An undated photo of U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt at Campobello Island, off the coast of New Brunswick, Canada. | AP Photo
On this day in 1945, President Franklin D. Roosevelt died of a cerebral hemorrhage at his Warm Springs, Ga. retreat. He was 63. Roosevelt’s death in the final months of World War II was met with shock and grief throughout the Western world.
Roosevelt had been president for more than 12 years, longer than any other person. He led the country through some of its deepest domestic and foreign crises to the impending defeat of Nazi Germany and within sight of Japan’s surrender.
British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who had spent many weeks in the White House shaping Allied strategy with Roosevelt, described his feelings on learning of his death as having “been struck a physical blow.”
When he was stricken, Roosevelt was in the living room with Lucy Mercer, with whom he had resumed an affair; two cousins; his dog, Fala; and Elizabeth Shoumatoff, who was painting his portrait.
As the Great Depression raged, scientists Pearl Kendrick and Grace Eldering developed the first effective pertussis vaccine on a shoestring budget.
After a long day in the laboratory in 1932, Pearl Kendrick and Grace Eldering walked out into the chilly Michigan evening with specially prepared petri dishes, called cough plates, in tow. The two scientists were on a mission to collect bacteria in the wild: one by one, they visited families ravaged by whooping cough, the deadliest childhood disease of their time. By the dim light of kerosene lamps they asked sick children to cough onto each plate, dimpling the agar gel with tiny specks of the bacteria Bordetella pertussis.
As they collected their research samples from “whooping, vomiting, strangling children,” Kendrick and Eldering, both former school teachers who lived together in Grand Rapids, “listened to sad stories told by desperate fathers who could find no work,” Eldering later recalled. “We learned about the disease and the Depression at the same time.”
Using cultures from the suffering children that they “saved and studied in every possible way,” the pair created the first effective vaccine for whooping cough after years of toiling in their lab, growing and identifying pertussis strains from cough plates. Developed at a time when scientific funding was so scarce that lab mice were considered a luxury, the vaccine would go on to prevent thousands of children each year from succumbing to the disease.
In the 1940s, Kendrick and Eldering’s lab also developed the vaccine that most people receive today, called…
Marian Anderson at her defining moment, Easter 1939. Photograph by Hulton Archive/Stringer/Getty Images
One of the pitfalls of living in a city so well stocked with Historical Characters of Great Import (HCGIs) is that many compelling figures fade into the collective shadow of white guys in breeches. Case in point: When the U.S. Treasury announced three years ago that Marian Anderson would appear on the new $5 bill, the typical response — particularly among younger Philadelphians — was a resounding “Wait, who?”
Born in South Philly in 1897, Anderson was the 20th century’s Beyoncé, an opera superstar who sold out concerts around the globe, entertained presidents and kings, and brought audiences to tears singing Verdi and Schubert along with black spirituals. Her warm, clear contralto was famously described by conductor Arturo Toscanini as a voice heard “once in a hundred years.”
Though she rose to fame in (and despite) Jim Crow America, Anderson rarely discussed the indignities of racism that she endured. But 80 years ago this month, the course of history was permanently altered. After the Daughters of the American Revolution refused Anderson the stage at Washington, D.C.’s segregated Constitution Hall, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt helped arrange for her to sing instead at the Lincoln Memorial on Easter Sunday 1939 — turning the world’s most famous singer into a civil rights icon.
Eleanor Roosevelt and Marian Anderson in Japan, May 22, 1953.
As the curtain closes on Boheme NJ’s production of Guiseppe Verdi’s “Aida” with the final notes, images and sounds still fresh, this column and day honors the memory and life of opera singer Marian Anderson.
Exactly eighty years ago, on Easter Sunday April 9, 1939, Ms. Anderson, a world-renowned contralto, graced more than 75,000 fans with a concert delivered from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Anderson had hoped to sing inside Constitution Hall but a “white-artist-only” clause supported by the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR), denied the talented black songbird entry.
Anderson biographer Allan Keiler noted, “They refused to allow her use of the hall because she was black and because there was a white-artist-only clause printed in every contract issued by the DAR.”
Still, a radio listening audience allegedly reached millions as Anderson offered classical selections, Negro spirituals and “My Country ‘Tis of Thee”, an eloquent rebuttal to the DAR racism, bigotry and discrimination. Anderson had supportive voices, including First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt.
Roosevelt penned an abrupt letter that left no doubt about where she stood on this social matter.
Before 1792, most Americans had money troubles. Goods and services could be exchanged for pieces of gold or silver if people had them. Some would use British or Spanish coins. Tobacco leaves, shells and pieces of land were other options. Colonies issued their own type of paper currency, but it wasn’t reliable to use when trading and traveling. But on April 2, 1792, Congress established what is now one of the most widely recognized symbols in the world: the dollar.
“In America, they used whatever they could get their hands on,” said Frank Noll, a historical consultant for the U.S. Bureau of Engraving and Printing. “But the Coinage Act established the dollar as a unit of currency for the United States.”
The Coinage Act of 1792 created the U.S. Mint, an institution dedicated to producing coins and controlling their movement around the world. The first official American currency was…
Linda Nipp stands in front of the outhouse on the century farm known as Blue Lake Ranch where she and her husband board horses. She says the privy “is 100 years old at least and still in use.” It stands 8-feet high and is about 4-foot-square with a tin roof. The farm was once the Central Pike Dairy, operated by her grandfather, Dr. Lee Wright, a physician who also had a mule trading center and a tobacco farm in the community once called Dodoburg.
Many of you young whippersnappers may never have had the challenge of stepping into an outhouse to take care of business.
But for most of us in our seventh decade or more, spotting one of these vintage wooden structures along a stretch of country road may revive memories that do not carry the scent of nostalgia or sentimentality.
A century ago, practically every farmhouse, rural schoolhouse and church house had one or maybe two of these utilitarian sheds somewhere out back. The small building bore other names such as toilet, privy and latrine.
These often held a Sears and Roebuck catalog in lieu of toilet paper. If a catalog was not handy, then fresh, soft corn cobs would make do.
The 1950 census tallied 50 million outhouses in the U.S. By 2000, the number had trickled to…