During World War II the poet Robert Lowell refused to register for the draft and spent a few days in the West Street Jail next to mobster Louis “Lepke” Buchalter.
Lepke told him, “I’m in for killing. What are you in for?”
Accomplishments of Max Woosnam, the “greatest British sportsman”:
Won gold and silver medals in tennis (on the same day) at the 1920 Olympics
Won the doubles title at Wimbledon
Compiled a maximum break of 147 in snooker
Made a century (100 or more runs in a single innings) at Lord’s Cricket Ground
Captained the British Davis Cup team
Captained Manchester City Football Club to runner-up for the Football League Championship of 1920–21
Captained the England national football team
At Cambridge he represented the university at football, cricket, lawn tennis, real tennis, and golf. He was chosen to captain the British football team at the Olympics but had to decline, as he’d already committed to the tennis team. And he once beat Charlie Chaplin at table tennis with a butter knife.
He’s not well remembered today because he never gave an interview and considered it “vulgar” to play professionally. “He achieved so much more than so many modern sportsmen without ever receiving or asking for a fraction of the praise or attention,” his daughter Penny recalls. “It would have been all too easy for him to make more of a name for himself, to seek out a place in the newspapers, but that just wasn’t him, just wasn’t what he was all about.”
Bishop Porteus, whom in all conversations about him George III called the Queen’s Bishop, was asked by her Majesty, at a period when all ladies were employed (when they had nothing better to do) in knotting, whether she might knot on a Sunday. He answered, ‘You may not;’ leaving her Majesty to decide whether, as knot and not were in sound alike, she was, or was not, at liberty so to employ herself on that day.
On Sept. 21, 1849, naturalist and explorer Philip Henry Gosse wrote in his diary:
E. delivered of a son. Received green swallow from Jamaica.
The son grew up to be poet, author, and critic Edmund Gosse, who wrote:
“This entry has caused amusement, as showing that he was as much interested in the bird as in the boy. But this does not follow; what the wording exemplifies is my Father’s extreme punctilio.
“The green swallow arrived later in the day than the son, and the earlier visitor was therefore recorded first; my Father was scrupulous in every species of arrangement.”
Monster a Go-Go! stops rather than ends. Director Bill Rebane abandoned the science fiction horror film in 1961 after running out of money, and Herschell Gordon Lewis picked it up in 1965 to pair with one of his own movies as a double feature. By that time the original cast were unavailable to complete the filming, so Lewis had to make do with what he had, which led to some awkward moments. At the end, as scientists are closing in on the radioactive monster that has replaced astronaut Frank Douglas, it suddenly disappears and a narrator says:
As if a switch had been turned, as if an eye had been blinked, as if some phantom force in the universe had made a move eons beyond our comprehension, suddenly, there was no trail! There was no giant, no monster, no thing called ‘Douglas’ to be followed. There was nothing in the tunnel but the puzzled men of courage, who suddenly found themselves alone with shadows and darkness! With the telegram, one cloud lifts, and another descends. Astronaut Frank Douglas, rescued, alive, well, and of normal size, some 8,000 miles away in a lifeboat, with no memory of where he has been, or how he was separated from his capsule! Then who, or what, has landed here? Is it here yet? Or has the cosmic switch been pulled? Case in point: The line between science fiction and science fact is microscopically thin! You have witnessed the line being shaved even thinner! But is the menace with us? Or is the monster gone?
What does this mean? None of it is explained. Lewis called his film a parody, but Rebane called it “the worst picture in the world.”
Mr. Zimmermann, whose will was proved in 1840, accompanied the directions for his funeral, in case they were not carried out, with something like a threat. In his will he says, ‘No person is to attend my corpse to the grave, nor is any funeral bell to be rung, and my desire is to be buried plainly, but in a decent manner; and, if this be not done, I will come again — that is to say, if I can.’ The Countess Dowager of Sandwich, in her will, written by herself at the age of eighty, proved in November, 1862, expresses her ‘wish to be buried decently and quietly — no undertaker’s frauds or cheating; no scarfs, hatbands, or nonsense.’ Mrs. Kitty Jenkyn Packe Reading, although evidently possessed of sufficient means, appears by her will, proved in April, 1870, to have been very anxious that one part, at least, of the expenses attending her funeral should be kept as low as possible. After saying she is to be placed first in a leaden and then in a wooden coffin, she provides that ‘If I die away from Branksome, I wish my remains, after being duly placed in the proper coffins, to be inclosed in a plain deal box, so that no one may know the contents, and conveyed by a goods train to Poole, which will cost no more than any other package of the same weight; from Poole station said box to be conveyed in a cart to Branksome Tower.’ … Mrs. Reading seems to have considered the details of her funeral with much minuteness; among other things she states ‘the easiest way to convey my coffin out of the house will be to take the window out of the dining-room.’
Suppose a king tours a chessboard, visiting each square once, never crossing his own path, and finishing where he starts. Inevitably he’ll have to make some horizontal and vertical moves; for example, in the tour above he makes 14 horizontal and 16 vertical moves.
Show that in any such tour of an 8 × 8 chessboard the sum of the horizontal and vertical moves must be at least 28.
The king must visit the perimeter squares of the chessboard in order; if he skips any he’ll be unable to visit them and get home again without crossing his own path. And since the perimeter squares alternate colors, the path to each successive perimeter square must involve at least one horizontal or vertical move (diagonal moves alone won’t bring the king to a new color). There are 28 perimeter squares, so the task requires at least 28 horizontal or vertical moves. Here’s a tour that requires exactly 28:
(From John J. Watkins, Across the Board: The Mathematics of Chessboard Problems, 2004.)
The esoteric programming language DOGO “heralds a new era of computer-literate pets.” Commands include:
SIT — If the value of the current memory cell is 0, jump to STAY.
STAY — If the value of the current memory cell is not 0, jump to SIT.
ROLL-OVER — Select the next operation in the operation list.
HEEL — Execute the currently selected operation.
Venus flytraps can “count.” When an insect contacts one of the triggering hairs between its hinged leaves, the trap prepares to close, but it won’t do so unless a second contact occurs within about 20 seconds. This spares the plant from wasting energy shutting on raindrops and other nonliving stimuli.
The plant will release a cocktail of prey-decomposing acidic enzymes after five stimuli, enough to “convince” it that it’s caught a creature worth consuming.