Since the inception of Maine's prison system, inmates have been kept busy by craftwork. It began with the menial labor of constructing wooden wagons and later pressing license plates. Today, the prisoners of the Maine Department of Corrections showcase everything from dollhouses to lobster traps, all available at a reasonable price.
The inmates seem to enjoy creative control over their products. Though many of the crafts fit a mold (dozens of identical piggy banks and wooden lampshades), some of them are true works of art. There are artisanal puzzle boxes and impossibly intricate wooden ships, as well as many other maritime-themed objects. There are frosty woodland paintings of rustic cabins in wintertime. Showroom patrons are graced by the vision of "Neptune's Ride," a life-sized, shirtless sea god riding a Harley with a busty mermaid on the back, in the front window.
A visit to the Maine State Prison Showroom offers a poignant bit of insight into the people on the inside. Inmates are all different kinds of folks who enjoy expressing themselves in various ways. They, like everyone else, need a creative outlet.
At the historic and beautiful Mt. Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York, a modest white gravestone marks the final resting place of Susan B. Anthony, the social reformer who spent decades leading the fight for women’s suffrage, and was even arrested for attempting to vote in Rochester in 1872. She died in 1906, fourteen years before the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment.
During the 2016 presidential election, when Hillary Clinton ran for the nation's highest office as the first female nominee, dozens of happily enfranchised voters headed from their polling places to Mt. Hope Cemetery to adorn Anthony's gravestone with “I Voted” stickers. The cemetery even opted to stay open late on election night to encourage visitors wishing to honor Anthony's legacy.
One can safely assume Anthony would be pleased to see her gravestone covered in "I Voted" stickers. Throughout her life, she saved trunks’ worth of letters, newspaper clippings, and other voting-related errata, which she used to write the six-volume History of Woman Suffrage. She collected so many materials, she nearly collapsed her sister’s attic, which she was using as storage space.
Not far from Mt. Hope, on the west side of the city of Rochester, sits the Susan B. Anthony Museum and House, where Anthony lived for the last 40 years of her life. In 1872, Anthony led 15 other women from this house to a polling place around the corner to demand to be allowed to vote. The house museum has also offered an admission special for Election Day 2016.
For thousands of years, the sand dunes in northwestern Poland have been moving. At an average rate of 10 meters (32 feet) per year, the dunes at Słowinski National Park are blown by the volatile winds coming off the Baltic Sea that push the sand further inland and ever higher, swallowing tall pines and changing the biosphere of the area every year.
Unique in all of Europe and remarkable for their persistence and height, these coastal mountains are surrounded by ocean on one side with dune-locked lakes and forests on the other. But the 40 meter (131 feet) tall dunes are slowly overtaking the trees and where once tall, proud pines held sway, only fossilized tips poke out of the top of the mounds now.
The native people of the area who have lived in the swamps and marshy woodlands near the dunes for hundreds of years claim that at least one entire village lies underneath the sand, a victim to the blowing winds and shifting soil. Scientists agree that the three large lakes in the national park were once bays that were closed in by the tenacious movement of the dunes. Today, the park is a protected World Biosphere Reserve inhabited by rare birds and fish who make a home in the ever changing marshy woodlands around the sandy hills.
There is a small village in southern Sweden that has fairly ordinary attractions: a couple of cafés, a general store, a busy bus stop, a community bulletin board… but this is no ordinary village. Önneköp, population 206, has its own national flag, diplomatic corps, and secret guerilla army. And to top it off, a Cannibal Museum.
The Republic of Önneköp declared its independence from Sweden in 1995, and it’s been ruling itself—with tongue firmly planted in cheek—for the past two decades. The "micronation” was announced with a bold flag featuring a cuckoo bird in flight over a steaming cup of coffee. The symbolism refers to its national drink called Kaffegöken, or cuckoo-coffee, which is basically some hot brew spiked with vodka. The national motto is “Kaffegöken det bästa är, den leder aldrig till besvär," or “The best thing about cuckoo-coffee, it never leads to trouble."
Önneköp has a handful of part-time ministers, led by local museum owner Arnold Wernersson (he’s the one who runs the Cannibal Museum). While they’ve been able to maintain most diplomatic relations, all has not been entirely conflict-free. Deploying the Önneköp Republican Army (the ÖRA, an army so secret most recruits have no idea they are members) they recently attacked the neighboring village of Huaröd.
Every five years Huaröd organizes a carnival, with a procession through town and lots of live music. In 2012 its peaceful celebration was literally crashed by the ÖRA’s Air Force when two parachutists landed in the middle of the festivities to claim the village for its own territory.
All was of course forgiven when visiting rights were extended to the good people of Huaröd, and an invitation to make themselves welcome in the Republic of Önneköp. Now the only thing worrying the Önneköp ministers is how Huaröd might try and get even.
Although blue is the color most often associated with the world’s oceans, black is a far more apt descriptor for nearly 90 percent of our planet’s waters. Descending beneath the surface, the seemingly endless, light-flooded blue quickly fades, leaving nothing but utter darkness by a depth of roughly 200 meters (650 feet). Here, the largely unexplored and perpetually dark deep sea begins—a hidden, dreamlike world filled with fantastically weird creatures: gliding glass squid, flitting sea butterflies, and lurking viperfish.
Last winter, photographer and marine biologist Solvin Zankl joined a scientific expedition led by the GEOMAR research center in Germany to conduct deep sea biodiversity assessments around the islands of Cape Verde. The team explored the depths with cameras and lights, and used nets to bring an array of strange deep sea creatures to the surface. In his shipboard photography studio—outfitted with special aquariums and a powerful microscope—Zankl set out to capture the unique features and behaviors of these otherworldly organisms. This photo series offers rare glimpses of some of those creatures and the adaptations that enable them to survive and thrive in one of the planet’s most challenging environments.
Like many other deep-sea fishes, the Sloan’s viperfish (Chauliodus sloani) uses light-producing cells called photophores to lure unsuspecting prey toward its mouth. Once it catches its victim, the viperfish’s hinged teeth rotate inward to trap the animal and force it inescapably down the predator’s gullet.
The boxer snipe eel (Nemichthys curvirostris) belongs to a family of eels whose slender bodies taper nearly five feet, ending in threadlike tails. This body shape has earned the species the scientific name Nemichthys, or “filament fish.” The eel’s large eyes are adapted to capture every possible ray of light as they plumb the dinghy depths with curved, bill-like jaws. An exceedingly narrow body plan has resulted in a surprising location for the snipe eel’s anus: just behind the animal’s head.
Ghoulish in appearance, creatures like this ostracod have thrived for millennia as little more than floating heads. Lacking segmentation, their bodies and heads are merged, tucked away into a globular shell along with the creature’s appendages. This particular ostracod species (Gigantocypris muelleri) has mirror-like reflectors for eyes that it uses to locate tiny, floating creatures of the deep.
The triplewart sea devil (Cryptopsaras couesi), a species of anglerfish, uses a modified portion of its dorsal fin like a fishing pole to lure would-be prey toward its mouth. Only females are equipped with this bioluminescent, prey-baiting adaptation. The much smaller males, in contrast, are parasitic mates, holding on to females with a mouthful of spiny teeth. The tissues and circulatory systems of both fish eventually fuse together until the male has lost all internal organ function except sperm production.
The thieving pram bug (genus Phronima) parades through the sea in a stolen, translucent mobile home. Females devour the gelatinous innards of a jelly-like sea creature known as a salp before crawling inside the salp’s exoskeleton to lay eggs. The female hangs on to the hollowed nursery with hooked claws, and propels it through the water to provide her larvae with a constant flow of water and food.
Bacteria fluoresce like a beacon at the end of this anglerfish’s bioluminescent lure. It’s an elegant display of symbiosis—a mutually beneficial relationship between two species. Unsuspecting fish mistake the glowing tip for prey and find themselves quickly inside the oversized jaws and elastic stomach of the anglerfish (Cryptopsaras couesi).
This is no friendly embrace: A deep-sea squid (Chiroteuthis mega) wraps its tentacles around its prey. Light-producing cells called photophores likely lured this unfortunate fish into close proximity, allowing the soft-bodied squid to strike.
Bumping into a common fangtooth can be a deadly mistake for squid and smaller fish. Because the predator has poor eyesight, it relies on the motion-sensing cells along its lateral line—an enlarged sensory strip that runs the length of the fish’s body—to detect prey. Juveniles lose the bright, plankton-filtering gills seen on this individual when they mature and descend into some of the deepest depths of any known fish, often more than 5,000 meters (16,000 feet) beneath the ocean surface.
This larval longarm octopus (Macrotritopus defilippi) will ultimately live up to its name by developing long, thin arms that stretch up to seven times the length of the octopus’s body. Scientists have reported instances in which this species has avoided predation by mimicking the shape, color, and behavior of a flounder fish while moving across the sea floor.
Given its transparent body, the glass octopus (Vitreledonella richardi) remains one of the most elusive creatures of the deep sea. Rare photographs such as this reveal an array of opaque organs and a glimpse of its unusually shaped eyes. Scientists think the upward tilt and elongation of its rectangular eyes are adaptations to help the glass octopus avoid predation.
Trailing a barb from its lower jaw, the scaleless dragonfish (Bathophilus nigerrimus) bares spikey teeth to snatch prey, including crustaceans and small fish. Despite their menacing appearance, dragonfish actually have weak jaws. Ensuring that prey are well skewered is the key to this fish successfully bagging a meal.
The marine snail Atlanta inclinata undulates its fin-like foot to propel itself forward and keep from sinking into the dark depths. At night, the snail secretes long strands of floating mucus to help it stay buoyant. The whorl of its translucent shell offers a safe haven for retreat when the mollusk is threatened by a predator.
True to its name, the sea butterfly (Clio chaptali)—a member of a family of marine snails—seems to fly through water. Two fleshy “wings” have evolved from the snail’s foot, which allow it to flutter through the water column and passively feed on plankton while remaining protected inside its translucent shell.
Despite its small size, the eye-flash squid (Abralia veranyi) migrates great vertical distances through the water column. During the day, it remains at depth shrouded in darkness to avoid predation. At night, the tiny squid ascends to feed on shallow-dwelling invertebrates. Scientists believe the speckling of light-producing cells known as photophores on the underside of the body help break up the squid’s distinct silhouette and allow it blend in with the light-filled water above.
Deep sea eels endure such radical metamorphoses during their life cycle that at first scientists confused their various developmental forms for different species. While in its larval stage, this eel will spend significant time floating in the open ocean feeding only on tiny plankton and relying on its translucency to hide from predators.
Male copepods—tiny aquatic crustaceans—of the genus Sapphirina glint like colorful jewels one moment and are nearly invisible the next. Scientists only learned the details of this sea sapphire’s vanishing act a year ago. Cellular material measuring just nanometers in thickness separate the crystal plates of the copepod’s exoskeleton. The varying thickness of this material is what determines which wavelengths of light reflect back, and therefore which colors we see—if we see any at all.
This little larval prawn (Plesiopenaeus armatus) is rarely spotted in the wild—except in the gut contents of other species—and for centuries, scientists failed to recognize the larvae’s connection to its adult form. Genetic analysis has since solved the mystery, proving that a species formerly known as the “monster larvae,” with external armor and devilish horns, transforms into a ruby-red, shrimp-like creature as an adult.
This juvenile glass squid (Bathothauma lyromma) haunts the waters with stalked, bulbous eyes and two short arms. Like many glass squids, members of this species contain light-emitting organs on their lower surfaces, which are used to fool predators and obscure the silhouette of their eyes.
The most stunning feature of this deep-sea threadtail (Stylephorus chordatus) is undoubtedly its pair of green, telescopic eyes modified to capture the slightest traces of light. The threadtail creates negative pressure by ballooning its mouth cavity and sucking up unsuspecting prey. Despite its vacuum-like feeding habits, this only known member of the Steylphorus genus is named for the whip-like extension of its filamentous tail.
On July 5th, 1945, a young British woman named Dorothy penned a letter to her sweetheart, Harry Hughes, a Royal Air Force pilot posted overseas in India. She told him about her day—she had voted in the General Election with her father, who, she said, was "rather proud on the occasion of having a daughter old enough to vote." She wrote of her hopes for the future—marriage, and a happy life together.
In 2016, someone—Dorothy? Harry? A younger Hughes?—mistakenly dropped the letter in an Asda Supercentre in Greater Manchester, England. Cashier Stacie Adamson was going through the store's Lost and Found when she spotted it, tucked among the junk mail and coupon packets. "I was going through all the letters, which we shred," she told the Manchester Evening News. "I saw it was from the war and saved it from being shredded."
Touched by the letter's message, Adamson has dedicated herself to finding its owner. So far, her search has turned up a video clip from Calling Blighty, a series of films shot in India and Southeast Asia for the benefit of folks back home. In the segment, Harry, smiling alongside a couple of his comrades, greets his parents and Dorothy. "I'm fine, there's nothing to worry about," he reassures them, before joking about sending some sunshine home to rainy Britain.
Adamson's next move, of course, is Facebook. An Asda post about the search has already garnered thousands of shares, along with helpful suggestions from invested readers: try to get on local TV! Post a copy of the letter near the cash registers!
"If the owner does turn up and claim it please let us romantics know," the top comment on the post pleads. The medium may change, but the message stays the same—we all just want the comfort of a response.
As the story goes, the Ottomans were raiding forts on what is now Turkey's shared border with Greece and Bulgaria when one night two soldiers began to wrestle.
The Sultan, entertained by the tussle, offered a pair of leather pants to the victor. The wrestlers were found dead in the morning, their bodies entwined. Their comrades buried them under a fig tree and carried on. When they reached another fig tree in a field called Kırkpınar, the soldiers staged a wrestling competition to commemorate their fallen friends. This wrestling competition has occurred once a year ever since 1346, making it one of the oldest annual sports competitions in history.
The wrestlers no longer fight to the death, but the Kırkpınar Oil Wrestling Festival is still steeped in tradition. The wrestlers, or "pehlivans" ("champions"), are naked except for leather trousers. They slick their bodies in olive oil, a practice left over from when solders applied the oil as an insect repellant. There is a formal etiquette to greeting another wrestler, involving antiquated bows and humble embraces of your opponent's legs.
In addition to the competition between the wrestlers, there is a bidding war between wealthy spectators. The highest bidder becomes the "agha," and is responsible for sponsoring the following year's tournament.
The match is won when one wrestler pins the other or lifts him above his head (both very difficult considering the slipperiness of a sweaty man covered in oil). Once a victor has been declared, it's customary for the winner to kiss the defeated—a gesture which illustrates the pehlivan's humility and honesty, traits that have been ascribed to them much longer than the tournament has been around.
It's not just bragging rights the pehlivans are grappling for though. The winner is awarded a cash prize equal to about $100,000 and a solid gold champion's belt.
On November 4, 1980, President Jimmy Carter went on television to concede to Ronald Reagan. The polls hadn't closed in California yet, but it was obvious Reagan had won. Before his speech, Carter sent Reagan a telegram. “It's now apparent that the American people have chosen you as the next president,” it read. “I congratulate you and pledge to you our fullest support and cooperation...”
Concession telegrams had been de rigueur for decades, but Carter added an additional flourish. He gave Reagan an unexpected call. The president-elect had just gotten out of the shower, and he picked up the phone in the bathroom, “with a wrapped towel around me, my hair dripping with water,” to accept Carter's congratulations.
Thus, in his eagerness to show himself a graceful loser, Carter enshrined the awkward concession phone call in American election tradition.
In these final weeks of the 2016 election, reporters have asked if Donald Trump if he’ll concede, in the event of a Republican loss, and the answer hasn’t been exactly clear. But if the loser of tonight's election doesn't pick up the phone to congratulate the winner, it'll be seen as a dramatic, petty snub. “The loser alone can truly congratulate the winner,” writes historian Paul E. Corcoran.
Nobody likes making the concession phone call: in the last election, President Obama, “unsmiling...and slightly irritated when it was over,” reportedly didn't even enjoy receiving the call from Mitt Romney. But since Carter, it's been unavoidable.
Presidential candidates didn't always concede elections: the practice only goes back to the late 1800s. Democratic nominee William Jennings Bryan was the first candidate to send his opponent a concession telegram, and by 1916 it was expected that the election's loser would write to the winner. Timeliness was expected as well: Woodrow Wilson was miffed that his opponent that year, Charles E. Hughes, didn't send him a note until weeks after the election.
Four-time New York Governor and Democratic presidential candidate Al Smith is sometimes given credit for the modern routine: In 1928 he sent Herbert Hoover a congratulatory message but also gave a public concession speech on the radio. In 1940 Republican nominee Wendell Willkie's concession speech was the first to be televised; in 1944, Franklin D. Roosevelt was insulted when Thomas Dewey never sent him a telegram congratulating him on his victory.
The defeated candidates would often read the telegrams they sent as part of their concession speeches, and sometimes those missives were used to make a political point. Goldwater wrote to Lyndon B. Johnson that the Republican Party “remains the party of opposition when opposition is called for. There is much to be done with Vietnam, Cuba, the problem of law and order in this country, and a productive economy.”
Usually the messages struck a note of reconciliation, like Ford's to Carter, in 1976:
By contrast, the concession phone call happens in private; the candidate rarely reports what happened verbatim. Carter didn’t inaugurate the practice; after losing to Nixon in 1968, Vice President Hubert Humphrey both sent a telegram and picked up the phone. Nixon was known for being a sore loser, but he was a gracious enough winner. “I know how it feels to lose a close one,” he told Humphrey.
In 1972, though, Democratic presidential nominee George McGovern couldn’t bring himself to actually talk to the hated Nixon when he lost. He only sent a telegram. (Humphrey actually called Nixon again, to congratulate him on his re-election.)
Since Carter, though, the call has been expected. When former Democratic Vice President and nominee Walter Mondale called Ronald Reagan, the sitting president was fully dressed. Democratic candidate Michael Dukakis called George H.W. Bush to “congratulate him on his victory.” George Bush, Sr., gave Bill Clinton “a generous and forthcoming telephone call, of real congratulations.” Four years later, Bob Dole called Clinton, and he reported in true Southern fashion that, “We had a good visit.”
Al Gore infamously called George W. Bush to concede—then called back to rescind. Democratic nominee John Kerry waited until the day after the election, after a long night of vote-counting in Ohio, to call Bush and congratulate him. Republican John McCain said calling Barack Obama to congratulate him on his victory was “a honor.” (Classy!) Mitt Romney called the president and told him he had done a good job at turning out his voters. (Less classy.)
This cycle, even the day before the election, reporters were hearing that Donald Trump hasn’t decided what tone a concession might take, if he has to concede. It’s hard to imagine how painful it would be for Hillary Clinton to make that phone call, too. Perhaps this cycle, the candidates will update the form of the election concession once again. Telegrams are too old-fashioned to make a come-back, so instead of a concession phone call, should we expect a concession tweet?
You never know when disaster might strike. Amidst mass panic, fear, and chaos it’s understandably difficult to keep logic and reason in check. The last thing you’d want to do when it’s time to flee your home is frantically pack random items you think you’ll need to keep you alive while trekking to what you hope will be a safer location with greater resources and protection.
Whether a brewing hurricane, an unexpected tsunami, or the ultimate doomsday scenario, survivalists and emergency preparedness experts have come up with various guides to creating your ultimate bug out bag, a portable pack stocked up with the absolute necessities to help you stay alive for three days in the event of a natural or man-made disaster.
“Disaster can strike at any time and knowing what to do and how to respond in that time of emergency could mean the difference between life and death,” says Andrew, who declined to give his last name, co-founder of Bug Out Bag Academy, a website dedicated to the bug out bag. “I wish that didn’t sound so gloomy, but the flipside of that coin is having preparations like bug out bags can give us much needed hope and assurance in a time of chaos.”
In the face of a disaster, every minute counts. Being prepared with an up-to-date list of core items to quickly pack into a bug out bag could save crucial time. Andrew suggests reviewing the contents of a bug out bag at least every six months to make sure you’re adequately prepared.
The origin of the bug out bag is said to derive from military pilot “bail-out-bags” that contained several critical survival items in the event that the plane went down, Andrew explains. Today, these bags are meant to assist you when the environment you are in is no longer safe and hunkering down isn't an option. In these life-threatening scenarios, you are forced to move to a relative’s home or designated emergency shelter, such as a hospital, hotel, or church—a bug out site. However, bug out bags and survival kits are a widely debated topic. Some bug out bag items are obvious and ubiquitous (water and medical supplies), while others may rile up criticism. For instance, Bug Out Academy’s guide of 75 essential items differs from the Survivalist Blog’s list and the Navy SEALs’ survival bag. Some experts question the value of even having a bug out bag.
“Unfortunately, compiling a bug out bag isn’t as easy as pushing a button and ‘poof,’ there it is. We wish it was, but that’s just not practical given all the unique variables to an individual’s situation,” says Andrew.
While the contents of a bug out bag may vary based on numerous factors (personal needs, location, mode of transportation, the state of the disaster), there are some items and tips that many agree you may want to consider.
“One of the key points is that you want to go basic and you want to go simple,” advises Robert Kauffman, a parks and recreations professor at Frostburg State University in Maryland who teaches an emergency preparedness and doomsday preppers class. “Don’t assume that you’re going to have all this high-tech stuff with you. Don’t assume that cell phone towers are going to be working.”
Cellphone towers might be down or overloaded, rendering mobile devices useless. Richard Mitchell a wilderness survival instructor at Oregon State University recommends throwing out the cellphone completely, and instead learn how to read a topographic map and standard magnetic compass.
“One the biggest, most recurring problems is navigation,” says Mitchell. “It’s the thing that’s most opaque these days because people have electronic instruments that they wave around in hopes that it’ll tell you where to go.”
After navigation, you should think about the basics of survival, maintaining fundamental body functions, such as core temperature and blood temperature, says Mitchell. He follows the “old rule of three”: you cannot survive three minutes without air, three hours without shelter (in most environments in the United States), three days without water, three weeks without food, and three months without human contact.
Guides almost all include first aid items in the bag, like antibiotics, disinfectant bandages, and small surgical tools. A simple bar of soap to wash your clothes, clean your skin or an injury, can be a critical item, says Mitchell. Something that can’t be included in a first aid kit, but is essential are immunizations. “Diphtheria, tetanus, typhoid. Those in major disasters do become relevant,” he says.
Exposure, especially being wet, kills. To protect yourself from the elements, Bug Out Bag Academy and Mitchell recommend water proof clothing (from top to bottom) as well as multiple pairs of socks, underwear, a hat, gloves, and sunscreen. It’s useful to have tools to start a fire, such as a butane lighter, and flashlight or headlight for a light source.
There are other items to include in a bug out bag that don’t directly contribute to basic survival, but are staple necessities such as money in the form of cash—particularly small bills. During disasters, “cash is king,” says Kauffman. You may not be able to withdrawal cash or use credit or debit cards if electronic systems are down, he says. “If all you have are fifties and hundreds, you might go to a grocery store to find that they don’t give change.”
There are several recommended bug out bag items that have stirred heated discussion, such as cooking utensils which people argue add unnecessary weight. Bug Out Bag Academy’s guide mentions non-lubricated condoms in the miscellaneous section, earning some vocal feedback from community members. “You wouldn’t believe some of the comments we didn’t approve for viewing by the general public,” says Andrew, who explains that they are actually quite durable and can serve as a water container or keep fire tinder dry. “Items like this that can serve multiple purposes in your bug out bag are a great help to reduce weight and bulk.”
But perhaps the most controversial are self-defense tools. Some may choose to pack firearms to help with defense or with hunting. Others may opt for pepper spray or choose not to carry any weapon at all. “While we think a critical element to any bug out bag is the personal ability to defend yourself and hunt for food if need be, we leave that up to the individual to decide,” says Andrew. “We say this because not everyone is sufficiently trained to properly handle and use a firearm, nor defend themselves. Just like a bug out bag, a weapon will not protect you, unless you know how to properly use it.”
Nifty tools and weapons aside, one of the most powerful objects in a bug out bag is a trinket, good luck charm, or picture of a loved one, says Mitchell. “It’s worth all the ammunition in your 9-millimeter [handgun],” he says. “Something that reminds you of hope is a very powerful tool.”
Mitchell and other experts argue that a bug out bag is seemingly inconsequential if you do not have the necessary skills to survive in an extreme disaster scenario. People are much more tool oriented than skill oriented, leaving many unprepared when encountered with uncertain conditions and events, he says.
“The biggest misconception is that bug out bags has to be that the bag and its contents will, in and of themselves, keep you alive. Nothing can be further from the truth,” says Andrew of Bug Out Bag Academy. Andrew, Mitchell, and Kauffman advise familiarizing yourself with your personalized bug out bag and the items within. You’ll be happy knowing basic survival and navigational skills when others scramble in panic during zombie apocalypse or alien invasion, or any cataclysmic event.
“If you don’t see why knowing about emergency preparedness is a good idea, just turn on the TV and watch the nightly news,” says Andrew. “Level heads prevail in times of calamity.”
Last week, we asked you to send us your election panic dreams. Many, many of you complied. But then dozens more came in, and we're now up to 139 panic dreams and counting.
A panic dream can be defined pretty broadly, from a specific nightmare to "the last year and a half of our lives." But most of you responded with simple, terrifying, dreams, of Trump, of Hillary, of nukes, egg babies, and post-apocalyptic scenarios. Below are more of them for your reading pleasure and also, possibly, as one last reminder to go vote.
Sadistic Trump
Dinner with Donald
Trump was my dinner date for some crazy reason. He kept scratching my arm with his fingernails and asking (hopefully) if it hurt.
"Wrong"
I'm diagnosed with PTSD. My dream was about an actual time when a man held a gun in my face, and when I escaped being held hostage, I was fired at and hunted. That part of the dream ended, and the rest was fictional but relevant to this survey. In flight, the police apprehended me and forced me to confess to raping a minor. Donald Trump interrupted me saying, "wrong," every time I tried to explain myself.
Murder
My dream was similar to It Follows, with a twist. I was in a group and a naked woman figure, not Clinton, but clearly demonic, was stalking us. Among the group was Trump who offered us safety in a secured penthouse. Once he realized that his act of kindness threatened his cache of food and supplies, he began to brutally murder members of the group, one by one. I don't remember my fate, but I probably opted for diving off the roof.
Metaphors
The Couple
I am with a couple, like my parents. It's a terrible situation - the man is an alcoholic, mean, has outbursts, threatens. I am an adult and I am trying to escape the horrible situation. I keep telling myself that either I'm leaving at nightfall when I can sneak out, or that if it happens one more time I'm leaving. I have to carefully plan my escape because he controls the money, and threatens me if I do anything against his ways. I'm determined to leave, and believe I'm smart enough and strong enough - but there are so many obstacles! The woman is trying to convince me that it's not so bad, we have to do what he says because he's right. I wake up feeling trapped, hopeless. The man represents Trump and the woman represents Republicans.
Puppets
It was like the tv show the walking dead except they were puppets and Donald Trump was pulling their strings
The Dog
I was sleeping on my living room couch due to back issues, and I dreamed that a big dog was behind a neighbor's fence-- really huge, sort of dark gray and white, built like a bulldog but as big as a real bull. It was growling and barking very loudly; there was a large poster of Trump's face on the fence it was behind, and I could see the dog's face every time it shoved at the gate-- the fence would wobble and the gate would shudder, and I was afraid the gate would break and the dog would come out.
Every time the dog made the fence move, the poster looked more and more like the dog (or vice versa, I don't know.) I jerked awake with a yelp, and it turned out that the "barking" was the sound of my apartment complex's maintenance guys working on my gas-meter right outside my front door-- they were digging, and the sounds of the shovel sounded like barking (I guess.) But man, I was sweating and my heart was beating hard!
The Hunt
I have been having recurring nightmares for the last three months about Donald Trump. In my dreams, I am in possession of information that will completely disqualify Donald Trump for becoming president. Somehow, he and his minions have learned I have this information and are pursuing me. Though the locations vary, I am always being chased, having to hide, trying to get away, etc.
I'm not sure why I'm having these nightmares other than the fact that the prospect of his presidency scares the absolute crap out of me. … Some days the nightmares haunt me all day long. Other days my unease passes before the morning, but I still dread the dreams and hope they cease after November 8th.
Trump in Cuffs
The other week, I had a dream where I was backstage watching Donald Trump deliver a speech on stage to his supporters. In the middle of the speech, a group of elite policemen (dressed in all black, face masks, no identification) rushed the stage to arrest Trump. He started yelling and cursing as they handcuffed him, his face getting orangier, and his supporters started rioting. A few people in the audience, including myself, started to laugh hysterically. When I woke up, I started checking the news to see if he had actually been arrested, and was deeply disappointed to find out he had not.
Double Trouble
Judgment
I had only one "election" dream of late, and both Clinton and Trump were in it. Clinton was chastising me for not being honest (not sure regarding what) and Trump look disapprovingly at me for listening to her berate me. All in all, this is one of my more tame dreams of recent weeks!
Family Vacation
First my mom's boss invited Donald Trump to stay with my family for a week to see how regular people lived. He insulted my mom's cooking so my dad decided we were going to be the grossest most unclean people ever. The more grossed out trump became the orange he turned until he finally blew up like the aunt in harry potter. Later I had to go to a banquet with hillary Clinton for extra credit but all she wanted to do was talk about her ugly grandson who was a stereotypical gray alien and also her new cape cod vacation home
Peeing and Farting
In real life I am an older woman with all the physical "frailties" that entails. My daughter teases me about my farting and having to wear "pee pads" for incontinence. I have been having a recurring dream that I can't decide who to vote for as all the candidates are dreadful. In my dream, I am in line at the polling station and have a brilliant idea. I decide that when I get to the booth that if I pee I will vote for Trump and if I fart I will vote for Clinton. I always wake up before finding out what my decision is.
Bernie!
The dream was candidates around a roasting pig, and Bernie was running through the woods.
Sad Hillary
It was very simple but very upsetting. It was Hillary Clinton in a room that looked like a library, and she was crying. There was nobody else there, not Bill, not Donald, not even me, it was just Hillary, crying alone in a library. I can see it very clearly still, her on a chair, at a table, wiping away the tears on her sleeve. She's always so composed, so to see her broken down, sobbing, it was so disturbing to see that it woke me up. And when I woke up I was crying, too.
Scary Hillary
Hillary KILLED everyone who didn't vote for her.
Hanging with Bill
I was hanging out in a small theater with the Clintons and an animal trainer was showing us all some large cats (small tiger, jaguars, leopards, etc). I enjoyed my time with Bill and the event died down and only Hillary and I were left. I thanked Hillary for the invite, and she told me I could stay over if I wanted, and that my wife said it was okay. I woke up and took a valium.
JFK
I had a dream that JFK was sitting on a couch in a cheap hotel room watching the election coverage. He looked tired... I think there was a dog there too.
Just Strange
I discovered a secret bank in the basement of my mother's old house. A teller (a man) informed me it was time to claim the inheritance my Arab ancestors left here for me ages ago. The teller lead me through a quaint wood-paneled room to a window. On the other side was a quaint Mediterranean oasis with a glistening pond and a litter of Swedish kittens romping around in verdant tufts of grass. The Swedish kittens, the teller told me, were my inheritance, and their names were Nelse, Else, Alfred and Gary.
I decided to just take Nelse and hand off the rest of the litter to family. Almost immediately after making the decision, Nelse started acting out of pocket pretending to drown in the pond. The basement oasis was quickly becoming a hellscape. Then, as I turned to the teller (now a woman) to ask her why sweet white Swedish kitten Nelse was being real extra, the teller pulled some deep shit from the darkest corners of my subconscious and laid it on me real thick: "Because she knows that now, she'll never have the perfect white life she was promised."
Egg Babies
I had a dream that the debate process in elections had been replaced with a sort of egg baby challenge, in which both candidates had to prove that they were responsible by caring for a weird, tiny, alien baby for a month. In the dream, I was an investigative reporter, and I published an article proving that Trump had eaten his original weird tiny baby, and that the baby he was carrying around at rallies was actually a replacement. In response, Trump gave a press conference, admitting to having eaten the original baby and saying he didn't care. He then ate his replacement baby live, on camera, while his supporters cheered.
Riots
The Bonfire
My family and I were waiting in line to at our polling location. There were large groups of white men and women standing around looking at the people in line to vote with suspicion clear on their faces. My husband whispered to me not to tell them who I was voting for. And to be as nice as possible to them.
Suddenly, in line ahead of us, I saw one of the women from the group grab an African American women that I know from the local YMCA and violently pull her out of line. I ran up to them and pulled the women off of my acquaintance and told her to leave in a very teacher-like way. But, that's when things went really bad and weird. Men from the group dragged the woman I know away into the crowd, which appeared to have gained a giant bonfire in the middle.
When I turned around, the mob had my husband on the ground and they were grabbing at my children. They knocked the stroller over with my baby still in it while they pulled my kicking preschooler out of his seat. I tried to run to them, but my whole body felt like it was being held back by a force, like running through a strong current in water. Over a blaring radio in the parking lot, I heard Hillary making her acceptance speech, she was cut off by the radio announcer, who immediately called for those listening to riot.
Then, everything went dark , but I knew the mob was still there. Out of the darkness around the mob, the face of an old friend leered at me and lunged toward my face. He appeared lit in a dark orange light. I woke up with a start and couldn't get back to sleep for a long time.
Polls on Fire
I was waiting in line to vote, and militia men set poll booths on fire, which then escalated to self immolation.
The Reaper
Everything is chaotic people everywhere are trying to leave or hide and Trump ambles among people cutting them down like blades of high grass destroying everything in his path... never actually seeing the visual destruction but knowing it is happening . Just knowing creepy…
Nukes
World War III
He wins. WWIII begins. Mushroom Clouds everywhere.
It all ends with the bomb
My panic dreams are usually about personal problems, but now every one of them ends with nuclear war. I had nuke nightmares for a couple of years after 9/11 and now they're back.
Demons
I dreamed Donald Trump won and it tore a hole in the fabric of the universe, and terrible evil demons came pouring out. They looked like a Breughel painting.
Post-apocalyptic
The Face on the Poster
Another dream: I live in a small state near the American border, so we have BP all over the place. In my dream, the agents take over the state and my neighbors and family become pawns of the state. The dream is vague, but there is a strong feeling of dystopia. We begin to rebel, and just as we start to fight I wake up. …. . In the background of the dream, I saw abstract posters of a man whose face resembled Donald Trump.
"Everything's fine"
I have been having absolutely non-stop apocalypse dreams. I tend to have nightmares most of the time (overactive imagination and I'm really into horror, so, y'know)—but these have been much more persistent, and marked by something different: everybody in these dreams is denying society is ending and trying to pretend like everything is normal. I'm pleading with people to notice what's happening, but everybody thinks it's not as big of a deal as I do, until it's too late.
Mad Max
I was scavenging a landfill in what appeared to be a post-apocalyptic scenario. My companions and I were ambushed by horribly rusted military robots, like Mad Max versions of the Boston Dynamics Big Dog, and it became apparent we'd been betrayed by one of our own. I confronted the traitor as we fled, and realized that he had Donald Trump's face. Infuriated, I pushed him to the ground and beat his clay-red face with my bare fists until it was unrecognizable, while the face jeered and laughed at me. What woke me up was the horror of hearing my grandfather's voice from behind me, crying and begging me to stop.
Real Consequences
Persecution
I had a dream where essentially gay rights were set back to the way they were pre-stonewall and that my husband and I were actually persecuted to the point we were having to defend our house against home invaders trying to hurt us.
Stay Out
I was trying to return to the US, Trump is president and there are photos of him everywhere. A white male border patrol agent is looking at my passport and back at me. I keep think he probably voted for Trump. He asks me why I left the US? I race through responses angry I've been asked this question. He keeps tapping on his computer and then tells me I can not enter the country because I could be threat. I'm desperate and panicked-- I don't belong anywhere.
As anxiety runs high during these tense times it may be difficult to keep your wits in check. But regardless of the problems and fears that have you panicked (and even sleep deprived), it's important to pause and reflect on the amazing wonders our world has to offer. The video above compiles extravagant, soothing shots of a stellar view of Earth that will leave you mesmerized and inspired.
The time lapse was captured by NASA’s four special low-light, high-definition cameras on the International Space Station as it makes its orbit around the planet. Accompanied by calming instrumental music, it features some of the best shots from the Image Science and Analysis Laboratory at NASA Johnson Space Center.
Incredible views of natural phenomena from 2011 expeditions show the expansive Sahara Desert, the gentle green shimmer of Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis, and flickering storms over oceans from space. At the 40-second mark you can see the fiery orange glow of city lights shining through dense swirling clouds. The whole experience makes you feel infinitesimally small.
Every day we track down a Video Wonder: an audiovisual offering that delights, inspires, and entertains. Have you encountered a video we should feature? Email ella@atlasobscura.com.
The year is 2091, and women are in charge of the United States. According to a missive describing their rise, they occupy 80 percent of top governmental, academic, and corporate positions. The cultural canon has shifted, moving works by women to the forefront. And thanks to technology that allows mothers to choose their children's gender, the sex ratios are skewed in favor of the new powerful class: ten women are born for every three men.
Is this Hillary's America? I mean, let's hope so. But it's also a very particular imagining of a possible future—government-sponsored, and dreamed up by the "Boston Team," a group hired by the Department of Energy in 1991 to imagine potential breaches of a nuclear waste site. Besides feminists, this panel warned of humanoid robots, a new Wild West, bad lawn decorations, and space warriors. Their fears show how far we've come in only 25 years—and how far we still have to go.
Political rhetoric is always future-focused, and governments have long tried to plan for eventualities.But with the advent of nuclear technology, the people in charge began thinking even further ahead. As historian Peter Galison explains in "The Future of Scenarios: State Science Fiction," starting in the 1950s, intellectuals built whole careers out of forecasting future wars, disasters, and energy depletion scenarios. So when the government faced a very real, present challenge—figuring out where and how to store the nuclear waste produced by the development of these weapons—they knew who to call.
"Before the waste site could open," Galison writes, "Congress demanded, and the Environmental Protection Agency specified, that the DOE had to have a plan that would keep humans from inadvertently stumbling into the waste." Nuclear as it was, said waste would be sticking around for millennia. The Waste Isolation Pilot Plant, or WIPP, was set to be built in New Mexico, just 26 miles east of Carlsbad. It was time for some pretty juiced-up futurism.
So in 1991, the Department of Energy tapped 16 people—physicists, lawyers, political scientists, and other lauded experts. This group, called the Futures Panel, was tasked with figuring out the many ways impending generations might get into the repository, and how to best keep them out of it.
To pull this off most efficiently, the 16 experts divided into four teams, sorted by geography. The Washington A and B teams, both made up of DC wonks, tried to build a logical vision of the future. They built complex flow charts, tracing the potential effects of natural resource depletion, government unrest, and other large-scale changes.
The third team, known as the "Southwest Team," got a little more loosey-goosey, naming their chunk of the report "Ten Thousand Years of Solitude?" and indulging a few out-there possibilities: What if the Southwest U.S. and northern Mexico join to form the "Free State of Chihuahua," and citizens begin scavenging the site for materials? What if we invent mechanical "smart moles," which end up digging through the bedrock of the repository?
And then there was the so-called "Boston Team." Made up of futurist Theodore J. Gordon, lawyer Michael Baram, physicist Bernard Cohen, and sociologist Wendell Bell, the Boston team traded general predictions and what-ifs for meticulously detailed scenarios, each purposefully absurd. Their driving question, as they wrote in the introduction to their section of the report, was: "What if phenomena that are deviant or only a mere idea today become dominant, the norm, the realities of tomorrow?" In their imaginings, they said, they privileged the "outlandish, irrational, perverse, and repugnant… Thinking the unthinkable is part of our task."
The Boston Team thought carefully through ten unthinkables. In that first scenario—titled "A Feminist World"—an future energy company, the Feminist Alternative Potash Corporation, wishes to mine for salts in the WIPP site. Although the team comes across the warning signs, once it becomes clear that they were written by a group consisting of mostly older white men, they dismiss them. "On the grounds of the obvious male (and class and race) biases that must have gone into the original thinking, they decided that the warnings were simply another example of inferior, inadequate, and muddled thinking," the scenario concludes. "Thus, they proceed to mine for the potash… inadvertently penetrating a disposal room and releasing radionuclides."
In another scenario, also slated for 2091, the U.S. is a second-rate world power, taken down by corruption, economic decline, and "racial and ethnic conflict." In response, New Mexico has seceded and joined up with Mexico, along with Texas and parts of Arizona and California. The area, now called Nuevo Mejico, becomes a sort of new Wild West, full of prospectors and con artists. An international group of treasure hunters, funded by capitalist speculators, sets out to find what they've heard is a wealth of material buried in the desert. When they come across the WIPP's warning signs, they take its as a sign that they're on the right track, and start digging. Soon, irradiated salt water is spewing up out of the ground.
The futures continue in this vein. There's one where a religious cult that dismisses all knowledge as subjective and penetrates the site while looking for mystical scrolls. There's another where people begin living in underground cities, and dig a deep-down train tunnel from Houston to Los Angeles (these people end up using the warning markers as decoration, "just as artificial pink flamingos used to be placed on some suburban lawns in the 20th century"). In yet another, the "humanoid computer-robots" that have replaced the labor force are infected with a virus that makes them "drill and construct shafts compulsively." They are all great reading, and can be found from pages C-39 through C-66 in this document.
The last scenario in the report attempts to imagine America in the year 11991. If we got that far, the writers apparently thought, it must be because we did something right. Instead of militant feminists, zealots, and malfunctioning robots, this future New Mexico is apple-pie American: it has an enormous museum and theme park, all focused on WIPP.
"People came from all over the Earth to visit WIPP Worlds and the WIPP Museum," built in 2016, the report explains. "No child's education was considered complete without at least a week there." Its mascot, Nickey Nuke, becomes the star of hundreds of children's books, theatrical productions, and animated films—a kind of Mickey Mouse for the nuclear age. In this way, the story of the buried waste remains fresh. "Long after metal had disintegrated and granite worn smooth of markings, the legends of Nickey Nuke remained in people's minds everywhere on Earth," they write. "No inadvertent intrusion into the nuclear waste repository occurred."
In real-life 2016, there is no WIPP Museum, and no Nickey Nuke. After many more reports and explorations, the DOE is still settling on an effective stay-out system, but it will likely hinge on landscape changes, and more formal knowledge dissemination—huge granite pillars etched with warnings, blueprints sprinkled throughout the archives of the world.
We can only hope they heed at least one suggestion of the Boston Team, worried about those future feminists: "Why not survey a sample of women, and members of ethnic minorities, about plans for WIPP?" the team wrote. Why not, indeed.
Voter fraud has been a contentious issue during the 2016 presidential election campaign, despite there being scant evidence that it actually occurs. But the methods being employed to combat it—such as the recruiting of volunteer "election observers" and ID requirements in 34 states—are nowhere near as creative, or as allegorical, as one of the most popular methods of the 1850s: the glass ballot box.
This invention was born as a response to the collective voice of enraged voters in San Francisco in 1856. It was in this year that the city's Committee of Vigilance uncovered a ballot box designed to commit voter fraud. This “stuffer’s ballot box” was equipped with a false bottom and a small panel on the side that allowed officials to stuff fake ballots in without anyone noticing.
Anger and panic followed the discovery. Voters all over the nation worried about the legitimacy of the electoral process, and how much their vote actually counted. After all, the ballot box is the symbolic and literal keeper of votes, the place where the voices of the people are supposed to be safe. Without a reliable ballot box—the logic went—there could be no reliable democracy.
In the midst of this crisis in which people’s confidence in the system wavered, one New Yorker named Samuel C. Jollie sought to correct all issues of corruption with a simple solution. If the opposite of corruption is transparency, he seemed to think, then there could be no better way to ensure a rightful process than with a glass ballot box. By making a design that was inherently apparent, he could do away with all the suspicious elements of stuffer boxers. If everything was in sight, there could be no way to rig an election.
Ellery Foutch, Assistant Professor of American Studies at Middlebury College has conducted extensive research on Jollie’s invention. In her paper, "The Glass Ballot Box and Political Transparency," she details how the box became patented, reproduced, and widely used after 1857. According to her, Americans at this time were obsessed with ideas of transparency, fairness, and virtue. Glass, which was just becoming easily accessible and cheap to produce, seemed to be the embodiment of the ideals that were thought essential to democracy.
As such, in the eyes of the public, the glass ballot box was corruption-proof. The clear sphere, held between an iron cast, only had a small hole through which rolled up ballots could be inserted. No secret compartments were possible, and taking ballots out required effort, so corrupt officials could not—at least in theory—take advantage of the democratic process.
What’s more, every citizen could become a vigilante of democracy, simply by paying attention to the contents of the box. As Foutch explained in an interview, at this time, political parties would often print out their own ballots in newspapers for people to bring to the voting booth. Therefore, a person’s vote could easily be identified by the color of the paper they were carrying. This had been the case before the glass ballot box appeared, but the new invention added the dimension of being able to keep tally of how the election was going simply by looking at the box.
Of course, not everyone believed in the infallibility of the new ballot box. Its critics declared that since officials would still be counting the ballots, fraud continued to be possible and probable. These fears carried over through the years and into the Reconstruction Era, where active measures of voter intimidation were employed to keep black voters from casting their votes.
To make matters worse, many latched onto the fact that the invention had been tied to corruption scandals in the year it was unveiled. These scandals were caused by speculation more than any solid proof, but saw Jollie accused of being in cahoots with the mayor of New York City. The purpose of the scheme was twofold: to somehow rig the elections in favor of the mayor, and to make a large profit by inflating the price of the boxes. Nothing really came out of the trials, but skeptics held onto the scandal as proof that their concerns were legitimate.
However, despite the early scandal that surrounded it, and the cries of the skeptics, the glass ballot box was adopted throughout the country. More importantly, it became an intricate symbol of the electoral process, used both to champion transparency in democracy, and to mock its processes. This is most clearly illustrated in political cartoons, where black and female suffragists and their opponents mold the symbol to their purposes as if it were made from glass in representation as well as form. In Foutch’s words:
The way in which people latched onto it as an emblem that could be used in whatever way they wanted, whether it was advocating for female suffrage or black suffrage or whether they were caricaturing women or people of color who were trying to vote. It’s this object that becomes a kind of locus for all of these concerns and hopes and fears.
The box was therefore much more important for its symbolic power than for the effectiveness of its use. Though it is hard to trace exactly when the object fell out of favor, it all but disappeared into antiquity rather unexpectedly in the beginning of the 20th century. By then, the ideas of transparent elections were being replaced with concerns about anonymity, and the argument that voters couldn’t be influenced or intimidated to vote for a certain candidate if nobody knew who they voted for. The opaque boxes came back to the booths, along with other more technologically advanced designs, while glass boxes were donated to museums and antique shops, or repurposed as fish bowls.
But while it was no longer present in voting booths, the glass ballot box continued to be around in political cartoons and allegorical images of justice. Its image of transparency and fairness, so important to the electoral process, was not easily discerned in the collective imagination. As Foutch describes it, “it had become a living memory.”
Object of Intrigue is a weekly column in which we investigate the story behind a curious item. Is there an object you want to see covered? Email ella@atlasobscura.com
This small and unassuming museum documents the catastrophic nuclear incident that occurred at Chernobyl on 26th April 1986 at 01:23, Moscow time. The museum's slogan is "est dolendi modus, non est timendi,” Latin for “there is a limit of sadness, anxiety has no limits."
Outside the museum stands a tank, an ambulance, a fire jeep and a military jeep. The entrance is a staircase lined with street signs which name every village affected by the disaster.
Chernobyl had a population of 49,346 people living in 11,000 apartments, and as such evacuation was not immediate. The radiation on the 27th April 1986, the day of evacuation, was 400 - 1500 mR/h. This exceeds the acceptable norm 75,000 times.
The small museum includes three exhibit halls that seek to inform, remind and issue a stark warning of the reconciliation that is necessary between man, science and the technology that threatens and endangers the Earth.
This palace was Kim II Sung's official residence until his son, Kim Jung Il, had it redeveloped as a mausoleum for his father and himself. This is a very sacred site in North Korea. Visitors are required to wear formal attire and no open footwear is permitted. Hair must be brushed and one is expected to look at their very most presentable.
As the complex is huge, it takes quite a while to get to the leaders' tombs. Entrance is via a sort of giant structure that blasts air like a hairdryer, for unknown purposes. The bodies are heavily guarded and all visitors (with absolutely no exception) are required to walk in lines of three with hands by their sides and are required to bow numerous times at all sides of both leaders.
Exit from the mausoleum is via a large museum dedicated to lives of the two dictators. There are clothes and boots (look out for the platforms that make the men a little taller), and a room, palatial in size, with the great many awards, honorary diplomas, keys, medals, titles, etc that the two Great Leaders acquired from other leaders around the world.
Maybe you voted early or by absentee ballot. Maybe you went this morning, or at lunchtime. But doesn't scrolling past all those "I Voted" stickers on your social media feeds make you want to vote for more things today?
This is the post for you. In honor of today's Big Decision, we've put together a series of Small Decisions: we've trawled the Atlas for our favorite swing-state destinations, and pitted them against each other. Who should take Ohio—Helltown, with its haunted, abandoned homes, or Crystal Cave, the world's largest geode?
As the city of Stockholm grew in the 1960s and 70s, the demand for public transportation grew with it. The blue metro line was added to connect downtown Stockholm with the expanding suburbs northwest of the city. But the construction of the end station at Kungsträdgården caused clashes between protesters and police that would prove to be a turning point in Swedish politics.
It all started after construction workers found cracks in the subway structure. It was decided that repairing the cracks would be too difficult and so the planned entrance to the metro had to be moved, and consequently 13 elm trees were to be cut down.
The decision seemed reasonable, especially given that Stockholm parks manager Holger Blom had assessed the trees wouldn't last much longer anyway due to their age. An advertising campaign was started to convince the public that this was the best way forward, the city council made a formal decision, and the government approved the plan. All was set—at least that was what the politicians thought.
When construction workers came to cut down the trees they were met by thousands of protesters who wanted to save the elms. Some of them had climbed the trees to prevent them from being cut down. The protesters were well-organized; they had made phone lists to be able to mobilize the masses quickly in case the police would make a move or start cutting down the trees during the night.
The situation escalated and on the 12th of May, 1971, when officers on horseback charged the demonstrators and batons and dogs were used by the police. Protected by the officers, some construction workers even started cutting the trees down, but soon had to stop since their safety couldn't be guaranteed.
After a week of protests the politicians finally gave into the pressure and decided to move the entrance of the new metro station to a property east of the park. This is seen as a turning point in Swedish politics, after which politicians were forced to pay more attention to the people's opinions and demands.
Most of the elm trees can still be found in Kungsträdgården and one of them still bear the scars from a chainsaw from that day in May 1971. Not only did the trees survive the Battle of the Elms, they also turned out to live much longer than the parks department in Stockholm City had predicted back in the seventies.
Bright red Dictograph alarms, like the one above, may be the Platonic ideal of alarms—you can just picture that light flashing while the machine screeches its warning. The company that made them shuttered years ago, but they can still be found adorning buildings from New York to Kansas City to Alexandria, Va.
The one above was found in a back alley in Baltimore's Hampden neighborhood, on a parking garage, says photographer Teresa Duggan. "This was on the back of an abandoned garage about 10 years ago, near its roof, and the cool vintage red light caught my eye," she writes. The building's since been renovated, she says, and the alarm is long gone.
The Dictograph Products Company's first success was for a different sort of auditory device: the firm began as Turner's General Acoustic Company and purchased the technology for the first electrical hearing aid. But the most useful application of the technology, it turned out, was in a recording device that could take dictation from executives—or eavesdrop on anyone who wandered too near it. The company changed its names and coasted through World War II selling these subversive spy devices.
In the 1950s, though, Dictograph Products was looking for new markets. In 1951 the company applied for a patent on a new fire alarm—temperatures rising to a dangerous degree would trigger its circuit and sound a warning.
The timing was bad. It was becoming clear that alarms that sensed smoke were superior to those that sensed temperature, and with no new hit products, the company shuttered a few decade later. Today, the only reminders of its existence are the occasional ancient alarms hanging on the side of a building—and a fairly robust market for its charming old dictographs.
Huston Cemetery is a little country graveyard right in the middle of a roundabout in busy West Des Moines, Iowa. Established in 1847, the first graves were two young girls from a family traveling by wagon train.
Mr. Huston, the man who the cemetery was named for, was the first attorney in Dallas County. He ran a stagecoach station, a post office, a saloon, and even established a stop on the underground railroad. He was the last burial in 1889. He is buried in the cemetery along with his wife and six children and other family members. Eleven graves have been recorded.
The plan is for the intersection will be re-routed and the cemetery, so the little graveyard is no longer stranded in the roundabout. But for now, the traffic and the cemetery share the road.
On the boardwalk of Cardiff Bay’s Mermaid Quay you’ll find a memorial to a man who never existed.
Ianto Jones was a supporting character on Torchwood, a spinoff of the popular BBC series Doctor Who. Set in Cardiff, the team’s headquarters, Torchwood Three, was located below Roald Dahl Plass, accessible through a secret entrance by its Water Tower and a “Tourist Office” entrance along the boardwalk.
Ianto, played by Gareth David-Lloyd, was the general support officer for the team and in a relationship with main character Captain Jack Harkness. After appearing the first two series, he was dramatically killed off in the finale of episode four of the third series, 2009’s miniseries Children of Earth. The impromptu shrine appeared shortly afterwards on the exterior setting of the tourist office location.
Along with an explanatory memorial plaque provided by the owners of the wall, tributes range from photographs, poems to essays. They’ve also come from all over the world. While it's starting to look weather-worn and aged, it looks like the shrine is going to last a good long while.
