Category Archives: History

Radiation, anyone?

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I must tell you I knew nothing about this until I ran across it last night. Aside from its carcinogenic benefits, it had to be the greatest marketing ploy anywhere. The text from a radio commercial, circa 1948:

We know that once you buy shoes that are scientifically fitted, you will shop at <<STORE NAME>> all of the time.”

I’ll bet. Of course, we’re talking about the Shoe Fitting Fluoroscope — a contraption into which a customer slid his feet to view the bone structure inside a new pair of shoes. Children and women used it most, along with the salesmen, all of whom were blissfully ignorant of the dandy effects of scatter radiation.

The latest use of this gadget predates me by about 10 years, but I’m surprised that I never heard about them from the adults in my life (especially since I lived in Milwaukee, where many of the things were manufactured). Mavis, do you remember anyone ever talking about them? I don’t.

Anyway, the salesperson would fill out a card on each customer, thereby enabling him/her to recommend the right shoe. Again, brilliant marketing. If you could get a Fluoroscope in your store, the trap was set. All you needed to do was wait for the fish to take the bait.

Many of the comments I’ve read about them come from people now in their 60s and 70s, who thought it was fun as kids to line up in the shoe department and play on the Fluoroscope while Mom shopped. I imagine it would have been a hoot back then to look into the viewfinder and see your foot bones — like you were Ray Milland in The Man With the X-Ray Eyes, a movie that scared the snot out of me when I was ten years old.

Fortunately, by the time that movie came out, the medical community had wised up and the FDA banned the Fluoroscopes.

Interesting, ja? Now I’m going to be ooky for the rest of the day. Ray Milland. *shudder*

Images: Oak Ridge Associated Universities Museum (orau.org), Wisconsin Historical Society

Souvenir

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The French word for remembrance. Makes perfect sense. I have an amusement park souvenir to share today.

Mavis and I used to love it when the carnival came to town. Mave, remember the Zipper, the Rock-O-Plane, the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Paratrooper and the Scrambler (aka Vomit Comet)? And what about the Western Round-Up and the Rotor? Crazy memories. Remember when Missy hit her head while riding on the Zipper and barfed everywhere? We had no idea at the time that she had a concussion, poor thing. Good times, good times.

Anyway.

I laugh when I remember the ridiculous “safety” precautions of roller coasters at the Adventureland and Riverview amusement parks in suburban Chicago back in the mid-60s. I was scared to death of coasters — always had been. But somehow I was talked into riding one on one of our trips. It was the last time I did so for several years.

It was called the Comet, and I don’t even remember who rode with me. The cars were shaped like mini rocket ships, or some kind of streamlined contraption, and all I remember was being thrown by G-force clean out of the miserable excuse for a safety restraint and landing — screaming bloody murder — on the floor in the front “cone” section of the car. The shape of that conveyance was, I’m sure, the reason I didn’t fly completely out. I remember being slightly airborne, then shrieking MOMMY!! over and over for what seemed like an eternity. What was I, seven/eight years old? I think so. Riverview closed in 1967, so it had to be then or before.

I didn’t ride a roller coaster for some years afterwards. Having just moved to Ohio and finally making some friends (it might surprise you to know that I was extremely quiet and reserved in school until I discovered musical theater), I went to the Cedar Point amusement park for the first time as an eighth grader in 1973. Upon entering the park and seeing what looked like a snarl of serpentine wooden evil, I experienced a minor flashback to my horrific coaster ride years ago. Then my friends said, “Hey, let’s get in line for the Blue Streak before everyone else does!”

Yikes. It was do-or-die time. Was I supposed to tell my new friends I was askeered of a stupid roller coaster? No way. So I swallowed my fear (and its accompanying bile) and queued up for my rematch with wheels on metal.

We rounded the initial curve and the chain grabbed and yanked us up the first hill. The downward thrust was kind of thrilling, and I thought Hmmm…I might make it through this. Then, on the second hill, we’d gotten up a head of steam beforehand, and as the train crested the top and started the hard pull into the descent, I will be shot, stabbed, hanged, beat up and buried alive if my little 4-foot-11, 95-lb. body didn’t come clean up out of the seat and over the safety bar, nearly sprawling over top of the people in the car in front of me. I am not kidding you: I dang near fell out. The horror.

It took me a long time to conquer that fear. I finally did, but not until I was well into my 30s. Crazy, eh?

And I won’t even go into the “Ghost Train” nightmare at Riverview, where the train ride stalls in a pitch-black tunnel and all manner of scary creatures — played by real people — emerge from the walls, reaching and grabbing. All this at seven years old…no wonder I’m a flippin nutcake.

FO

Photo credit: Chicago Tribune

And the award goes to…

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…Bernard Sadow. I’ll bet this is his favorite Gershwin tune:

They all laughed at Christopher Columbus when he said the world was round.
They all laughed when Edison recorded sound.
They all laughed at Wilbur and his brother when they said that man could fly.
They told Marconi wireless was a phony, it’s the same old cry.

When Bernie took his idea for suitcases on wheels to major retailers in New York City back in 1970, they thought he was nuts.

He’d received an epiphany while standing in line at customs in Puerto Rico and watching a man move some machinery on a wheeled platform:

I said to my wife, That’s what we need! We need wheels on luggage.”

Macy’s finally saw the light, and the rest is history. Where would we be without these wheely wonders today? Schlepping our stuff a lot slower. And it’s such a simple concept; one that definitely belongs in the “Wish I’d Thought of That” category, ja? Yep, happy birthday to luggage on wheels.

Who’s got the last laugh now?

It’s Wednesday. We’re halfway there, luvs.

FO


Want a sad story?

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I know, you don’t. But check it out anyway. The Heisman events of late brought to my mind a situation that makes Reggie Bush’s “loss” pretty much laughable.

If you’ve never heard of Fatty Arbuckle, you’re probably not alone. His persona has basically been lost to history for decades. But boy, was he a contenda — until the wheels fell off and he was destroyed by innuendo and sensationalism.

In 1918, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle became the first Hollywood actor to sign a contract for $1 million. His physical grace and athletic abilities despite his huge size were legendary. His contemporaries (Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and a very young Bob Hope, to name a few) admired him. The world was his oyster.

Then he went to a party in San Francisco over Labor Day in 1921. Several hours into the bash, a girl named Virginia Rappe ran screaming from a bedroom in the house. Four days later, she came down with an infection and died. Arbuckle was arrested and arraigned for rape and murder.

The rape was particularly brutal (I won’t go into the details here, but you can research it yourself to learn the nauseating facts), and many figured that the only person with the requisite size and strength to pull it off was Roscoe (his friends never called him “Fatty”). People assumed and figured, concocted and presupposed, and before long, Arbuckle was persona non grata in Hollywood. His career was over. There was just one little issue, however.

He didn’t do it.

He endured not only the scorn of his erstwhile adoring public, but the systematic deconstruction of the career he’d spent years building through touring with burlesque and vaudeville companies. Close friends refused to believe he’d done such a horrible thing, but with the combination of an overly-ambitious prosecutor looking for reelection, and a maniacal publisher (Wm. Randolph Hearst) dying to sell newspapers, Arbuckle was doomed. It was the first time that a major movie star was involved in such a spectacular scandal, and everyone wanted their piece of the action.

It was also the first time in the history of American justice that a jury later issued a formal, written apology. Even though they acquitted Arbuckle (at his THIRD trial) for the crime and set him free, they knew his life was irreparably shattered. In their letter to him and to the public, they said in a desperate plea for people to forgive and forget:

Acquittal is not enough for Roscoe Arbuckle. We feel that a great injustice has been done him … there was not the slightest proof adduced to connect him in any way with the commission of a crime. He was manly throughout the case and told a straightforward story which we all believe. We wish him success and hope that the American people will take the judgment of fourteen men and women that Roscoe Arbuckle is entirely innocent and free from all blame.”

Too bad it didn’t work out that way. He never recovered from the scandal. He died in 1933.

So, it’s no wonder people like Reggie Bush are counting their blessings today, Heisman or no Heisman. It could have been a lot worse.

But hey, let’s end this on a positive note: BOOMR ARRIVES TONIGHT!!!

:-)

If I live to see the Seven Wonders

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Sorry, Stevie Nicks, but what exactly does that lyric mean? You could live to be a thousand and still not see the Seven Wonders. Why? Because only one of them actually exists.

As I was clicking through the Amazing Fact Generator at Mental Floss, I came across this factoid:

Of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, 3 fell due to earthquakes, 2 due to fires, 1 probably never even existed, and only one stands today—The Pyramid of Khufu.

I thought to myself: can I even name the Seven Wonders? So I came right to Finkville and opened up a new post without looking anywhere else. In all transparency, here are my guesses:

  1. The Great Pyramids (well obviously)
  2. Stonehenge
  3. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
  4. Um, lessee…those creepy, monolithic, huge stone face thingies on Easter Island
  5. The Sphinx?
  6. Yikes…
  7. Moo.

eek. I’m dumm.

So now I shall research properly, if for no other reason than to retain the distinction of being your one-stop shop for useless tripe.

The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World are:

#1. The Pyramid of Khufu. The first and largest of the pyramids at the necropolis in Giza, Egypt, this monument was erected for the pharaoh Khufu. Known as the Great Pyramid, it rises about 450 feet (having lost about 30 feet off the top over the years) and covers 13 acres. (Description courtesy CNN Destinations)

I thought the Sphinx was a separate wonder, but it’s just part of the necropolis. So I wasn’t all wrong, ja?

[But I was completely wrong about Stonehenge. If I’d read the factoid carefully, I would have noticed that it said that only one Wonder still exists. Helloooo.]

#2. The Colossus of Rhodes. It must have been a sight to behold: a 110-foot-high monster of stone columns, iron bars and bronze outer skin. It stood tall for over 60 years, until an earthquake toppled it in 224 BC. Cut Helios right down at the knees, actually. Ptolemy III offered to pay for its reconstruction, but an oracle was consulted and he advised against it.

Nothing remains of the statue today, and its original location remains the subject of debate.~

#3. The Lighthouse of Alexandria. Built with marble and mortar, this ancient wonder guided mariners to the small island of Pharos, beginning in 279 BC, depending on whom you ask. Records from Moorish travelers in the tenth century AD indicate the lighthouse stood what we would call 450 feet high.

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The searchlight function was likely achieved by burning dried animal dung, which I’m sure was a delightful experience on nights when the breezes blew inland.
~
#4. The Mausoleum at Halicarnassos. Built by Artemisia, wife of the ruler Mausolus in what is present-day Turkey, this tomb featured gorgeous friezes and sculptures. At 143 feet high, it stood over the city of Halicarnassos for some 17 centuries, until a series of earthquakes shattered the columns and sent the whole thing crashing to the ground. By 1404 AD, only the very base of the Mausoleum was still recognizable.
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In 1846, the British Museum sent archaeologist Charles Newton to search for remains of the tomb. He excavated the site and found the statues of Mausolus and Artemisia that had stood at the entrance. These figures are now on display at the British Museum.
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#5. The Temple of Artemis. The gods apparently did not want this structure to stand, as it was built three times and destroyed three times. Built in 550 BC in the city of Ephesus, it stood in honor of Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Some guy named Herostratus, who wanted his fifteen minutes of fame, burned the structure to the ground in 356 BC. It was rebuilt, then destroyed again — twice.
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The ruins can be seen here.
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#6. The Statue of Zeus. Built at the city of Olympia in 435 BC, the statue was added to a temple in order to gussy it up a bit. Made of ivory, the gold-robe-draped Zeus had a wreath around his head, and held a figure of Nike, his messenger, in his right hand. The statue was later moved to Constantinople (modern-day Istanbul), where it was destroyed by fire in 462 AD. Of all the Wonders, it ranks third in longevity.
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#7. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. This tale comes out of Baghdad, formerly the ancient city of Babylon. Many historians call it a myth. (Still, the Fink is not here to judge, but to deliver the goods.) According to legend, King Nebuchadnezzar wanted to build for his wife an amazing green retreat in the middle of the desert, so he had workers construct 400 square feet of garden, 75 feet above ground. Water from the Euphrates was carried up to irrigate the greenery — an act which almost certainly would have had a negative effect on the brick structure beneath, and therefore adds to the dubious nature of the story. At any rate, the “hanging” gardens likely did not actually hang; rather than being suspended, they were probably “overhanging” the wall edges, as depicted in the drawing. Chalk that up to faulty Greek translation.
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And there you have it. I have learned something this day, having never even heard of most of these places. Now I shall commit them to memory. And on that note…
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J’ever notice that you can usually only name six of the seven dwarfs before getting stumped? Or just six of the seven deadly sins? The seven seas? The seven continents? The seven Horcruxes? Or the seven colors of the rainbow without using Roy G. Biv?
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All right, I’m hungry now. Time for breakfast — mayhap to feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats and…
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Happy Finkday, in thy mercy.
:P