Curio Cabinet / Person, Place, or Thing

Laying the presidential smackdown on bills.

Nope, never, no-can-do. However it's phrased, a presidential veto is a big red disapproval sign from our highest government office. The process is meant to maintain the balance of constitutional powers between the branches of government, although its use sometimes reveals the contentious relationship between the president and Congress.
 

The word "veto" is Latin for "I forbid." The practice comes from the sixth-century Roman Republic, when the highest government officials, known as the consuls, could veto legislation. In the U.S., the power of the executive branch's veto is outlined in Article 1. Section 7 of the Constitution. It allows the president to disprove a bill, leave it unsigned, and return it to Congress within 10 days. This is called a "regular veto." A pocket veto differs in that the bill is simply never returned to Congress. A veto statement often accompanies the action and explains the President's reasons for his decision. Congress may override the presidential veto by a two-thirds vote in the Senate and the House.
 

The first presidential veto occurred on April 5, 1792, when George Washington objected to an early version of the Apportionment Act of 1792. The bill was an attempt to set the number of members each state would have in the House of Representatives—with a catch that the eight states with the largest populations would each gain a Congressional seat (a move that would benefit the Federalists' agenda to create a strong national government). Washington, working with the advice of Thomas Jefferson, argued the bill was unconstitutional. An attempt to override his veto soon failed, and a revised bill was signed by Washington on April 14th.
 

In one of the most contentious battles between the president and Congress, Andrew Johnson saw his executive powers reduced by the Tenure of Office Act in 1867. Johnson was a southern Democrat Vice President who took over the presidency when Lincoln was assassinated in 1865, much to the chagrin of the two-thirds majority Republicans in both houses. As Johnson attempted to thwart the Reconstruction era and the expansion of civil rights laws, he fired the man in charge of enforcing the new corresponding provisions, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. Congress acted swiftly to pass the Tenure of Office Act, which restricted suspensions of Cabinet members and officeholders. Johnson vetoed the bill, but the Republican-controlled House overrode his veto and the law was passed on March 2, 1867: Johnson was later impeached for his actions against Stanton, and barely acquitted in May 1868. In 1928, the Supreme Court finally struck down the Tenure of Office Act as unconstitutional.

 

The President with the most vetoes was Franklin D. Roosevelt, with a whopping total of 635. Roosevelt's most famous veto was for the tax-related Revenue Act of 1943. During World War II, Roosevelt asked Congress for $10.5 billion in federal excise taxes to slow inflation and help the war effort. Various luxury goods, including jewelry, alcohol, and telephone services, would be taxed more heavily. The House Ways and Means Committee didn't see eye-to-eye with FDR and watered down his demands, presenting him with a $2.1 billion bill instead. In his veto statement, FDR said it provided "...relief not for the needy but for the greedy." However, both Houses overrode his veto in February 1944.

 

Recent presidents have usually stuck to less than 12 vetoes each, with our incumbent president, Donald Trump, tallying six thus far. It's highly unlikely another president will break FDR's record of 635 any time soon. His successor, President Harry S. Truman, followed up with 250 vetoes, and the number has sunk precipitously since then. Several causes for the decline include the trend of larger bills, the lack of legislation coming from Congress relative to the past, and the rise of signing statements, which allow the president to subtly frame bills through their point of view, rather than cancel a bill outright due to a single unwanted provision. Needless to say, the government is always evolving. Time will tell if the poor veto remains relevant!
 

Image credit & copyright: Steve Sack / Star Tribune
 

A look at one of the most controversial criminal cases in U.S. history.

It's not every day a crime is declared "worse than murder." Yet that's precisely what Judge Irving R. Kaufman said in regard to the crimes of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, who were convicted of espionage on March 29, 1951, and put to death two years later. It made them the first American civilians executed for the crime. Today, the Rosenbergs' case is an ongoing source of controversy, bringing up ethical questions about the death penalty and trials during the U.S.'s "Red Scare."

 

The Rosenbergs were born in New York, and married in 1939. They were members of the Communist Party of the United States of America, and in 1940, Julius began working as a civilian engineer with the U.S. Army Signal Corps. During this time, he engaged in espionage. Ethel's involvement would remain unclear, but her brother, David Greenglass, was also a spy. He was a U.S. Army Sergeant who worked as a machinist on the top-secret Manhattan Project, and passed secrets about atomic weapons to Julius. Julius then turned this information over to a courier named Harry Gold, who gave it to Soviet Vice-Consul Anatoly A. Yakovlev.
 

Julius became a suspect in 1945, when the army discovered he was part of the Communist Party. When Harry Gold was arrested in May of 1950, he implicated Julius Rosenberg and David Greenglass, who were both quickly arrested. Ethel's arrest came in August. The trial that followed was highly public and extremely short, lasting from March 6th to April 5th. The Rosenbergs were charged with conspiracy to commit espionage, which, under the Espionage Act of 1917, carried the death penalty.
 

Ethel's own brother was the chief witness for the prosecution, and spoke in detail about the crimes committed by the Rosenbergs. Greenglass was not required to provide physical proof, and his story regarding Ethel's involvement was inconsistent. His original testimony before a grand jury stated that only Julius was involved. However, only Greenglass's second testimony was shown during trial, in which he stated that Ethel was present during all of the spy ring's meetings. Greenglass gave this second testimony in exchange for charges against his wife, Ruth, being dropped.
 

The Rosenbergs maintained their innocence throughout the trial, but pleaded the Fifth Amendment when asked specific questions. This may have done them more harm than good, as their silence made them appear suspicious, to many. Although public opinion was not on the Rosenbergs' side, many people were shocked at their death sentence. A surge of international sympathy for the Rosenbergs cropped up. Many who thought they were guilty still protested the death penalty. Even F.B.I Director J. Edgar Hoover said that the execution of a young mother would reflect poorly on the government.
 

The Rosenbergs' sentence was appealed and denied seven times before the Supreme Court. Two presidents, Harry Truman and Dwight D. Eisenhower, dismissed the Rosenbergs pleas for clemency, with Eisenhower stating that, "The execution of two human beings is a grave matter. But even graver is the thought of the millions of dead whose deaths may be directly attributable to what these spies have done."
 

In 1953, the Rosenbergs were executed at Sing Sing Prison, making Ethel the first woman executed in the U.S. since 1865. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, in the early 1990s, Soviet intelligence confirmed Julius' involvement in espionage. However, much debate remains about Ethel's involvement, the fairness of their trial, and especially the fairness of their sentence. One thing's for sure: the Rosenbergs' case will remain one of the most unique criminal cases in U.S. history.
 

The notorious prison closes its doors.

Nicknamed "the Rock" and "Uncle Sam's Devil's Island," Alcatraz prison remains an unforgettable American institution. Its cold waters and cells housed many of the 20th century's most infamous gangsters, including Al Capone, George "Machine-Gun" Kelly, and Alvin "Creepy" Karpis. Yet what made it one of the most inescapable federal prisons led to its inevitable closure in 1963.

 

The history of Alcatraz is less sordid than its inhabitants were. In 1775, Spanish explorer Juan Manuel de Ayala discovered the island and named it "La Isla de los Alcatraces," or "The Island of the Pelicans." Decades later, in 1846, California's Military Governor John C. Frémont purchased the island for the U.S. Government. In 1850, President Millard Fillmore ordered Alcatraz to function as a military base with the Citadel barracks, lighthouse, and other main fortifications completed by 1858. During the Civil War, Fort Alcatraz housed over 85 mounted cannons and the San Francisco Arsenal, along with Confederate sympathizers and POWs as prisoners.

 

Over the next 80 years, Alcatraz's expanded as a military prison. In 1867, inmates moved from the guardhouse basement to a new jailhouse. When the Spanish-American War broke out in 1898, the prison population boomed from 26 to 450. During the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake, civilian prisoners took refuge on the Rock. Shortly after, the main cell block was completed and the barracks torn down in place of a dry moat in 1912. And by 1933, operations on the island were transferred to the Department of Justice and Federal Bureau of Prisons for use as a maximum-security civilian prison.
 

A transfer to Alcatraz typically lasted five years—if inmates could tolerate it. Extreme isolation, minimal privileges, and unforgivingly cold tides wore down even the hardest criminals. Al Capone, sick with neurosyphilis, could hardly back up his threats and was stabbed by James C. Lucas in 1936—two years before Capone became too disoriented to leave Alcatraz's hospital ward. The infamous Arthur "Doc" Barker made an escape attempt in 1939, but was caught on the western shoreline and killed while resisting arrest. John Giles executed a particularly clever escape attempt in 1945: while unloading laundry on the docks, he managed to steal an entire uniform piecemeal. Wearing the outfit, he boarded an Army motorboat thinking it was headed for San Francisco. To his surprise, he landed at the military post on Angel Island, and was apprehended and returned to Alcatraz.

 

Alcatraz's unforgiving landscape took a toll on itself. In the early 1960s, cost assessments to repair the saltwater damage to facilities was estimated at about $5 million dollars. In addition, the isolated location made it costly to operate. A million gallons of water had to be barged in each week, along with food and other supplies. The estimated daily cost of operations was about $10 per prisoner, as compared to $3 at the federal penitentiary in Atlanta, Georgia. On March 21, 1963, the last inmate transferred out of Alcatraz was Frank C. Weatherman, a 29-year-old gun smuggler who remarked, "Alcatraz never was no good."
 

In later years, plans to make Alcatraz a United Nations monument and a West Coast equivalent of the Statue of Liberty fell through. A 19-month occupation of the island in 1969 by a group called the United Indians of All Tribes caused President Nixon to end the discriminatory federal laws aimed at assimilating Native Americans deemed the "Indian termination policy." Several of the prison buildings were burned and destroyed during the protest.

 

In 1986, Alcatraz was designated a National Historical Landmark. Since then the National Park Service has taken over management of the land and turned it into a San Francisco tourist destination. Though the location is no longer a fearsome prison, the history of the Rock will certainly capture imaginations for years to come—and never let them escape!
 

Image credit & copyright: AdstockRF
 

An activist who would not be held back, even by the President.

She famously said she was "sick and tired of being sick and tired," but civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer, who passed away on March 14, 1977, always fought on, regardless. While battling for the voting rights of black Americans, she fearlessly defied white segregationists, racist police, and even President Lyndon B. Johnson.

 

To say that Hamer had a difficult upbringing is an understatement. She was the youngest of 20 children, born to a sharecropping family in Mississippi, in 1917. Sharecropping, in which black families rented plots of land from white landowners in exchange for crop shares, was designed to keep black families in debt. Starting at just six years old, Hamer toiled in the fields with her family.
 

Throughout her young life, Hamer suffered numerous human rights violations. One of the worst occurred shortly after she got married at age 27. During what was supposed to be a small surgery to remove a tumor, a white doctor sterilized Hamer without permission. Forced sterilization of African American women was so common at the time, they were called "Mississippi appendectomies."
 

Now unable to give birth, Hamer and her husband adopted two daughters. Hamer became determined to fight against the kinds of injustices that she had suffered. In 1962, Hamer and 17 others traveled to the county seat to register to vote, which was extremely dangerous since the Klu Klux Klan menaced black people who attempted so. Hamer was turned away when she couldn't answer questions about the state constitution's "de facto" laws, thus failing the "literacy test" designed to keep black people from registering. Hamer was harassed by police on her way home and fired from her sharecropping job when she returned.
 

Unwavering, Hamer became a community organizer, helping others learn to read, write, and register to vote. She co-founded the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party. Hamer was an exceptional public speaker, and her words inspired many to follow her cause. In 1964, she did the unthinkable and ran for United States Congress, with the support of fellow activists like Martin Luther King Jr.
 

At the 1964 Democratic National Convention, Hamer appealed to the Democratic National Committee. She wanted the Committee to seat delegates from the Mississippi Democratic Freedom party, rather than the usual Mississippi segregationist delegates. President Lyndon B. Johnson, fearing the loss of support from Southern Democrats, tried silencing Hamer. He sent advisors to persuade her not to deliver her planned speech, but she refused. So, Johnson called a news conference during Hamer's speech, to draw away the attention of national news networks.
 

The ploy didn't work, however. Hamer's fiery, 13-minute speech, which included vivid details of a police beating that left her with kidney damage, was widely broadcasted. Although the freedom party delegates were not seated, Hamer's speech drew national attention and is remembered as one of the most important speeches of the American Civil Rights Movement. When asked why she persisted in giving her speech, Hamer answered "All my life I've been sick and tired. Now I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired."  

For the remainder of her life, Hamer focused on forming organizations to help black Southern families. She helped end unjust sharecropping by starting the Freedom Farms Corporation, in 1969, which lent land to black families until they could afford to buy it. In 1971, she helped form the National Women's Political Caucus. In addition to helping black people register to vote, she set up local organizations to provide childcare to working families. Even a 1976 cancer diagnosis couldn't stop her from fighting. When she died in 1977, she was laid to rest in Ruleville. We take solace knowing she is resting in eternal peace.
 

The story of what was once the largest building in the world.

Third time's the charm! The beautiful building known as the Hagia Sophia, in Istanbul, Turkey, is a testament to the phrase. Two versions of it were completed and destroyed before the final version was commissioned on this day in 532 C.E. Originally a basilica, or cathedral of the Greek Orthodox Christian Church, (also used by Romans and Catholics) this architectural marvel has changed functions throughout the centuries. But for the past 1,500 years, it has steadfastly stood as a larger-than-life symbol of its nation, not unlike Paris' Eiffel Tower or New York's Empire State Building.
 

The first version of the Hagia Sophia was commissioned by Byzantine Emperor Constantius around 360 C.E. At the time, the city of Istanbul was called Constantinople, after the first Byzantine Emperor (and Constantius's father), Constantine I. Unfortunately, the city was faced with political discord and riots during the reign of its next ruler, Emperor Arkadios. The Hagia Sophia, which was partially made from wood, was burned down in the chaos. In 415 C.E., it was rebuilt, but part of its structure was once again made from wood, and once again, around a hundred years later, it was burned down during a time of political turmoil.
 

Finally, in 532 C.E., Emperor Justinian I decided to commission a new basilica sure to stand the test of time. Byzantine architects Isidoros Milet and Anthemios Tralles were called upon to build a flame-resistant successor. Using enormous slabs of marble, plus other stone and bricks, the renowned architects created a structure measuring 269 feet long and 240 feet wide, which, upon its completion in 537 C.E., made it the largest building in the world. The newly-minted Hagia Sophia featured marble floors and ceilings, 104 marble columns, and a 180-foot-high pendentive domed roof. It was the first large-scale employment of a pendentive, or vaulting which stabilizes spherical domes to square frames. It wasn't until St. Peter's Basilica was finished in 1506, just under a 1,000 years later, that a larger pendentive dome was erected.
 

The Hagia Sophia is considered a marvel of Byzantine architecture and is by far the most famous structure in Byzantine history. Not only is it where Byzantine Emperors were crowned, but every province in the empire was responsible for its construction, for Emperor Justinian I decreed that all of them must supply architectural materials, in order for the building to truly represent the entire empire. "My Lord, thank you for giving me the chance to create such a worshipping place," he spoke upon its completion.  

The Hagia Sophia was not only a symbol of the Byzantine Empire's might, but also its culture, specifically its central Greek Orthodox faith. This didn't sit well with Emperor Fatih Sultan Mehmed of the Ottoman Empire, who captured Constantinople in 1453. The Ottomans quickly converted the Hagia Sophia into an Islamic Mosque. The majority of the building's structure was left intact, although some of the Hagia Sophia's original Greek Orthodox artwork was covered over with Islamic art and minarets were added to the building so that Muslims in Istanbul could be called to prayer.
 

In 1935, the Hagia Sophia was transformed into a museum. Today, it is a haven for those interested in the Byzantine Empire, the Ottoman Empire, and the history of Turkey, in general. How fitting is it that the name "Hagia Sophia" means "holy wisdom"!?
 

Below: a photograph of the inside of the Hagia Sophia, which is now a museum.
 

Their act of revenge became one of the most famous stories in Japanese history.

It's been the subject of artwork, plays, and even a Keanu Reeves movie: the historic Japanese tale of the 47 rōnin. This story of loyal samurai, who sought revenge for their fallen master on January 30, 1703, has been influencing the way the world sees samurai for hundreds of years. Although the story has spawned many versions over the years, the basic tale is based in fact.

 

The story begins in 1701, with a daimyō lord in Japan. Daimyō lords owned large swaths of land, and hired armies of samurai to guard their property and their families. This daimyō was Asano Naganori of Akō, and he had an army of around 300 samurai. Like all Daimyō, Asano was loyal to a specific shōgun: a military leader appointed by the Emperor. One day, Asano took a visit to the castle of his shōgun, Edo Castle, in what is now Tokyo. Unfortunately, he ran into trouble.

 

Kira Yoshinaka was a senior court protocol officer in the shōgun's castle. For reasons which have been lost to time, he and Asano got into a heated argument. Some accounts say Kira made an offensive comment. Others suggest that he offered Asano illegal bribes. Whatever the case, as their argument grew more heated, Asano drew his sword and cut Kira in the face. Unfortunately, drawing a weapon inside the castle of the shōgun was a capital offense, comparable to treason. Asano was ordered to commit seppuku, a ritualistic form of suicide by sword. Asano did so, thus forfeiting his lands and the security of his family.
 

The members of Asano's samurai army thus became rōnin, or leaderless samurai. Most of them scattered, but 47 of them were so loyal to Asano that they vowed to avenge him. However, they couldn't simply storm the gates of Edo Castle since Kira, fearing retaliation, had increased his security. Instead, they would have to lay low and plan carefully.
 

So plan they did. The 47 rōnin went their separate ways and took other jobs, maintaining contact all the while. Some were even able to secure jobs inside Edo Castle, where they learned its layout in great detail. After a while, Kira's fears faded, and he decreased security. Meanwhile, over the course of nearly two years, the 47 rōnin laid out a detailed plan of action.
 

On the night of January 30, 1703, they finally assembled outside the castle. They stormed the gates, killing any guards who tried to stop them (though most accounts agree that they took care to spare innocent bystanders). Eventually, they cornered Kira. Ōishi Kuranosuke, leader of the 47 rōnin, told Kira that they were there to avenge Asano, and invited Kira to commit seppuku, as their master was forced to do. Kira refused, so Ōishi beheaded him, and took his head to Asano's grave in Sengaku-ji temple.
 

The 47 rōnin knew that they could not simply go back to their lives after such brazen action. Though some versions of the story say that they were beheaded for their crimes, the most popular versions state that they turned themselves in after paying the monks at Sengaku-ji temple for their own funerals. On February 4, 1703, they committed seppuku.
 

The story of the 47 rōnin solidified national (and eventually worldwide) fascination with the concept of samurai and their bushidō code of loyalty and honor. Not only are the rōnin still celebrated in story, song, and film today, their graves in Sengaku-ji temple are still considered sacred. The temple even holds a festival in the rōnin's honor every year. A timeless tale indeed!
 

Image credit & copyright: Utagawa Kuniyoshi/East Asia Collection
 

Showtime at Harlem's greatest theater.

Among America's historic buildings, few can match the legacy of the Apollo Theater in Harlem. The New York City music hall located at 253 West 125th Street has seen its share of highs and lows. From its astounding talent roster—which included the likes of Duke Ellington and Jackie "Moms" Mabley—to the hard times when its immense history was nearly lost to economic misfortunes, the Apollo has proven it will stand the test of time.
 

The neoclassical theater that became the Apollo was designed by architect George Keister and built in 1913. Far from its famed future, the location operated as a whites-only burlesque theater with producers Jules Hurtig and Harry Seamon running the shows. In 1933, a city-wide ban on burlesque put the two men out of business, and the theater into disrepair. The owner of the building, Sydney Cohen stepped in with business partner Morris Sussman to reopen and reinvigorate the space. On January 26, 1934, the Apollo Theater opened with the show "Jazz a la Carte" and a new format with variety revues and Amateur Night contests. They also appealed to a new audience: Harlem's growing African-American communities of the early 20th century. By 1937, the theater was the nation's largest employer of black workers in the theatre industry. It was also the only in New York City to hire black workers for backstage positions.
 

Where to begin with the legends who took the stage at the Apollo? Jazz singer Sarah Vaughan, rock guitar virtuoso Jimi Hendrix, and the pop-quintet the Jackson 5 all claimed victories as winners of Amateur Nights at the Apollo. Comedians Moms Mabley, Redd Foxx, and Richard Pryor sold-out shows at the venue. Funk legend James Brown's 1962 Live at the Apollo album, recorded at the location, spent 66 weeks on the Billboard charts. The "Queen of Soul," Aretha Franklin, and her not-to-be-missed shows were noted on the marquee with the phrase "She's Home." "The King of Pop," Michael Jackson, performed a free concert at the Apollo in April 2002: the last onstage performance before he passed away. Anybody who was anyone in popular black music of the 20th century—be it jazz, R&B, or hip-hop—paid their respects to the location where black excellence was a nearly nightly display.
 

Several issues with competing venues and studio-recorded music products caused the Apollo to once again shut its doors in 1976. Noting the historical importance of the Apollo to the histories of both Harlem and America, businessman Percy Sutton gathered investors and bought the theater in 1983, before securing its status among the National Register of Historic Places and New York City Landmarks. He also restarted the popular Amateur Nights at the theater—which, beginning in 1987, were nationally televised alongside feature performers as Showtime at the Apollo. The predecessor to musical competition shows like American Idol, Showtime had a prominent audience participation aspect to it: a loud standing ovation could jumpstart a career. If booing became raucous, well, a siren would sound, and an "executioner" would arrive onstage to do a comic routine that both ended and upstaged the previous performance.
 

In 1991, the State of New York purchased the Apollo Theater and established the non-profit Apollo Theater Foundation to manage the venue and preserve its history. The location was recently renovated, and continues to make news, as a young Senator named Barack Obama hosted a fundraiser there in 2007, and R&B singer Bruno Mars recorded Bruno Mars: 24K Magic Live at the Apollo in 2017. If the past 86 years are any indication the Apollo Theater will continue to live up to its motto as a place "where stars are born and legends are made."
 

Below: a video of James Brown performing I Got the Feeling at the famed Apollo Theater; an informal memorial at the Harlem location to celebrate the life of Aretha Franklin.

 

Image credit & copyright: WRTI
 

A physician's secret passion for words.

A picture might be worth a thousand words, but Peter Roget's invention was worth about 15,000 when it was first published over a century and a half ago. Roget's Thesaurus was the first of its kind to act as a cross-reference work for word lovers looking for precision, perfection, or piqued curiosity. With its immense popularity over the past 200 years, it's a wonder that Roget himself actually kept his handbook a secret for many decades of his life.
 

Forget the "strong and silent type." Peter Mark Roget was an effusive polymath and physician. Born on January 18, 1779, Roget rose through the ranks of British society to eventually become the first Fullerian Professor of Physiology at the Royal Institution in London. His endless curiosity and immense knowledge in other aspects of life led him to publish scientific papers. These treatises advocated for water sanitization and a sewage system in London, the development of the film-predecessor animation device called the Phenakistoscope, or offered contributions to the Encyclopedia Britannica. With all of Roget's prestige and intellectual achievements, it might be hard to fathom what biographers identify as a muse for his lexicography pastimes: depression. Roget was said to have suffered from the condition throughout his life, and took up list-making as a coping mechanism by the age of eight. This habit likely fueled the earliest version of Roget's thesaurus, which was said to have been solely for his personal use, and completed in just one year at the age of 26 in 1805.
 

The ensuing nearly 50 years would find Roget adding to his collection, but never publishing it. As he retired in the 1840s, Roget began serious work on his grand list of word references. He gave it the title "thesaurus" from the ancient Greek word for a "treasure storehouse." In a nod to 18th-century zoologist Carl Linnaeus' classification of animal species, Roget gave his work six sections: Abstract Relations, Space, Matter, Intellect, Volition, and Affections. For Roget, his arrangement of words wasn't just meant to find synonymous meanings (although that is a major benefit of his invention). No, replacing words with no finesse for context or meaning wouldn't suffice. Roget himself noted, "it is hardly possible to find two words having in all respect the same meaning, and being therefore interchangeable." Rather, he intended an exploration and discovery of word usages, sparking the imagination in the process. For example, the act of linking the word "state"—meaning "tone, tenor, turn; trim, guise, fashion, light, complexion, style, character"—in all its various nounal, verbal, adjectival, and adverbial forms points back to the delight or comfort Roget found in categorizing these words and being able to draw them up at will through his reference manual.
 

The first edition of Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases Classified and Arranged so as to Facilitate the Expression of Ideas and Assist in Literary Composition was published in 1852. Since then, it has never been out of publication, with Roget's son, Jon, expanding the index for quick reference in 1869. The work has since sold over 40 million copies worldwide. Famous writers like Sylvia Plath and David Foster Wallace swore by Roget's as a trusted companion to their craft, even as esteemed critics lambast its synonym-finding aspects and the popularity it has with people who mainly use it to write or solve crossword puzzles. According to Roget's first edition, those critics might be suffering from a bit of "jealousy, jaundiced eye; envious suspicion," or a "green-eyed monster"!
 

Below: a drawing of Peter Roget.
 

Image credit & copyright: Diane Salerni
 

A closer look at the famously controversial modernist writer

Who publishes their first poem at the age of nine, learns to speak 17 languages, and produces work that changes international law—all while claiming not to care about fame? That would be Irish author James Joyce, who died January 13, 1941. His timeless works, such as Dubliners, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and—most famously—Ulysses, inspired international controversy and even a literary holiday.  

Born to a large family in Dublin, Ireland, in 1882, Joyce showed an early talent for writing and language. At age nine, he published his first poem, "Et Tu Healy?," with the help of his father, who was supposedly so impressed with it that he sent a copy to the Pope. Joyce also taught himself Norwegian so that he could read Henrik Ibsen's plays in their original language. It was the first of many instances in which Joyce would teach himself a foreign language.  

Joyce published his first short story in 1904. His first book, Dubliners, published in 1914, was a collection of short stories about middle-class Irish life. His first novel, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, came out two years later, but some found it difficult to understand. Joyce wrote in a modernist (purposefully non-traditional) style, with complex language, neologisms, and a stream-of-consciousness structure. The book did catch the eye of famous poet Ezra Pound, who praised its originality.  

By far Joyce's most famous work was his novel Ulysses, published in 1922. A modern retelling of Homer's Odyssey, it follows a day in the life of a Dubliner named Leopold Bloom, and confronts issues from poverty to Ireland's relationship with Britain. Part of the book's allure is its ability to transform a normal life into a seemingly epic one, thanks to myriad allusions and Joyce's vivid imagery. The date on which the novel takes place, June 16, 1904, is rumored to be the day that Joyce met his real-life wife, Nora Barnacle.  

Ulysses had a difficult road to publication and was banned in several countries for its sexual content. However, the United states became the first English-speaking country to sell the book, in 1933. Ulysses eventually became so beloved that the date on which the novel takes place, June 16, became a literary holiday called Bloomsday (named after the novel's central character, Leopold Bloom).  

Joyce's next book, Finnegan's Wake, was published in 1939 to critical acclaim. This novel contained even more of Joyce's puns and newly-invented words. One such word was 100 letters long, and was meant to mimic the sound of a thunderclap marking the fall of Adam and Eve: "Bababadalgharaghtakamminapronnkonnbronn..." well, you get the picture. Some think it was inspired by Joyce's own lifelong fear of thunder.  

Unfortunately, Joyce suffered from many health problems, most relating to his eyes. He endured many surgeries and spent most of his later life nearly blind. During World War II, Joyce's family was forced to move out of Paris to avoid the Nazi invasion. In 1941, Joyce failed to recover from an intestinal operation and passed away at the age of 59.  

Joyce is still celebrated as one of the greatest writers of all time. He might not have been too keen on the idea of Bloomsday, though, as he didn't like the idea of being memorialized. He even said, once, that creating a statue of someone was "the most efficient and courteous way yet discovered of ensuring a lasting oblivion of the deceased." Little did he know that a statue of himself would one day stand at North Earl Street, in Dublin. Whoops—even the world's greatest linguists don't get to write their own legacies!  

Welcome to our Top 15 of 2019 countdown! As the year comes to an end, we're looking back at this year's most loved Curios across all categories. Enjoy the walk down memory lane in your entire Curio Cabinet.
 

A young blind man finds inspiration in a Napoleonic War veteran.

Few have the resiliency to turn a tragedy into a miracle, but Louis Braille did. The French educator and inventor of Braille lost his eyesight as a young boy but invented his unprecedented language at just 15 years old to counteract his disability. Many of his fellow teachers would decry the language of Braille as a parlor trick, but with time, they would come around.
 

Braille, who was born in Coupvray, France, on January 4, 1809, displayed the tendencies of a profoundly curious mind. As a toddler, he frequently explored his father's saddle-making workshop and the many tools therein. It was there that tragedy struck. At just three years old, Braille accidentally gouged his right eye with a cobbler's tool while poking holes through leather. An infection grew and spread to his other eye; by the age of five, Braille was totally blind.
 

Braille's interest in the world around him endured, though, and his parents fought to get him educated. At the age of 10, he enrolled at Valentin Haüy's National Institute for Blind Youth in Paris, the first school of its kind. It was in 1821 that Braille's teacher, Dr. Alexandre François-René Pignier, invited French war veteran Charles Barbier to speak before his class. During the Napoleonic Wars, Barbier had been tasked with creating "night writing": a way for soldiers to communicate silently in the pitch black of night. His script proved too complicated, and was deemed a complete failure by the military; but Braille saw promise in it.
 

He quickly pared down Barbier's system, using paper, a slate, and a stylus to devise text from small punctures. The success of his language came down to simplicity; while "night writing" used 12 raised dots to denote phonetic speech, Braille devised a language that used just two columns of three dots to represent letters and punctuation. A single matrix of dots fit neatly beneath a fingertip and could represent one of 64 symbols. Braille published his system in 1829, which Dr. Pignier quickly championed and implored his students to adopt.
 

Braille's intellectual endeavors garnered him a full professorship at the institute, where he taught geometry, algebra, and history. In his spare time, he applied his exceptionally sensitive ears to music, performing as an accomplished cellist. He also served as organist at the Church of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs and the Church of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. But still, his new language remained out of use until after his death at 42 in 1852—largely due to public skepticism that something so miraculous could ever work.
 

It wasn't until 1854 that the blind pupils at the institute overwhelmingly pushed for Braille's language to become mandatory curricula. Naturally, as class after class of blind students were trained in it, the language became accepted and diffused across the world. In 1952, the French Government finally recognized the achievements of Braille. Nowadays, World Braille Day is celebrated annually on his birthday. It just goes to show that sight is not necessary for vision.
 

Image credit & copyright: Popperfoto/Getty Images
 

Welcome to our Top 15 of 2019 countdown! As the year comes to an end, we're looking back at this year's most loved Curios across all categories. Enjoy the walk down memory lane in your entire Curio Cabinet .
 

An intrepid reporter goes undercover to expose a notorious insane asylum.

Strap on your tinfoil hats and arm your notepads—we're plunging into the madhouse with Nellie Bly! The fearless American reporter, born May 5, 1864, redefined the civic responsibilities and potential of journalism. In the span of just two weeks, Bly saved hundreds from inhumane torture and opened the door for reforms in a long-troubled branch of the medical industry. And this was all before she circled the globe in record-breaking time!
 

Bly was born Elizabeth Cochran in Cochrans Mills, Philadelphia. Her journalism career began at 21, when she wrote a response to a misogynistic article published in The Pittsburgh Dispatch. Staffers at the Dispatch were so impressed with the scathing rebuttal that they hired her on. She adopted the pen name Nellie Bly from a song by composer Stephen Foster and took a job covering dictator Porfirio Díaz in Mexico. The experience landed her a gig at Joseph Pulitzer's hard-hitting, investigative newspaper, the New York World.
 

By 23, Bly had become one of the few female reporters in New York City and was itching to make her mark. Her target? The notorious Blackwell's Island Madhouse. Rumors circulated of severe medical mistreatment at the facility, and Bly was determined to dig up the truth. She assumed an alias, tangled and knotted her hair, and took a room at a boarding house where she feigned insanity. After a few days of ranting and raving, the proprietors of the boarding house called the police. Bly was diagnosed with dementia and other illnesses at Bellevue Hospital before she was ferried to Blackwell's Island and committed in the fall of 1887.
 

Conditions at Blackwell were far worse than the speculation of rumors. Bly was crammed alongside 1,600 patients into the building, which was built to hold 1,000. Just 16 doctors were on staff and their treatment of the ill was deeply disturbing. They showed little compassion and mutilated patients on a day-to-day basis, exacerbating their illnesses. Patients were drenched in ice-cold water and forced to sit absolutely still for 12 hours at a time. Some staffers even threatened Bly with sexual violence. Perhaps worst of all, many of the patients at Blackwell were not insane to begin with. They were immigrants, women for the most part, who had landed there by virtue of language barriers.
 

A week-and-a-half later, Bly's editors arranged for her release. Her series of articles, Ten Days in a Mad House, were published shortly after. Blackwell had been tipped off and managed to clean up its act, but after the ensuing trial, the institution's malevolent staffers were fired and replaced. Sane patients were released and afforded translators when necessary. Furthermore, Bly's sleuthing resulted in the passing of numerous reforms, including an unprecedented budget increase for mental institutions of nearly $1 million (or $24 million adjusted for inflation).
 

By 1889, 25-year-old Bly was a celebrated heroine—and soon to be a renowned adventurer. One day, after reading Jules Verne's adventure novel Around the World in Eighty Days, she was inspired to attempt the titular feat. Her editor argued that only a man could accomplish it. Bly responded, "Hire a man and I'll start the same day for another newspaper and beat him." She was approved. Bly set out from New York in a westerly direction and managed the trip in a record-breaking 72 days, later publishing her story in a book.
 

Upon her return, Bly was the most famous reporter of her age. She continued to cover stories here and there, like the women's suffrage convention, but married a Brooklyn millionaire and industrialist and preoccupied herself with charity work. Her husband died a few years later, and she took over his business and even patented a few oil manufacturing inventions before her death on January 27, 1922. Today, Bly is revered as a larger-than-life figure, a fashion icon, a feminist dynamo, and a key pioneer in investigative journalism. Simply put, Bly is a legend.
 

Image credit & copyright: Getty Images
 

The rise and fall of Rome's greatest orator.

As rivals like Julius Caesar and Mark Antony vied for despotic control over the Late Roman Republic, one man defended democracy: polymath Marcus Tullius Cicero, who, unlike Caesar, was not born of the ruling class. The statesman and philosopher used his powerful speeches and writings to advocate for the Roman Republic, even as tyrannical forces closed in on him.

 

Born in 106 B.C.E. in Arpinum (now central Italy), Cicero was named "chickpea" in Latin, and likely came from an ancestor who was a farmer. His family was part of the equestrian order, just below the ruling senators and above the common plebeians. It was unusual for an equestrian to rise in the ranks of society, but Cicero was no ordinary person. He extensively read the works of philosophers and traveled to Greece to hone his rhetoric. After marrying into a wealthy family at the age of 27, he rose quickly through the ranks of government, becoming a quaestor (treasurer), praetor (magistrate), and finally the highest political office: consul, in 63 B.C.E. at the age of 43. He was the youngest man of common lineage to ever attain the position.
 

In spite of the respect he commanded among Romans for his writings, wisdom, and unparalleled oration, Cicero's rise to the top was constantly challenged. In the same year he became consul, he uncovered a plot to overthrow the Roman Republic and thwarted an assassination attempt on his life, both devised by Senator Catiline. The anti-Republic First Triumvirate—comprised of Julius Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus—preyed on Cicero when he executed Catiline's co-conspirators without trial. An abuse of power, they called the action: one worthy of death in its own right. Cicero realized that each of the Triumvirate were out to seize as much individualized power over the Republic as they could. He retreated from public life to work on his writings.
 

Political alliances remained tumultuous for the rest of Cicero's life. Rome transitioned from a republic to an empire, and power was consolidated amongst a few power-hungry leaders. Upon hearing of the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44 B.C.E., Cicero supported the actions of Brutus and the other assassins, making an enemy of Mark Antony, Caesar's surviving war general. In 43 B.C.E., Cicero delivered some 14 speeches called the Philippics to the Roman senate, in which he decried Antony's tyranny and praised the values of liberty. In a last desperate attempt to thwart Antony, Cicero aligned himself with Caesar's rightful heir and Antony's antagonist, Octavian. In a series of events that would spell Cicero's demise, Octavian and Antony reconciled and joined forces with Lepidus to create the Second Triumvirate. Antony sought revenge against Cicero, and in December of 43 B.C.E., the great Roman orator was caught by centurions leaving his villa at Formiae. His head and hands were cut off and delivered to Mark Antony, where they were later displayed at the Rostra platform in the Roman Forum.
 

While Cicero's political life was met with a bloody end, his legacy and writings have had far more fortunate fates. The rediscovery of his letters in the 14th century by the Italian poet Petrarch is said to have ignited the Renaissance in Europe. When the printing press was invented in 1440 by Johannes Gutenberg, the third book to be printed was Cicero's De Officiis ("On Duties"), a work he wrote in his last year of life on how to live morally. Enlightenment philosophers like John Locke and Voltaire pored over Cicero's teachings on liberty, as did the U.S. Founding Fathers like John Adams, who once said, "As all the ages of the world have not produced a greater statesman and philosopher united than Cicero, his authority should have great weight."

 

Image credit & copyright: Foundation for Economic Education
 

The activist whose arrest sparked the flame of the Civil Rights Movement.

In photos, she looks like a normal, middle-aged woman. Yet, her face is iconic, her strength legendary. She is Rosa Parks, the woman who started the American Civil Rights Movement with one brave act on a Montgomery bus, on today's date in 1955. But the act of courage wasn't preplanned—in fact, a personal vendetta may have had a hand.
 

Racial prejudice was familiar to Parks from a young age. Born in 1913, she was raised in Pine Level, Alabama, by her mother and maternal grandparents, both of whom were former slaves. As a child, Parks once watched her grandfather stand guard as Klu Klux Klan members marched down the street. At Parks's childhood school, white students rode the bus while black students were forced to walk.
 

Before she could earn her high school diploma, Parks had to drop out and get a job in Montgomery to support her family. At age 19, she married Raymond Parks, an NAACP member and civil rights advocate who supported her while she went back to attain her diploma. Parks joined him in the Montgomery NAACP in 1943, becoming the chapter's youth leader and secretary. She also worked as a seamstress at a Montgomery Department store.
 

On December 1, 1955, Parks boarded a bus on the way home from work. At the time, Jim Crow laws made racial segregation legal. White passengers boarded and sat at the front of the bus, and black passengers did both at the back. If the white section became full, black passengers had to give up their seats to white passengers. The driver that day was James Blake, who in 1943 had forced Parks to re-enter through his bus' back door after paying, only to drive off when she obeyed. She had managed to avoid him for 10 years.
 

When the white section of the bus became full that day, Blake demanded that four black passengers give up their seats. Three complied, but 42-year-old Rosa Parks refused. When Blake asked, "Why don't you stand up?" Parks answered, "I don't think I should have to stand up." He called the police, and Parks was arrested. In her 1992 autobiography, Parks stated that she was too tired to give up her seat that day—not physically, but mentally. "The only tired I was, was tired of giving in," she wrote.
 

By the time Parks was released from jail that evening, the Montgomery NAACP was planning a bus boycott. It began on December 5, the day of Parks' trial. Black community leaders formed the Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA) and elected Martin Luther King Jr. as minister of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. King became one of the boycott's most important leaders.
 

The Montgomery Bus Boycott lasted a whopping 381 days, and Parks was arrested again in February of 1956 alongside 100 fellow protestors. White supremacists retaliated by burning black churches and bombing the homes of Martin Luther King Jr. and Montgomery NAACP President E.D. Nixon. Eventually, a legal suit against Jim Crow laws, filed by Parks's lawyer, made it to the district court. The laws were ruled unconstitutional—a decision the U.S. Supreme Court upheld. The boycott ended on December 20, 1956, when the city stopped segregating their buses.
 

Parks and her husband, now targets for violence, moved to Detroit. She worked as a secretary in the office of U.S. Representative John Conyer and served on the Planned Parenthood Federation of America's board. After publishing her autobiography in 1992 and memoir in 1995, Parks received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1996, and the Congressional Gold Medal in 1997. These are the highest awards given by the U.S. executive and legislative branches. Hardship continued to strike Parks late in life, however: she was robbed and assaulted at her apartment in 1994. Fortunately, the founder of Little Caesar's pizza, Mike Ilitch, got in touch with her network upon hearing the news, and secretly paid her rent at a more secure location for the rest of her life.
 

Even after she passed away in 2005, at the age of 92, Parks was honored as an American hero. She was the first woman to lie in honor in the U.S. Capitol Rotunda, in Washington, D.C. Today, Rosa Parks is referred to as "the mother of the civil rights movement." Her life serves as a reminder that the bravery of a single person can change the world.
 

Below: Rosa Parks speaks about her arrest and the Civil Rights Movement.
 

Image credit & copyright: AP Photo
 

The complicated history of the first Thanksgiving guests.

For some, Thanksgiving is a time to gather with family and indulge in turkey and pumpkin pie. For the remnants of the Wampanoag tribes of New England, the holiday has been renamed the National Day of Mourning, after what it has caused them. Today we're taking a look at the very first Thanksgiving of 1621, the mistreatment of the Wampanoag by British colonists, and the lasting effects of trauma on Indigenous peoples in order to have a more comprehensive view of American history.
 

The Wampanoag name means "People of the Dawn," and long before the first British fishermen landed in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, the confederacy of tribes celebrated autumn harvests with Thanksgiving-like feasts. Their tribes were matrilineal, with women handling agricultural duties and wielding great socio-economic power, while men hunted game, held political roles, and fought in wars. It's estimated that some 100,000 people lived among 69 villages in the 1610s, through contact with European traders and their diseases diminished the numbers to 40,000. Some were also abducted and sold into slavery, like Tisquantum, the Pawtuxet Indian who became Squanto.
 

Tisquantum was sold into slavery in Spain in 1614, and returned to North America on an expedition in 1619, only to find out his tribe at Plymouth had been wiped out by a European disease. When the Mayflower landed at Cape Cod, Massachusetts, in 1620, Squanto was literally a lifesaver for the starved, cold, and dying Pilgrims. He showed them how to use fish as fertilizer for corn, and how to grow gourds that would climb the corn stalks. He became an emissary and Wampanoag interpreter for the English.
 

By many accounts, the first Thanksgiving meal in 1621 was a respite from the various turmoils afflicting both the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag. Governor William Bradford of Plymouth Colony invited Massasoit, the Grand Sachem (leader of the tribes), to the feast. Massasoit brought 90 warriors with foods like venison, lobster, fish, oysters, corn, and squash—very much staples of New England seafood dining, but hardly what Americans might recognize as Thanksgiving food today. Together, they feasted for three days.
 

The peace did not last. As part of the Pequot War, on May 27, 1637, the governor of the Massachusetts Bay colony, Bradford, designated a "day of Thanksgiving" after the colony took part in the previous day's massacre at Pequot Fort, near the Mystic River. About 700 Pequot of the Wampanoag nation—mostly women, children, elderly, and the infirm—were killed when the fort was set aflame, with survivors sold as slaves in the West Indies. Tensions persisted even as Puritan missionaries established "praying towns" in 1650 for Wampanoag survivors to convert and culturally assimilate to Christianity. In 1675, King Philip's War broke out between New England tribes and colonists, decimating Wampanoag numbers to only 400. It's no wonder that under these democidal conditions, in 1970, Wampanoag leader Wamsutta (aka Frank James) was disinvited to the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrim's arrival when event planners learned of the content of his speech: Wamsutta planned to condemn the Pilgrims' initial grave-robbing, kidnapping, and enslavement of the Wampanoag, among other atrocities committed against the tribal nation.

 

In response to the controversial snubbing, Wamsutta and the United American Indians of New England traveled to Cole's Hill in Massachusetts to hold the National Day of Mourning on the same day as Thanksgiving (or the last Thursday in November, an official holiday declared by President Lincoln in October 1863). The event features a march through the Plymouth district and speeches from Native American speakers. Their efforts are meant to educate people about the Wampanoag's history and the atrocities of colonization rarely covered in-depth in U.S. history books. Lending them an ear is the least one can do during the holiday season, as we work towards honesty, equitable historical representation, and humanitarian communion for all.

 

Image credit & copyright: Voa News