Stupid History: Tales of Stupidity, Strangeness, and Mythconceptions Throughout the Ages

by Leland Gregory

  The Late Winner

  Some of the earliest Olympic events made synchronized swimming look about as sissified as, well, synchronized swimming. One such event was called the pankration, a mix of boxing, wrestling, and endurance that had virtually no rules. During the pankration event in 564 B.C., Arrachion of Phigalia earned a place in the record books, but not just because he won the bout. Arrachion’s opponent, whose name is now forgotten, conceded the event. Arrachion, as he lay on the ground, was declared the winner by default, but he refused to stand and claim victory. Was it because he was exhausted, overcome with the joy of victory, perhaps? No. It was because he was dead. Since the bout had already been decided, Arrachion became the only dead person in history to win an Olympic event. Making the pankration less like a triathlon than a die-athlon.

  The 1900 Olympic Games held in Paris included croquet,

  billiards, archery, cricket, golf, rowing, rugby, soccer, tennis,

  water polo, tug-of-war, handball, and fishing.

  As Good As Gold

  As a prospector in Colorado in the 1860s, John Howard was unfamiliar with civil law, but he was well versed in mining laws. So when his wife, Mary E. Howard, sued for divorce, John did not contest it, instead he sent a “quitclaim” deed to the Denver City Court of Chancery.

  I, John Howard, of Canon City, of the first part, do hereby give, grant, bargain, convey, and quit-claim, all my right, title and interest in the following (un) real estate, to wit:

  The undivided whole of that ancient estate known as Mary Howard (the title of which I acquired by discovery, occupancy, possession and use), situated at present in the town of Denver, Jefferson Territory, together with all the improvements made and erected by me whereon, with all the rents, profits, easements, enjoyments, long suffering and appurtenances thereto in anywise appertaining, unto ________________ of the second part, to have and to hold unto the said ______________ so long as he can keep her, without recourse upon the grantor or endorser.

  In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and seal, this, the 24th of January 1861.

  Signed, JOHN HOWARD

  Signed in the presence of A. Rudd, Clerk of District Court.

  You’ll notice that John courteously left a blank space in case Mary’s future marital prospects panned out.

  The monkey wrench was invented by London

  blacksmith Charles Moncke. When his wrench was

  brought to the United States, people pronounced

  its name as a possessive, “Moncke’s wrench,” which

  over time became “monkey wrench.”

  You’ve Got Mail!

  You may never have heard of Alan Ralsky, but you’ve probably seen his work. Ralsky became a multimillionaire by marketing spam on the Internet. In November 2002, Detroit Free Press columnist Mike Wendland wrote a story about Ralsky including the fact that his company sent up to 250 million e-mails a day—the profits from which he used to purchase an 8,000-square-foot, $740,000 home. Ralsky even bragged during the interview that a single weight-loss e-mail paid for an entire wing of his mansion.

  A group of anti-spammers who were tired of people like Ralsky making their virtual experience a living hell decided to give Ralsky a taste of his own spam. They posted his home address, e-mail address, and phone number on hundreds of Web sites. Soon Ralsky began receiving literally tons of junk mail, and his inbox was maxed out every morning. What was Ralsky’s reaction? The same as ours since people like him began littering the Information Superhighway—he was pissed. “They’ve signed me up for every advertising campaign and mailing list there is,” Ralsky complained. “These people are out of their minds! They’re harassing me!” Spam is a revenge best served cold.

  The Dead Sea isn’t a sea, it’s actually a lake.

  Up, Up, and Away in My Beautiful Balloon

  “What goes up must come down” couldn’t be a more fitting phrase for illustrious French inventor Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier. In 1783, Pilâtre de Rozier, a pioneer in the development of lighter-than-air balloons, became the first person in history to ascend into the heavens in the basket of a hot-air balloon. A few years later, wanting to make history again by being the first person to float across the English Channel, Pilâtre de Rozier created a hybrid balloon consisting of two compartments—one containing hydrogen (a highly explosive lighter-than-air gas), and the other compartment using traditional air heated by an open flame. Theoretically, having an open flame near a highly combustible gas should lead to an explosive disaster, and on June 15, 1785, Pilâtre de Rozier proved that theory correct. About fifteen minutes into his flight, the flame ignited the hydrogen gas, and Pilâtre de Rozier’s balloon exploded into flames, plummeting Pilâtre de Rozier’s not-lighter-than-air body 3,000 feet to the ground—making him not only the first person to ascend in a balloon but also the first person to die in one.

  In a Class by Itself

  In 1917, at the height of World War I, the Germans declared unrestricted submarine warfare (sinking merchant ships without warning) in an attempt to cut off trade and supplies to Britain. The British Admiralty decided to produce their answer to the German U-boats—a fleet of 325-foot-long steam-powered submarines called K Class submarines that were soon nicknamed the Kalamity Class. Here’s why:• K1 collided with K4 off the Danish coast on November 18, 1917, and was purposely sunk to avoid capture.

  • K2 caught fire on her maiden dive.

  • K3 sank for no apparent reason (with the Prince of Wales aboard) and then mysteriously surfaced again.

  • K5 was lost due to unknown reasons during a mock battle in the Bay of Biscay on January 20, 1921. The submarine signaled she was diving, and nothing was ever heard from her again.

  • K13 sank on January 19, 1917, during sea trials, when an intake failed to close while submerging and her engine room flooded. She was eventually salvaged and recommissioned as K22 in March 1917.

  • Two K Class boats were lost in an incident known as the “Battle” of May Island on January 31, 1918. The cruiser HMS Fearless collided with the K17 lead submarine, which sank in about eight minutes. In an attempt to get out of the cruiser’s way, K4 was struck by K6, nearly cutting her in half, and was then struck by K7 before she finally sank with all her crew. At the same time, K22 (the recommissioned K13) and K14 collided, although both survived. In a little over an hour and fifteen minutes, two submarines had been sunk, three badly damaged, and 105 crewmembers killed.

  • Only one K Class boat ever engaged an enemy vessel, hitting a German U-boat with a torpedo—which failed to explode. In 1918 (after the accidental deaths of some 250 British sailors), the K Class project was abandoned.

  People who lived centuries ago weren’t as stupid

  as we may believe they were. Chicken pox isn’t called that

  because people thought the disease was carried by chickens.

  It comes from the phonetic evolution of the Old English

  name gican (“itching”) pox.

  Come Fly with Me

  In the early 1950s, at the height of the Cold War, the Pentagon was an open wallet when it came to defense contractors and newly devised weapons of war. It seemed like all the cool weapons had already been made—so how about a supersonic jet fighter on skis! Enter the Convair F2Y Sea Dart. The jet was devised with a set of retractable skis so it could take off and land without the use of an aircraft carrier. How successful was it? Only five prototypes were made—only three were flown, and only two came back. The first demonstration on April 9, 1953, was called off because the skis caused the plane to shake too violently. For the second demonstration, the plane was fitted with new skis and new engines, and the result was different—it disintegrated in midair in front of navy officials and the press. The Pentagon was embarrassed by the outcome, not because the plane was a failure or because the test pilot had died, but because they had already ordered and paid for twelve F2Y Sea Darts. Convair made millions of dollars, and we got the prequel to the first really fast Jet Ski!


  Chalk, the type used on blackboards, is not chalk.

  It’s calcined gypsum (commonly known as plaster of Paris).

  Canvassing History

  Close your eyes and imagine (well, read this sentence first, and then close your eyes and see the image of) one of the most famous paintings of American history—Washington Crossing the Delaware. It’s one of the most recognizable paintings, and one that still stirs the blood of any patriotic American: brave General Washington, standing in the boat, leading his men across the river to surprise the British at the Battle of Trenton on Christmas Eve, 1776. It has all the elements of a true painting of Americana—George Washington, Christmas, and weary soldiers. What it didn’t have was its facts straight. A German-American artist named Emanuel Leutze painted the work in 1851, seventy-five years after the battle; he used American tourists as models and the Rhine River for the Delaware. He got the style of the boat wrong, the clothing was incorrect, and even the American flag was wrong (the flag depicted hadn’t been created yet). But why let facts get in the way of a little history, right? And hey, it’s still a nice painting.

  Corned beef has nothing to do with the grain commonly

  called corn or maize. The corn in corned beef refers to the “corns”

  of salt, or rock salt, used in the pickling process of the meat.

  Two Kings, Three Queens, and a Big Joker

  In 1939, during a trip across Canada, King George VI and his wife, Queen Elizabeth, were greeted by Canadian prime minister MacKenzie King. The mayor of Winnipeg and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. John Queen, also greeted them. So in a bizarre but true variation of Abbott and Costello’s famous “Who’s on First” routine, here is a partial transcript from the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation announcement of the event:There’s the King—he’s stepping out, followed by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, nattily attired in a silver coat. Mr. King is now shaking hands with the King and introducing Mr. Queen to the King and Queen and then Mrs. Queen to the Queen and King. They are now proceeding up the steps to the well-decorated City Hall, the King and Mr. King together, with the Queen being escorted by Mrs. Queen. . . . The King leaves Mr. King and goes to Mrs. Queen, and the Queen and Mr. King follow behind. . . .

  When one person is heard constantly complaining, inevitably someone will remark, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” People do this because they think quoting Hamlet makes them sound smart, but it doesn’t, because they got the phrase and the meaning wrong. What Gertrude says in The Tragical History of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare is, “The lady protests too much, methinks,” meaning the lady “proclaims” too much, not “complains.”

  A Sticky Situation

  There have been many revolutionary weapons that changed the face of warfare forever: the longbow, the cannon, the Gatling gun, the atomic bomb, and so on. Then there have been weapons that were revolutionary only in their level of stupidity—case in point, Hand Grenade Number 74 (ST). Experts during World War II were confronted with the problem of strategically using hand grenades against tanks. A metal hand grenade hitting a metal tank usually bounced harmlessly off before it exploded. Hand Grenade Number 74 (ST) was the answer, its proud designers bragged, as it was coated with a tacky substance that would stick to the tank. Problem solved. There was, however, one minor problem with using a sticky hand grenade, and that was its tendency to stick to the person throwing it before it stuck to the tank. With only five seconds before detonation, it goes without saying that there were few reorders for Hand Grenade Number 74 (ST). The manufacturer was basically stuck with a huge bomb.

  Horned toads are not toads—they are lizards.

  You’re Not in Kansas Anymore

  They’re some of the most famous footwear in history—the ruby red slippers Dorothy wore in The Wizard of Oz. But in L. Frank Baum’s original novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900), he had her wearing silver slippers. So why did they change it in the movie? Because, when shot in Technicolor, red looked more brilliant than silver.

  Myth

  IOU stands for “I owe you.”

  Truth

  Who would accept a promissory note that didn’t include the lender’s

  name? An IOU from a borrower originally meant “I Owe Unto,”

  followed by the name of the person who loaned the money.

  Please Tread Lightly

  While we’re on the subject of mismatched shoes, in the original story of Cinderella, her infamous glass slippers were actually made of fur. When Charles Perrault finally wrote down the story in 1697 (it had been passed down orally for centuries), he mistook vair (“ermine”) for verre (“glass”). Which makes much more sense, because even though they sound more romantic, glass slippers could cause more damage than just blisters. Perrault realized his mistake, but by that time, the story was so popular, he chose to leave it as it was.

  Brass buttons on the sleeves of military uniforms

  don’t actually button up anything, but they

  do serve a purpose. In 1812, while the French army

  was sloshing through Russia in the dead of winter,

  Napoleon grew tired of watching his soldiers

  wipe their noses with their sleeves. He ordered the

  brass buttons removed from the uniforms of

  the dead and sewn onto his soldiers’ sleeves

  in order to curb the habit.

  It’s a Small World After All

  In geography class, we’ve been taught there are seven continents (Africa, Antarctica, Asia, Australia, Europe, North America, and South America), right? But look at any globe, and you’ll see there are really only six (Africa, Antarctica, Australia, Eurasia, North America, and South America). The boundary between Europe and Asia is artificial; ancient Greek mapmakers thought the two regions were separated almost entirely by water from the Aegean to the North Sea. In another case of don’t believe what you see but what you’ve been taught, the incorrect “seven continents” theory is still the norm. This is a case of either tradition beating out the truth or Europeans not wanting to be considered part of Asia.

  Church officials, not knowing whether Saint Patrick was born

  on March 8 or March 9, decided to honor him on March 17,

  the sum of the two dates.

  Nuts to You!

  You can buy almonds in their shells, or walnuts in their shells, or Brazil nuts in their shells, so why can’t you buy cashews in their shells? For the simple reason that cashews don’t have shells. But wait, don’t all nuts have shells? That’s true, but cashews aren’t nuts, they’re technically seeds. Peanuts aren’t nuts, either; they’re actually a species in the legume family.

  Jean Baptiste de Chateaubrun (1686-1775) spent

  forty years writing, rewriting, and polishing two plays that

  virtually constituted his life’s work. This was in

  the days before Auto-Save, and Chateaubrun became suicidal

  when he discovered his housekeeper had carelessly used

  the manuscripts as wrapping paper, losing them forever.

  The Domino Effect

  On June 9, 1978, at New York’s Manhattan Center, Mr. Bob Specas was in the final stages of beating a dominoes world record by knocking down 100,000 dominoes in a row. The media was out in droves documenting the historic event. As Specas leaned down to place domino number 97,499 in position, a nearby TV cameraman accidentally dropped his press badge and prematurely set off the dominoes. I’m sure dominoes weren’t the only thing that got set off that day—Mr. Specas’s temper did, too.

  When workmen loaded and stoked the furnaces in Baltimore’s

  newly constructed Howard Hotel in 1912, they quickly

  learned they had a huge problem stacked against them—the

  smokestacks. They had forgotten to build chimneys.

  What a Stupid Beep, Beep, Beep

  The first message sent by Morse code was, “What hath God wrought?” It’s a memorable, heartwarming message, but it wasn’t the
one sent. Samuel Morse’s first message was actually, “Everything worked well.” It was in a later public demonstration on May 24, 1844, at the Supreme Court Room in the Capitol that Morse sent the memorable message, “What hath God wrought?” It wasn’t even Morse’s idea to send that particular message—it was Annie Ellsworth, daughter of the commissioner of patents, who suggested it.

  SOS in Morse code does not stand for “Save Our Souls,”

  nor does it stand for “Save Our Ship,” “Survivors on Ship,”

  “Save Our Sailors,” “Stop Other Signals,” or

  “Send Out Sailors”—it doesn’t stand for anything.

  SOS is the international distress signal:

  three dots/three dashes/three dots all run together.