Dwight D. Eisenhower’s road trip inspired the interstate highway system.

  • Eisenhower signs the Highway Act of 1954
Eisenhower signs the Highway Act of 1954
Credit: Everett Collection Historical/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Timothy Ott
August 5, 2025

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In 1919, Dwight D. Eisenhower, then a lieutenant colonel in the Tank Corps, learned of the U.S. Army’s plan to test the capabilities of its transport vehicles by moving 80 military vehicles across the United States from Washington, D.C., to San Francisco. A cross-country expedition of this scale had never been attempted, and as Eisenhower later explained in his memoir At Ease: Stories I Tell to Friends, he volunteered his services as an observer “partly for a lark and partly to learn.”

After missing the first leg of the trip to Frederick, Maryland, Eisenhower joined the expedition, known as the First Transcontinental Motor Convoy, for the remainder of its two-month, 3,000-mile journey along the Lincoln Highway to California. As per the requirements of his involvement, the young officer dutifully submitted a report that analyzed the performances of the various military vehicles, the discipline shown by participating soldiers, and the quality of the roads encountered along the way. He also offered suggestions on how to allocate resources toward improving highway conditions — demonstrating how the journey piqued his interest in a future United States linked by a system of well-maintained roads.

A quarter-century later, Eisenhower, as supreme commander of the Allied forces during World War II, observed how Germany’s modern highways enabled the speedy, efficient transport of materiel. His interest in an improved road network again ignited, Ike made the development of America’s highways a centerpiece of his domestic agenda upon being elected U.S. president in 1952. His vision became a reality with the passage of the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, which established the Interstate Highway System, the vast network of roads that crisscross the country today.

$2 bills are older than the United States.

  • $2 bill
$2 bill
Credit: Alicia Razuri/ Unsplash
Author Rachel Gresh
March 20, 2024

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In the spring of 1775, the first shots of the Revolutionary War were fired, beginning the American colonies’ arduous journey to sever ties with the British monarchy. As the war pressed on, the colonies faced a pressing matter: They needed funds. The Second Continental Congress voted to issue bills of credit equal to 2 million Spanish milled dollars, and the first Continental Currency notes (referred to simply as “Continentals”) were born. These notes featured various denominations including the first standardized $2 bills, which were issued on May 10, 1775, more than one year before the U.S. officially declared independence on July 4, 1776. 

The Continental Currency notes not only funded the war, but also symbolized a new nation in defiance of England. Founding father Benjamin Franklin was an early printer of Continentals, which were developed and printed in Franklin’s native Philadelphia. He also suggested inspirational sayings for the notes, as seen in one famous $2 bill design from 1776, which includes the motto “Tribulatio Ditat,” or “Troubles make us stronger.” That particular bill design features an image of grain being separated from the chaff. Franklin also devised a way to fight counterfeit bills by producing notes with raised patterns cast from actual leaves from trees. 

The $2 bill looks very different today. The modern version was first printed in 1862 and featured a portrait of Alexander Hamilton, who established the First Bank of the United States in 1791 and served as the first U.S. Treasury secretary. Since 1869, the $2 bill has featured a portrait of Thomas Jefferson, the third U.S. president. On the reverse side is a print of John Trumbull’s painting “Declaration of Independence,” which depicts the Founding Fathers presenting a draft of the historic document to Congress.

The ancient Greeks had waffle irons.

  • Waffle iron, circa 1947
Waffle iron, circa 1947
Credit: Chaloner Woods/ Valueline via Getty Images Plus
Author Sarah Anne Lloyd
July 29, 2025

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It’s easy to assume waffles are a recent invention after cooking them (or having them cooked for you) on electric appliances your whole life. But waffle irons are far older than one might expect. All you need to make a waffle is metal, heat, and batter, and ancient Greeks had all three at their disposal. 

Ancient Greeks (and later, ancient Romans) used a pair of cooking irons (flat or patterned metal plates with long handles) over a fire to cook a batter of flour and either water or goat’s milk. The result was a wafer-like treat called panis obelius, named either for its suggested retail price (one obol coin) or because it was described as being roasted on a spit known as obeloi

These ancient waffles could have all kinds of add-ins, including olives, figs, cheese, herbs, or honey, and were eaten during festive rituals. The treat eventually evolved into the ancient Roman crustulum, a sweet, crisp, biscuit-like food made with honey, flour, lard, and a couple of hot irons. 

Europeans continued to evolve the waffle throughout the Middle Ages. In Italy, ferratelle biscuits, a popular homemade treat made with patterned irons, may have developed directly from ancient crustulum. The Catholic Church used similar iron plates, inscribed with religious designs, to make Communion wafers, and eventually street vendors started selling a leavened, secular version. The traditional “waffle” pattern emerged sometime in the 1200s, and such waffle irons even appeared in medieval and Renaissance art.

During WWII, the British used Monopoly games to help POWs escape.

  • Monopoly board game
Monopoly board game
Credit: James Boardman/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Bennett Kleinman
March 13, 2024

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Monopoly has been beloved for generations, but the history of the classic board game isn’t all fun and games. During World War II, specially manufactured Monopoly boards were used to help prisoners of war escape from captivity. In 1940, the British government struck a deal with Waddingtons, the company that manufactured London-themed editions of Monopoly, in which MI9, a secret department of the War Office, tasked Waddingtons with creating a version of Monopoly that contained various tools and information to aid POWs in their potential escape efforts.

The sneakily altered Monopoly boards were distributed to Nazi-run POW camps as part of larger aid packages. In addition to the standard thimble and dog game pieces, each board contained metal “playing pieces” that were actually escape tools, such as a file and magnetic compass. Each version also contained silk maps provided by the intelligence agency, which could be unfolded discreetly without drawing attention. What’s more, these special editions swapped out fake Monopoly money for real German, Italian, and French currency that could be used to bribe guards. The British government also contracted game company John Jaques & Son to create chess sets and versions of Snakes and Ladders that contained hidden compartments with escape tools.

Amelia Earhart had her own clothing line.

  • Amelia Earhart portrait
Amelia Earhart portrait
Credit: Sueddeutsche Zeitung Photo/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Sarah Anne Lloyd
March 13, 2024

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Amelia Earhart broke into an almost entirely male-dominated profession to become one of the most famous aviators of all time, but being one of a small handful of female pilots came with plenty of obstacles. One of the more annoying problems was a lack of flight apparel designed to fit women’s bodies. At the beginning of her career, Earhart was saddled with ill-fitting clothing designed for men, which only bolstered her lifelong interest in fashion. As a child, Earhart sewed clothing for herself and her dolls; later in life, she had a reputation for wearing practical clothing, much of which was custom-made.

In 1933, with a couple of transatlantic flights under her belt, Earhart released Amelia Fashions, a clothing line “for the woman who lives actively”; while some of the line was made for aviation, some of it was just stylish and comfortable. Earhart didn’t just lend her name to the label — she approved every step of the process and helped sew some of the garments, too. Many of the designs incorporated aviation materials, such as buttons and buckles made of ball bearings, oil cups, and bolts. Some shirts were made from parachute silk and included tails, which were mostly exclusive to menswear at the time. She also designed hats, which she used as prizes for flying contests with the Ninety-Nines, an all-woman aviation society she helped establish. What ultimately doomed the clothing line was that Earhart cared too much about it, and she found that working as a full-time designer took her focus away from flying and lecturing.

The CIA spent millions training cats to be spies.

  • Cat on a podium
Cat on a podium
Credit: Nurefşan koşar/ Unsplash+
Author Michael Nordine
March 13, 2024

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If you’ve ever had a stealthy feline sneak up on you, you might have had the same idea the CIA once did: that cats would make good spies. Indeed, the intelligence agency spent millions of dollars on a program to that end in the 1960s. But as any cat owner can tell you, it probably shouldn’t have bothered: However sneaky and/or intelligent cats might be, they know no masters but themselves. Operation Acoustic Kitty was essentially a disaster, with only one subject making it into the field before the ill-advised — and, quite frankly, cruel — program was scrapped. The idea was to create a sort of cyborg cat by implanting a microphone in the animal’s ear, a radio transmitter at the base of its skull, and an antenna in its fur — “a monstrosity,” in the words of Victor Marchetti, a former CIA employee who went on to write the tell-some book The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence.

On paper, the Acoustic Kitty agent’s first test was simple enough: sit near a park bench and capture a conversation between two people on a park bench. Instead, according to most accounts, the unfortunate feline was hit by a taxi and killed. Writing of the operation’s failure in a heavily redacted memo, the CIA concluded, “Our final examination of trained cats… convinced us that the program would not lend itself in a practical sense to our highly specialized needs.”

Stealing pineapples used to be a serious crime.

  • Man selling pineapples, 1917
Man selling pineapples, 1917
Credit: Topical Press Agency/ Hulton Archive via Getty Images
Author Bennett Kleinman
March 13, 2024

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If you stole a pineapple today, you’d likely end up paying a small fine, but the punishment for pineapple theft was far more severe between the 16th and 19th centuries in Britain. Pineapples were first introduced to the European continent in the late 1400s, and rapidly gained popularity as a rare — and expensive — luxury among the elite. Growing pineapples on British soil proved challenging, and few made it back from Britain’s Atlantic colonies without spoiling. This made the fruit all the more desirable, and by the 1770s, the most expensive pineapples were valued around £60 to £80, or roughly $17,000 to $23,000 today. 

The scarcity and value of pineapples meant they were the target of many thieves, and given the high cost of each pineapple, those who were caught were subject to heftier fines and punishments than people who stole more common, inexpensive foods such as bread. By the late 18th century, farmers figured out how to grow pineapples on British soil, and many hired security guards to protect their crops. Still, criminals remained determined to get their hands on the valuable fruit. In 1807, a man named John Godding was charged with stealing seven pineapples, and was sentenced to seven years in an Australian penal colony. Eventually, pineapple rental shops began appearing throughout Britain, allowing middle-class Brits to borrow pineapples to be used as centerpieces at parties. By the latter half of the 19th century, Britain was importing more of the fruit than ever, and advances in refrigeration and canning made pineapples easier to come by.

A Roman emperor pranked his dinner guests with an ancient whoopee cushion.

  • Bust of Roman Emperor Elagabalus
Bust of Roman Emperor Elagabalus
Credit: PRISMA ARCHIVO/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Sarah Anne Lloyd
July 30, 2025

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The Roman emperor known posthumously as Elagabalus (or Heliogabalus) reigned for just under four years, from 218 to 222 CE, but that short time period is packed with tales both salacious and silly. Ascending to the throne at just 14 years old, Elagabalus was known for enjoying juvenile pranks — one of which involved what historians have described as an early form of the whoopee cushion.

The historical record of Elagabalus, who was born Varius Avitus Bassianus and ruled under the name Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, is notoriously hard to verify; he was unpopular among the era’s most prominent storytellers, who likely exaggerated the young ruler’s behavior. But according to accounts from the ancient biography collection Historia Augusta, the emperor’s dinner guests were especially prone to practical jokes. 

Sometimes, Elagabalus served food of only a single color such as green or blue. His least-desired guests were even known to find that the food in front of them was not food at all, but wax replicas of what everyone else was eating. Other unfortunate guests would find themselves sitting on what Historia Augusta describes as “air-filled pillows” that “let out air while they were dining.” These were much larger than modern whoopee cushions, and while it’s possible they made a similar noise, they took much longer to deflate. Eventually, the guests seated on the air cushions would find themselves on the floor.

Jefferson City is the only state capital named for a vice president.

  • Missouri state capitol
Missouri state capitol
Credit: Bill Grant/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Bennett Kleinman
March 13, 2024

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Of the 50 U.S. capital cities, only one is named after a person who held the role of vice president of the United States: Jefferson City, Missouri. The eponym of this Midwest metropolis is Thomas Jefferson, who served under John Adams from 1797 to 1801 as the country’s second-ever vice president. Jefferson later became president himself, and in 1803, he acquired the land that is now Missouri as part of the Louisiana Purchase. In 1821 — the year Missouri achieved statehood — the legislature selected a site to serve as the state capital, and settled on the name Jefferson City to honor the man who had purchased the land to begin with. (The legislature briefly considered naming the capital “Missouriopolis,” though that idea ultimately did not win out.)

Jefferson City is also one of just four state capitals named after a former U.S. president. The others are Jackson, Mississippi, which was also founded in 1821 and named for then-Major General Andrew Jackson; Madison, Wisconsin, which was founded in 1836 and named after founding father James Madison, who died that year; and Lincoln, Nebraska, which was renamed after Abraham Lincoln in 1869, four years after his assassination.

Buzz Aldrin took Holy Communion on the moon.

  • Buzz Aldrin on Apollo 11 mission
Buzz Aldrin on Apollo 11 mission
Credit: RGB Ventures / SuperStock/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Michael Nordine
July 23, 2025

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Buzz Aldrin was the second person to set foot on the moon, but he was the first to do something else on Earth’s only natural satellite: take Holy Communion. Before departing on the Apollo 11 mission, Aldrin, who was an elder at Webster Presbyterian Church in Webster, Texas, received permission to bring wine and bread to space. While he and Neil Armstrong prepared for their moonwalk, he told the world, “I’d like to take this opportunity to ask every person listening in, whoever and wherever they may be, to pause for a moment and contemplate the events of the past few hours and to give thanks in his or her own way.”

Aldrin wanted his Communion to be broadcast live, but NASA, which had recently been sued for a religious display, chose to keep it quiet. “I poured the wine into the chalice our church had given me,” Aldrin later wrote. “In the one-sixth gravity of the moon the wine curled slowly and gracefully up the side of the cup.” Webster Presbyterian and other churches still celebrate Lunar Communion Sunday, but Aldrin came to wonder if partaking in a Christian ritual was appropriate for an event of global significance. “We had come to the moon in the name of all mankind — be they Christians, Jews, Muslims, animists, agnostics, or atheists,” he wrote in his book Magnificent Desolation: The Long Journey Home From the Moon. “But at the time I could think of no better way to acknowledge the enormity of the Apollo 11 experience than by giving thanks to God.”