There was a young man from Pall Mall
Who went to a fancy dress ball.
Just for the fun
He dressed up as a bun;
And was eat by a dog in the hall.
— Anonymous, in A.C. McClurg, The Humbler Poets, 1910
Unquote
“He who is afraid to ask is ashamed of learning.” — Danish proverb
Locke was asked how he had contrived to accumulate a mine of knowledge so rich, yet so extensive and deep. He replied that he attributed what little he knew to the not having been ashamed to ask for information, and to the rule he had laid down of conversing with all descriptions of men on those topics chiefly that formed their own particular profession and pursuits. The best-informed men are undoubtedly those who adopt this rule.
— The Leisure Hour, 1883
An Earthy Diet
London had a curious visitor in the 17th century: Francis Battalia, an Italian said to subsist on stones. “His manner is to put three or four stones into a spoon, and so putting them into his mouth together, he swallows them all down one after another; then (first spitting) he drinks a glass of beer after them,” wrote John Bulwer in his Artificial Changeling of 1650. “He devours about half a peck of these stones every day, and when he chinks upon his stomach, or shakes his body, you may hear the stones rattle as if they were in a sack.”
A Dutch ship discovered a second stone eater on a northern island in 1757 and brought him to Avignon, where a Father Paulian declared himself “fully convinced that he is no cheat.” And in 1788 London exhibited a third such man, “the most Wonderful Phenomenon of the Age, who GRINDS and SWALLOWS STONES, &c.,” “subsisting on pebble flints, tobacco pipes, and mineral excrescences.”
What accounts for this? In Miracle Mongers and Their Methods (1920), Houdini wrote, “I watched several performances of one of these chaps who swallowed half a hatful of stones, nearly the size of hen’s eggs, and then jumped up and down to make them rattle in his stomach. I could discover no fake in the performance, and I finally gave him two and six for his secret, which was simple enough. He merely took a dose of powerful physic to clear himself of the stones, and was then ready for the next performance.” Draw your own conclusions.
Exit Smiling
In 1728, at age 23, Ben Franklin composed his own epitaph:
The Body of
B. Franklin, Printer
(Like the Cover of an old Book
Its Contents torn out
And shrift of its Lettering and Gilding)
Lies here, Food for Worms.
But the Work shall not be lost;
For it will, (as he believ’d) appear once more,
In a new and more elegant Edition
Revised and corrected,
By the Author.
Fifty-six years later, six years before his death in 1790, he wrote these lines:
If Life’s compared to a Feast,
Near Fourscore Years I’ve been a Guest;
I’ve been regaled with the best,
And feel quite satisfyd.
‘Tis time that I retire to Rest;
Landlord, I thank you! — Friends, Good Night.
Far Be It
In 2008, researchers at Oxford University found that subjects could reduce pain and swelling in an injured hand by viewing it through reversed binoculars.
Conversely, a magnified injury was more painful. “If it looks bigger, it looks sorer,” said physiologist G. Lorimer Moseley. “Therefore the brain acts to protect it.”
Thrice Sure
Three patricians of the coal yards fared forth on mercy bent, each in his great black chariot. Their overlord, the yard superintendent, had bade them deliver to seven families a total of twenty-eight tons of coal equally divided.
Well out of the yards, each with his first load, Kelly and Burke and Shea paused to discuss the problem of equal distribution — how much coal should each family get?
”Tis this way,’ argued Burke. ”Tis but a bit of mathematics. If there are 7 families an’ 28 tons o’ coal ye divide by 7, which is done as follows: Seven into 8 is 1, 7 into 21 is 3, which makes 13.’ He triumphantly exhibited his figures made with a stubby pencil on a bit of grimy paper:
The figures were impressive but Shea was not wholly convinced. ‘There’s a easy way o’ provin’ that,’ he declared. ‘Ye add 13 seven times,’ and he made his column of figures according to his own formula. Then, starting from the bottom of the 3 column, he reached the top with a total of 21 and climbed down the column of 1’s, thus; ‘3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28.’ ‘Burke is right,’ he announced with finality.
This was Shea’s exhibit:
‘There is still some doubt in me mind,’ said Kelly. ‘Let me demonstrate in me own way. If ye multiply the 13 by 7 and get 28, then 13 is right.’ He produced a bit of stubby pencil and a sheet of paper. ”Tis done in this way,’ he said. ‘Seven times 3 is 21; 7 times 1 is 7, which makes 28. ‘Tis thus shown that 13 is the right figure and ye’re both right. Would ye see the figures?’
Kelly’s feat in mathematics was displayed as follows;
‘There is no more argyment,’ the three agreed, so they delivered thirteen tons of coal to each family.
— Irvin S. Cobb, A Laugh a Day Keeps the Doctor Away, 1923
“Cryonics’ First Mardi Gras”
If you’re not doing anything next spring, head to Nederland, Colo., to celebrate Frozen Dead Guy Days, a three-day festival commemorating Bredo Morstoel, whose body is packed in dry ice in a Tuff Shed in the hills above town.
Bredo’s grandson Trygve Bauge imported the corpse from Norway in 1989 and stored it in liquid nitrogen; when Trygve was deported in 1993 and his mother evicted from her home, local businesses pitched in to keep the body preserved.
The annual festival includes coffin races (above), a hearse parade, lookalike contests, an ice-carving demonstration, documentaries (Grandpa’s in the Tuff Shed and Grandpa’s Still in the Tuff Shed), frozen turkey bowling, showshoe races, and snow sculpture contests. Nearby Glacier Ice Cream has even concocted a commemorative flavor, Frozen Dead Guy.
Bredo has been dead now for 20 years; psychics report he’s amused by all this but doing fine.
As Advertised
A well-known story is that of the showman who had a big placard on his tent, announcing that he was exhibiting a horse with his tail where his head ought to be. The inquisitive paid their money, were admitted within, beheld a horse turned around so that his tail was in the oat-bin, laughed shamefacedly, and then lingered outside the tent to watch their fellow-creatures get victimized in the same way.
— William Shepard Walsh, Handy-Book of Literary Curiosities, 1892
Phone Sects
WELL-EXPRESSED is dialed using only the odd numbers on a telephone keypad.
NONCOMMUNICATING uses only even numbers.
Surely this means something.
The Early Bird
Rutherford B. Hayes took the oath of office two days ahead of schedule, in a secret ceremony at the White House on March 3, 1877, attended by President Grant.
Hayes’ opponent, Samuel Tilden, had won the popular vote but lost the electoral college, and rumors were circulating that he planned to claim the presidency for himself.
That didn’t happen, and Hayes was inaugurated peacefully on March 5.
But, arguably, for those two days in March the United States had two presidents.