Fact of the Day

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - BARBARIC BUTTER

Did you know... Our friends in ancient Rome indulged in a lot of activities that we would find unseemly today — including and especially gladiators fighting to the death — but they drew the line at eating butter. To do so was considered barbaric, with Pliny the Elder going so far as to call butter “the choicest food among barbarian tribes.” In addition to a general disdain for drinking too much milk, Romans took issue with butter specifically because they used it for treating burns and thus thought of it as a medicinal salve, not a food. 

 

They weren’t alone in their contempt. The Greeks also considered the dairy product uncivilized, and “butter eater” was among the most cutting insults of the day. In both cases, this can be partly explained by climate — butter didn’t keep as well in warm southern climates as it did in northern Europe, where groups such as the Celts gloried in their butter. Instead, the Greeks and Romans relied on olive oil, which served a similar purpose. To be fair, though, Romans considered anyone who lived beyond the Empire’s borders (read: most of the world) to be barbarians, so butter eaters were in good company.

 

Nero didn’t actually fiddle while Rome burned.
It would have been impossible for him to do so, as the fiddle didn’t exist yet. That’s not to say that Nero was a good emperor (or person), however. In addition to murdering his mother, first wife, and possibly his second wife as well, Nero may have even started the infamous fire that burned for six days in 64 CE and destroyed 70% of the city so that he could expand his Golden Palace and nearby gardens. (Or at least, that’s what some of the populace and some ancient writers suspected.) For all that, Rome’s fifth emperor wasn’t entirely reviled during his time — and it’s been suggested that his cruelty was at least somewhat exaggerated by later historians who were looking to smear his dynastic line, known as the Julio-Claudians. And he was a gifted musician who played the cithara, an ancient stringed instrument similar to a lyre — just not the fiddle.

 

 

Source: The ancient Romans thought eating butter was barbaric.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - THE TITANIC

Did you know... The ‘Titanic’ didn’t sink immediately on the early morning of April 15, 1912.

 

On April 14, 1912, the RMS Titanic collided with an iceberg, kicking off one of the 20th century’s most devastating civilian catastrophes. But the date typically cited for the ship’s sinking is April 15. And that’s because, as anyone who’s seen James Cameron’s Titanic (1997) already knows, the vessel didn’t plunge immediately to its icy doom—the whole process took a good two hours and change.

 

Ship Meets Iceberg

The starboard side of the Titanic brushed up against the iceberg at 11:40 p.m. the night of April 14, causing enough damage that at least five watertight compartments in the hull began to fill with water. After a brief investigation, the ship’s chief designer Thomas Andrews determined that they wouldn’t be able to stay afloat, and by midnight, the crew had started preparing the lifeboats.

 

The scene over the next two hours gradually escalated into pandemonium as passengers were roused from their berths and loaded—women and children first—into a fleet of lifeboats that clearly couldn’t accommodate everyone. At about 2 a.m., the ship’s bow had tipped so far beneath the surface that its stern was partially above the water, and at 2:17 a.m., wireless operator Jack Phillips transmitted one last distress call.

 

Beneath the Surface

 

Over the next three or so minutes, the lights would shut off, and the bow’s downward trajectory would force the stern to break from the ship. It’s generally believed that the bow started to sink, and the stern moved into a vertical position before sinking, too.

 

By 2:20 a.m., the Titanic had vanished. As for how long it took for the ship to actually hit the ocean floor, it depends on whom you ask. In his book The Discovery of the Titanic, Robert Ballard—the oceanographer who discovered the wreck—estimated that the descent may have lasted just six minutes, though he made it clear that “there are simply too many variables involved” to be sure.

 

Where Did the Titanic Sink?
The Titanic sank in the North Atlantic Ocean about 370 miles southeast of Newfoundland. Its rough position wasn’t a mystery—after all, ships showed up to rescue survivors in the area. But technology to locate lost shipwrecks wasn’t very advanced in 1912, and it would be another 73 years before Ballard and his team found the vessel some 13,000 feet under the surface.

 

 

Source: How Long Did It Take for the ‘Titanic’ to Sink?

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the Day - PUBLIC CONTESTS

Did you know... Like many classic Hollywood stars, Joan Crawford was known by a stage name rather than her real name. Born Lucille Fay LeSueur, the future Oscar winner made her silver-screen debut in 1925’s Lady of the Night under her birth name. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, which had signed her to a $75-a-week contract, saw potential in the starlet but feared her name would be a hindrance; Pete Smith, the head of publicity at MGM, thought her surname sounded too much like the word “sewer.” 

 

So the upper brass at MGM landed on a novel solution: a contest run in the fan magazine Movie Weekly, which offered between $50 and $500 for coming up with a new name for “a beautiful young screen actress.” The perfect name, according to MGM, “must be moderately short and euphonious. It must not imitate the name of some already established artiste. It must be easy to spell, pronounce, and remember. It must be impressive and suitable to the bearer’s type.”

 

The winner, as fate would have it, wasn’t Joan Crawford; it was Joan Arden, which was already the name of an extra who threatened to sue MGM. And so the second-place winner was chosen instead, not that the new Joan Crawford was happy about it — she initially hated the name before making the most of it.

 

Crawford accepted her Oscar from bed.
After a string of hits in the late 1920s and early ’30s, Crawford’s luck so reversed itself that she was deemed “box-office poison” in TIME magazine by the end of the decade. Her comeback wasn’t fully solidified until she took the title role in 1945’s Mildred Pierce, which resulted in her sole Academy Award — not that she was expecting to win.

 

Believing Ingrid Bergman would take home the Oscar for The Bells of St. Mary’s, Crawford was disinclined to attend any ceremony where she wouldn’t be victorious and opted to feign illness. Upon learning she’d won, however, she put on her makeup, invited members of the press to her bedroom, and accepted the statuette from the comfort of her own bed.

 

Source: Joan Crawford’s stage name came from a public contest.

[DarkRavie]

Fact of the day - KIDNAPPED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

Did you know... Milne was neither rich nor famous, but his grandfather was both.

 

The three young men walking along Old York Road in late December of 1935 were about to come across a sight they'd remember for the rest of their lives. There, lying in a ditch at the bottom of a hill just outside Doylestown, Pennsylvania, was a man. His wrists, knees, and ankles were bound; his mouth and eyes were taped shut. He was missing his socks and had only one shoe, the other lost as he tumbled down the hill from the roadway above.

 

The boys flagged down a motorist, who quickly worked to get the man loose from his bonds and into his vehicle. The stranger moaned as he was driven to the hospital. There, doctors discovered a series of puncture marks on his arm.

 

Before long, word came down from authorities: The man was confirmed to be 24-year-old Caleb Milne IV, who had been missing for the better part of a week. Kidnappers had demanded $20,000 for his safe return. While this was a considerable sum during the Great Depression, Milne’s grandfather, Caleb Milne II, was an incredibly wealthy businessman—and from the looks of things, the elder Milne had finally consented to pay for his grandson’s life.

 

Soon, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover declared the Milne case was “definitely” a kidnapping. But Hoover’s agents would quickly learn there was far more to the crime. As Milne began to talk, he detailed another story even more sensational than his abduction.

 

The Special Delivery
The Milne family arrived in the United States from Scotland in 1837, when David Milne immigrated and founded a textile company in Philadelphia. The business was passed down through generations before arriving in the hands of Caleb Milne II, who sired Milne III, who raised Milne IV.

 

Despite his grandfather’s fortune, Milne IV (heretofore just Milne) was set on his own path in life. A graduate of Germantown Academy and the University of Pennsylvania, Milne was a trim 5 feet, 11 inches tall and photogenic. His interests leaned toward the arts, and he settled in New York City to pursue a theater career, taking odd jobs while going on auditions. He shared an apartment on 157 East 37th Street with his brother, Frederic, which cost the two $15 a week.

 

On Saturday, December 14, 1935, Frederic awoke to a scribbled note. Milne had written he was off to Philadelphia with a “Dr. Greene of Gracie Square.” Gracie Square was a psychiatric hospital in New York.

 

Frederic was unconcerned by the note and thought little of it until the following morning, when he received a letter right at 6 a.m. It came via special Sunday delivery. Inside was a missive composed of letters clipped from magazines, a technique familiar to any mystery fiction writer.

 

“We have your brother in the country,” it read. “Keep in touch with your grandfather in Philadelphia and have a large sum in cash available. We will communicate with you again.” Ominously, the ransom note was accompanied by Milne’s wristwatch.

 

Frederic notified police, who tried to track down a Doctor Greene at Gracie Square to no avail. Milne’s landlord informed them that Milne hurried out of the building after receiving a phone call, insisting his grandfather had fallen ill and that he needed to tend to him. But the older Milne was fine. They contacted Milne’s mother, Frederica, as well as his aunt Anita, who spoke to the press.

 

“I can’t give any information except that Caleb has been kidnapped in New York and that a ransom note has been received,” she said. “Naturally, we are all very upset at this occurrence.”

 

East Coast newspapers quickly picked up on the story, which invited plenty of morbid curiosity. The victim was an attractive young man—“more than ordinarily handsome,” Frederic said—whose grandfather was wealthy. His safe return seemed to hinge on his grandfather’s capitulation to criminals.

 

Milne II, however, didn’t seem all that bothered, and didn’t seem to regard the ransom note with much gravity. Police in New York, he said, weren’t alarmed and considered him a missing, not kidnapped, person. “I don’t think there is anything to worry about,” he said. “I think he just stayed away and his brother became excited.”

 

As the week wore on, more reports came in. The ransom was $20,000, or possibly $25,000. It was said that Milne II received a demand for even more money—$50,000—and that the kidnappers had phoned him at his home. “Philadelphia is still the place,” a voice said. “We will—” Then the call cut off.

 

Soon, federal agents were descending on the various Milne residences. A mailman was said to be detained after delivering a suspiciously large number of letters. One reporter observed Milne’s aunt being ushered into a vehicle quickly, leading to speculation she might be en route to greet Milne—or Milne’s body.

 

Finally, on Wednesday, December 18, Milne was discovered near Doylestown, bound and bedraggled. As he convalesced, he explained to authorities that four men, one of whom had claimed to be a doctor, had taken him by force outside his apartment and driven him to a cabin hideout near Doylestown. There, he said, they kept him groggy with narcotics by administering injections. With the ransom paid and his usefulness gone, he was tossed down the hill from a moving vehicle.

 

Upon his arrival at the hospital, Milne was thought to be in too much distress for further questioning by agents, but after several hours, he finally agreed to talk. He would soon wish he hadn’t.

 

A Likely Story
Federal agents who questioned Milne were curious about the 26 puncture marks on his arm. That many injections, they reasoned, would likely result in a fatal dose of narcotics over such a short period of time. And there was another inconsistency: Milne told investigators he had been driven through the Holland Tunnel and checked his wristwatch, which read 11 a.m. But the ransom note sent to Frederic and containing Milne’s wristwatch had been postmarked prior to 11 a.m. How could he have known what time it was without his watch?

 

Law enforcement asked Milne to repeat his story over and over again. Each time, the details failed to add up. The way he was bound could have been an act of self-restraint, with a slipknot to make cinching it easy. Inside his hat they found hairs belonging to a wig.

 

Finally, Milne confessed. He was not a kidnap victim but had instead played the part of one. During his “disappearance,” he merely fled to a hotel in Trenton, New Jersey, where he donned a disguise and deployed the ransom demand to his grandfather. After waiting, he traveled to Pennsylvania, bound himself, and tumbled down the hill to be found. The needle marks were made with a pin.

 

“I admit that my alleged kidnapping was perpetuated by myself,” he wrote. “Because of my desperate financial condition and inability to find a job, I felt … that if I could get some publicity I could get a job.”

 

Authorities were further amused to discover Milne was also an aspiring author and had written a short mystery story, “The Perfect Crime,” two weeks prior to his self-imposed exile.

His grandfather, Milne II, was as laconic after the confession as he had been during the so-called kidnapping. “You know, my grandson had those G-men fooled very badly,” he said.

 

The justice system was less amused. Milne was charged with extortion and held over on $7500 bond (more than $178,000 today), which his father posted. In February 1936, a grand jury failed to formally indict him, allowing Milne to dodge a possible 20 years in prison and a $5000 fine.

 

There were still consequences to the staging of his own kidnapping. Upon his grandfather’s death in 1941, Milne learned he had been denied any inheritance: His grandfather had written him out of his will. (His father and uncles split a $431,000 estate.)

 

Milne himself would only outlive his grandfather by just two years. In 1943, while volunteering as an ambulance driver in Tunisia, he was killed when enemy fire sent shells in his direction. At the time, Milne was attempting to rescue two injured men from the battlefield.

 

His obituaries hailed his heroism, though never failed to mention the scheme he had perpetuated years earlier that had briefly fooled federal agents. But the New York detectives apparently knew something they did not. In their files, Milne’s initial missing persons report was marked with one addendum: “publicity.”

 

 

Source: Caleb Milne, the 1930s Actor Kidnapped in Broad Daylight