The myth of the Wild West is one of the most persistent and influential myths in American culture. From quick-draw gun duels and cowboy hats to notorious outlaws such as Jesse James and Billy the Kid, the Old West is full of legends and lore, many of them popularized by dime novels and, later, Western movies. Sorting truth from fiction can be a tricky process when it comes to the American frontier. Here are six facts about some of the most infamous outlaws from the Wild West.
Henry McCarty, alias William H. Bonney, and best known as Billy the Kid, was only 21 years old when he was killed by Sheriff Pat Garrett in 1881. McCarty packed a lot into his short and violent life. He was orphaned at 15, committed his first crime shortly after, joined a band of rustlers, and quickly became involved in the brutal Lincoln County War between rival factions, which featured famous names from the Old West, such as Sheriff William J. Brady and John Chisum. Despite his early demise, Billy the Kid became one of the most notorious gunfighters of the American West. According to his own count, he killed 21 men, although the actual number is probably fewer than 10.
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Jesse James Was Shot in the Chest Twice Before He Was Even 18
Jesse James was an outlaw, guerrilla fighter, and leader of the famous James-Younger Gang that pulled off a series of daring and often vicious robberies of banks, trains, and stagecoaches. He was a notorious celebrity during his lifetime, and became one of the most legendary figures of the Wild West. Things could have been a lot different, however, as James was lucky to have made it out of his teens alive. Before he was even 18, he had been shot twice in the chest. The first shooting happened in 1864 during the American Civil War, when James was fighting alongside a group of pro-Confederate guerrillas known as Quantrill's Raiders. Despite the chest wound, James was ready to ride again in a matter of weeks — but he carried the bullet in his body for the rest of his life. The following year, James was once again shot in the chest, this time while trying to surrender to a Union cavalry patrol. It was a serious wound, but he was slowly nursed back to health by his cousin Zee Mimms, whom he married nine years later.
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Butch Cassidy Had a Strong Aversion to Killing
All humans should have an aversion to killing others, but for the leader of a gang of criminal outlaws in the Wild West, it was quite unique. For all his notoriety, it’s possible that Butch Cassidy never killed a soul. He was known as something of a gentleman who abstained from actually using his gun, and he tried to keep his gang, the Wild Bunch, from unnecessary violence during robberies. That said, gang members such as Kid Curry, George Curry, and Will Carver certainly did claim their fair share of victims. Butch, however, tried his best to keep people safe. According to Richard Patterson, author of Butch Cassidy: A Biography, “The closest Butch ever came to harming a robbery victim was when he used explosives to force his way into an express car.”
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The Sundance Kid Took His Name From the Town Where He Was Arrested
Harry Alonzo Longabaugh was arrested only once during his lifetime, but the arrest gave rise to one of the most famous names in the history of the Wild West: the Sundance Kid. Longabaugh left home when he was just 15 years old. A couple of years later, in 1887, he stole a gun, a horse, and a saddle from a cowboy while traveling across Wyoming. He was captured and arrested in Miles City, Montana, and sentenced to 18 months in the Sundance, Wyoming, jail. While incarcerated, he adopted the nickname “the Sundance Kid.” Upon his release in 1889, he tried to make an honest life for himself as a cowboy, but it didn’t go as planned. He soon became an integral part of the Wild Bunch, and was known as the gang’s fastest gunslinger — although it’s possible he never killed anyone during the gang’s various heists and robberies.
Buffalo Bill Was a Vocal Supporter of Women’s Rights
William “Buffalo Bill” Cody was one of the most colorful figures of the Old West. A buffalo hunter, U.S. Army scout, Pony Express rider, showman, actor, and all-around celebrity, he helped create the myth of the American West with his Wild West show, which made him one of the world’s first global celebrities. Having spent years in the company of famed frontier women such as Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, Buffalo Bill became a strong supporter of the rights of women. When asked by a reporter if he supported women’s suffrage, his response was unequivocal: “I do. Set that down in great big black type that Buffalo Bill favors woman suffrage… If a woman can do the same work that a man can do and do it just as well, she should have the same pay.” It was a bold response for its day, especially coming from a hardened frontiersman.
It’s certainly true that Belle Starr associated with a rogue’s gallery of Wild West figures, including Frank James and Jesse James. It’s also true that she was a crack shot, rode sidesaddle while dressed in a black velvet riding habit, carried two pistols, and had cartridge belts strung across her hips. It is highly unlikely, however, that Starr was the criminal mastermind of a gang that preyed on travelers, ranchers, and cowboys, as the myth surrounding her might suggest. It was only a few months after her death in 1889 that a purported biography, Bella Starr, the Bandit Queen; or, The Female Jesse James, was published by the king of dime novels, Richard K. Knox. Supposedly written by Starr, it was most likely a fabrication, and it helped cement the myth surrounding this Old West outlaw.
Some family trees seem primed for the history books, from the Medicis and Habsburgs to the Rockefellers and Kennedys. These historical relations prove that family does indeed matter. Take for instance the two father-son duos that became U.S. Presidents: John Adams and John Quincy Adams, and George H.W. Bush and George W. Bush. There’s also Queen Victoria of England’s many grandchildren to consider. These famous cousins — among them King George V of Britain, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany, and Tsar Nicholas II of Russia (by marriage to Victoria’s granddaughter Alexandra) — went on to rule much of Europe.
Other famous family connections aren’t as obvious, such as the relationship between the real-life inspiration for Dracula and Queen Elizabeth II, or the distant connection between two trailblazing women, Amelia Earhart and Laura Ingalls Wilder. Here are five of the most surprising family ties in history.
One of Europe’s most mild-tempered monarchs was distantly related to none other than Vlad III, more commonly known as Vlad the Impaler, a ruthless 15th-century Romanian prince who likely inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The relation comes from Queen Elizabeth II’s grandmother Mary of Teck (a princess from Germany’s Württemberg dynasty), who was the wife of England’s King George V. Mary of Teck was a descendant of the merciless Romanian ruler, who had a reputation for executing many of his subjects. The surprising connection between Vlad III and the British royal family has also been acknowledged by Queen Elizabeth II’s son King Charles III, who owns a home in Transylvania (where Vlad once ruled) and is involved in conservation efforts to save the region’s forests.
These two Americans were born in Virginia’s Westmoreland County 75 years apart (in 1732 and 1807, respectively), and served as senior generals in two of America’s most influential wars — the Revolutionary War and Civil War. Confederate General Robert E. Lee married Mary Anna Randolph Custis, the daughter of Martha Washington’s grandson (from her first marriage). This means he was also related, by marriage, to the first President of the United States, George Washington. And the unlikely connection between the two figures doesn’t stop there. After the Civil War, Lee became president of Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia, which was named after both men.
Aviation pioneer Amelia Earhart and acclaimed author Laura Ingalls Wilder are both renowned figures of the 20th century. They’re also distant relatives. Amelia Earhart is remembered as the first female pilot to complete a solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean. Further proving that adventure runs in her bloodline, Earhart is a descendant of Mayflower passenger Richard Warren, and Wilder is descended from the same man. Though the relation is distant (possibly eighth cousins once removed), there are some undeniable similarities between the two women. Both are from Kansas, the setting of part of Wilder’s most famous book, Little House on the Prairie, and Wilder published her first book, Little House in the Big Woods, in 1932, the same year that Earhart made her famous transatlantic flight.
Two of the most famous female monarchs in history were first cousins once removed — despite the fact that they never met, and one ordered to have the other executed. Mary, Queen of Scots, was the daughter of King James V of Scotland and his French wife, Mary of Guise. Her great-uncle was King Henry VIII of England, the father of Queen Elizabeth I (whose mother was Anne Boleyn). Mary and Elizabeth shared the same royal grandparents, King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, but the cousins were forced to be enemies due to years of violent wars over the English and Scottish thrones. After decades of keeping Mary imprisoned for fear that she would overtake England, Elizabeth ordered the execution of her cousin at Fotheringhay Castle in 1587.
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Presidents James Madison and Zachary Taylor
The fourth President of the United States, James Madison, and the 12th President, Zachary Taylor, were second cousins. They share a great-grandfather, Colonel James Taylor of Virginia. The two politicians were alive at the same time and were known to correspond occasionally. Madison, one of the Founding Fathers, created the framework for the U.S. Constitution and also had a hand in initiating the War of 1812 against Great Britain. Taylor was a member of the Whig Party and died 16 months into office in 1850. He was a captain in the War of 1812 and later became one of the top generals in the Mexican-American War. In 1849, while serving as President, Taylor held a funeral in Washington, D.C., to honor his late cousin’s wife, Dolley Madison.
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Conquistadors Hernán Cortés and Francisco Pizarro
Francisco Pizarro and Hernán Cortés were 16th-century Spanish conquistadors known for colonizing much of Peru and Mexico, respectively. They were also distant cousins. The family connection was through Cortés’ maternal grandmother, Leonor Pizarro, who was related to Pizarro’s ancestors. The duo didn’t work together but traveled to Central and South America around the same time. Pizarro conquered the Inca Empire and founded the city of Lima, Peru, while Cortés overthrew the Aztec Empire and took control of Mexico for the Spanish crown. Pizarro was killed in his palace in Lima in 1541 by rival conquistador Diego de Almagro. Cortés wished to return to Mexico before his death, but he died in 1547 in Seville, Spain, disgraced after being accused of poisoning the colonial governor, Luis Ponce de León.
This talented mother-daughter duo is credited with writing some of the most celebrated works in English literature, though their styles and subjects are very different. Mary Wollstonecraft was an early feminist who penned 1792’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, a scathing review of gender inequalities, which argued that young girls should receive the same education as boys. It is among the first prominent feminist works, and Wollstonecraft is regarded as one of the founders of feminist philosophy. Her daughter, who was also named Mary Wollstonecraft and became Mary Shelley upon her marriage to poet Percy Shelley, became a famous writer in her own right. But Shelley took a different path than her mother, gravitating toward fiction. She published her most famous novel, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, in 1818. Like her mother, Shelley was considered a trailblazer in her writing discipline, and Frankenstein is regarded as one of the first science fiction novels.
The world of dating has undergone significant changes throughout history, from arranged couplings in ancient Egypt to medieval courtship to the modern-day use of technology to find a partner. In the 1950s, dating was governed by a set of traditions and rules that reflected a postwar society that emphasized stability and conformity, and was largely influenced by the era’s adherence to traditional gender roles. Men were expected to take the lead, covering the bills and demonstrating chivalry, while women were held to standards of modesty and femininity.
Though they may feel antiquated compared to more recent moves toward gender equality, independence, and a rejection of rigid cultural norms, the conventions that defined dating in the ’50s are fascinating to look back on. Here are some of the rules that defined dating etiquette in the 1950s.
The dynamics of a dinner date were markedly different in the 1950s. In a recovered ’50s article from British magazine Woman’s Own, a guide titled “How To Behave in a Restaurant” outlined a number of rules that applied to all male-female relationships, “whether he is your father, brother or boyfriend.” Women were expected to be demure and reserved, telling their male counterparts — the protectors and providers — what they wanted and allowing the man to place the order with the wait staff on their behalf.
Going out for dinner, while it did happen, wasn’t the default date at the time, especially for younger people: Group dates at sporting events, dances, or movies were the preferred way to get acquainted without spending too much time in private or spending too much money.
Given various advancements in gender and socioeconomic equality throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, it’s no longer assumed that a man will pay for everything on a date. And while some old-fashioned opinions on the matter linger today, in the 1950s, it wasn’t even a discussion — the man was expected to foot the bill.
Men were seen as the primary breadwinners, as far fewer women were employed outside the home. The act of paying for a date symbolized their role as providers and proved their financial stability, and it was considered the gentlemanly thing to do. In her 1989 dating history book From Front Porch to Back Seat: Courtship in 20th-Century America, author Beth L. Bailey concluded that for young girls at the time, a date “was not the event, was not the companionship, was not even being seen with the boy. A date meant being paid for.”
In modern dating, seeking approval from friends and family doesn’t usually happen until things begin to transition from the “casual” stage to the “exclusive” stage. But 1950s dating was less of a private affair; it was a social event that often involved spending time with friends, and, most importantly, introducing a date to the girl's family. Familial approval was imperative at the time; as Marion S. Barclay's 1950s Teen Guide to Homemakingstated, “It is a good idea to have your family meet and approve of the people you know.” The guide also stated that a potential date should be “punctual,” typically coming to the home and ringing the doorbell before departing on a date. Consistent with the etiquette of the time, this common ritual added a layer of formality to dating — one that contrasts sharply with contemporary practices.
The arbitrary gendered ideals men and women were expected to uphold during 1950s courtship extended even to what women should and shouldn’t eat. If a date took place at a restaurant, women were encouraged to eat foods that wouldn’t make a scene.
"Fruits cause some embarrassment in restaurants,” read a ’50s dating guide from Woman's Own. “Cherries should be put in the mouth whole, and the stones carefully placed on to a spoon. Plums and other large fruits with stones should be dissected in the dish and the stone placed at the side."
Other potentially problematic foods, such as celery and cheese, could be eaten by hand as long as they were cut into small pieces first. These prescriptive recommendations reflected the broader cultural idea of a refined woman and served to reinforce the gender norms that characterized the era.
“Going steady” was a hallmark of 1950s dating. This term meant that a couple had agreed to date each other exclusively, taking a major step toward a more serious relationship — often with the intent to marry. Couples abided by specific rituals to symbolize their commitment, often exchanging class rings or letterman jackets if of school or college age.
Despite the era’s formalities, the concept of going steady wasn’t exactly beloved by all: Parents often worried their teenagers weren’t dating around enough and were settling down too quickly by committing to one person exclusively. They also feared that going steady would cause teenagers to become physically intimate more quickly than if they were going on one-off casual dates. As average marriage ages gradually rose and attitudes toward sex and dating shifted throughout the 1960s and 1970s, “going steady,” like many of the decade’s dating rules, began to fall out of favor.
Call coincidence what you’d like: luck, karma, fate, or just random happenstance. In any case, when similar events occur, it’s fascinating and, sometimes, downright eerie. Some coincidences have so many layers that they take on a second role in the form of conspiracy theory or prophecy. Coincidences, by nature, require zero planning; all we need to do is wait for them to happen. Here’s a look back at five strange coincidences throughout history.
John Adams and Thomas Jefferson Died on the Exact Same Day
It’s unlikely enough that two of America’s Founding Fathers would die on the very same day, but this story gets even stranger. First, these two political rivals died within hours of each other. Even weirder? The date of their passing was July 4, 1826 — 50 years to the day after the Declaration of Independence was adopted. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson weren’t the same age when they died, though — Adams was 90 and Jefferson was 83. There are multiple theories on why this happened, and sheer coincidence is certainly one. To add another eerie layer, founding father James Monroe also died on the Fourth of July, five years later.
Halley's Comet Marked Mark Twain’s Birth and Death
Some coincidences have an interstellar twist. American author and humorist Mark Twain was born on November 30, 1835, the same year Halley’s comet passed within sight of the Earth during its 76-year journey around the sun. Twain, who was a unique figure in his own right, was aware of this fact and found it amusing to hitch his wagon to the rare cosmic occurrence. As he wrote in 1909, "I came in with Halley's comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's comet. The Almighty said, no doubt: 'Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.'" Twain’s wish came to fruition: He passed away on April 21, 1910, as Halley’s comet was passing Earth.
A Man Was Hit by a Baby Falling Out of a Building — Twice
In 1937, Joseph Figlock, a public works street sweeper, was cleaning up an alley in midtown Detroit when an infant plummeted from a fourth-story window and landed on Figlock’s head. Miraculously, the baby survived. While working less than a year later, Figlock was struck from above by another baby that fell from anotherfourth-floor window. Once more, Figlock’s head saved the life of the infant in peril. Figlock himself was uninjured in both incidents.
One Man Hosted the Beginning and End of the Civil War
Behold the peculiar story of Wilmer McLean, who has the distinction of witnessing both the first land battle of the Civil War in 1861 and General Robert E. Lee’s surrender to General Ulysses S. Grant in 1865, which effectively ended the conflict. At the start of the war, McLean’s home in Manassas, Virginia, was commandeered as the headquarters of Confederate General P.G.T. Beauregard. The home took damage from Union shelling, and McLean moved his family 100 miles south to avoid the violence of war. Ironically, the family’s new home was in the small town of Appomattox Court House in Virginia, the site of Lee’s surrender. Grant and Lee spoke for about a half-hour at the McLean home before Lee signed the surrender document. McLean is said to have later remarked, “The war began in my front yard and ended in my front parlor.”
The Lincoln and Kennedy Assassinations Share Many Strange Similarities
Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy are widely considered two of the greatest Presidents in U.S. history, and the coincidences surrounding their assassinations further link the two leaders. In fact, books have been written about them, and members of Congress have even discussed the topic. Both Presidents were killed on a Friday with their wives by their sides. Both were succeeded by men whose last name was Johnson (Andrew Johnson and Lyndon B. Johnson). There are also some parallels in the assassins: John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln in a theater and was caught in a warehouse; Lee Harvey Oswald shot Kennedy from a window in a book warehouse and was apprehended in a movie theater. What’s more, both Booth and Oswald were themselves killed before they could face justice. Not everyone agrees as to whether these similarities have a deeper meaning or no meaning at all, but at the end of the day, the sheer number of coincidences is quite surprising.
The Brill Building isn’t just an art deco structure in midtown Manhattan — it’s also the name of a musical genre. Throughout the early and mid-1960s, the “Brill Building sound” became synonymous with groundbreaking pop music. The heyday of the Brill Building era was short-lived, but in one six-year span, the songwriters, arrangers, musicians, and producers behind this sound contributed to hundreds of Billboard Hot 100 hits, including “Stand By Me” (Ben E. King, 1962), “One Fine Day” (the Chiffons, 1963), and “Be My Baby” (the Ronettes, 1963).
Located at 1619 Broadway in New York City, the Brill Building was a hub of songwriters, record labels, and recording studios, all under one roof. It built on the tradition of the “Tin Pan Alley” district before it — a concentration of music publishers and studios in a strip of Manhattan that dominated the music industry in the big-band era. But while their downtown predecessors were mainly concerned with the profits produced by pumping out sheet music for radio hits, the writers and producers at the Brill Building were also on a mission of artistic idealism. Their compositions drew inspiration from classical music, Latin music, traditional Black gospel, and rhythm and blues to create songs that appealed to an audience already hungry for the new sound of rock ’n’ roll. The assembled talent was a once-in-a-generation roster of songwriters, including Burt Bacharach and Hal David, Gerry Goffin and Carole King, and Neil Diamond. Together, they produced sophisticated songs that were directly aimed at a new, youthful generation and a powerful rising subculture: teenagers.
By the mid-’60s, an increasing number of artists — such as the Beatles and Bob Dylan — began composing and playing their own material, making the songwriter-for-hire less of a necessity. As Dylan wrote in 1985, “Tin Pan Alley is gone. I put an end to it. People can record their own songs now.” This may be true, but the creators behind the Brill Building sound helped make the ascent of these singer-songwriters possible. Here are five ways the Brill Building shaped popular music in the 20th century.
The Brill Building employed a model of vertical integration that supervised every phase of a song’s life cycle, from production to distribution, all under one roof. The 11 floors of 1619 Broadway and a few surrounding buildings became a one-stop shop where a songwriter could pen a would-be hit, sell it to a publisher, find a band, and cut a demo. Songs could even be played for radio promoters in the building to garner airplay. This new type of streamlined hitmaking — often called “assembly line pop” — gave publishers and producers a huge pool of material to choose from and encouraged creative collaboration, merging art and commerce in a new way.
At the Brill Building, songcraft mattered. Some of the most interesting and popular songs of the era were written at Aldon Music, one of the music publishing companies in the building. Its founders, Al Nevins and Don Kirshner (“Al” and “Don”), had a plan: to take the spirit of classic Tin Pan Alley songwriting (catchy melodies with commercial appeal) and create well-crafted songs aimed at young people, an increasingly lucrative market. Kirshner had already enjoyed some success writing jingles with his high-school friend Bobby Darin, and after acquiring the talents of the experienced songwriting team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller (the writers behind “Hound Dog” and “Jailhouse Rock”), he convinced the more experienced Nevins to partner with him.
The music may have been aimed at the youth market, but Aldon’s songwriters employed lyrics that addressed bleak social conditions (“We Gotta Get Out of This Place”) and tragedy (“Leader of the Pack”). The arrangements and production were innovative as well. Songs such as the echo-drenched Phil Spector-produced “River Deep, Mountain High” (performed by Tina Turner) showcased new directions in arrangements and production techniques.
The Brill Building sound was created for young people, by young people. In 1962, the oldest of Aldon’s songwriters was just 26 years old. Many of the Brill Building songwriters were only slightly older than their songs’ subjects, making their perspective especially accessible to young audiences. At the age of 20, Carole King wrote the No. 1 hit “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” — recorded and released by the Shirelles in 1960 — with her husband Gerry Goffin. Little Eva, their babysitter, sang the smash hit “The Loco-Motion” (which King and Goffin also wrote) when she was just 17.
Before the Brill Building era, popular songwriting was basically a boys’ club. This changed with the arrival of female songwriters such as Carole King, Ellie Greenwich (“Then He Kissed Me,” 1963), and Cynthia Weil (“You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’,” 1964), although their husbands were named first in the songwriting credits. In addition to writing dozens of hits, these women proved that they were equally capable in the recording studio as arrangers and producers.
The Brill Building songwriters made rock ’n’ roll popular with mainstream teenage America. Although the majority of writers were white, they all had been influenced by the melting pot of musical styles they heard on the fire escapes and in the clubs of New York City. The result was a hybrid sound that blended genres and often had crossover appeal, finding success on both pop and R&B charts. Songwriters often specifically wrote for Black female artists such as Dionne Warwick, the Ronettes, and the Crystals, using arrangements that gave their music mainstream appeal. This unique musical style united listeners from different backgrounds and opened people’s eyes to the possibility of a biracial popular culture.
Muhammad Ali once said, “Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.” Like Ali and his own best pal, photographer Howard Bingham, some friendships in history have been formed by figures with wildly different backgrounds and career choices. The following friendships are as surprising as they were genuine — though they were not all long-lasting. From Mark Twain and Nikola Tesla to Hunter S. Thompson and Pat Buchanan, here are five unlikely bonds between notable figures you never knew were friends.
A friendship between the famed writer Mark Twain and inventor Nikola Tesla might, on the surface, seem unlikely. And yet, before the two met, they already shared some significant interests. Tesla had once been bedridden for nine months with a severe bout of cholera, during which time he read some of Twain’s earlier works. He later described them as “unlike anything I had ever read before and so captivating as to make me utterly forget my hopeless state.” Twain, meanwhile, was fascinated by technological innovations and, in particular, electricity. When the two men eventually met in the 1890s, they became friends and spent a lot of time together in Tesla’s lab and elsewhere. One famous account tells of Twain’s participation in an experiment involving an electromechanical oscillator, which Tesla believed might be therapeutic. But when Twain sat on the vibrating plate, it served as something of a laxative, forcing the acclaimed author to run for the bathroom.
The story of Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini is one of both friendship and rivalry. The celebrated mystery author (and creator of Sherlock Holmes) and the famous illusionist first met in 1920, during the magician’s tour of England. Their shared interest in spiritualism — and the use of séances to contact the dead — initially brought them together. But the two men took fundamentally different paths thereafter. Conan Doyle (in stark contrast to his highly rational and analytical Holmes) became increasingly obsessed with and convinced by the existence of spiritual powers. Houdini, on the other hand, began exposing fraudulent mediums and decried spiritualism as "nothing more or less than mental intoxication.” After Conan Doyle’s wife, Jean, supposedly contacted Houdini’s mother during a seance in 1922, Houdini publicly announced that he did not believe the message came from beyond the grave. This is partly because the message consisted of 15 pages of handwritten, English-language notes, and his mother didn’t speak English. Not long after the séance, the friendship began to break apart.
Ella Fitzgerald and Marilyn Monroe struck up a friendship in the 1950s. Hollywood’s favorite blond bombshell was a huge fan of Fitzgerald’s music, and went to see her perform in Los Angeles in 1954. The two met in person, and soon formed a tight bond. Monroe famously helped Fitzgerald land a gig at L.A.’s renowned Mocambo nightclub, which had previously rejected Fitzgerald due to what they saw as her lack of sex appeal (not because of her race, as the story often goes). Monroe ensured that numerous A-list celebrities attended each performance, drawing plenty of media attention. The gigs were a turning point in the career of the “First Lady of Song.” When asked about their relationship, Monroe said, “Well, my very favorite person, and I love her as a person as well as a singer, I think she’s the greatest, and that’s Ella Fitzgerald.” The two women remained friends until Monroe’s death at the age of 36.
It’s not known precisely when John F. Kennedy and Frank Sinatra first met, but by the end of the 1950s they were well acquainted. The politician and crooner notoriously shared a love of nightlife and women, so it’s perhaps no surprise they got along. But beyond their mutual admiration, their relationship was beneficial to both men. Sinatra gained access to the corridors of power, while Kennedy counted on Sinatra’s star power to win him votes in the 1960 presidential election. When Kennedy won, the President-elect publicly thanked Sinatra for his efforts in the campaign. But the friendship collapsed after JFK entered the White House, partly because First Lady Jackie Kennedy reportedly disliked the singer, and also due to Sinatra’s alleged connections with organized crime.
The “gonzo” journalist Hunter S. Thompson made no secret of his intense hatred of Richard Nixon, who he said represented “that dark, venal, and incurably violent side of the American character.” It’s something of a surprise, then, that Thompson ended up being good friends with the conservative politician Pat Buchanan — who was once one of the most trusted advisers to none other than President Nixon. Thompson, most famous for his counterculture magnum opus Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1972), met Buchanan during Nixon’s presidential 1972 campaign. He later said of their friendship, “We're still friends. Patrick is a libertarian, or at least in that direction. I think of politics as a circle, not a spectrum of one line, not just right and left. Patrick and I are often pretty close. Patrick's an honest person.” The two remained friends until Thompson’s death in 2005.
Each year on February 14, romantic partners exchange affectionate cards and sugary-sweet chocolates, all in the name of St. Valentine — and all while the iconic image of Cupid takes center stage. But who are these figures, and how did they converge for this sentimental holiday? From Cupid’s roots in Greek mythology to St. Valentine’s Christian symbolism, here’s how these two figures became the unlikely faces of love and Valentine’s Day.
The exact origin of the saintly namesake of Valentine’s Day is murky. According to one belief, St. Valentine was a third-century Roman priest who defied the Roman Empire’s stance against men marrying at a young age (it was thought that they should instead serve as soldiers). Valentine continued to perform marriages in secret, leading to his execution on February 14. Another belief portrays St. Valentine as a compassionate man who helped free persecuted Christians in ancient Rome. According to legend, he healed the local jailer’s blind daughter and, before his death, sent her a note signed, “from your Valentine.” Whether these were two separate figures or just one isn’t entirely clear, nor is whether they were actually historical characters and events or just myths. In records from the medieval era, for instance, there is no connection between St. Valentine and love or marriage. But regardless of how the figure became linked with romance, the association between St. Valentine and love has remained strong.
Today, we think of Cupid as a surreal cherubic figure, adorned with wings and armed with a bow and arrows. This iconic imagery is rooted in depictions of Eros, the Greek god of love. Initially depicted as a handsome youth, Eros underwent a transformation during the Hellenistic period (around 323 BCE to 31 BCE), evolving into the cherubic, winged child we recognize today. When the Romans adopted the deity, he became Cupid, a name derived from the Latin word for “desire.” The new likeness remained, as did Eros’ mischievous use of his arrows to arouse love or extreme passion in whomever happened to be struck by one.
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How Did Valentine’s Day Start?
While there is no single backstory for our modern celebration of Valentine’s Day, the holiday is often linked to the ancient Roman fertility festival of Lupercalia, which took place on February 15 and dates back to the sixth century BCE. In the fifth century CE, Pope Gelasius I abolished the pagan observance of Lupercalia and instead declared February 14 as a commemorative day for the martyrdom of St. Valentine — with no explicit mention of love, however. In fact, it wasn’t until several centuries later that Valentine’s Day’s romantic connotations emerged, sometime in the late 1300s, when English poet Geoffrey Chaucer wrote about the mating rituals of birds in his epic poem "Parlement of Foules." He wrote of “Seynt Valentynes day” as the day “whan every foul cometh ther to chese his make” — or when birds choose their mates.
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How Did Cupid Become the Face of a Day for St. Valentine?
Chaucer’s prose is believed to be the first mention of Valentine’s Day as a romantic holiday; from there, the association gained more traction. In the 1470s, an English woman named Margery Brews wrote to her fiancé John Paston and referred to him as “My right well-beloved Valentine” — a letter believed to be the oldest English-language valentine. The concept of Valentine's as a day for love was helped along not only by Chaucer, but by William Shakespeare, whose use of both Valentine’s Day and Cupid as romantic symbols further bolstered the idea in Britain. Shakespeare also considered Valentine’s Day a day for lovers, and associated Cupid with love. By the 16th century, Valentine’s Day and Cupid were established cultural symbols of love, and they eventually coalesced on greeting cards. At this time, cards were enormously popular across Europe, Valentine’s cards chief among them. By the mid-1800s, many Valentine’s Day cards featured imagery not far off from Chaucer’s whimsical vision of the day — birds and flowers in springtime — as well as frequent portrayals of the familiar winged, curly-haired Cupid.
There was no one typical day in colonial America — the experiences of colonial families differed based on their location, economic status, and individual circumstances. The colonial era not only spanned a large period of time — from the early 17th century to the late 18th century, before the United States became an independent nation — but it also covered a large and varied landscape. The 13 original American colonies stretched from Massachusetts to Georgia, and were populated by settlers from different parts of Europe whose beliefs, traditions, and lifestyles varied greatly.
Colonial settlements ranged from the growing urban centers of the Northeast to the rural agrarian communities of the Southern colonies, and the daily routines of families were impacted by their environment, which included the influence of Indigenous populations. Colonists often adopted or adapted aspects of Native American culture, including agricultural practices and culinary techniques, in order to survive. Weather conditions, seasons, and the availability of resources also played significant roles in shaping daily life in the colonies. But whether you were a farmer, a merchant, a tradesman, or a wife and mother, day-to-day life in the colonies consisted of long days, hard work, and community connections.
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The Workday Started Before Dawn
The workday in colonial America typically began before dawn and lasted until the sun went down, and throughout the day, families dedicated themselves to tasks essential for their survival. The morning started with a modest breakfast of bread and milk, porridge, or cornmeal mush with cider or beer before the work began. This sustenance was much-needed: Depending on the time of year, weather, and season, the typical workday could be up to 12 hours long, six days a week.
Men were expected to provide for their family, and while farming was the primary occupation throughout the colonies, there were a variety of other jobs to be filled, particularly as towns started to grow. Men worked as blacksmiths, carpenters, silversmiths, and in other skilled trades and crafts that contributed to the local economy. Women typically worked in the home, managing all aspects of the household and childcare, including meal preparation and basic education of the children. In addition, married women in non-farming families often worked alongside their husbands in shops or trades, and unmarried or widowed women took jobs as seamstresses, midwives, or tavern keepers. Children often assisted their parents in their work, learning valuable skills for their future roles in the community.
In the colonial era, the midday meal was called “dinner,” and it was the biggest, heartiest meal of the day. Those who worked in town in trades and shops could go to a common hall for a meal of stew made from pork or poultry, and seasonal vegetables such as corn and cabbage. The midday break provided a short period of rest from work, allowing families to connect with neighbors and strengthen social bonds.
For many colonial settlements, the local economy also relied heavily on indentured and enslaved labor. Indentured servants brought from Europe and enslaved individuals, predominantly of African descent, played essential roles in supporting colonial households. Their contributions, though often overlooked, were integral to the success of farms and trades and the day-to-day functioning of many households. Farm laborers, including enslaved workers, would have their dinner brought to them where they worked in the fields.
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The Seasons Had a Big Impact on Daily Life
During peak agricultural seasons, such as planting in springtime and harvesting in the fall, the workday for farming families was extended, as all members of the family dedicated themselves to essential tasks on the farm. The demanding nature of these seasons required longer hours to ensure a successful harvest and sustained livelihood. On the other hand, in the winter months or during inclement weather, when outdoor activities were limited, the workday might be shorter. Families would then focus on indoor tasks and household chores, such as preparing food for storage, or weaving and mending clothing.
Clothes were generally made from locally sourced materials, particularly sheep’s wool and cultivated cotton and flax, and families produced their own textiles through spinning and weaving. Everyday clothing was modest and simple, reflecting the practical needs of daily life. Men typically wore shirts, waistcoats, and breeches, while women donned dresses with full skirts covered by long aprons. Both men and women also wore leather shoes or boots, as well as hats made of felt or animal pelts.
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Leisure Time Meant Music, Games, and Social Events
Not unlike today, evenings were a time for more leisurely activities at home or in town. Large families were common in colonial America, and homes were generally modest in size, with a central hearth for cooking and heating that also provided a place for families to spend time together at the beginning and end of the day. After a light supper of leftovers, the family would often gather around the hearth for warmth and engage in storytelling, handiwork, or quiet chores by candlelight.
Homemade entertainment, such as playing musical instruments, singing songs, or playing simple games, were also popular ways for families to spend what little free time they had. Outside of the home, attending church services, gathering in common halls and taverns, and participating in organized social gatherings like fairs and dances offered a chance for neighbors to interact, share meals, and reinforce their sense of community.
At the end of the evening, families would retire to their beds, which were made of woven sacks known as “ticks.” Beds were stuffed with straw or chaff and sometimes layered with a softer feather-stuffed tick and homemade quilts for warmth. Because there were few rooms in the average home, there were rarely any designated sleeping quarters; rather, people slept in living areas with multiple family members sharing a room. Older children slept in one bed and infants and very young children slept next to their mother. With the natural rhythm of daylight and limited artificial lighting, bedtime was early by modern standards — and a necessity for preparing for the long days of physical labor.
The fad is perhaps the piece of cultural ephemera that most defies explanation. Fashion trends often have clear motivating factors: perhaps a celebrity sporting a certain style, or a TV character wearing a certain haircut that sparks imitation. Souvenirs and collectibles usually directly follow their origin: There’s no mystery where baseball cards came from, or vintage records, and so on. But a true fad — a popular behavior or interest practiced with enthusiasm that’s as strong as it is temporary — exists at the fleeting intersection of a cultural time, mood, and impulse, and some of these short-lived trends seem to outright defy logic.
While fads frequently do have a clear beginning moment (and sometimes even a person who can be named as their initiator), a precise ending moment is never as apparent; we can only know that a fad has ended retroactively, and estimate the point of its demise. And the further away we are from the time of a certain fad, the more inexplicable and strange it can seem. Let’s try to wrap our heads around some of the more bizarre fads of the past.
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Flagpole Sitting
Flagpole sitting was one of the most logistically confusing fads of all time, as it involved remaining upon a flagpole for a marathon duration. The first instance of flagpole sitting was in January 1924, when former sailor and fledgling stunt performer Alvin “Shipwreck” Kelly was hired to perch atop a pole outside a Hollywood movie theater for as long as he could, in order to publicize an upcoming film. Kelly stayed aloft for 13 hours and 13 minutes.
The stunt attracted an impressed crowd and media attention, and Kelly was hired by other businesses to repeat his feat. As word spread, copycats emerged and sought to outdo each other in endurance. Kelly increased his time to eight days in 1927, but Los Angeles woman Bobbie Mack bested him when she spent 21 days atop a flagpole. Kelly then recaptured the record by enduring 49 days while being spurred on by a total of 20,000 onlookers, only for Bill Penfield of Iowa to break it again with a 51-day bout. By this point, flagpole sitters were fashioning some degree of shelter atop the pole where they could eat, sleep, and use the bathroom, in order to extend their stay.
The craze fizzled in the 1930s, but it never went away entirely. Later flagpole sitters such as Richard “Dixie” Blandy, Mauri Rose Kirby, and Peggy Townsend set new records in the ’50s and ’60s, and Blandy kept at the practice into the ’70s. The current record for flagpole sitting was set by H. David Werder in 1984, for a mind-boggling 439 days, 11 hours, and 6 minutes.
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Phone Booth Stuffing
Speaking of logistically confusing fads, the phone booth stuffing craze of the 1950s had teams of participants vying to see who could cram the most people into a single phone booth. Though there are some conflicting reports as to where and when the fad began, it was popularized in Durban, South Africa, in 1959, when a group of 25 people managed to contort themselves into a booth. By March of that year, students on college campuses throughout the United States and Canada were attempting to break the record.
Students at St. Mary’s College of California achieved a count of 22 in a manner that looks legitimate, but it wasn’t long before a lack of standard criteria led to participants achieving greater numbers by dubious means. Some attempts counted people who were mostly (or entirely) outside the confines of the actual phone booth; some altered the booth itself to make it more accommodating; and others stretched the very definition of a phone boothby instead using an indoor phone room. This increasing entropy caused some existential questions about the activity. By the end of the year, the fad had seemingly died out, but anniversary reenactments still occasionally commemorate it.
On March 3, 1939, Harvard University student Lothrop Withington Jr. swallowed a 3-inch goldfish, spurred by a $10 bet with his classmates. There was apparently enough buildup to the stunt that it had spectators and press coverage, and the publicity caused “goldfish gulping” to quickly spread to college campuses across the United States. The stunt almost immediately changed in nature, too — while Withington’s initial bet was about whether or not he could swallow a whole goldfish, goldfish gulping became about how many whole goldfish someone could swallow in a single session.
The fad was competitive. Just shy of a month later, the goldfish-swallowing record was 25. Then a record of 36 stood for a day, until MIT student Albert E. Hayes Jr. set a new record of 42. By the time Clark University’s Joseph Deliberato set an unthinkable record of 89, all kinds of concern was building among adults. College administrators considered the trend a breach of proper student conduct, animal rescue organizations thought it cruel, the U.S. Public Health Service warned against health risks, and a Massachusetts state senator even wanted to outlaw it, drafting a bill to do just that. The variety of opposition expedited the fad running its course; by the end of the year, the trend was history.
Wigs were seen as status symbols among Western aristocracies starting with the reign of Louis XIII of France, who popularized long dark wigs in the 17th century. But by the 18th century, increasingly elaborate and more vertically oriented hairpieces came into fashion. This culminated in a tall and ostentatiously decorated style called a “pouf,” where layers of hair and additional hairpieces were amassed and pinned atop pads, and adorned with unusual decorative elements such as feathers, figurines, and more.
The pouf was created by Marie Antoinette’s dressmaker Marie-Jeanne “Rose” Bertin and hairdresser Léondard Autié, though it was first worn by the Duchess of Chartres in 1774. Her wig was made from 14 yards of gauze and included a tower with plumes, multiple figurines, and a parrot. Not to be outdone, Marie Antoinette commissioned a series of poufs herself, sparking imitation throughout the French aristocracy. The style’s flamboyance increased throughout the decade and prompted criticism from both nobility and the populace. The peak of extravagance may have been what Marie Antoinette wore in celebration of a French naval victory over the British: a wig topped by a full replica of the victorious warship Belle Poule, blurring the lines between reality and caricature.
The Pet Rock seems, on its surface, like the most frivolous fad on record. This simple Mexican beach stone was sold in a box (with air holes!) that included a satirical-sounding manual with instructions on what to do if the rock "appears to be excited." Created by California advertising professional Gary Dahl in August 1975, the rock was an instant hit as a fuss-free pet.
In reality, the product wasn’t meant to be taken literally, but more as a multimedia gag. After all, Dahl paid great attention to detail in cheekily fashioning the box as a pet carrier, and filled the “instruction manual” with tongue-in-cheek tricks to teach the rock. The entire phenomenon might make much more sense to us today if the manual had appeared on the New York Times bestsellers list under “humor.” As Dahl later explained it, “At the time, the Vietnam War was winding down; Watergate had just started up. There was a whole lot of bad news going on… It wasn't a real good time for the national psyche. I think the Pet Rock was just a good giggle. Everybody needed a good laugh and the media ate it up."
The media attention was the driving factor in the rock’s popularity. As Dahl wrote, “During its five month retailing life span, the Pet Rock was referenced in nearly every daily newspaper in the country, most major magazines, all national network news programs, The Tonight Show and other late-night talk shows, most radio talk shows, and international media, such as the BBC. I was personally interviewed hundreds of times.” The relentless publicity led to the sale of more than a million Pet Rocks by Christmas of 1975. Even still, jokes don’t have a long shelf life under repetition: The fad was essentially over by 1976.
Throughout the 1920s, New York City’s Harlem neighborhood served as the vibrant headquarters of a transformative period in African American art, literature, music, and social justice leadership. This movement, known as the Harlem Renaissance, was a catalyst for celebrating African American culture and heritage, giving the Black community newfound ownership of their experiences and pride in how their stories were told. It also sought to challenge racial stereotypes and forge social and political equality, planting ideas that would be meaningful for years to come. Here, told in six facts about the movement, is the story of the Harlem Renaissance.
From the 1910s until the 1970s, approximately 6 million Black Americans made their way from the Southern U.S. to Northern, Midwestern, and Western states, fleeing racial discrimination and economic hardships, and seeking better work and education opportunities. Known as the Great Migration, this mass movement transformed the country’s demographic landscape and was a major impetus for the Harlem Renaissance. By the 1920s, some 200,000 newcomers had made the New York City neighborhood of Harlem home; at just 3 square miles in size, the neighborhood had the largest concentration of Black people in the world, with people from all backgrounds, including artists, laborers, scholars, and writers. By the early ’20s, a vibrant cultural community was blossoming in this small corner of Upper Manhattan.
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Magazines Were Crucial to the Movement
In March 1924, a dinner party at Harlem’s Civic Club brought together a group of emerging and established writers and publishers. That gathering is now widely regarded as kicking off the Harlem Renaissance. The movement encompassed a wide variety of creative arts, but at its core was the literary scene. Two publications in particular emerged as crucial platforms for burgeoning African American writers at the time. One was The Crisis, founded in 1910 as the official magazine of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) by renowned civil rights activist and sociologist W.E.B. Du Bois. It initially focused on social and political issues but expanded its content to include a wider representation of African American life and ideas. The magazine provided space for then-unknown writers such as Langston Hughes, Claude McKay, and Jean Toomer to share their literary works, and by the start of the 1920s, The Crisis was distributing 100,000 copies a month. Another magazine, Opportunity, emerged in the early 1920s, and also amplified creative Black voices, including that of Zora Neale Hurston.
Some of the 20th century’s most important African American creatives and activists emerged during the Harlem Renaissance. In literature, leaders such as Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes, as well as Countee Cullen, among others, sought equality while celebrating Black identity and heritage. Meanwhile, jazz and blues maestros such as Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Bessie Smith became powerful musical voices reflecting the social climate of the time. The Harlem Renaissance was also a battleground for social justice, with activists such as W.E.B. Du Bois and Marcus Garvey advocating for equal rights and laying crucial groundwork for the civil rights movement. Today, the era’s vibrancy is immortalized in celebrated visual art from painters Beauford Delaney, Archibald Motley, and sculptor Augusta Savage. The collective impact of these icons continues to reverberate today.
The Harlem Renaissance Music Scene Was Boosted by Prohibition
While jazz music predates the Harlem Renaissance, its popularity soared during the 1920s “Jazz Age” — and one of the genre’s unlikely benefactors was Prohibition. In January 1920, the United States banned the manufacture and sale of “intoxicating liquors,” and the law quickly spurred the creation of underground bars known as speakeasies. By the mid-1920s, thousands of New York speakeasies were competing for business, and to attract more of the predominantly wealthy, white crowds, entertainment was brought in regularly — jazz music legends such as Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington were among the most popular performers at the time. Speakeasy culture led to ample and well-paying opportunities for Black musicians, and it introduced jazz music to a broader audience beyond Harlem.
Despite its name, the Harlem Renaissance wasn't confined solely to Upper Manhattan. While Harlem was the symbolic capital, this revival of Black culture resonated as a nationwide movement in urban centers such as Chicago (whose own movement was known as the Chicago Black Renaissance) and Los Angeles, while also finding its way to smaller pockets throughout the country. In Texas, African American poet Bernice Love Wiggins had several works published in local papers, and self-published a poetry collection that has drawn comparisons to some of the era’s literary greats, including Hurston and Hughes. Short story writer and poet Anita Scott Coleman, from New Mexico, was considered one of the American West’s most important Harlem Renaissance contributors. Her work was published in the influential magazine The Crisis, and she eventually published more than 30 short stories in other periodicals. Aaron Douglas, one of the most renowned visual artists of the Harlem Renaissance, began his career in Kansas, but was eventually convinced by Opportunity magazine founder Charles S. Johnson to bring his talents to the movement’s epicenter in Harlem, extending his influence even further.
The 1929 stock market crash and the onset of the Great Depression plunged the United States into economic turmoil, and as a result, most of the Harlem Renaissance’s patronage and financial support — not to mention its artistic energy — waned. The end of Prohibition in 1933 dealt a final blow to the remaining nightlife scene, and by the mid-1930s, many of the onetime pillars of the community had moved on in search of other work to make ends meet. By 1935, the initial optimism and empowerment fostered by the Harlem Renaissance withered in the face of deep-rooted racial prejudices and inequalities that persisted despite the era’s advancements. In March of that same year, the tensions culminated in a defining event, when rumors about the arrest and police treatment of a Latino teenager accused of shoplifting spread throughout Harlem, sparking a deadly riot that has come to be seen as the official end of the Harlem Renaissance. But while the era was over, its influence lived on. African American thinkers, artists, and activists gained recognition and validation like never before during the Harlem Renaissance, and the consciousness that the movement cultivated helped fuel the Civil Rights Movement throughout the 1950s and ’60s.