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Showing posts with label event & history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label event & history. Show all posts

August 9, 2026

Meet Alessandro Moreschi, the Last Surviving Castrato in the Sistine Chapel Choir

Alessandro Moreschi (1858–1922) was an Italian singer known as “l’Angelo di Roma” (the Angel of Rome). He was the last castrato to serve in the Sistine Chapel Choir and the only one whose voice was recorded.

Alessandro Moreschi, ca. 1900

He was born Alessandro Nilo Angelo Moreschi on November 1, 1858 in the small town of Monte Compatri, near Frascati in the Papal States (now Lazio, Italy). He came from a modest Roman Catholic family; his parents were Luigi Lorenzo Moreschi and Rosa Maria Potelli. He was one of several children (accounts vary between the sixth, seventh, or eighth).

As a boy he sang in the local chapel of the Madonna del Castagno. His clear voice attracted attention. Around age 7–9, he was castrated. The official story often given was that the operation treated an inguinal hernia, a common medical excuse of the era, since castration was still sometimes viewed as a remedy for certain conditions. In reality, it was almost certainly done to preserve his high singing voice for a career in church music, following a centuries-old Italian tradition. Talent scouts for the papal choirs sought out promising boys; one key figure was Nazareno Rosati, a former Sistine Chapel singer.

By about 1870–1871, Rosati brought him to Rome. There he studied at the Scuola di San Salvatore in Lauro under Gaetano Capocci, the distinguished maestro di cappella of the Basilica of St. John Lateran.

In 1873, at only 15, Moreschi was appointed First Soprano at St. John Lateran. He also performed in the salons of Roman high society. His breakthrough came in 1883 when he sang the florid coloratura role of the Seraph in Beethoven’s oratorio Christus am Ölberge (in Italian translation). The performance earned him the nickname “l’Angelo di Roma.” Shortly afterward he joined the Sistine Chapel Choir as First Soprano, a position he held for roughly thirty years.

Young Alessandro Moreschi, ca. 1880

He rose within the choir hierarchy, serving at times as secretary, director of the concertisti, and even temporary maestro. He also sang with other papal chapels (including the Cappella Giulia). Outside the Vatican he was a sought-after soloist. A high point came on August 9, 1900, when, at the request of the Italian royal family, he performed as soloist at the Pantheon under Pietro Mascagni for the funeral rites of the assassinated King Umberto I; he received a gold watch in thanks.

Physically, castrati typically remained beardless, with elongated limbs, a somewhat expanded ribcage, and a youthful appearance into middle age, traits Moreschi shared. Contemporary listeners described his voice as pure, ethereal, and “supernatural.”

Before Becoming “Hollywood’s Mermaid,” Esther Williams Was an Elite Swimmer in the 1930s

In the 1930s, Esther Williams was an elite, record-breaking competitive swimmer long before she became Hollywood’s famous “Million Dollar Mermaid.” Training out of the Los Angeles Athletic Club (LAAC), she dominated regional and national competitions as a teenager, culminating in multiple titles and a spot on the United States Olympic team.

Williams was enthusiastic about swimming in her youth. Her older sister Maurine took her to Manhattan Beach and to the local pool. Esther took a job counting towels at the pool to pay the five-cent entry fee, and while there, she had swimming lessons from the male lifeguards. From them she learned the “male only” swimming strokes, including the butterfly, with which she would later break records.

Her medley team set the record for the 300-yard relay at the Los Angeles Athletic Club in 1939 and was also the national AAU champion in the 100-meter freestyle, with a record-breaking time of 1 minute 9.0 seconds. By age 16 Williams had won three U.S. national championships in breaststroke and freestyle swimming.

By late 1939, 17-year-old Williams had officially qualified for three berths on the U.S. Olympic Swim Team. She was scheduled to compete at the 1940 Summer Olympics in Helsinki, Finland. However, the outbreak of World War II in Europe forced the permanent cancellation of the games, instantly shattering her dreams of an Olympic medal.

With amateur sports sidelined by war, Williams took a job as a department store stock girl before turning professional in 1940. Her local swimming fame caught the eye of showman Billy Rose. She was hired to star alongside Olympic champion Johnny Weissmuller in Billy Rose’s Aquacade, a massive musical swimming spectacle at the Golden Gate International Exposition in San Francisco. It was her performance in this pool that drew Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) talent scouts, launching her iconic movie career.






August 7, 2026

Inside the Opium Dens From Between the Late 19th and Early 20th Centuries

Opium dens were establishments where opium was sold and smoked, typically in reclining positions using long pipes heated over oil lamps. They flourished from the mid-to-late 19th century into the early 20th century across China, Southeast Asia, North America (especially Chinatowns), parts of Europe, and Australia.

Chinese immigrants brought the practice to the United States during the California Gold Rush (around 1850 onward). San Francisco’s Chinatown became an early hub, with dens often in basements, back rooms, or upstairs spaces of laundries and boarding houses. These were tightly sealed to protect the lamps from drafts and contain the distinctive fumes. The habit spread eastward to cities like New York (notably Mott and Pell Streets), Denver, Portland, and others, as well as Canadian Chinatowns in Victoria and Vancouver. Similar dens existed in Australian gold-rush areas (e.g., Melbourne, Ballarat) and, to a lesser and often exaggerated extent, in London’s Limehouse district.

In China itself, dens ranged widely by class: opulent ones for the affluent and sparse ones for laborers. Western dens mirrored this range. Many Chinese smokers used opium as an escape from loneliness, hard labor, prejudice, and homesickness. By the 1870s–1890s, non-Chinese patrons, including white Americans of various classes, from underworld figures to middle- and upper-class individuals, and both men and women, frequented them. Some dens became mixed-race spaces.

Unlike bars or taverns designed for standing or sitting upright, opium dens were laid out specifically for patrons to lie down on their sides. Because smoking opium (chandoo) required heating a viscous paste over a small oil lamp while balancing a heavy pipe, resting on one’s side was both ergonomically necessary and essential for safety. Dens featured low wooden platforms, raised bamboo beds, or cushioned divans. In basic establishments, smokers shared wide wooden couches covered with straw mats or simple fabric; upscale establishments offered carved teak benches, silk pillows, and porcelain headrests.

Dens were typically dim and heavily insulated from drafts, as open air currents could extinguish or fluctuate the flame of the opium lamp. The air held a heavy, sweet, burnt-herbal aroma distinct from tobacco smoke. Establishments employed attendants (often called “cooks” or pipe-masters) who prepared the opium spheres, heated them over oil burners, loaded the clay pipe bowls, and handed them to patrons.

Peak popularity in the U.S. came in the 1880s and 1890s. Opium was initially legal or loosely regulated. Concerns, fueled by moral reformers, temperance advocates, and anti-Chinese sentiment, led to local bans (San Francisco’s 1875 ordinance was among the earliest anti-drug laws targeting dens), the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 (which also restricted opium imports), the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, and the Smoking Opium Exclusion Act of 1909. Public burnings of confiscated opium and pipes occurred. Dens were driven underground but persisted in some places into the mid-20th century (New York’s last known one closed in 1957; some Australian dens lasted into the 1950s).

Period accounts mixed genuine observation of addiction and squalor with heavy racial stereotyping, claims of dens luring and “corrupting” white women, associations with crime or moral decay, and “Yellow Peril” tropes. Many such narratives were exaggerated or false; dens attracted diverse patrons, and smoking also occurred privately in homes. Photographs from the era show both ordinary Chinese smokers and mixed groups reclining with pipes, sometimes appearing relaxed rather than purely degraded.






August 6, 2026

Historical Photos of Columbia River Log Rafts From Between the Late 19th and Early 20th Centuries

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, the Columbia River served as the central highway for the Pacific Northwest’s booming timber industry. Moving millions of board feet of massive old-growth timber from inland forests to coastal sawmills, and eventually to California’s expanding cities, required extraordinary feats of maritime engineering. What began as simple river driving evolved into giant flat log booms and, ultimately, the world-famous ocean-going Benson rafts.

In the mid-19th century, loggers floated loose timber down river tributaries. On calmer stretches of the Columbia, logs were organized into flat, single-layer floating enclosures known as log booms. Bound together with perimeter boom sticks and swifter cables, these rafts were easily towed by steam tugboats downriver to mills in Portland, Vancouver, and Astoria. However, flat booms were unsuitable for the open ocean. Rough swells easily broke the cables apart, scattering millions of board feet of valuable timber into the Pacific.

To bypass exorbitant railroad freight rates and satisfy Southern California’s massive construction boom, lumber magnate Simon Benson perfected a revolutionary ocean-going log raft in 1906. Built along the lower Columbia River (primarily near Clatskanie, Oregon, and Stella, Washington), these giant cigar-shaped rafts were designed specifically to withstand the 1,100-mile ocean voyage down the Pacific Coast to San Diego.

A massive wooden frame resembling a ship’s hull was anchored in calm river sloughs. A crane operator layered thousands of logs in an overlapping pattern (like brickwork) so no single transverse seam ran through the raft. A heavy center chain ran the length of the raft, connected to radiating circle chains that wrapped tightly around the outside perimeter. Once the cradle sides were unbolted, high tide lifted the ocean-bound raft free. Crews often stacked finished lumber, telephone poles, and shingles on the flat top deck before towing.

Between 1906 and 1941, 120 Benson rafts successfully navigated from the Columbia River to San Diego, supplying lumber for major southern California landmarks. Only 4 were ever lost or severely damaged by storm weather.

The practice came to an end due to several factors. High-profile raft fires in 1941 made insuring ocean-going log transports difficult. Prolonged saltwater exposure caused wood warping and left salt residue that damaged sawmill blades and wood-fired boilers. Railroads and modern trucking routes became cost-competitive and faster than 15-day ocean tows.






August 4, 2026

Women Selling “Wine Bricks” in New York, 1931

Women selling “wine bricks” (compressed grape juice) in New York in August 1931. The packages were supposed to be dissolved into grape juice, but included the warning, “Do not dissolve the concentrate in a gallon of water, add yeast, and let it sit in a dark place for 21 days, or else it will ferment into wine.”



The “grape bricks” (often branded as Vine-Glo or Vino Sano) were a crucial survival tactic for the wine industry between 1920 and 1933. While selling alcohol was banned, Section 29 allowed households to produce up to 200 gallons of “non-intoxicating” fruit juice annually for personal use.

Vineyards sold dehydrated, concentrated grape bricks (about the size of a pound of butter) that contained pulp, skins, and stems. The packaging was notoriously ironic. It usually included a set of instructions listing what not to do, which acted as a perfect recipe:
  • Dissolve the brick in a gallon of water (often with added sugar).
  • Do not leave the mixture in a jug in a cool cupboard (or dark place) for about 21 days, or it would turn into wine.
  • Do not shake it daily, stop the bottle with a special cork/siphon, or skip preservatives like benzoate of soda (which was recommended to prevent fermentation if you truly wanted only juice).
These negative instructions effectively told buyers exactly how to ferment a roughly 13% ABV wine. Salespeople (sometimes attractive women demonstrating in stores) delivered the warnings with knowing smiles. Packages also stressed that the product was “for home use only” and “legal in your home.”



Prohibition threatened California’s wine industry, as many growers faced pressure to rip out vines. Instead, demand for grapes and concentrates soared. Prices for a ton of grapes jumped from about $9.50 pre-Prohibition to a peak of $375 by 1924. Vineyard land values also rose sharply. Companies and families that stayed in the grape business (including some that later became major post-Prohibition wineries, and figures connected to the Mondavi and Gallo families) prospered. Home wine production helped overall U.S. wine consumption rise in the early Prohibition years even as commercial winemaking was banned.

Sacramental wine for churches and synagogues was another major legal outlet that helped some producers survive.

Authorities periodically targeted the trade. In 1931, dry agents (prompted in part by the Anti-Saloon League) raided a Vino Sano sales office in New York, seized thousands of bricks, and arrested staff, setting up potential court tests of Section 29. Fruit Industries Ltd. faced similar scrutiny and legal challenges around Vine-Glo. The products largely faded with the approach of repeal.

Beer and low-alcohol wine became legal again in early 1933 under the Cullen-Harrison Act; full repeal of the 18th Amendment followed with the 21st Amendment in December 1933.

Elvis Presley Donating His Yacht to Raise Money for the Newly Created St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, 1964

On February 14, 1964, Elvis Presley officially handed over the deed of the USS Potomac, the former presidential yacht of Franklin D. Roosevelt, to entertainer Danny Thomas to raise funds for the newly established St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis (Elvis’s hometown).

The USS Potomac served as President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous “Floating White House” from 1936 to 1945. Elvis bought the yacht at an auction on January 30, 1964, for $55,000 (equivalent to over $500,000 today). He originally intended to donate it to the March of Dimes, but they declined the gift due to high maintenance costs. The public transfer took place on Valentine’s Day in Long Beach, California, where Elvis presented the keys and deed directly to Danny Thomas. St. Jude sold the vessel shortly thereafter for $75,000 to generate operating funds for the pediatric research facility.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Elvis Presley is making this gracious contribution,” Thomas said after the ceremony. “Elvis is a great humanitarian.”

Today, the fully restored USS Potomac is docked at Jack London Square in Oakland, California, where it serves as a US National Historic Landmark open for public tours.






August 3, 2026

The Marble Fireplace at Cragside in Northumberland, England

The Marble Fireplace at Cragside (also known as Cragside House) in Northumberland, England, is a colossal 10-ton Victorian masterpiece standing 6 meters (19.6 feet) tall. Located in the estate’s spectacular Drawing Room, this Italian Renaissance-style inglenook structure spans from floor to ceiling.


It dates from 1884 and was designed by William Lethaby (chief assistant to the house’s main architect, Richard Norman Shaw). Lethaby later became a leading figure in the Arts and Crafts movement. The fireplace is Classical Renaissance in style, extravagantly carved with Ionic columns, cherubs/putti, angels, and intricate swags of fruit and other motifs inspired by Italian classical architecture.

It was carved in London, shipped in pieces to the port of Amble on the Northumberland coast, transported by horse and cart to Cragside, and reassembled on site. Because of its immense weight and first-floor location, it is pinned deep into the underlying crag with steel girders.

The Drawing Room itself was created as a deliberate showpiece (in contrast to the more comfortable, homely rooms elsewhere in the house) for entertaining important guests, including clients of William Armstrong’s armaments and engineering businesses. Notable visitors included the Prince and Princess of Wales (the future Edward VII and Queen Alexandra) in 1884, shortly after the room’s completion, as well as the Shah of Persia and other foreign dignitaries. The room features an elliptical glass ceiling (allowing parties by moonlight), elaborate plasterwork, and a large original chenille/Axminster carpet.

Cragside, the Victorian Tudor Revival home of industrialist, inventor, and philanthropist William Armstrong, 1st Baron Armstrong (founder of Armstrong Whitworth), is famous as the first house in the world lit by hydroelectric power. It is a Grade I listed building owned by the National Trust and open to the public.


In recent years the fireplace suffered from salt efflorescence caused by moisture penetrating the building (linked to heavier rainfall overwhelming the original Victorian drainage). This risked causing the marble and plaster to crumble. Urgent conservation work began around 2021, involving stabilisation with specialised lime-based treatments (such as nano-limes or calcium hydroxide solutions) while the sources of water ingress were investigated and addressed. Funding included support from the Wolfson Foundation, the Culture Recovery Fund (via Historic England), and private donors. The work aimed to preserve this dramatic centrepiece for the long term.

The fireplace is widely regarded as spectacular and one of the house’s great highlights (sometimes described as one of the largest or most extravagant inglenooks of its kind), though opinions on its ornate Victorian style vary from admiring to finding it flamboyant.

August 1, 2026

The Amazing Story of Juana Maria, a Native Californian Woman Who Was the Last Surviving Member of Her Tribe, the Nicoleño

Juana Maria, better known as the “Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island,” was a Native American woman of the Nicoleño people whose real name is unknown. She lived alone (or nearly alone) on San Nicolas Island, the most remote of California’s Channel Islands, about 60 miles (97 km) off the southern California coast for 18 years, from 1835 until 1853. Her story inspired Scott O’Dell’s 1960 Newbery Medal-winning children’s novel Island of the Blue Dolphins (in which she is fictionalized as the character Karana).

A photograph of a Native American woman, believed to be Juana Maria. This photograph was found alongside a picture of Maria Sinforosa Ramona Sanchez, wife of George Nidever, with whom Maria had lived at the Santa Barbara Mission.

The Nicoleño (closely related to the Tongva) had lived on San Nicolas for thousands of years. In 1811–1814, a party of Native Alaskan (primarily Alutiiq/Kodiak) sea otter hunters working for the Russian-American Company massacred many of the island’s men after conflict, severely reducing the population. By the early 1830s only a small number of Nicoleños remained.

In late 1835 the schooner Peor es Nada (“Better Than Nothing” or “Nothing Is Worse”), under Charles Hubbard, was sent to remove the remaining islanders to the mainland. Most boarded, but Juana Maria did not. Traditional accounts say a sudden storm forced the ship to leave urgently; a more romantic later version (appearing decades afterward) claims she jumped overboard after realizing a child (sometimes described as an infant or younger brother) had been left behind. Modern research, drawing on Native Californian testimony recorded by ethnologist John Peabody Harrington, indicates she may have voluntarily stayed because her son refused to board, and that the two lived together on the island until the son, by then an adult, was killed by a shark or orca.

She survived for 18 years through remarkable resourcefulness. She built a hut partly of whale bones and brush (and may have used a nearby cave), wore a skirt or dress of greenish cormorant feathers sewn with sinew, and lived primarily on seal fat/blubber, shellfish, fish, and birds. She made tools (including hooks from shells and a knife from an iron hoop), baskets, and other items. Hunters occasionally reported signs of her presence but failed to locate her for years.

Santa Barbara Mission priest José González Rubio funded searches. Fur trapper-captain George Nidever made multiple trips. On his third attempt in autumn 1853, crew member Carl Dittman found footprints and drying seal blubber. They located her in her whale-bone hut. Accounts describe her as about 50 years old, of medium height and sturdy build, strong and active, with a pleasant, smiling face and worn but complete teeth. She was friendly, offered food, showed no fear, and willingly returned with them to Santa Barbara after about a month.

She stayed with the Nidever family. She was fascinated by horses, European clothing, and foods, and reportedly enjoyed singing and dancing for visitors. Communication was extremely limited, local Chumash and even Tongva speakers could not fully understand her Nicoleño language (a Uto-Aztecan tongue; a few words and songs were later recorded, including one known as the “Toki Toki” song). She was nicknamed things like “the wild woman” or “Better Than Nothing.”

Just seven weeks after arrival she died of dysentery (October 19, 1853), possibly worsened by sudden exposure to richer mainland foods such as green corn, vegetables, and fruit, or by disease to which she had little immunity. On her deathbed she was conditionally baptized by Father Francisco Sánchez and given the name Juana Maria. She was buried in an unmarked grave in the Nidever family plot at Mission Santa Barbara cemetery. A commemorative plaque was later placed there. Most of her artifacts (including clothing and a water basket) were lost in the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire.

Her story became a California legend, amplified by 19th-century newspaper accounts that portrayed her in romanticized “Robinson Crusoe” or “last of her race” terms. Archaeological work has located her hut site and a possible cave, plus artifact caches. Recent scholarship has revised older narratives: she was not necessarily the absolute last Nicoleño, the removal was more complex than a simple missionary rescue after the massacre, she could communicate to some degree with certain Native people, and she exercised agency in remaining on the island with her son rather than being purely abandoned. The Pechanga Band of Luiseño Indians has asserted cultural affiliation, leading to pauses in some archaeological work.

A historically informed portrait of her (based on contemporary descriptions) was unveiled by the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History, and a statue stands in Santa Barbara. Her life remains a powerful story of Indigenous resilience, isolation, and the devastating impacts of colonization, disease, and cultural disruption on California’s Native peoples.

Statue of Juana Maria and child in Santa Barbara, California, at the intersection of State Street & Victoria Street.

July 31, 2026

Isabelle Adjani and the Photographers’ Strike at the 1983 Cannes Film Festival

At the 1983 Cannes Film Festival, French actress Isabelle Adjani became the center of one of the most famous red carpet protests in history when photographers put down their cameras and turned their backs on her.

Adjani arrived at the festival to promote her upcoming thriller One Deadly Summer (L'été meurtrier). Deeply frustrated by aggressive media intrusion into her personal life, she actively avoided the press. She refused to attend the traditional film press conference photo ops. She shielded her face with umbrellas and bags whenever photographers approached. She would only pose for a select few photographers who signed strict exclusivity agreements.





The press core felt insulted by her actions and decided to retaliate. On the evening of May 10, 1983, as Adjani arrived at the Palais des Festivals for the formal red carpet premier, the photographers executed a silent strike. Hundreds of photographers placed their cameras directly onto the ground. They turned their backs completely to the steps as she walked by. There were no flashing bulbs or shutter clicks for France’s most sought-after actress.

Despite the tension on the red carpet, One Deadly Summer went on to become a major commercial and critical success in France, cementing Adjani’s reputation as one of French cinema's defining talents of the era. This historic standoff remains a legendary example of the complex, volatile relationship between high-profile celebrities and the paparazzi.



July 30, 2026

Famous Posthumous Photos of “Bloody Bill” Anderson After Being Killed by Union Solders, 1864

William T. Anderson (c. 1840 – October 26, 1864), known by the nickname “Bloody Bill” Anderson, was a Confederate soldier who was one of the deadliest and most notorious guerrilla leaders in the American Civil War. Anderson operated along the lawless Missouri-Kansas border, leading a group of irregular pro-Confederate partisan fighters known as “bushwhackers.” His tactics were defined by extreme violence and a thirst for personal vengeance, fueled in part by the death of his sister in a Union jail collapse.

He became infamous for scalping, mutilating, and executing Union soldiers. His most notorious act was the Centralia Massacre in September 1864, where his men executed over 20 unarmed Union soldiers on a train and slaughtered over 100 pursuing troops. His band of fighters served as a breeding ground for future outlaws, including young Jesse James and Cole Younger.

Furious over the Centralia Massacre, Union forces tasked Lieutenant Colonel Samuel P. Cox with hunting Anderson down. On October 26, 1864, Cox lured the guerrillas into an ambush near Albany, Missouri. Anderson charged directly into the line of fire and was shot twice in the head, dying instantly.

Union forces brought his body to Richmond, Missouri, parading it through the streets in triumph. To provide undeniable propaganda proof to the public that the notorious terrorist was dead, local photographer Robert B. Kice propped his corpse into a chair, arranged his hair, and placed a revolver in his hand. The photographs were widely distributed across the border states. Following the photo session, Union soldiers reportedly dragged his body through the streets, decapitated him, and buried him in an unmarked field. Decades later, in 1908, his former subordinate Cole Younger returned to give him a proper burial in Richmond’s Pioneer Cemetery.



Historians have been mixed in their appraisal of Anderson. Biographer Larry Wood describes him as the “bloodiest man in America’s deadliest war” and characterizes him as the clearest example of the war’s “dehumanizing influence.” In their biography of Anderson, Albert Castel and Tom Goodrich view Anderson as one of the war’s most savage and bitter combatants, but they also argue that the war made savages of many others.

According to journalist T.J. Stiles, Anderson was not necessarily a “sadistic fiend,” but illustrated how young men became part of a “culture of atrocity” during the war. He maintains that Anderson’s acts were seen as particularly shocking in part because his cruelty was directed towards white Americans of equivalent social standing, rather than targets deemed acceptable by American society, such as Native Americans or foreigners.

In a study of 19th-century warfare, historian James Reid posited that Anderson suffered from delusional paranoia, which exacerbated his aggressive, sadistic personality. He sees Anderson as obsessed with, and greatly enjoying, the ability to inflict fear and suffering in his victims, and suggests he suffered from the most severe type of sadistic personality disorder. Reid draws a parallel between the bashi-bazouks of the Ottoman Army and Anderson’s guerrillas, arguing that they behaved similarly.

Anderson, ca. 1864

July 28, 2026

Portrait of Fred Waite and Henry Brown, Two Prominent Members of the “Regulators” During the Lincoln County War

Fred Waite and Henry Brown were once members of the Regulators, a vigilante group born out of the violent turmoil of the Lincoln County War in New Mexico during the late 1870s. Known for their sharp shooting and fearless resolve, both men played active roles in the bloodshed that followed, as factions battled for control in a region where law and loyalty were often fluid. In an era where the difference between outlaw and lawman could shift overnight, Waite and Brown gained reputations as capable, if dangerous, figures navigating a brutal chapter of Western history.


In the war’s aftermath, the two found themselves allied with one of the most enduring legends of the American frontier, Billy the Kid. Riding with his gang, they took part in daring escapes and deadly confrontations, living lives defined by risk and rebellion. Their association with Billy the Kid sealed their place in Western lore, linking them to a band of outlaws whose story blurred the lines between justice and vengeance. For a time, Waite and Brown rode in the shadow of a legend, their own names woven into the mythos of the Wild West.

A surviving photograph, housed in the True West Archives, captures the stoic faces of Waite and Brown, men shaped by conflict, loyalty, and the shifting allegiances of their time. It’s a haunting reminder of the era they inhabited, when survival meant choosing sides in a world without clear heroes.

Meet Jeanne Louise Calment, the Oldest Verified Person in Recorded History

Jeanne Louise Calment (February 21, 1875 – August 4, 1997) was a French supercentenarian who is the oldest person in recorded history whose age has been verified, with a documented lifespan of 122 years and 164 days. Her longevity attracted media attention and medical studies of her health and lifestyle. Calment is the only person in history who has been verified to have reached the age of 120 years.

According to census records, Calment outlived both her daughter and her grandson. In January 1988, she was widely reported to be the oldest living person in the world. In 1995, at age 120, she was declared to be the oldest person in history with a verified date of birth.

Living across three different centuries, Calment witnessed vast changes in the world. As a 13-year-old in 1888, she met the famous painter when he visited her father's shop to buy colored pencils. She later recalled him being “scruffy, badly dressed, and disagreeable.” Calment was 14 years old when construction on the Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889. She lived to see the birth of cinema, the invention of airplanes, and survived both World Wars.

When Calment was 90 years old, she entered into a French “viager” real estate agreement with a 47-year-old attorney. Under the contract, he agreed to pay her a monthly sum (around $500) for life, in exchange for taking ownership of her apartment after she died. Expecting her to pass away within a few years, the attorney instead ended up paying her for 30 years before dying himself at age 77. His widow was legally obligated to continue the payments for nearly three more years until Calment passed. Calment famously joked, “You’re never too old to make a good deal.”

Calment was renowned for her energetic, positive personality and sharp sense of humor. She regularly consumed nearly a kilogram of chocolate a week, drank Port wine, used copious amounts of olive oil, and smoked from age 21 until she finally quit at 117.

Coming from a wealthy family, she never had to work and spent her life swimming, playing piano, cycling (which she did until age 100), and fencing (which she picked up at 85).

When a reporter once told her, “I hope we meet again next year,” she quickly fired back, “Why not? You’re not that old, you'll still be here!”

Calment in 1895, aged 20

Calment in 1897, aged 22

Calment around 1900, aged about 25

Calment in her youth

Calment in 1910, aged 35

La Muerte Niña: Post-Mortem Portraits of Infants and Young Children in Mexico From the Late 19th and Early 20th Centuries

“La muerte niña” (the death of the child) refers to the Mexican tradition of post-mortem photography for deceased infants and children, a deeply rooted custom that peaked during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Stemming from colonial art traditions, these photographs served as a final, permanent keepsake for families enduring high infant mortality rates. Unlike modern perspectives that view memento mori images with unease, Mexican families celebrated these children as “angelitos” (little angels) who died without sin and were believed to ascend straight to heaven to act as divine intercessors for the family.

Deceased children were rarely photographed in plain clothes or coffins. Instead, they were heavily stylized to reflect their transformation into angels. Children were often dressed in elaborate white gowns or costumed as specific saints, the Virgin Mary, or Christ figures. Crowns made of fresh flowers (coronas) and palm leaves were placed on their heads to symbolize purity, spiritual victory, and absolute innocence. Photographers placed small crosses, rosaries, or lilies in the child's hands to denote their unblemished souls.

The staging aimed to mimic sleep, life, or divine coronation rather than cold mortality. Infants were frequently nestled into beds or cushions surrounded by dense, towering floral arrangements. Propped up in chairs or held by their godparents and mothers, children were sometimes photographed with eyes chemically painted open or gently arranged to look awake. Parents and siblings often stood stoically beside the deceased child, displaying solemn dignity rather than open weeping, as outward grief was thought to hinder the angelito’s journey to heaven.

As photography studios expanded across Mexico during the Porfiriato era, the practice grew accessible to both wealthy elites and rural working classes. Prominent regional photographers, such as Romualdo García in Guanajuato and Juan de Dios Machain in Jalisco, documented hundreds of these rituals, leaving behind vast socio-historical archives. By the mid-20th century, shifts in Catholic mourning practices, the modernization of funeral industries, and improved healthcare led to the gradual decline of this unique photographic genre.









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