Curio Cabinet

Last week, Taiwan became the first Asian country to legalize same-sex marriage. It's a major milestone for LGBT rights in a country that has seesawed on the issue. Two years ago, the island's highest court ruled the law defining marriage as only between a man and a woman to be unconstitutional. It gave lawmakers two years to issue a new law legalizing same-sex marriage. A public outcry followed, pressuring the administration to hold a national referendum on the subject. 67 percent of voters rejected making same-sex marriage legal. But then, with the supreme court deadline looming, the legislature proposed three different bills technically legalizing gay marriage. Two of the bills didn't use the word "marriage" but instead legalized "same-sex unions" and "same-sex family relationships." The third, more progressive bill legalized "same-sex marriage" and was the one passed into law—overwhelmingly, with 66 to 27 votes. It still doesn't give LGBT people full adoption or cross-national marriage rights, but it's a pretty good start. Believe me, there's still plenty of work left to do in Asia on the gay-rights front. For example, last month the ruler of the oil-rich kingdom of Brunei announced he would introduce death by stoning for those convicted of gay sex. Two steps forward, one step way back.
 

Image credit & copyright: EPA
 

Marilyn Monroe livens up President Kennedy's 45th birthday party.

"It's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring," American actress, model, and singer Marilyn Monroe once said. Her tumultuous career was certainly chock full of wry innuendo, but one romp stands out from the rest. On May 19, 1962, Monroe sang President John F. Kennedy Happy Birthday in front of 15,000 people at New York City's Madison Square Garden. Or as one columnist put it, she made "love to the president in direct view of 40 million Americans."
 

The Kennedy White House had decided to put on the party as a fundraiser to pay off debts incurred from the 1960 election race. Billed as a celebration of Kennedy's 45th birthday, it would include performances from stars like Ella Fitzgerald, Maria Callas, Jack Benny, Peggy Lee, and Monroe. Rumors were already swimming that an affair had taken place between Monroe and JFK (and his brother Bobby, for that matter), and her appearance was sure to draw a crowd.
 

At the time, however, Monroe was struggling to repair her personal and public life. Another victim of her time, the actress was coming off a divorce from Arthur Miller, gallbladder surgery, and a stay at a psychiatric hospital. When she received Kennedy's personal invitation, she was in Hollywood filming scenes for the movie Something's Got to Give. The actress yearned to break out from her role as a sex symbol, but couldn't resist the temptation to vivify Kennedy's birthday. She furiously rehearsed her bawdy, upcoming performance over the next few weeks.
 

Naturally, Monroe arrived late to the fundraiser. The moderator of the event, actor Peter Lawford, took advantage of her absence by playfully introducing her as "the late Marilyn Monroe" over and over, gesturing to an empty spotlight for a few hyucks when he needed them. Lawford was in the midst of monkeying around when Monroe quietly shimmied out from a curtain behind him. At the podium, she shed an ermine overcoat to reveal a flesh-toned gown shimmering with 2,500 hand-stitched crystals: one so tight, it allegedly had to be sewn onto her body. Appalled gasps and ribald whistles rose from the audience, and once the clamor died down, Monroe began to sing Kennedy Happy Birthday.
 

Only, this wasn't your average birthday-wishing. Monroe's rendition was quiet, breathy, and steamy. Lasting all of a minute, it blended into a reworked version of Thanks for the Memory that achingly championed Kennedy's hard work and accomplishments. As Monroe finished, she threw her hands in the air and riled the audience while an enormous cake was brought out. Ever the joker, Kennedy took the podium, saying "I can now retire from politics after having had Happy Birthday sung to me in such a sweet, wholesome way."
 

Though Kennedy and Monroe had only spoken in passing at the fundraiser, speculations abounded that they were tangled in a prolonged affair. In reality, the two would never see each other again. In the following weeks, Monroe's mental health further deteriorated under the weight of objectification and consequent alcoholism. She died of an overdose just months later in August. Kennedy, of course, would be assassinated the following year in Dallas, Texas.
 

Today, the Happy Birthday, Mr. President performance has become something of a legend. The skimpy dress Monroe wore to the fundraiser sold for a whopping $4.8 million in 2016 to museum chain Ripley’s Believe It Or Not—making it the most expensive piece of clothing ever sold through an auction. In regards to the purchase, the CEO of Ripley's said of the dress to the Press Association: "We believe this is the most iconic piece of pop culture that there is."
 

Below: footage of Monroe serenading JFK on his birthday.
 

Image credit & copyright: Snap/Rex/Shutterstock
 

It's Flashback Friday! Enjoy this favorite from the Curio Cabinet archives.
 

Here's a familiar story of discrimination. Government requires license for a certain activity (like voting or owning property). Government refuses to issue license to a certain group. Government then prosecutes or refuses service to disenfranchised group for not having the proper license. That's exactly what New York was doing to the LGBT community in the 1960s. The New York State Liquor Authority refused to issue licenses to bars it deemed "homosexual." As a result, the bars—the only safe public places for gays to congregate with each other in the City—were forced to operate as illegal saloons. Then the "Public Morals" squad of the New York City police department would raid the bars and arrest all the employees and patrons. That's what happened on June 24th, 1969 to the Stonewall Inn. (Pause for one moment to contemplate that only 50 years ago, the NYPD had a Public Morals squad.)
 
One of the most popular gay bars in New York City's Greenwich Village, the Stonewall Inn was used to getting raided, and patrons and employees scattered. So the police planned a second surprise raid for the night of June 28th, using undercover officers this time. When the officers started making arrests at 1:15 a.m., the patrons were ready. They refused to cooperate, show identification, or yield to "gender-verification" checks in the bathroom—a common humiliation forced upon transvestites at the time. Customers gathered outside the bar in the tiny triangular Christopher Park, and soon reinforcement protesters from the neighborhood appeared. By 3 a.m. it was a full-fledged riot, spreading to nearby streets. Protests and demonstrations lasted for six days and included firehoses, barricades, and gay cheerleaders performing kick-lines in front of policeman in riot gear. A drag queen assaulted a police officer with her purse. When the dust finally settled, the LGBT community of New York City had publicly organized like never before. They formed the first formal LGBT rights organization. Within two years similar groups had been started in every major city in the U.S. A new civil rights movement was underway. The NYPD has long ago abandoned their Public Morals squad, and today they play a critical role in serving and protecting the city's massive LGBT community, with a dedicated LGBT Liaison Unit. As for Christopher Park, it was designated a National Historic Landmark in 2016 by President Obama. When U.S. Presidents used to do such things….

The U.S. nickel wasn't always worth five cents. And it's technically not even worth five cents today. The reason lies in the nickel's origin. When the Civil War broke out in the spring of 1861, the American masses began hoarding all their gold and silver. Coins disappeared from the public overnight, and the U.S. Mint didn't have the gold and silver resources to meet the demand. Hard money was so sparse by 1863 that storekeepers couldn't make change for their customers, and profits came to a standstill. Everyday transactions like buying groceries or mailing letters became impossible, and the economy stalled. The Union bought itself time with temporary solutions, including paying soldiers in "Demand Notes"—essentially IOUs. When the war ended in 1865, the forerunner to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing decided to flood the barren economy with a line of five-cent denominations. However, the bureau was headed by a prankster named Spencer Clark, who used his own portrait for the first batch of notes without consulting any authority. As legislators cursed Clark's name in Congress, an industrialist named Joseph Wharton capitalized on the scandal. Wharton had bought up nickel mines in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and convinced Congress to make a new five-cent coin out of nickel on May 16, 1866. The coin—shown above—had an intrinsic value worth so little, its minting cost less than its face value. Nobody would be tempted to hoard them. The 1866 nickel became the currency of the postwar economy. Between 1867 and 1868, the U.S. Mint printed 30 million of them. Vending machine treats, jukebox songs, turns on slot machines, and the original Coca-Cola bottles all sold for a clean five-cents. The coin also spawned "nickelodeons," or popular theaters with five-cent cover charges. Today, nickels aren't as lucrative for the U.S. economy due to the rising costs of metals. Consisting of 75 percent copper and only 25 percent nickel, each coin costs around eight cents to produce. Here's an idea to stimulate the economy: let's get rid of coins all together and just round everything to the nearest dollar.
 

Image credit & copyright: National Numismatic Collection/National Museum of American History