Utterly interesting

In 1956, at the Cannes Film Festival, Brigitte Bardot, then 21 years old and already a star with 17 films under her belt, crossed paths with Pablo Picasso, aged 74, renowned for his pioneering work in Cubist painting. Picasso, having delved into various artistic techniques over his illustrious career, had settled in Vallauris on the French Riviera since 1948, exploring clay and ceramics in addition to his traditional mediums. Bardot's visit to Picasso, just a stone's throw from the festival's location, attracted media attention, particularly with her rising fame, which had spread to the United States since her breakthrough at the 1953 Cannes Festival. LIFE magazine seized the opportunity, sending Jerome Brierre to capture the momentous meeting between the youthful icon and the seasoned artist. Though Picasso never immortalized Bardot on canvas, it's said that Bardot was inspired by Picasso's muse Lydia Corbett, adopting her distinctive blonde-haired, ponytailed appearance after encountering her at Cannes. The rendezvous between Bardot and Picasso, with their stark age difference and Picasso's reputation for romancing younger women, became a captivating tale of the era.

In Kokomo, Indiana, a teenager named Ryan White became an emblem of courage and resilience in the face of HIV/AIDS stigma. His journey from a small-town student to a national symbol began when his school turned him away following a diagnosis of AIDS—a decision that would ignite a fierce battle for his right to education and thrust him into the spotlight of advocacy. Ryan, a haemophiliac, contracted HIV through a tainted blood treatment in 1984. Despite grim prognoses, he defied expectations and lived years beyond doctors' predictions, passing away on April 8, 1990, just shy of his high school graduation. His story, however, didn't end with his passing; it sparked a nationwide conversation about HIV/AIDS and challenged prevailing misconceptions. During the 1980s, AIDS carried a heavy stigma primarily associated with the gay community. Yet, Ryan's case, along with others like Magic Johnson and Arthur Ashe, reshaped public perception. Their stories reframed HIV/AIDS as a universal concern, transcending sexual orientation. The media's spotlight, though imperfect, began to illuminate the realities of the epidemic beyond narrow stereotypes. In the wake of Ryan's legacy, the U.S. Congress enacted the landmark Ryan White CARE Act, a pivotal piece of legislation that bolstered support for those affected by HIV/AIDS. Signed into law by President George H. W. Bush in August 1990, the act marked a turning point in the nation's approach to the epidemic. Today, Ryan White programs stand as the cornerstone of HIV/AIDS services in the United States, providing crucial support to countless individuals and families. Shortly after Ryan's birth it was discovered he had severe Haemophilia A, a genetic blood disorder causing excessive bleeding from minor injuries. Throughout his childhood, Ryan's health remained relatively stable. However, in December 1984, he fell severely ill with pneumonia. During a lung biopsy on December 17, 1984, he received a devastating diagnosis: AIDS. By this point, the scientific community had made significant strides in understanding the epidemic. Earlier that year, American researchers had identified and isolated HTLV-III, later known as HIV. Ryan, like thousands of others with Haemophilia, had received a contaminated treatment of factor VIII infected with HIV. The lack of screening for blood products at the time led to widespread infection among haemophiliacs. Despite his grim prognosis—with a T-cell count plummeting to 25 per cubic millimetre—Ryan White defied expectations. Doctors gave him six months to live, yet he persisted. However, his battle extended beyond his health. When he expressed a desire to return to school in early 1985, he faced resistance from school officials. A formal request for re-admittance on June 30, 1985, was denied by Western School Corporation superintendent James O. Smith, igniting a protracted administrative appeal process that lasted over nine months. Intense pressure from both parents and faculty mounted to prevent White from returning to campus after news of his diagnosis spread. Out of the school's 360 students, 117 parents and 50 teachers signed a petition urging school leaders to bar White. Driven by widespread fear and misinformation about AIDS, the principal and later the school board yielded to this pressure, barring White from re-entry. In response, the White family pursued legal action, initially filing suit in the U.S. District Court in Indianapolis. However, the court deferred the case pending administrative appeals. During the mid- to late 1980s, understanding of HIV transmission was incomplete. Although scientists knew it spread through blood and not casual contact, misconceptions persisted. As late as 1983, the American Medical Association speculated about household transmission of AIDS. Children with AIDS were rare, with only 148 cases documented in the United States at the time of White's expulsion. Despite reassurances from health authorities that White posed no risk to others, many in Kokomo feared his presence. Despite evidence to the contrary, including a 1986 study in The New England Journal of Medicine, which found minimal risk of transmission even in close, non-sexual contact, the school board and some parents remained adamant. When White was eventually readmitted, a faction of families withdrew their children, establishing an alternative school. Threats and harassment persisted, with White and his supporters enduring verbal abuse and even violence. White's experience at Western Middle School during the 1985–1986 academic year was marked by isolation and discrimination. Subjected to separate facilities and utensils, and exempted from gym class, he faced ongoing threats, including a bullet fired through his family's window. Ultimately, the Whites relocated to Cicero, Indiana, where White began ninth grade at Hamilton Heights High School. Despite initial trepidation, he found a supportive environment among students educated about AIDS and unafraid to welcome him. The publicity of Ryan White's story catapulted him into the national spotlight, amidst a growing wave of AIDS coverage in the news media. Between 1985 and 1987, the number of news stories about AIDS in the American media doubled. While isolated in middle school, White appeared frequently on national television and in newspapers to discuss his tribulations with the disease. Eventually, he became known as a poster child for the AIDS crisis, appearing in fundraising and educational campaigns for the syndrome. White participated in numerous public benefits for children with AIDS. Many celebrities appeared with him, starting during his trial and continuing for the rest of his life, to help publicly destigmatise socialising with people with AIDS. Singers John Mellencamp, Elton John and Michael Jackson, President Ronald Reagan and First Lady Nancy Reagan all developed friendships with White. "We owe it to Ryan to make sure that the fear and ignorance that chased him from his home and his school will be eliminated. We owe it to Ryan to open our hearts and our minds to those with AIDS. We owe it to Ryan to be compassionate, caring, and tolerant toward those with AIDS, their families, and friends. It's the disease that's frightening, not the people who have it." —Former US President Ronald Reagan, April 11, 1990 For the rest of his life, White appeared frequently on Phil Donahue's talk show. His celebrity crush, Alyssa Milano of the then-popular TV show Who's the Boss?, met White and gave him a friendship bracelet and a kiss. Elton John loaned Jeanne White $16,500 to put toward a down payment on the Cicero home, and rather than accept repayment, placed the repaid money into a college fund for White's sister. On March 29, 1990, White entered hospital with a respiratory tract infection. As his condition deteriorated, he was sedated and placed on a ventilator. He was visited by Elton John, and the hospital was deluged with calls from well-wishers. White died on April 8, 1990. Over 1,500 people attended White's funeral on April 11, White's pallbearers included Elton John, football star Howie Long and Phil Donahue. Elton John performed "Skyline Pigeon" at the funeral. The funeral was also attended by singer Michael Jackson, future U.S. President Donald Trump and then-First Lady Barbara Bush. On the day of the funeral, Ronald Reagan wrote a tribute to White that appeared in The Washington Post. Reagan's statement about AIDS and White's funeral were seen as indicators of how greatly White had helped change perceptions of AIDS. White is buried in Cicero, close to the former home of his mother. In the year following his death, his grave was vandalised on four separate occasions. As time passed, White's grave became a shrine for his admirers. Ryan's mother told The New York Times, Ryan always said, 'I'm just like everyone else with AIDS, no matter how I got it.' And he would never have lived as long as he did without the gay community. The people we knew in New York made sure we knew about the latest treatments way before we would have known in Indiana. I hear mothers today say they're not gonna work with no gay community on anything. Well, if it comes to your son's life, you better start changing your heart and your attitude around.

Before the advent of the film camera, a decade preceding the iconic Roundhay Garden Scene of 1888 and twelve years ahead of the Lumiere brothers' Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat in 1886, Eadweard Muybridge pioneered the creation of motion pictures. Employing as many as 24 still cameras, Muybridge embarked on a groundbreaking endeavor over 140 years ago with his project titled "Animal Locomotion." This innovative undertaking commenced with his iconic Horse in Motion series in 1878 and culminated in a comprehensive exploration carried out at the University of Pennsylvania between 1884 and 1885. Featured in the captivating tableau of Man and Woman Dancing a Waltz is Blanche Eplar, a figure etched into the annals of Muybridge's motion studies. Although the man's identity remains shrouded in mystery, speculation suggests he might have been a member of Muybridge's team enlisted for the session. This mesmerising glimpse into human movement likely dates back to 1884, encapsulating Muybridge's quest to unravel the intricacies of motion through his lens. Born in Kingston upon Thames, Surrey, England, Eadweard Muybridge embarked on a transformative journey that would shape the course of photography and motion studies. At the age of 20, he immigrated to the United States, initially working as a bookseller in New York City before settling in San Francisco. However, his plans for a return trip to Europe in 1860 were abruptly interrupted when he suffered severe head injuries in a stagecoach accident in Texas. This incident led to a period of recuperation back in Kingston upon Thames, during which Muybridge delved into professional photography, mastering the wet-plate collodion process and securing British patents for his inventions. Reinvigorated by his newfound passion, Muybridge returned to San Francisco in 1867, where he underwent a significant transformation both professionally and personally. In 1868, he gained recognition for his exhibition of large photographs showcasing the majestic landscapes of Yosemite Valley, marking the beginning of his ascent in the world of photography. Concurrently, Muybridge began producing and selling stereographs of his work, captivating audiences with his immersive imagery. However, Muybridge's life took a tumultuous turn in 1874 when he was involved in a scandalous incident. He fatally shot Major Harry Larkyns, his wife's lover, a crime for which he stood trial. Despite the controversial circumstances surrounding the case, Muybridge was acquitted on the grounds of justifiable homicide. Undeterred by the ordeal, he embarked on a photographic expedition through Central America in 1875, further cementing his reputation as a daring explorer and pioneering photographer. Muybridge's most enduring legacy lies in his pioneering work in chronophotography, conducted between 1878 and 1886. Utilising multiple cameras to capture sequential images of animal locomotion, he meticulously documented the nuances of movement, laying the groundwork for the study of biomechanics and animation. Additionally, his invention of the zoopraxiscope, a precursor to modern cinematography, enabled the projection of motion pictures from glass discs, revolutionising visual entertainment. During his tenure at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia from 1883 to 1886, Muybridge embarked on a prolific period of experimentation, producing over 100,000 images of animals and humans in motion. His meticulous documentation of movement extended beyond the realm of human perception, capturing moments imperceptible to the naked eye. In his later years, Muybridge became a celebrated figure, captivating audiences with his public lectures and demonstrations of his groundbreaking photography and motion picture sequences. He traversed England and Europe, sharing his innovations with eager audiences in cities such as London and Paris. Muybridge's influential compilations of his work continue to inspire visual artists and practitioners in scientific and industrial photography. Ultimately, Muybridge retired to his native England in 1894, leaving behind a profound legacy that transcends boundaries of time and space. His pioneering contributions to photography and motion studies endure, immortalised in the collections of institutions such as the Kingston Museum, which proudly houses a substantial collection of his works. Even in death, Muybridge's legacy lives on, a testament to the enduring power of innovation and exploration.

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” - Hemmingway One of the most iconic images depicting Paris from the previous century, characterized by its exquisite black and white imagery, is undoubtedly Alfred Eisenstaedt’s timeless photograph capturing the essence of childhood wonder. Taken in 1963 at an open-air theatre, Eisenstaedt immortalises the enchanting moment of a Parisian puppet show titled "Saint George and the Dragon." In this photograph, the children's expressions convey a mixture of excitement, astonishment, and collective jubilation as they witness the mythical slaying of the dragon by St. George. Even after more than five decades, Eisenstaedt's portrayal retains its vividness, evoking a sense of innocence that can transport even the most cynical viewer back to a time when belief in captivating tales was unshakeable, whether witnessed on stage or screen. Eisenstaedt’ said of this of his picture: “It took a long time to get the angle I liked. But the best picture is the one I took at the climax of the action. It carries all the excitement of the children screaming, ‘The dragon is slain!’ Very often this sort of thing is only a momentary vision. My brain does not register, only my eyes and finger react. Click.”

In the final 20 years of Albert Einstein's life, he rarely accepted invitations to speak at universities or accept honourary degrees as he found the presentations “ostentatious.” In May 1946, however, he accepted an invitation to Lincoln University in Pennsylvania which was also the first school in America to grant degrees to African American Students. “There is a separation of coloured people from white people in the United States. That separation is not a disease of coloured people. It’s a disease of white people.” In January 1946, that he penned one of his most articulate and eloquent essays advocating for the civil rights of black people in America. And, as described in Einstein on Race and Racism, the iconic physicist equated the ghettoisation of Jews in Germany and segregation in America, calling racism America’s "worst disease" The essay he wrote is here - The Negro Question by Albert Einstein I am writing as one who has lived among you in America only a little more than ten years, and I am writing seriously and warningly. Many readers may ask: “What right has he to speak about things which concern us alone, and which no newcomer should touch?” I do not think such a standpoint is justified. One who has grown up in an environment takes much for granted. On the other hand, one who has come to this country as a mature person may have a keen eye for everything peculiar and characteristic. I believe he should speak out freely on what he sees and feels, for by so doing he may perhaps prove himself useful. What soon makes the new arrival devoted to this country is the democratic trait among the people. I am not thinking here so much of the democratic political constitution of this country, however highly it must be praised. I am thinking of the relationship between individual people and of the attitude they maintain toward one another. In the United States everyone feels assured of his worth as an individual. No one humbles himself before another person or class. Even the great difference in wealth, the superior power of a few, cannot undermine this healthy self-confidence and natural respect for the dignity of one’s fellow-man. There is, however, a somber point in the social outlook of Americans. Their sense of equality and human dignity is mainly limited to men of white skins. Even among these there are prejudices of which I as a Jew am clearly conscious; but they are unimportant in comparison with the attitude of the “Whites” toward their fellow-citizens of darker complexion, particularly toward Negroes. The more I feel an American, the more this situation pains me. I can escape the feeling of complicity in it only by speaking out. Many a sincere person will answer: “Our attitude towards Negroes is the result of unfavorable experiences which we have had by living side by side with Negroes in this country. They are not our equals in intelligence, sense of responsibility, reliability.” I am firmly convinced that whoever believes this suffers from a fatal misconception. Your ancestors dragged these black people from their homes by force; and in the white man’s quest for wealth and an easy life they have been ruthlessly suppressed and exploited, degraded into slavery. The modern prejudice against Negroes is the result of the desire to maintain this unworthy condition. The ancient Greeks also had slaves. They were not Negroes but white men who had been taken captive in war. There could be no talk of racial differences. And yet Aristotle, one of the great Greek philosophers, declared slaves inferior beings who were justly subdued and deprived of their liberty. It is clear that he was enmeshed in a traditional prejudice from which, despite his extraordinary intellect, he could not free himself. A large part of our attitude toward things is conditioned by opinions and emotions which we unconsciously absorb as children from our environment. In other words, it is tradition — besides inherited aptitudes and qualities — which makes us what we are. We but rarely reflect how relatively small as compared with the powerful influence of tradition is the influence of our conscious thought upon our conduct and convictions. It would be foolish to despise tradition. But with our growing self-consciousness and increasing intelligence we must begin to control tradition and assume a critical attitude toward it, if human relations are ever to change for the better. We must try to recognize what in our accepted tradition is damaging to our fate and dignity — and shape our lives accordingly. I believe that whoever tries to think things through honestly will soon recognize how unworthy and even fatal is the traditional bias against Negroes. What, however, can the man of good will do to combat this deeply rooted prejudice? He must have the courage to set an example by word and deed, and must watch lest his children become influenced by this racial bias. I do not believe there is a way in which this deeply entrenched evil can be quickly healed. But until this goal is reached there is no greater satisfaction for a just and well-meaning person than the knowledge that he has devoted his best energies to the service of the good cause. To clarify, Einstein's character wasn't saintly. During his travels to Asia and the Middle East in the early 1920s, his private diaries contained xenophobic generalisations about Chinese individuals and others. While this doesn't excuse his remarks, it's important to note that they were not meant for public consumption and were penned long before he confronted the horrors of racism firsthand in Nazi Germany and the United States, perpetrated by white extremists.

Violet Jessop, renowned as an ocean liner stewardess and nurse, is famously remembered for surviving the catastrophic sinkings of both the RMS Titanic in 1912 and its sister ship, the HMHS Britannic, in 1916. Remarkably, she had also been aboard the RMS Olympic when it collided with a British warship in 1911. Born on October 1, 1887, near Bahía Blanca, Argentina, Jessop was the eldest daughter of Irish immigrants, William and Katherine Jessop. She grew up alongside eight siblings, with six surviving infancy. Despite facing adversity, including a presumed battle with tuberculosis during her childhood, Jessop's resilience prevailed against doctors' dire predictions. At 16, tragedy struck with the death of her father due to surgery complications. Subsequently, the family relocated to England, where Jessop attended a convent school. She juggled her education with caring for her youngest sister while her mother pursued work as a stewardess at sea. When her mother fell ill, Jessop left school to follow in her footsteps, securing a stewardess position at the age of 21 with the Royal Mail Line aboard the Orinoco in 1908. Olympic In 1910, Jessop began her tenure as a stewardess aboard the White Star vessel, RMS Olympic, which held the distinction of being the largest civilian liner of its era. On September 20, 1911, Jessop was present when the Olympic departed from Southampton and encountered a collision with the British warship, HMS Hawke. Fortunately, there were no casualties, and despite sustaining damage, the ship managed to return to port without incident. Interestingly, Jessop opted not to include details of this collision in her memoirs. Titanic Jessop embarked on the RMS Titanic as a stewardess on April 10, 1912, at the age of 25. Just four days later, on April 14, the ship struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic Ocean. Within two hours of the collision, the Titanic had sunk. In her memoirs, Jessop recounted being summoned to the deck to serve as an example for non-English speakers who couldn't understand the instructions being given. She observed as the crew loaded the lifeboats and was eventually directed to board lifeboat 16. As the lifeboat descended, a Titanic officer entrusted her with caring for a baby. "I was ordered up on deck. Calmly, passengers strolled about. I stood at the bulkhead with the other stewardesses, watching the women cling to their husbands before being put into the boats with their children. Some time after, a ship's officer ordered us into the boat (16) first to show some women it was safe. As the boat was being lowered the officer called: 'Here, Miss Jessop. Look after this baby.' And a bundle was dropped on to my lap." The next morning, Jessop and the rest of the survivors were rescued by the RMS Carpathia. According to Jessop, while on board the Carpathia, a woman, presumably the baby's mother, grabbed the baby she was holding and ran off with it without saying a word. "I was still clutching the baby against my hard cork lifebelt I was wearing when a woman leaped at me and grabbed the baby, and rushed off with it, it appeared that she put it down on the deck of the Titanic while she went off to fetch something, and when she came back the baby had gone. I was too frozen and numb to think it strange that this woman had not stopped to say 'thank you'. Britannic During the First World War, Jessop served as a stewardess for the British Red Cross. On the morning of 21 November 1916, she was on board the HMHS Britannic, a White Star liner that had been converted into a hospital ship, when it sank in the Aegean Sea due to an unexplained explosion. The Britannic sank within 57 minutes, killing 30 people. British authorities hypothesized that the ship was either struck by a torpedo or hit a mine planted by German forces. Conspiracy theories have circulated that suggest the British were responsible for sinking their own ship. Scientists have been unable to reach definitive conclusions as to the true cause. While the Britannic was sinking, Jessop and other passengers were nearly killed by the boat's propellers that were sucking lifeboats under the stern. Jessop had to jump out of her lifeboat and received a traumatic head injury, but survived despite her injuries. "I leapt into the water but was sucked under the ship's keel which struck my head. I escaped, but years later when I went to my doctor because of a lot of headaches, he discovered I had once sustained a fracture of the skull!" In her memoirs, she described the scene she witnessed as the Britannic went under: "The white pride of the ocean's medical world... dipped her head a little, then a little lower and still lower. All the deck machinery fell into the sea like a child's toys. Then she took a fearful plunge, her stern rearing hundreds of feet into the air until with a final roar, she disappeared into the depths." Following the war, Jessop remained employed with the White Star Line, later transitioning to positions with the Red Star Line and eventually returning to the Royal Mail Line. While serving with the Red Star Line, Jessop embarked on two voyages around the world aboard the company's flagship, the Belgenland. In her late thirties, Jessop entered into a brief marriage before retiring to Great Ashfield, Suffolk, in 1950. Years after retiring, Jessop recounted an intriguing tale of receiving a mysterious telephone call one stormy night. A woman on the line inquired if Jessop had rescued a baby on the fateful night of the Titanic's sinking. "Yes," Jessop affirmed. The voice then revealed, "I was that baby," before laughing and abruptly ending the call. Her friend and biographer, John Maxtone-Graham, speculated that it might have been children from the village playing a prank. Jessop, however, insisted, "No, John, I had never shared that story with anyone before telling you now." Historical records indicate that the sole baby aboard lifeboat 16 was Assad Thomas, entrusted to Edwina Troutt and later reunited with his mother aboard the Carpathia. Affectionately nicknamed "Miss Unsinkable," Jessop passed away from congestive heart failure in 1971 at the age of 83.

In the glitzy realm of Old Hollywood, where stars shone bright on the silver screen, there existed a shadowy figure who operated behind the scenes, shaping narratives and burying scandals beneath layers of secrecy. His name was Eddie Mannix, a man whose very existence blurred the lines between myth and reality. Here, we delve into the murky depths of Mannix's world, uncovering the alleged crimes he orchestrated and the enigmatic persona he cultivated. Eddie Mannix emerged as a pivotal figure in the golden age of Hollywood, wielding influence that extended far beyond the studio lots. Born in 1891, Mannix's early career in the film industry saw him ascend the ranks, eventually landing a position at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), one of the most powerful studios of its time. As the head of MGM's general manager's office, Mannix became known as the studio's "fixer," a title that masked his role as a manipulator of truth and master of deception. Mannix's primary function was to protect the image of MGM's stars, shielding them from scandal and controversy that could tarnish their carefully crafted personas. From extramarital affairs to substance abuse, Mannix employed an arsenal of tactics to keep unsavoury details out of the public eye. In the words of biographer E.J. Fleming, Mannix was "the supreme orchestrator of cover-ups, the smooth operator who could make the impossible happen." His first marriage, to Bernice Fitzmaurice in 1916, endured despite Mannix's extramarital affairs, a reality they grappled with due to their adherence to Catholicism. However, their union crumbled when Bernice filed for divorce in late 1937, accusing Mannix of physical abuse and citing his infidelity. Tragically, before the divorce proceedings could commence, Bernice met her demise in a car accident outside Palm Springs, California on November 18, 1937. Following Bernice's passing, Mannix began living with actress and Ziegfeld Follies dancer Toni Lanier, with whom he had been romantically involved. They married in May 1951, and remained so until Mannix's death in 1963. Mannix's involvement in the demise of actor George Reeves, renowned for portraying Superman in the series "Adventures of Superman," stirred suspicion. Reeves had engaged in an affair with Mannix's wife, Toni, starting in 1951. Astonishingly, Mannix purportedly condoned the liaison, which became common knowledge within Hollywood circles. Concurrently, Mannix maintained a prolonged extramarital relationship with a Japanese woman. Despite their Catholic beliefs, which eschewed divorce, Mannix and his wife continued their unconventional arrangement for several years. However, when Reeves terminated the affair and became engaged to socialite Leonore Lemmon in early 1959, Toni was devastated. Reeves' demise on June 16, 1959, (after a number of car accidents) from a gunshot wound to the head at his residence, sparked speculation. Although officially deemed a suicide, controversy enveloped the ruling, fuelled by rumours implicating Mannix. Whispers insinuated that Mannix, allegedly linked to organized crime, orchestrated Reeves' demise through a hired assassin. The biography "Hollywood Kryptonite," penned by Kashner and Schoenberger, presented a partially fictionalised account suggesting that Toni Lanier Mannix, leveraging her husband's purported criminal ties, orchestrated Reeves' demise. One of the most infamous incidents allegedly orchestrated by Mannix involved the death of Thelma Todd, a popular actress whose mysterious demise in 1935 sent shockwaves through Hollywood. Todd was found dead in her car, with speculation swirling about foul play. Despite the suspicious circumstances surrounding her death, Mannix reportedly worked to suppress any damaging information that could implicate powerful figures within the industry. One of Mannix's most intricate cover-ups remains shrouded in the annals of Old Hollywood history: the orchestrated adoption of Loretta Young's biological child, concealed for over six decades. The clandestine saga unfolds amidst the backdrop of Young's clandestine affair with her married co-star, Clark Gable, during the filming of "The Call of the Wild" in 1935. Their liaison led to Young's pregnancy, a scandalous predicament in an era where unwed motherhood was taboo. Mannix, the master manipulator, orchestrated a meticulously choreographed charade to shield Young from the repercussions of her pregnancy. Young vanished from the public eye, purportedly embarking on a journey across Europe, effectively eluding prying eyes for 19 months. Upon her return, Young unveiled a narrative of adoption, asserting that she had welcomed an orphaned child into her life. This elaborate façade endured for decades, carefully guarded from the prying eyes of the press and public alike. It wasn't until Young's daughter, Judy Lewis, reached the age of 23 that the truth unfurled. Young, burdened by the weight of deception, finally revealed the truth about Judy's birth, unravelling the tangled web of lies spun by Mannix decades prior. Despite his formidable reputation as a fixer, Mannix remained an elusive and enigmatic figure. Rarely granting interviews and shrouded in layers of mystery, he cultivated an aura of power and intimidation that permeated throughout Hollywood. Actor George Clooney, who portrayed Mannix in the film "Hail, Caesar!" aptly described him as "the scariest guy in Hollywood."

A peculiar phenomenon in American fashion emerged with American Ivy League students and young undergraduates donning thick, long raccoon coats. This craze in men's fashion during the 1920s and 30s led to a widespread desire for this luxurious garment. Owning a fur coat became a symbol of status, embraced by bankers, salesmen, and students seeking to enhance their social standing. If you were an Ivy League undergraduate in the 1920s with a certain image to uphold, you wouldn't have attended the homecoming game without one... Reportedly, the trend originated from the enthusiasm for Davy Crockett and the fascination of a select group of young white Americans with his tales. It gained more traction when jazz musicians adopted it, and students who sang about the Ivy-league fur craze further popularized it. In 1928, George Olsen contributed to the trend with a recording titled “Doin’ the Raccoon”. The lyrics went… College men, knowledge men, Do a dance called raccoon; It’s the craze, nowadays, And it will get you soon. Buy a coat and try it, I’ll bet you’ll be a riot, It’s a wow, learn to do it right now! Oh, they wear ’em down at Princeton, And they share ’em up at Yale, They eat in them at Harvard, But they sleep in them in jail! From every college campus comes the cheer: oy-yoy! The season for the raccoon coat is here, my boy! Following the instant success of the song, The Saturday Evening Post proudly showcased a cover illustration depicting numerous college men sporting raccoon coats (as shown above), frequently paired with boater hats. This iconic image swiftly transformed the coat into a quintessential emblem of the Jazz Age, symbolising the exuberance and spirit of collegiate life. This photograph was featured in the Michigan Daily in 1930 as part of an article titled, "What they’re Wearing on Campus." The couple, dressed in fur, is depicted on their way to the 1930 homecoming game against Illinois. While it may be challenging to envision such attire being worn at present-day football games, raccoon coats were once a common sight at these events, symbolizing a fashion trend of the time. This period marked a shift towards a more flamboyant and carefree style, breaking away from the traditional attire that had previously dominated university campuses during the Jazz Age. In one 1935 edition of men's fashion magazine Men’s Wear, they announced: “The raccoon coat is back in fashion. More were seen at the climax football games in the East this season than at any time in the past ten years. The best style, worn by undergraduates and alumni alike, is very dark in color, has a shawl collar and usually hefty leather buttons”. University of Illinois football sensation Red Grange (shown above) and radio singer Rudy Vallee set a new fashion standard by donning long raccoon coats with wide collars, which greatly impacted young male jazz fans who embraced the collegiate style, earning the moniker "collegiates" regardless of their actual college attendance. In 1921, an ad promoted fur coats priced between $325 and $450, which would be valued at approximately $4,000 today, showcasing a time of exceptional wealth and luxury, including within the younger generation. However, when the Great Depression struck, the fur trend quickly vanished, only to resurface briefly decades later in the 1950s after the war. Legend has it that the revival began at a gathering in a smoke-filled apartment in Greenwich Village. While conversing with her guests, socialite Sue Salzman bemoaned missing out on the opportunity to purchase a beautiful second-hand raccoon coat on a whim, as it had been bought by someone else. A fellow guest overheard the conversation and offered to connect her with his relatives, who coincidentally owned a warehouse brimming with old raccoon coats left over from the Jazz Age craze. To mark this fortunate turn of events, Sue Salzman and her husband decided not only to acquire coats for themselves but also for everyone attending the party. The Salzmans and their friends received numerous compliments and questions about the coats, which led them to consider starting a business selling the coats. Mr. Salzman announced at the time, “anything that Lord and Taylor does in college fashions is copied.” And the trend was re-born.

If you've worked in retail you'll know how boredom can often kick in. These industrious bookshop employees from The Librairie Mollat have found a novel way to combat this boredom, these are a sample from their Instagram feed.

Many composers like to handwrite their sheet music, but there have been so many machines invented to help print music. Perhaps one of the most interesting to look at is the Keaton Music Typewriter. First patented in 1936, it definitely doesn’t look like an ordinary typewriter. Robert H. Keaton from San Francisco, California created the machine, which is now a rare collector’s item. The original patent was for a 14-key typewriter, which was then upgraded to 33 keys in an improved 1953 patent. Introduced to the market during the 1950s at a retail price of approximately $255, this device stands out with its unique appearance characterised by a circular keyboard. Keaton, the designer, aimed to craft a machine capable of printing characters with precision on a staff while providing clear indicators for the placement of subsequent characters, thus ensuring accuracy. The unique keyboard arrangement was born of a desire to separate two types of characters. “One keyboard is adapted to type one class of music characters such as bar lines and ledger lines, which, when repeated, always appear in the same relative spaced positions with respect to the [staff] lines… and a second keyboard adapted to type another class of musical characters, such as the notes, rest signs and sharp and flat signs etc., which may, when repeated, appear in various spaced positions with respect to the [staff] lines,” Keaton wrote. The Keaton Music Typewriter boasts an intriguing design that sets it apart. Engineered with a curved meter on the left, dubbed the Scale Shift Handle and Scale Shift Indicator by Keaton, it offers precise control over the placement of notes and characters on the page. Adjusting the handle up or down by a notch alters the printing position by 1/24 inch in either direction, corresponding to a single musical step. To enhance visibility for musicians, Keaton incorporated a long needle alongside the ribbon, ensuring accurate printing placement. Notably, the two keyboards interact differently with the Scale Shift Handle: the larger one, featuring notes, scales, sharps, and flats, moves in sync with the handle, while the smaller keyboard, housing bar lines and ledger lines, remains stationary as these characters consistently align with the staff lines. Despite its niche appeal, the commercial success of the product remains uncertain. Nevertheless, the Keaton Music Typewriter has garnered a devoted following as a cherished collectible, occasionally surfacing on platforms like eBay and other online auctions. Its elegant design and nostalgic charm evoke a bygone era, rendering it a rediscovery-worthy invention.

I can't claim to know much about motorsport, but Ayrton Senna's life transcends just the sport. The death of Ayrton Senna on 1 May 1994 remains one of the most tragic moments in Formula 1 history. A three-time world champion, Senna was not only revered for his exceptional driving skills but also for his fierce competitive spirit and dedication to the sport. His passing during the San Marino Grand Prix at Imola, Italy, marked the end of an era and raised serious concerns about safety in motorsport. The Build-Up to Imola By 1994, Ayrton Senna was already a legend in Formula 1, having claimed world titles in 1988, 1990, and 1991. He had left McLaren at the end of the 1993 season, seeking new challenges and opportunities with Williams. However, the 1994 season proved difficult for the Brazilian driver, as new regulations banning electronic driver aids such as active suspension and traction control had made the Williams car more difficult to handle than expected. In the first two races of the season, Senna failed to finish, adding to his frustration. The San Marino Grand Prix, held at the historic Imola circuit, was supposed to be Senna’s chance to reignite his championship campaign. However, the weekend would become infamous for the multiple accidents that turned it into one of the darkest periods in the sport’s history. During Friday’s practice session, Senna’s protégé, Rubens Barrichello, suffered a violent crash but escaped with minor injuries. On Saturday, Austrian driver Roland Ratzenberger lost his life in a qualifying accident, hitting a concrete wall at high speed after his car’s front wing failed. The death of Ratzenberger deeply affected Senna, who contemplated whether to race at all that weekend. Race Day – 1 May 1994 On Sunday morning, Senna had breakfast with close friends and Williams team personnel, but the mood was sombre. The accident involving Ratzenberger the day before weighed heavily on Senna’s mind. Despite his reservations, Senna decided to race. Senna started the race from pole position, his 65th and final pole in Formula 1. At the start of the race, there was chaos on the grid when J.J. Lehto stalled his car, causing a multi-car crash involving Pedro Lamy. The collision sent debris flying into the crowd, injuring spectators. A safety car was deployed, and for several laps, drivers circled the track at reduced speed, their tyres cooling down in the process. When the race resumed on lap 6, Senna surged forward in an attempt to widen his lead over Michael Schumacher, who was trailing behind him in second place. However, just a lap later, on lap 7, tragedy struck. The Fatal Crash While navigating the high-speed Tamburello corner on lap 7, Senna's car veered off the racing line at a speed of approximately 307 km/h (191 mph), proceeded straight off the track, and collided with the concrete retaining wall at about 233 km/h (145 mph) following a two-second brake application, as indicated by the telemetry data.Th e red flag was shown as a consequence of the accident. Within two minutes of crashing, Senna was extracted from his race car by Watkins and his medical team, including intensive care anaesthetist Giovanni Gordini. The initial treatment took place by the side of the car, with Senna having a weak heartbeat and significant blood loss from his temporal artery being ruptured. At this point, Senna had already lost around 4.5 litres of blood, constituting 90% of his blood volume. Because of Senna's grave neurological condition, Watkins performed an on-site tracheotomy a nd requested the immediate airlifting of Senna to Bologna's Maggiore Hospital under the supervision of Gordini. At 16:40 (GMT), the head of the hospital's emergency department, Maria Teresa Fiandri, made the announcement that Senna had died, but said the official time of death under Italian law was 12:17 (GMT), which is when he impacted the wall and his brain stopped functioning. Watkins later said that as soon as he saw Senna's fully dilated pupils, he knew that his brainstem was inactive and that he would not survive. The right-front wheel and suspension are believed to have been sent back into the cockpit, striking Senna on the right side of his helmet, forcing his head back against the headrest. A piece of upright attached to the wheel had partially penetrated his helmet and made a large indentation in his forehead. In addition, it appeared that a jagged piece of the upright assembly had penetrated the helmet visor just above his right eye. Senna sustained fatal skull fractures , brain injuries , and a ruptured temporal artery , a major blood vessel supplying the face and scalp. According to Fiandri, any one of these three injuries would likely have killed him. It was later revealed that when the medical staff examined Senna's vehicle, a furled Austrian flag was discovered—he had intended to raise it in honour of Ratzenberger after the race. Photographs of Senna being treated on the track by emergency medical personnel were taken by Senna's friend and Autosprint 's picture editor Angelo Orsi. Out of respect, those photographs have never been made officially public. The Aftermath Senna’s death sent shockwaves through the motorsport world. Formula 1, a sport that had already witnessed several fatalities in its early years, had not seen a fatality during a race since 1982. The deaths of both Senna and Ratzenberger over the same weekend led to an immediate reevaluation of safety standards in Formula 1. The FIA, the sport’s governing body, introduced numerous changes to improve safety in the wake of Senna’s death. New regulations mandated improvements in car design, circuit safety, and medical response times. The introduction of crash test standards, energy-absorbing barriers, and the Head and Neck Support (HANS) device significantly reduced the risk of life-threatening injuries for drivers. Many of these changes are still in place today, ensuring that Senna’s death was not in vain. Ayrton Senna’s legacy endures, not only in Formula 1 but also in Brazilian culture and beyond. His intense dedication to his craft, his remarkable skill in wet conditions, and his unrelenting will to win remain an inspiration for drivers and fans alike. In his home country of Brazil, Senna is celebrated as a national hero, and the Ayrton Senna Foundation, established by his family, continues to support education and social development for underprivileged children in Brazil.

The Denmark Place arson attack stands as one of London’s most tragic and devastating incidents, occurring on the night of August 16, 1980. This horrifying event unfolded in two unlicensed bars situated on the top two floors of 18 Denmark Place: The Spanish Rooms and Rodo’s, also known as El Dandy. The Scene The Spanish Rooms was a late-night bar frequented by locals, including Irish and Jamaican immigrants. Rodo’s, a vibrant salsa club popular with South American immigrants, occupied the upper floor. Both establishments operated clandestinely, their existence known primarily to their patrons and the Metropolitan Police, who were planning a raid to shut them down on August 18. Access to these bars was unconventional and precarious. Patrons would shout from the street below to obtain a key. The only entry point was through a locked front door, which led to a staircase and a landing. From there, visitors could either access the club on the lower floor or ascend a fire escape, enclosed with plywood, to reach the upper floor. The venues were hidden from the outside world by boarded-up windows, and the fire escape door on Denmark Street was bolted shut, making any escape in an emergency highly difficult. The Attack On the fateful night of August 16, 1980, John Thompson, a 42-year-old Scottish-born petty criminal, found himself in The Spanish Rooms. Believing he had been overcharged for a drink, Thompson got into a heated altercation with the barman and was subsequently ejected from the premises. In a fit of rage, he sought revenge. Thompson discovered a two-gallon container outside the club, hailed a taxi, and travelled to a 24-hour petrol station in Camden. There, he filled the container with petrol and returned to 18 Denmark Place. He poured the petrol through the letterbox of the front door and ignited it with a piece of lit paper. The fire quickly took hold, fueled by the timber construction of the building, turning the premises into a death trap. The Inferno Inside, approximately 150 people were enjoying their night, oblivious to the impending disaster. The fire spread rapidly, consuming the wooden staircase that served as the main entrance and exit. Patrons were trapped, with boarded-up windows and a locked fire escape blocking their escape routes. As panic set in, some tried to flee via the back door, only to find it locked. Others resorted to smashing windows and leaping out onto the street below. Next door, a music shop backed onto the clubs. Some patrons managed to reach this area but were trapped behind security shutters. A firefighter managed to rescue six people from this precarious position. The Rescue Efforts Firefighters were called to the scene around 3:30 AM. They were greeted by smoke seeping from shuttered windows, a telltale sign of the disaster unfolding inside. When they attempted to force open the locked front door, they were met with a shower of sparks and embers, forcing them to retreat temporarily. Once they managed to breach the door, they discovered the staircase fully engulfed in flames. It took them four crucial minutes to break down the door, but by then, the fire had wreaked havoc. The Aftermath The aftermath of the Denmark Place arson attack was harrowing. Both bars were extensively damaged, and the death toll was devastating. The exact number of fatalities remains uncertain, but it is believed that up to 37 people lost their lives that night. The tragedy highlighted severe lapses in fire safety regulations and enforcement, particularly concerning unlicensed venues. The speed of the fire was so rapid that many of the bar patrons died where they were sitting or standing.   An officer from the London Fire Brigade  described the scene: People seem to have died on the spot without even having time to move an inch. Some were slumped at tables. Seven were at the bar and appear to have fallen as they stood, with drinks still in their hands. — "London's Disasters: From Boudicca to the Banking Crisis" (2011), John Withington Media Coverage and Public Reaction Initially, the fire was reported as a tragedy by the media on the evening of August 16. However, as details emerged that most of the victims were immigrants and a few of the young women were sex workers, the tone of the coverage shifted dramatically. By August 17, headlines described the incident as a “seedy nightclub blaze,” reflecting a rapid decline in the perceived importance of the victims’ lives. This shift in tone revealed a troubling apathy towards the immigrant community and marginalised individuals affected by the tragedy. Justice Served In May 1981, John Thompson was convicted on a specimen charge of murdering one of the victims, 63-year-old Archibald Campbell. Thompson was sentenced to life imprisonment for his heinous act. He remained incarcerated until his death from lung cancer on August 16, 2008, exactly 28 years after the fire. A harrowing first-hand account of how what happened can be read here