaptable. Leftovers from previous days were frequently added to the pot, changing yesterday’s roast or vegetables into something entirely new. A stew might evolve over several days, with each reheating thickening the broth and deepening the flavor. It was a flexible, forgiving way of cooking that ensured that nothing went to waste.
With fresh ingredients sometimes hard to come by, pantry staples became the foundation of daily cooking. Beans, lentils, and grains such as barley or cornmeal were affordable, filling, and had a long shelf life.
Dried beans were often soaked overnight to reduce cooking time and conserve fuel, then simmered into soups or served as a main dish. Cornmeal could be transformed into everything from soft mush to crisp fried cakes or cornbread. Barley added heartiness to soups, while rice stretched meals and absorbed flavors from whatever it was cooked with. Leftovers were transformed into endless options. Cooked grains might be reheated, fried, or mixed with other ingredients to create a completely different dish the next day.
Whenever possible, families supplemented their kitchens by growing their own food, a tradition that continued after the Depression as World War II “victory gardens” gained popularity. Backyard gardens provided vegetables such as beans, potatoes, cabbage, and tomatoes, while herbs added flavor without added cost. Neighbors could trade seeds, plants, and harvested vegetables, and even a small plot could make a difference to a household’s food budget.
Foraging also played a role, especially in rural areas. Wild berries, greens, and nuts were gathered when available, adding variety to otherwise simple meals. What couldn’t be used right away was preserved for later.
Canning, pickling, and drying were essential skills. Fruits and vegetables were stored in jars to last through the winter, while surplus harvests were turned into jams, relishes, or shelf-stable staples. These methods allowed families to make the most of what they had when it was available and ensured they would have something later, when it wasn’t.
When key ingredients weren’t available, homemakers adapted. Creative substitutions became a defining feature of Depression-era cooking, particularly in baking. Cakes were made without eggs, milk, or butter, using pantry staples such as flour, sugar, cocoa, oil, vinegar, and baking soda. These “wacky cakes” were often mixed directly in the pan, cutting down on both ingredients and cleanup, and still produced moist, flavorful results.
There were also “mock” recipes designed to mimic the taste and texture of more expensive dishes. Mock apple pie was made from crackers, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon, while mock cherry pie substituted cranberries or raisins for cherries. Other recipe variations included mock cream, a whipped cream substitute that used egg whites and gelatin; baked fake steak made from ground beef; and even mock chicken made from a tomato and egg, because it was more practical to keep chickens for eggs than to use them for meat.
These recipes are still shared today for their novelty, but they highlight the culinary problem-solving of homemakers who wanted to feed their families well but didn’t necessarily have the resources to do it.
History often feels inevitable when viewed in hindsight, as though events unfolded exactly as they were meant to. But some pivotal moments tell a different story — they reveal how much of the world we live in today has been shaped by accident rather than intention.
Some of the most significant turning points in history came not from careful planning, but from mistakes, miscalculations, and moments of chance. Here are five figures whose stories reveal how unpredictable and arbitrary the course of human history can be.
When Christopher Columbus set sail under the sponsorship of Spain in 1492, his goal was to reach Asia by traveling west across the Atlantic Ocean. European scholars already understood that the Earth was round, but Columbus relied on flawed calculations that dramatically underestimated the planet’s size. He was convinced the journey would be shorter than it actually was and believed he could establish a new trade route to the wealthy markets of East Asia.
Instead, Columbus encountered islands in the Caribbean — lands that were home to established Indigenous societies largely unknown to Europeans at the time. Believing he had reached the outskirts of Asia, he referred to the people he met as “Indians,” a mistake rooted in his original assumptions. Although Columbus never fully understood the scope of what he had found, his voyages initiated sustained contact between Europe and the Americas. The consequences were profound, reshaping global trade networks and migration patterns while also triggering centuries of colonization, displacement, and devastation for Indigenous populations.
In 1928, Scottish bacteriologist Alexander Fleming returned to his laboratory after a holiday to find that one of his petri dishes had been contaminated by mold. In most cases, this would have meant a failed experiment — something to discard and start over. Laboratory contamination was common, and scientists were trained to treat it as a nuisance rather than an opportunity. But Fleming paused before throwing the dish away, noticing something unusual in the way the bacteria behaved around the intruding mold.
A clear, bacteria-free zone had formed around the contamination, suggesting that the mold was producing a substance capable of killing harmful microbes. The mold was later identified as Penicillium notatum, and the substance it produced became known as penicillin. While the contamination itself was accidental, Fleming’s decision to investigate it was not. He recognized the potential significance of what he had found, even though he lacked the means to fully develop it. That work was later carried forward by researchers such as Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain, whose efforts transformed penicillin into a practical, lifesaving drug and ushered in the age of modern antibiotics.
In the 1940s, American engineer Percy Spencer was working with magnetrons, a type of radar technology that produced powerful microwave radiation. During one experiment, he noticed something unexpected — a chocolate bar in his pocket had melted, even though he hadn’t been exposed to any obvious source of heat. Instead of dismissing it as coincidence, Spencer decided to investigate further.
He began experimenting with the effect deliberately, placing popcorn kernels near the equipment and watching them pop almost instantly. In another test, an egg reportedly burst as heat built up inside it. Through these observations, Spencer realized that microwave energy could rapidly heat food by exciting water molecules within it. This accidental discovery led to the development of the first microwave oven, dubbed the Radarange, a large and expensive machine used in commercial settings. Over time, the technology was refined and scaled down, and the microwave eventually became one of the most common household appliances in the modern world.
The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914 is often described as the catalyst that launched World War I, but the event itself unfolded through a series of missteps. The archduke was visiting Sarajevo as the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, at a time when nationalist tensions in the region were high. A group of young Bosnian Serb conspirators, backed by elements of a Serbian nationalist network, had positioned themselves along the motorcade route earlier that day. One of them threw a bomb at the archduke’s car, but it bounced off and detonated under a following vehicle instead, injuring several people and throwing the schedule into confusion.
After the failed attack, the archduke insisted on continuing his visit and later decided to visit those wounded in the hospital. However, the change in route was not clearly communicated to all drivers. Czech driver Leopold Lojka mistakenly turned off the planned path and stopped the car while attempting to correct the error. Standing nearby was Gavrilo Princip, a 19-year-old member of the nationalist group involved in the earlier plot. When the archduke’s car unexpectedly came to a halt within a few feet of him, he stepped forward and fired two shots, killing the archduke and his wife, Sophie.
If the driver had been on the correct route, the pivotal assasination may never have occurred. Though Europe was already primed for conflict due to rigid alliances and political tensions, this precise convergence of miscommunication, timing, and individual decisions helped trigger the crisis that escalated into World War I.
In September 1983, Soviet air defense officer Stanislav Petrov was on duty monitoring an early warning system designed to detect incoming nuclear missiles from the United States. On the night of September 26, the system suddenly reported that five missiles had been launched. In the tense atmosphere of the Cold War, such a warning carried enormous weight, and protocol suggested that it should be treated as the beginning of a nuclear attack.
However, the alert didn’t match what Petrov had learned to expect from a real first strike, which would likely involve hundreds of missiles rather than just a handful. Trusting his judgment over the automated system, he chose to report the warning as a false alarm instead of escalating it up the chain of command. He was right — the system had misinterpreted sunlight reflecting off high-altitude clouds as incoming missiles.
That decision, made in a moment of intense uncertainty, is widely credited with helping to prevent a potential nuclear escalation between superpowers. Petrov’s choice wasn’t exactly an accident — he deliberately overrode protocol based on instinct and experience — but the decision easily could have gone the other way. In later years, Petrov became known as “the man who saved the world” due to the fortunate outcome of this unlikely moment.