Archive: Posts about History
March 9th, 2009, 8 Comments »
Sometimes odd questions occur to me. I write them down, and, by asking people or the Internet, try to learn the answer. This is one such question:
I wrote it on a piece of cardboard, and it subsequently went through the wash.
This question was easy to answer, courtesy of Wikipedia:
At least ten children have been born in West Antarctica. The first was Emilio Marcos Palma, born on January 7, 1978 to Argentine parents at Esperanza, Hope Bay, near the tip of the Antarctic peninsula. In 1984, Juan Pablo Camacho was born at the Presidente Eduardo Frei Montalva Base, becoming the first Chilean born in Antarctica. Soon after, a girl, Gisella, was born at the same station. In 2001, National Geographic reported that eight children had been born at Esperanza alone.
As you might expect, a baby born in Antarctica doesn’t get an Antarctic passport–there’s no such thing. Instead, they receive their parents’ nationality. What happens if their parents come from different nations? I’m not sure.
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November 20th, 2008, No Comments »
Yesterday I read a fascinating report about how archaeologists may have found the tomb of King Herod:
On the basis of a study of the architectural elements uncovered at the site, the researchers have been able to determine that the mausoleum, among the remains of which Herod’s sarcophagus was found, was a lavish two-story structure with a concave-conical roof, about 25 meters high — a structure fully appropriate to Herod’s status and taste. The excavations there have also yielded many fragments of two additional sarcophagi, which the researchers estimate to have been members of Herod’s family.
There are some photos of the dig on this slow-loading FTP site.
And today, scientists confirmed that they’d identified the remains of 16th-century astronomer Copernicus.
Researchers said Thursday they have identified the remains of Nicolaus Copernicus by comparing DNA from a skeleton and hair retrieved from one of the 16th-century astronomer’s books.
The findings could put an end to centuries of speculation about the exact resting spot of Copernicus, a priest and astronomer whose theories identified the Sun, not the Earth, as the center of the universe.
A hair from one of his books? That is seriously CSI. If you follow the link, they’ve got a ‘facial forensic reconstruction’ of the man. He looks a little cross-eyed.
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November 11th, 2008, 1 Comment »
This Remembrance Day, I thought I’d write about Passchendaele, Paul Gross’s new film based around an important World War I battle. At $20 million, it’s the biggest budgeted Canadian movie ever produced, and it looks it. The war scenes that frame the long second act are grim and bloody. They’ll be familiar to viewers of the modern war movie, but they’re skillfully rendered and watchable.
The middle of the film takes place in the then small town of Calgary, Alberta. It features all the archetypes of the Canadian historical epic: the orphaned daughter, scorned by the townspeople; her young brother, denied the chance to go to war; the town drunk, played by a fat-suit-wearing (I hope) Gil Bellows and the shell-shocked veteran returned from the front. It’s all horse rides and hobble skirts while Paul Gross’s character falls for the aforementioned orphan, played by the lovely Caroline Dhavernas.
But, of course, sacrifices must be made, and the film ends predictably with the muddy, bloody Battle of Passchendaele.
From the CBC archives, where’s there’s a great short radio documentary about the battle:
On Nov. 6, 1917 Canadian troops captured Belgium’s Passchendaele ridge, ending a gruelling offensive that had begun on July 31, 1917. The Battle of Passchendaele is remembered for its atrocious conditions, heavy casualties and Canadian valour. Canadians, instrumental in securing victory, earned a total of nine Victoria Crosses for their courage.
It’s not Saving Private Ryan, but if you (like me) can’t get to a ceremony today to honour our armed forces, present and past, you could do worse than to watch Passchendaele and think about their sacrifice.
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September 29th, 2008, No Comments »
In several recent talks, I’ve opened with a story about the De Witt sketch. It’s a depiction, in 1596, of the stage of London’s Swan Theatre. It is, for all intents and purposes, the only image that theatre historians have that shows the interior of an Elizabethan theatre. It’s the best picture we have of the stages that Shakespeare acted upon and for which he wrote.
The man who drew the sketch was Johannes De Witt, a Dutch visitor to London who recorded his observations in his journals. In fact, De Witt’s original sketch is lost. The ‘De Witt’ sketch is actually a copy by fellow Dutchman, Arendt van Buchell.
Then I show photos of the Globe Theatre (here’s a big panorama of the interior), a present-day replica that sits on the Thames river, very close to its original location. For theatre and history buffs it’s a real pleasure to stand inside this space, which is reknowned for its historical accuracy. In fact, if theatre historians discover new information about the Globe, they modify the building to match .
Then in my talk I jump to images of the New Globe Theatre in Second Life. It’s a model of a proposed actual theatre on Governor’s Island in New York. It doesn’t look much like the original or the replica, but I like the connection of the past to the future, and of the actual to the virtual. I then make some connections to De Witt’s sketch as user-generated content, his journal as a blog and Arendt’s copy as a copyright violation. And things roll on from there.
That’s a long-winded introduction to say that somebody recently emailed me with a link to an actual, apparently accurate replica of the Globe Theatre. This appears to be a sort of showcase piece for a Second Life architect named Ina Centaur. It’s a pretty impressive accomplishment, and will make for a smoother metaphor in future talks.
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August 25th, 2008, 4 Comments »
The other, I impetuously twittered “317, what does that number mean?” Ryan immediately replied on Twitter with “find out today, meet you at The Bay.” Filmgoerjuan added “maybe it’s a secret code…or a special combination…”.
To most people, the phrase means absolutely nothing. However, it ought to resonate with a lot of Vancouverites of a certain age. It’s part of a radio jingle that’s been in my head for, oh, about two decades now. It was for a style of jeans–probably from Levis, given the 3-digit name–sold at The Bay. There are a couple of pairs up for sale on eBay.
I was exchanging emails with Filmgoer (last name, Juan), and we decided that the ads must have appeared on LG73 in the mid to late eighties. After about 1989, I switched to listening to some AM classic rock station, so it probably preceded that.
Does anybody else remember this jingle (the Internet is no help)? Can you sing (and therefore transcribe) the whole thing? I’d appreciate it, as the lyrics might send the tune back down the memory hole, where it belongs.
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May 30th, 2008, 5 Comments »
You’ve probably seen these extraordinary photos, but if you haven’t, go check out this Daily Mail article:
Skin painted bright red, heads partially shaved, arrows drawn back in the longbows and aimed square at the aircraft buzzing overhead. The gesture is unmistakable: Stay Away.
Behind the two men stands another figure, possibly a woman, her stance also seemingly defiant. Her skin painted dark, nearly black.
The apparent aggression shown by these people is quite understandable. For they are members of one of Earth’s last uncontacted tribes, who live in the Envira region in the thick rain forest along the Brazilian-Peruvian frontier.
It wrecks my head to think that there are still Stone Age peoples living undisturbed on Earth. I think we’ve got an obligation to future science to put a big fence around these remote spaces and create a preserve for such tribes. Obviously we’ll let them out if they want out, but we shouldn’t let any other humans in.
I’m reminded of the fascinating story of another remote, indigenous tribe–the Sentinelese.
5 Comments »
May 28th, 2008, 30 Comments »
I was just out for a walk, and I listened to a recent episode of This American Life. It was about prom night, and excellent as usual.
At my high school in West Vancouver, we never had anything called ‘prom’. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure what prom is. From Wikipedia:
In the United States and Canada a prom, short for promenade, is used to describe a formal dance held at the end of an academic year…
While proms at smaller schools may hold a school prom open to the entire student body, large high schools may hold two proms, a junior prom for those finishing their 11th grade year and a senior prom for those who are finishing their high school years. The name is derived from the late nineteenth century practice of a promenade ball. The end of year tradition stemmed from the graduation ball tradition.
At Sentinel Secondary (holy crap, high school classes are now 80 minutes?) in West Vancouver, we had three or four dances each year, and then a year end event called ‘grad’. Grad involved the graduation ceremony, a dinner, dancing and the usual after-grad mayhem.
If memory serves, by 6:00am on the morning following grad, I ended up in my friend Lincoln’s hot tub. In a classic high school gaffe, Lincoln, myself and another guy, Ryan, all had grad dates that weren’t our girlfriends. I was taking Lincoln’s girlfriend, Ryan was taking mine, and Lincoln was taking a third young woman (their relationship status is entirely fuzzy in my memory).
If you went to high school in Canada, did you have something called ‘prom’? Is this, maybe, a regional preference?
DJs or Live Bands?
On a related note, did you have DJs or live bands at your high school dances? I ask because on the TAL broadcast, they visit a few proms, and they always seem to have DJs. At my high school, we almost always had live bands.
Was this commonplace back in the late eighties? Is it common now, or are all high school dances now DJ-powered?
30 Comments »
April 30th, 2008, 6 Comments »
This month’s Esquire features the finest example of magazine writing that I’ve seen in years. It is Chris Jones’s “The Things That Carried Him”, and it is extraordinary journalism. Jones tells the story of how the body of Sergeant Joe Montgomery makes its way from a Baghdad suburb to its final resting place in a grave in Indiana.
I think it’s a masterpiece. It’s extremely moving without being saccharine or twee. It’s a military story, but utterly without jingoism or indictment. It’s wonderfully observed. I love the parenthetical sentence in these two paragraphs:
The Reverend Doug Wallace offered a brief prayer, and then a band of kilted bagpipers played “Amazing Grace.” (A freight train passed nearby, but the engineer left his finger off the horn at the crossing.) Three recorded songs were played over loudspeakers, including “Hurt,” by Nine Inch Nails, before Reverend Wallace said a few more words, and then Dawson gave his men the signal.
The seven soldiers stood in a stiff line and fired three volleys each. This is a part of the ritual they practice again and again. The seven weapons should sound like one. When the shots are scattered — “popcorn,” the soldiers call it — they’ve failed, and they will be mad at themselves for a long time after. On this day, with news cameras and hundreds of sets of sad eyes trained on them, they were perfect. After the final volley, Huber bent down and picked up his three polished shells from the grass.
Jones tells the story in reverse, starting with the man digging Montgomery’s grave, and ending with his squad in a Baghdad suburb. He documents each step of Montgomery’s journey home. We meet pilots, coroners, family members–everyone the sergeant’s death touches.
If I taught a non-fiction creative writing course, I’d make this required reading. I often criticize journalists on this site, but it’s pieces like this that remind me of the heights to which they can ascend.
UPDATE: Here’s a short interview with the writer.
6 Comments »
April 24th, 2008, 9 Comments »
I’ve been to Moscone Center in San Francisco a few times. I only learned a couple of weeks ago that it was named after George Moscone, former mayor of San Francisco. Along with city supervisor Harvey Milk, he was killed by a former, disgruntled employee.
I was talking to somebody about Moscone at Web 2.0 Expo yesterday. During our conversation, I wondered out loud whether a Canadian government official had ever been assassinated on domestic soil. I did a little searching, and couldn’t find anything. Can you think of anybody?
UPDATE: D’oh. How could I forget the October Crisis? Thanks to Andre for reminding me. Thinking back, I don’t think I ever studied this bit of history in high school. And I took no Canadian history courses in university. Still, I hang my head in shame, eh?
9 Comments »
April 21st, 2008, 2 Comments »
I don’t know why, but I really enjoy stories of people obsessively exploring minor details of history. The latest example is a series of three lengthy blog posts by director Errol Morris discussing his research into the order in which two photographs were taken.
They’re two photos by Roger Fenton, taken of a barren road during the Crimean War. One features a stack of cannonballs by the side of the road. In the other, the cannonballs are spread across the road. Morris becomes a bit compulsive in determining which photo was taken first.
And speaking of compulsive, check out Morris’s footnote at the end of the third essay:
The diagrams of rock movement and cannonball position in OFF and ON have been provided by Dennis Purcell. There are now more than 1,000 responses to Parts One and Two of this essay. At first, I thought: I don’t think I will respond to any of them. Then I thought: maybe I’ll respond to one or two. And then came the epiphany: I should respond to all 1,000+ – in detail. Wish me luck.
Good luck, Errol.
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