• Despite the large donation, the foundation was always running out of money.
• Singer Eddie Cantor (a popular radio personality) knew about Roosevelt’s concern for the foundation, and in 1937 he proposed to the president that he ask every American to send a dime to the White House to be used for polio research. Cantor suggested a name for the promotion: The March of Dimes.
• Roosevelt took his suggestion and made the appeal. The public response was enormous: on some days the White House was flooded with as many 150,000 letters containing dimes.
• The president became so closely associated with the March of Dimes that after his death in 1945, Congress voted to create the Roosevelt dime in his honor. The first ones were released to the public on January 30, 1946, Roosevelt’s birthday—and the traditional start of the March of Dimes annual fund-raising campaign.
• The vaccine for polio was announced on April 12, 1955, on the 10-year anniversary of Roosevelt’s death.
CATTLE CALL
• In about 2000 B.C., man began trading bronze ingots shaped like cows (which had about the same value as a real cow). The value of these “coins” was measured by weighing them—which meant that any time a transaction was made, someone had to get out a scale to measure the value of the money.
• Around 800 B.C., the Lydians of Anatolia—who traded bean-shaped ingots made of a gold-silver alloy called electrum—began stamping the ingot’s value onto its face. This eliminated the need for a scale and made transactions much easier.
A productive life: A queen ant can lay 30,000 eggs a month for up to 10 years.
• But switching to countable coins from weighed ones increased the chances of fraud—precious metals could be chipped or shaved off the edges of the coins. One of the techniques designed to prevent this is still evident on modern U.S. coins, even though they no longer contain precious metals. What is it? Feel the edges of a dime or a quarter. Those grooves were originally a way to tell if any metal had been shaved off.
ARE YOUR BILLS REAL?
Here are some anticounterfeit features of U.S. paper currency you probably didn’t know about:
The currency paper is fluorescent under ultraviolet light.
The ink is slightly magnetic—not enough for household magnets to detect, but enough for special machines to notice.
The paper has thousands of tiny microscopic holes “drilled” into it. Reason: when the money is examined under a microscope, tiny points of light shine through.
COIN FACTS
• The Director of the Mint gets to decide who appears on our coins, but the decisions have to be approved by the Treasury Secretary—and changes on any coin can’t be made more than once every 25 years.
• Prior to the assassination of President Lincoln, it was a longstanding tradition not to have portraits on U.S. coins. Symbols of liberty were used instead. The only reason Lincoln’s face got the nod: he was considered a human embodiment of liberty.
• If you design a portrait that gets used on a coin, you get to have your initials stamped in the coin alongside it. That’s normally an innocuous addition to the coin, but there have been exceptions: When the Roosevelt dime was released in 1946, some concerned anticommunists thought the initials “JS” (for designer John Sinnock) stood for Joseph Stalin. And when the John F. Kennedy memorial half-dollar was issued in 1964, some conspiracy theorists thought the letters “GR” (for Gilroy Roberts) were a tiny rendition of the communist hammer and sickle.
What a kisser: A full-grown hippo’s lips are about two feet wide.
OOPS!
More blunders to make you feel superior.
A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING
“At the end of World War II, the Allies issued the Potsdam telegram demanding that the Imperial Japanese armies surrender forthwith. The Japanese government responded with an announcement that it was withholding immediate comment on the ultimatum, pending ‘deliberations’ by the Imperial government.
“Unfortunately, the official Japanese government news agency, in the heat of issuing this critical statement in English, decided to translate the Japanese word that means ‘withholding comment for the time being’ as ‘deliberately ignore.’
“A number of scholars have suggested that if the ultimatum had not been so decisively rejected, President Truman might never have authorized the A-bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
—From David Frost’s Book of the World’s Worst Decisions
CONTROL FREAKS
“The March 21, 1983, issue of Time magazine featured Lee Iacocca on the cover, along with a tease for Henry Kissinger’s ‘New Plan for Arms Contol.’ After two hundred thousand of the covers had been printed, someone noticed a typographical error—the ‘r’ had been left out of ‘Control.’ It was printed as Contol.
“There had never been a misspelling on a Time cover in the history of the magazine. They stopped the presses, corrected the error, and withdrew all the Contol covers. The goof cost Time $100,000, and 40% of the newsstand copies went on sale a day late.”
—From The Emperor Who Ate the Bible, by Scott Morris
THE WICKED BIBLE
In 1631, two London printers left one word out of an official edition of the Bible. The mistake cost them 3,000 pounds and nearly led to their imprisonment. The word was “not;” they left it out of the Seventh Commandment, which then told readers, “Thou shalt commit adultery.” The book became known as “the Wicked Bible.”
Mark Twain coined the phrase “gossip column” in 1893.
TRICK-OR-TREAT
“Two Illinois skydivers, Brian Voss, 30, and Alfred McInturff, 50, were tossing a pumpkin back and forth on their 1987 Halloween skydive when they accidentally dropped it from 2,200 feet. It crashed through the roof of Becky Farrar’s home, leaving orange goo all over her kitchen walls and breaking the kitchen table. Said Farrar, ‘If this had happened an hour earlier, we would have been sitting at the table having lunch.’”
—From News of the Weird
NAKED TRUTH
PORTLAND, OR. “Amtrak apologized and issued refunds to dozens of junior high students who took a train trip with a group of rowdy grown-ups playing strip poker.
“About half the 93 members of Portland’s Robert Gray Middle School band and choir said they had to ride in a car with a smoking section and were subjected to rude comments from adults who took their clothes off in a poker game. The students were returning from a music competition in San Jose, California. Amtrak has promised to send the group a refund check for $4,830.”
—AP, June 23, 1993
BACKFIRE
On August 7, 1979, a jet plane in the Spanish Air Force shot itself down when its own gunfire ricocheted off a hillside target, flew back, and hit the plane during field maneuvers.
GOOD LUCK?
“At a dinner party in the late 19th century, French playwright Victolen Sardou spilled a glass of wine. The woman sitting next to him poured salt on the stain, and Sardou picked up some of the salt and threw it over his shoulder for luck. The salt went into the eye of a waiter about to serve him some chicken. The waiter dropped the platter, and the family dog pounced on the chicken. A bone lodged in the dog’s throat, and when the son of the host tried to pull it out, the dog bit him. His finger had to be amputated.”
—John Berendt, Esquire magazine
President John Adams regularly referred to George Washington as “an old muttonhead.”
READER’S ARTICLE
OF THE YEAR
We get all kinds of articles and suggestions from readers, of course...some are very interesting, some are pretty weird...but this one is special. It’s got a little bit of everything we look for in a Bathroom Reader piece: an “origin” story, some gossip, pop history, the “gee whiz” factor, and so on. It was written by humorist Leo Rosten, and it’s from his book The Power of Positive Nonsense.
A MISCONCEPTION
“Any man who hates dogs and babies can’t be all bad.” Sure, sure, I know: Um
pteen anthologies of quotations credit this to W. C. Fields. But he did not say it. He may have said, “A woman drove me to drink, and I never even wrote to thank her,” or “How do I like children? Boiled,” or “Never give a sucker an even break.” But he did not come up with “Any man who hates dogs and babies can’t be all bad.” The line was uttered about Fields.
ROSTEN IN HOLLYWOOD
The place was Hollywood. The time: 1939. I was working on a solemn sociological...study of the movie colony. One day, to my surprise, I received a telegram from the Masquers’ Club, inviting me to be their guest at a banquet in honor of W. C. Fields.
I was delighted. I was transported. I revered Mr. Fields as the funniest misanthrope our land ever produced. And I knew that the Masquer dinners of homage were in fact “roasts” in which celebrated wits eviscerated the guest of honor with sparkling insults... and steamy boudoir revelations which, if uttered on any other occasion, could provide an airtight case for a lawsuit worth millions in damages for character assassination. I accepted the invitation.
THE MASQUERS’ CLUB
I appeared at the Masquers’ with a wide grin and anticipatory chuckles. The lobby was packed with moviedom elite: stars, producers, directors, writers. All male, all famous, all treating me, as I circulated amongst them, the way princes of the blood treat a peasant with anemia. I might have been made of glass, so easily did the glances of the celebrated go right through me. But I did not mind. I was very young, and felt lucky to be a guest on Parnassus. My heart thumped faster as I recognized noble Spencer Tracy, great Goldwyn, wonderful William Wyler, incomparable Ben Hecht. And was that Errol Flynn holding court in the corner?...I do not know. I was not sure, to tell you the truth, because I was so excited that my vision and my imagination were playing leapfrog.
Q. What’s the #1 reason welfare recipients give for going on welfare? A. Divorce.
TO THE STAGE
Suddenly I heard my name blaring, over and over, from loudspeakers, and an agitated voice pleading that I report to the desk “at once!”...I ploughed through the glittering assemblage to the distant desk, where I was told...that I was “damn late” for one who would be seated “on the dais!” A majordomo swiftly (and sourly) led me backstage. There I beheld Mr. Fields, already red-nosed from fiery waters, surrounded by illustrious roasters: Groucho Marx, Bob Hope, Jack Benny, George Burns, Edgar Bergen, Milton Berle....It was they, I assure you, in the flesh.
“Time to line up!” called a praetorian guard.
A hotel Hannibal began to recite name after hallowed name. Mine, unhallowed, was last.
“Proceed to the dais!” blared another....Someone flung heavy red draperies aside.
As we marched through the opening and across the stage, the glittering audience rose to its feet...applauding Marx, Benny, Hope, reaching a crescendo for Fields, hailing Berle, Bergen, Burns—until I appeared, last, certainly least, pale, brave, anonymous. The applause seeped away like sand in a net of gauze.... Amidst the anticlimax of my reception, we all sat down to break bread.
THE NIGHTMARE
The dinner was excellent, the wines ambrosial, the brandy and cigars sublime. Then William Collier, Sr., rose to conduct the festivities. He received an ovation, which he deserved. A renowned M.C and wit, he orated a barrage of dazzling, scathing yet affectionate ribs about our...guest of honor. The audience roared in counterpoint. And to each barbed line, Mr. Fields responded with an evil grin, a leering grunt and another sip of alcoholic disdain.
Jesse James, Jr. played his famous father in two Hollywood films.
Mr. Collier completed his backhanded eulogy. A tornado of applause. Then the masterful M.C. proclaimed: “Our first speaker to ‘honor’ Bill Fields is...” (he consulted his prep sheet and, there is no denying it, winced) “Dr. Leo Boston—no, I guess it’s Rosten.” It would be wrong to say that I could not believe my ears; the full measure of my horror lay in the fact that I did. I sat paralyzed. This could not be. It was a dream. It was a nightmare....It took the elbow of Red Skelton, jabbing into my ribs, to propel me to my feet.
“SAY SOMETHIN!”
The “applause” which had greeted Mr. Collier’s garbled recitation of my name would not have awakened a mouse. Now, my erectness and visibility compounded my shame, for the faces of that auditorium broke into frowns of confusion and the many mouths uttered murmurs seeking enlightenment....I prayed for a trapdoor to open beneath me, or for lightning to strike me dead. Neither happened. Instead, I heard George Burns’s hoarse sotto voice: “Say somethin’!” with unmistakable disgust. I gulped—then someone who was hiding in my throat uttered these words: “The only thing I can say about Mr. W. C. Fields, whom I have admired since the day he advanced upon Baby LeRoy with an icepick, is this: Any man who hates dogs and babies can’t be all bad.”
The appearance of Mae West in a G-string would not have produced a more explosive cachinnation. The laughter was so uproarious, the ovation so deafening, the belly-heavings and table-slapping and shoulder-punchings so vigorous, that I cleverly collapsed onto my chair.
I scarcely remember the rest of that historic night—except that the jokes and gags and needlings of Mr. Fields (who by now resembled a benign Caligula) put all previous celebrity “roasts” to shame. The next morning, the local papers led off their stories about the banquet with my ad lib. The AP and UP flung my remark around the world. CBS and BBC featured the quip on radio. Overnight, I was an international wit.
Alas, God put bitters in the wine of my enflatterment; for ever since then, “Any man who hates dogs and babies can’t be all bad” has been credited to—W. C. Fields. Hardly a week passes in which I do not run across some reference to “Fields’s immortal crack.” But it was mine. Mine, I tell you, mine!
Casanova spent the last 13 years of his life working as a librarian.
OH NO, IT’S MR. BILL!
Comments from William F. Buckley, one of America’s best-known conservatives:
“I get satisfaction of three kinds. One is creating something, one is being paid for it, and one is the feeling that I haven’t just been sitting on my ass all afternoon.”
“I would like to take you seriously, but to do so would affront your intelligence.”
“Idealism is fine, but as it approaches reality the cost becomes prohibitive.”
“I’d rather entrust the government of the United States to the first 400 people listed in the Boston telephone directory than to the faculty of Harvard University.”
“Life can’t be all bad when for ten dollars you can buy all the Beethoven sonatas and listen to them for ten years.”
“I, for one, yearn for the days of the Cold War.”
“One must bear in mind that the expansion of federal activity is a form of eating for politicians.”
“Kennedy, after all, has lots of glamour. Gregory Peck with an atom bomb in his holster.”
“Any sign of weakness by the Free World increases the appetite of the enemy for more war and more conquest as surely as the progressive revelations of the stripteaser increase the appetite of the lecher.”
“All civilized men want peace. And all truly civilized men must despise pacifism.”
“In the wake of yet another disappearance of a teenager into the mortal coils of the flower world in Greenwich Village, where love is exercised through rape made tolerable by drugs and abstract declarations of fellowship with the North Vietnamese, one wonders anew about the pretensions of progress.”
“What has détente done for us except provide a backdrop for the exchange of toasts between American presidents and Communist tyrants?”
Dolly Parton once lost a Dolly Parton look-alike contest.
THE LATEST THING
Nothing is sacred in the bathroom—go ahead and admit that you owned a pet rock or a mood ring...we understand...confession is good for the soul And while you’re pondering your follies, we’ll tell you where they came from.
PAC-MAN. A Japanese import that hit American shores in late 1980,
Pac-Man got its name from the word paku, which means “eat” in Japanese. Arcade players loved the game’s maze-chase format, a radical departure from the “shooting” video games that were popular at the time. In 1982 alone, Americans pumped $6 billion in quarters into Pac-Man’s mouth—more than they spent in Las Vegas casinos and movie theatres combined.
MOOD RINGS. The temperature-sensitive jewelry that supposedly read your emotions, Mood Rings were the brainchild of Joshua Reynolds, a New Age heir to the R. J. Reynolds tobacco fortune. Reynolds envisioned them as “portable biofeedback aids” and managed to sell $1 million worth of them in a three-month period in 1975. Even so, the company went bankrupt—but not before it inspired a hoard of imitators, including “mood panties” (underwear studded with temperature-sensitive plastic hearts).
PET ROCKS. One night in 1975, an out-of-work advertising executive named Gary Dahl was hanging out in a bar listening to his friends complain about their pets. It gave him an idea for the perfect “pet”: a rock. He spent the next two weeks writing the Pet Rock Training Manual, which included instructions for house-training the rock. (“Place it on some old newspapers. The rock will know what the paper is for and will require no further instructions.”) He had a friend design a box shaped like a pet carrying case—complete with air holes and a bed of straw—and then filled them with rocks he bought from a builder’s supply store for a penny apiece. The rock debuted in August 1975 and sold for $3.95; by the end of October Dahl was shipping 10,000 a day. The fad encouraged a host of imitations as well as an entire Pet Rock “service industry,” including dude ranches, “hair-care” products, and burials-at-sea. The fad died out in 1976.
According to recent estimates, 99% of the universe is nothing.
EARTH SHOES. Earth Shoes were one of the best-selling shoes of the 1970s. Invented by a Danish shoe designer named Anne Kalsø, they were brought to the United States in 1969 by a woman who discovered them on a trip to Europe. She claimed they cured her back pains, but foot experts argued that the shoes—which forced wearers to walk on the backs of their feet—were actually pretty bad for you. One study found that most wearers suffered “severe pain and cramping for the first two weeks of wear”; another expert predicted that the shoes would “cripple everyone who wears them.” Still, they were a counterculture hit and sold thousands of pairs a year in their peak. The original Earth Shoes company went bankrupt in 1977, the victim of cheap knockoffs and changing times.
Uncle John’s Legendary Lost Bathroom Reader Page 41