Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Plunges into History
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LET’S DANCE!
On your way into town, you run into nearly 200 townspeople near the Maas River Bridge. For some bizarre reason, they’re all doing some crazy jig, looking like they escaped from the local laughing academy. You feel suddenly compelled to join in! In minutes, you’re all thrashing your bodies around randomly, arms hitting heads, legs kicking all willy-nilly, bodies dragging on the ground. Wait until the hausfrau hears about this, you think.
In 1892, Annie Moore from Ireland became the first immigrant processed at Ellis Island.
A VISIT TO ST. VITUS
Suddenly, the bridge gives out with the weight of all you dancers, and nearly the entire cadre is wiped out in the river. But you and about 10 others survive! “Mother of Mercy!” you scream, and rightly so. The town priest has you and the others in tow and is bringing you posthaste to the chapel for some blessing or other.
The visit to the chapel, dedicated to St. Vitus, is miraculous. As soon as you enter the still, dark sanctum, all dancing subsides as quickly as it had begun. Cured! screams the priest. Cured! rejoins the small saved band of ex-dancers.
IT’S JUST A PLAGUE
Your experience that morning will be forever recorded as the mystery of St. Vitus’ Dance—and the saint whose chapel you were brought to will be forever known as the patron saint of those afflicted with what was once called the “Dancing Plague.”
HISTORICAL AND HYSTERICAL
But this sort of thing didn’t just happen in this one accursed spot in Germany. During the Middle Ages, there were incidents all over Europe where large groups of people displayed what can only be called hysterical behavior, that is, physical symptoms caused by mental anxiety of some kind. Dancing mania was frequently a symptom of this hysteria. It’s been documented in psychiatric journals and books, jam-packed with tales of tormented people nearly dancing themselves to death.
THINK “CHOREOGRAPHY”:
The term “dancing” in describing this disorder comes from the Latin word “chorea” and is characterized by involuntary jerking movements of the extremities. There is a medical condition called chorea, but most experts agree that the medieval involuntary dancing was undoubtedly a psychological phenomenon.
LETTING OFF STEAM
But the infectiousness of it (like what happened to you when you saw everyone dancing near the bridge) is a sure symptom of mass hysteria, brought on—most experts agree—by the oppressiveness of life in the Middle Ages. It was a way for the downtrodden peasant to escape the social pressure cooker for a while.
TONY ‘N’ TINA’S WEDDING
The lively Italian dance called the tarantella had its roots in dancing mania, too. The name “tarantella” comes from one of two sources: Historians can’t decide if it was named for the town of “Taranto” (where an early outbreak occurred), or if the victims thought it was caused by the bite of a “tarantula.” Either way—leave it to the Italians—the onlookers got out their mandolins and tambourines and set it to music. Now the tarantella is a staple at Italian weddings on both sides of the Atlantic.
The Uruguayan navy once defended Montevideo by firing Edam cheese cannonballs.
BREAKING THE MOLD: DISCOVERY OF PENICILLIN
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The closest competitor is the discovery of vulcanized rubber, which led to our ability to sit around during the hottest part of the day in five-mile traffic jams. But as much fun as that is, not dying a terrifying, stench-filled death at the microbial hands of some bacteria is even better.
Make no mistake, a stench-filled bacterial death was a serious possibility for just about everyone well into the 20th century. Serious strides were made in the general sanitation of the planet in the 19th century (thanks to Joseph Lister, who, among other things, convinced doctors that wearing a perpetually bloody smock as a badge of competence was actually carrying germs from one patient to the next), but sanitation only goes so far.
THE POOP ON BACTERIA
Bacteria are teeny little things, and they can get into places they’re not supposed to be with surprising rapidity, where they are happy to procreate until they kill you. This isn’t very smart on the part of the bacteria (killing one’s host tends to cause the food supply to tap out), but it’s not like bacteria have brains, and anyway, they live for about 20 minutes. What do they care?
DOUGHBOYS ATTACKED ON ALL SIDES
Come with us now to the battlefields of the First World War. Nasty little war, that one, with lots of soldiers wallowing in mud and getting shot, bayoneted, or gassed every now and again. If they were lucky, they’d die right there in the mud; if not, they ran a very good chance of dying in the hospital—not from their wounds directly, but from the infections those wounds inevitably bred. Doctors knew bacteria were the culprits in many soldiers’ deaths, so researchers were assigned to discover antibiotics. Scotsman Alexander Fleming was one of them.
Genghis Khan conquered more land than Alexander the Great, Napoleon, & Hitler combined.
THE POOP ON THE PETRI DISH
Fleming wasn’t much help on the antibacterial front during World War I (neither was anyone else), but in 1928 he noticed an odd thing in one of his petri dishes, which had been swabbed with Staphylococcus, the nasty little bug that can cause everything from boils to toxic shock syndrome. The dish had been contaminated—some sort of airborne something had managed to get into the dish before Fleming sealed it off—and whatever it was that was in there with the staph was killing it off something fierce.
If Fleming had been a bug-eyed drone, he would have tossed the sample, because contaminated samples were supposed to be ditched. But Fleming was a scientist, thank God, and he knew he’d found something.
A FUNGUS AMONG US
Penicillium notatum was what he found. The penicilli were releasing some sort of chemical (which Fleming, in a burst of stunning originality, decided to call penicillin) that killed bugs dead, and not just a few bugs—we’re talking all sorts of bacteria. Deader than Marley’s ghost. How? By screwing with the bacteria’s assembly process. In order for bacteria to survive, they have to build a cell wall as they reproduce; penicillin keeps the bacteria from building these walls. The bacteria die, exposed to the elements. It’d be sort of sad if they weren’t in fact trying to kill you.
THE POOP ON ANTIBIOTICS
Incidentally, this is how antibiotics work—by messing with the assembly process. The best way to keep bacteria from using your body as real estate is never to let them lay down their subdivisions in the first place.
SUCCESS STORY
The catch—there’s always a catch with these things—is that naturally occurring penicillin (a.k.a. as Benzylpenicillin or penicillin-G) isn’t very stable and, thus, isn’t very useful. Fleming found the wonder drug, but he couldn’t do anything with it. Frustrated, he shelved his penicillin research in 1931. Penicillin has to wait until Oxford researchers Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain manage to synthesize a stable form of penicillin. It performs as promised and in 1940, penicillin debuts and starts kicking microbe ass. Fleming, Florey, and Chain get the Nobel in Medicine in 1945. They were all also knighted. Fungus was very good to them.
Before Louis Philippe became king of France, he was living over a Philadelphia bar.
TSK, TSK, TSK
Fungus has been very good to all of us—not too many of us die from sore throats anymore. However, don’t get cocky. Human beings, convinced as we are that anything worth doing is worth overdoing, have spent the better part of the last 60 years wantonly misusing antibiotics in lots of dumb ways. We use antibiotics for viral infections, which is pointless. We feed antibiotics to animals to who aren’t sick to make ‘em bigger and fatter. We take antibiotics only until we feel better instead of following the directed medication course. (If you feel better, you are better, right?)
TB OR NOT TB
The result is that we’ve bred some amazingly drug-resistant strains of bacteria. We’ve got some TB bacteria running around these days that is, in fact, resistant to
every single antibiotic we can throw at it, even the incredibly toxic antibiotics that hurt you as much as they hurt the bug.
NO SOAP
And it’s not just TB, of course: Streptococcus, Staphylococcus, and Pneumococcus, heck, all of the really popular coccuses have virulently drug-resistant strains out there. Enterococcus faecalis and Pseudomonas aeruginosa are just waiting to poison your blood. And here’s a thought for you: streptomycin-resistant e.coli has been found in the diapers of today’s infants.
Thing is, streptomycin hasn’t been used to treat much of anything for three decades. It’s evolution, baby. Anyone who doesn’t believe in the process is going to be mighty surprised when an ear infection sends them to the morgue. But what can I do about it, you ask? Well, for one, stop using that stupid antibacterial soap. You’re just making things worse, you know.
PERHAPS THE GREATEST IRONY
All the benefits that we’ve gotten from antibiotics could be wiped away because of our own deliberate misuse of them. It’d be like Prometheus giving man fire, and then, after watching man burn down a forest or two, just to see the pretty lights, deciding that maybe he should take it back. It’s an accident we got antibiotics, but when we lose them, it’ll be our own damned fault.
Printing pioneer Johannes Gutenberg was actually a goldsmith.
THE REAL BRAVEHEART
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Movie fans will never forget William Wallace, the Scots rebel leader that Mel Gibson portrayed so convincingly in Braveheart. But was Wallace nearly forgotten in Scotland until Hollywood rescued his legend?
Randall Wallace, the producer of the 1995 film Braveheart, was researching the production in Scotland when he visited the Wallace Memorial at Elderslie, Renfrewshire. The producer talked to local teens sitting near the statue and asked them what they thought about their hometown’s great hero. The kids had no idea the statue represented William Wallace; in fact they’d never heard of him.
WILLIAM WHO?
They know who Wallace is now. And in Wallace’s rising historical fortunes, it’s easy to forget the darker, bloody side of his battle to free Scotland. Wallace was the great leader of Scotch resistance against the English - who also wiped out villages, burned down churches, and flayed his enemies to make battle ornaments.
DEATH, LIES AND THE MOVIES
Artistic license was taken with Wallace’s family history in Braveheart. One brother was written out completely, and another, along with Wallace’s father, was conveniently axed early so as not to get in the way of the action. The historic accounts of Wallace’s life were also slanted to make storytelling easier. Accounts written in Scotland made Wallace a noble conquering giant; those written in England called him a murderer and outlaw.
WALLACE’S STORY GETS VERSE
Braveheart is based on a view of Wallace presented in the Scotichorum of Walter Bower. Bower wrote it in the 1440s, 135 years after Wallace’s death, and his main source was anti-English propaganda where Wallace got excellent, but not always accurate press. Bower’s account was the source for a romantic epic poem, The Wallace, by “Blind Harry.” The poem became Scotland’s national myth for several hundred years. In some Scottish homes it held an honored place near the Bible.
The last battle of World War I was fought in what is now Zambia.
WILL THE REAL WILL PLEASE STAND UP?
But what’s the scoop on the real, non-mythologized Wallace? Well, for one thing, remember his statue? It might be in the wrong hometown. Most of the facts about 13th century Scotland are hazy, but modern research indicates that the great man was actually born in Ellerslie, Ayrshire. The name “Wallace” means “Welsh,” and he was probably a descendant of Welsh-speaking immigrants who came to live in West Scotland. William was the son of a knight and minor landowner. He was not a noble, but he was an educated member of the prosperous Scottish upper classes. In Braveheart, Mel Gibson could have portrayed a well-dressed, well-heeled, brilliant, 13th-century warrior (though fans would have missed all that wild hair and face paint).
A STIRLING VICTORY
Wallace was a brilliant commander. A high point of his military career was the Battle of Stirling Bridge of 1297 where the Scots were badly outnumbered. Stirling Bridge was very narrow, allowing few soldiers to cross at once. The outnumbered Wallace managed to split the English forces in two; the English who had crossed to the north side of the bridge had no room to maneuver, and they were cut off from retreat. Wallace’s men slaughtered some 5,000 English that day; and the despised English treasurer’s flayed skin made a belt for Wallace’s sword.
WALLACE WAS NO ANGEL
Wallace led his army into the English border region of Northumberland. Here the darker side of Wallace’s story emerged. The English commanders had tried to subdue Scotland by burning and pillaging it. Now, Wallace and his men sacked the English cities for food to take back to starving Scotland. They burned towns and killed the inhabitants so that the English soldiers would find no help if they returned. (And Wallace knew they would try to return). The great Wallace and his men were as merciless in Northumberland as the English had been in Scotland.
WALLACE WAS NO FOOL
In the summer of 1298, when King Edward I led a large army through the area into Scotland he rode through a barren landscape. Thanks to Wallace, who’d laid waste to Northumberland, the approaching English army was almost starved out.
Nigeria called a cease fire in its civil war so that Pelé could play in Lagos.
A NOBLE KNIGHT BUT NOT A NOBLE
Sometime in early 1298, Wallace was knighted, most probably by Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, and he became sole Guardian of Scotland. In the Middle Ages it was an amazing achievement for a mere knight to become more powerful than nobles were, but Wallace was a man of amazing achievements. Still, his rapid rise as one of the most powerful men in Scotland made him enemies. Independence was restored in Scotland (thanks to Wallace), and Robert Bruce was enthroned as king.
But in 1305, Scottish noblemen who were less entrenched against the English than they were against Wallace handed him over to England and Edward I.
MARTYRDOM IN ENGLAND
The English took Wallace to London for a show trial. Maybe the worst mistake King Edward I ever made was to have his old enemy tortured, mutilated, disemboweled and hacked to pieces in public. Edward I made Wallace a martyr in Scotland, and a symbol of Scotland’s quest for independence. Wallace’s life (darker side and all) came to stand for bravery in the pursuit of freedom. As the 18th century Scottish poet Robert Burns said: “The story of Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins which will boil along till the floodgates of time shut in eternal rest.” Wow. And Burns hadn’t even seen Mel Gibson.
Robert the Bruce, once deemed a turncoat by the Scots, ended up a greater hero than Wallace. He repeatedly made and broke peace with the English. But in 1304, Bruce made a treaty with the church to help him gain the Scottish throne, and the support of the people. In 1305 he went to Scone to claim the throne and was crowned King Robert I of Scotland. A number of battles ensued with mixed results. After one bloody defeat, he hid in a dark cave to escape the English army. As the famous legend has it, while he sat there depressed at his failures, he saw a tiny spider trying to climb its silken thread to its web, and repeatedly tumbling back down. Yet, the spider continued its struggle. Bruce was so inspired by the spider’s tenacity that he grabbed up his sword and shouted “If at first you don’t succeed—try, try again!”
Before climbing Mount Everest, Edmund Hillary was a New Zealand beekeeper.
THE TOOTH ABOUT DENTURES
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Chew on the strange history of false teeth.
Whether you want to chew someone out or just chew your dinner, you gotta have teeth—even if they’re false. Dentures, as single teeth, whole plates and partial bridges, date back more than 2,000 years to the Etruscans. As early as 700 B.C. hippopotamus and whale ivory provided the materials for skilfully crafted chompers. Sadly, the Etruscan age was the
high point of mouth gear until the 1800’s.
ANCIENT DENTISTS PUT THE BITE ON YOU
Ancient Greeks and Romans were inordinately proud of their dentures, consisting of an imitation tooth bound to a real tooth with gold wire. They were proud, and poorer, since the work cost a fortune. (Some things never change.) The truly rich ancients got dentures made from gold, silver, agate, and mother of pearl.
DENTURES TO DIE FOR
Queen Elizabeth I resorted to stuffing the gaps in her royal grin with cloth. In later years, there would be the distasteful (yes, pun intended) practice of using teeth of the dead. During the Battle of Waterloo, bags of teeth were retrieved from fallen soldiers.
FANGS A LOT