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Edmund Lawall must have felt cursed. He’d brought his family to New York in the late 1800s to carry on his father’s business as a pharmacist, but fate—or perhaps the city itself—seemed determined to drive him back out again. Lawall’s health had been in decline since their arrival, and his wife’s kidney disease had worsened, despite all of the tinctures and patent medicines available to his turn-of-the-century expertise. Not long after that, his business partner had been revealed as a crook, sending Lawall scrambling into bankruptcy court to convince the judge that his pharmacy had nothing to do with shady real estate dealings. Then, in the midst of the bankruptcy proceedings, an anonymous woman had staggered into Lawall’s drug store, collapsed on the floor, and died of unknown causes. Likely no one could have saved her, but it wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of the pharmaceutical services available at the corner of Eighth Street and Avenue C. None of that compared, however, to the morning of 27 June 1906, when a disheveled man in a medical coat burst through the narrow glass doors of the pharmacy, begging for protection. He was immediately followed by a young man with a revolver, and an angry crowd screaming in Yiddish. Lawall didn’t speak the language, but there was no mistaking the young man’s intent as he strode purposely forward and raised his gun to the doctor’s head. It was a grim, but recognizable tableau: the young man’s stance and grip were confident, clearly marking him as a budding gangster. The behavior of the crowd, on the other hand, made no sense at all. Innocent bystanders tended to run away from gang violence, yet the pushcart vendors and housewives surrounding the apparent holdup were not frightened, or even appealing for mercy. They were shouting, quite insistently, for the doctor’s execution. And everything seemed to indicate they were going to get what they wanted. In the weeks that followed, blame would be pointed in nearly every direction—because at that moment, unbeknownst to Lawall, similar scenes were playing out all over the neighborhood, with other doctors, teachers, reporters, and even utility workers being assaulted by hordes of people howling at them in Yiddish. By the time it was over, the incident would be measured as one of the largest riots ever in New York City, and the confrontation at Lawall’s Pharmacy would be mentioned only in passing, if at all. Another name, however, would be repeated over and over again: Adeline E. Simpson, the principal of Public School No. 110. Continue reading ▶
Iceland is known to the rest of the world as the land of Vikings and volcanos, an island caught between continents at the extremities of the map. Remote and comparatively inhospitable, it was settled only as long ago as the 9th century, and has seen little additional in-migration since. Even today, more than 90 percent of Iceland’s 390,000 residents can trace their ancestry back to the earliest permanent inhabitants, a Nordic-Celtic mix. The tradition of the Norse sagas lives on in the form of careful record-keeping about ancestry—and a national passion for genealogy. In other words, it is not the place to stumble upon old family mysteries. But growing up in the capital city of Reykjavík in the 1950s, neurologist Dr. Kári Stefánsson heard stories that left him curious. Stefánsson’s father had come from Djúpivogur, an eastern coastal town where everyone still spoke of a Black man who had moved there early in the 19th century. “Hans Jónatan”, they called him—a well-liked shopkeeper who had arrived on a ship, married a spirited woman from a local farm, and became a revered member of the community. The local census did record a man by the name of Hans Jónatan, born in the Caribbean, who was working at the general store in Djúpivogur in the 19th century—but that was all. No images of the man had survived, and his time in Iceland was well before any other humans with African ancestry are known to have visited the island. If tiny, remote Djúpivogur did have a Black man arrive in the 19th century, the circumstances must have been unusual indeed. It was an intriguing puzzle—and solid grounds for a scientific investigation. Given the amount of homogeneity in the baseline Icelandic population, the genetic signature of one relative newcomer with distinct ancestry might still stand out across a large sample of his descendants. Geneticists thus joined locals and history scholars, and they pieced together a story that bridged three continents. Continue reading ▶
It’s been a busy summer, and the large shortfall in donations last month has been demoralizing, so we’re taking a week off to rest and recuperate. The curated links section will be (mostly) silent, and behind the scenes we’ll be taking a brief break from our usual researching, writing, editing, illustrating, narrating, sound designing, coding, et cetera. We plan to return to normalcy on the 11th of September. (The word “normalcy” was not considered an acceptable alternative to “normality” until 14 May 1920, when then-presidential-candidate Warren G. Harding misused the mathematical term in a campaign speech, stating that America needed, “not nostrums, but normalcy.” He then integrated this error into his campaign slogan, “Return to Normalcy.” Also, the G in Warren G. Harding stood for “Gamaliel.”) While we are away, on 06 September 2023, Damn Interesting will be turning 18 years old. To celebrate, here are the first emojis to ever appear in the body of a Damn Interesting post: 🎂🎉🎁 If you become bored while we are away, you might try a little mobile game we’ve been working on called Wordwhile. It can be played alone, or with a friend. If you enjoy games like Scrabble and Wordle, you may find this one ENJOYABLE (75 points). Launch Wordwhile → And, as always, there are lots of ways to explore our back-catalog. View this post ▶
We’re not going to post things on Twitter X anymore. The new owner keeps doing awful stuff. If you have enjoyed our mostly-daily curated links via the aforementioned collapsing service, we invite you to bookmark our curated links page, or follow us a number of other ways. Rather than linger any longer on this tedious topic, here are some home-grown dad jokes. If there is any order in this universe, the comments section will fill with more of the same. Q: What is the flavor of a chair? Do you even know the meaning of the word ‘rhetorical?’ Don’t answer that! My friend bought an alarm clock that makes loud farting sounds in the morning. He’s in for a rude awakening. You’re right, these ARE my orthopedic shoes. I stand corrected. I want a good game of hide and seek, but skilled players are hard to find. Like tight sweaters, corporate acquisitions are hard to pull off. I was offered a job at the mirror factory. I could see myself working there. Did you hear about the farmer in Colorado raising cannabis-fed cattle? The steaks are high. Q: What is the best stocking stuffer? I used to be addicted to soap, but I’ve gotten clean. I finally worked up the courage to tell my hot female coworker how I felt. She felt the same. So we turned down the thermostat. The universal remote: This changes everything. Q: How fast are donkey trucks? It smells like death in there, and not in a good way. My dad demanded that I go fetch some water from that deep hole in the ground. He means well. Calendar makers: Your days are numbered. A: I enjoy cooking with ghee, but I don’t buy it, I make my own. I will not rest until I find a cure for my insomnia. I bought my wife a new refrigerator. I can’t wait to see her face light up when she opens it. Did you hear about the hilarious thing that happened at the mandatory meeting? I guess you had to be there. Remember that sweet grandmother on Twitter who thought that ‘lol’ meant ‘lots of love’? “Sorry to hear about your uncle passing. lol.” Yesterday, we were standing at the edge of a cliff. Since then we have taken a huge step forward. We had to cancel the big game of tag because somebody got hurt. It was touch and go there for a while. “Of course you can count on me,” said the abacus. IBS is genetic, you know. Runs in the family. My grandfather once told me, “It’s worth investing in good speakers.” That was some sound advice. Extreme camping is in tents. The solar panel company wouldn’t let me pay for the installation. They said it was all on the house. I was chopping herbs all day, and now my hands are quite fragrant. I’ve got too much thyme on my hands. A weather balloon measures about 4 feet in diameter (adjusting for inflation). A: Have you ever had a flatulence-based tea? Like a German dietitian, I tend to see the wurst in people. I don’t care for rulers. That’s where I draw the line. Why did the farmer propose to his horse? He wanted a stable relationship. I still think whiteboards are one of mankind’s most remarkable inventions. The Earth has successfully rotated around its axis. Let’s call it a day. My daughter dropped a brand new tube of toothpaste and it made a big mess. She was crestfallen. You’ve got to hand it to customs agents: Your passport. My friend tried to steal a box of lipstick for us, but she accidentally grabbed a box of glue sticks. My lips are sealed. Elevators: They take things to a whole other level. A friend gave me an expired pack of batteries. They were free of charge. Comedy: To taste a bit like a comet. A: How many times do I have to apologize? My wife said that the battery in my hearing aid needed to be replaced. That was difficult to hear. I asked the ski lift operator if I could get a free ride to the top of the mountain. He didn’t take me up on it. What makes a sentence a tongue twister? It’s hard to say. If you visit Mexico, remember to use the word “mucho.” It means a lot to them. There are more hydrogen atoms in a single molecule of water than there are stars in the solar system. To whoever discovered the number zero: Thanks for nothing. View this post ▶
In the late 17th century, natural philosopher Isaac Newton was deeply uneasy with a new scientific theory that was gaining currency in Europe: universal gravitation. In correspondence with a scientific contemporary, Newton complained that it was “an absurdity” to suppose that “one body may act upon another at a distance through a vacuum.” The scientist who proposed this preposterous theory was Isaac Newton. He first articulated the idea in his widely acclaimed magnum opus Principia, wherein he explained, “I have not yet been able to discover the cause of these properties of gravity from phenomena and I feign no hypotheses […] It is enough that gravity does really exist and acts according to the laws I have explained.” Newton proposed that celestial bodies were not the sole sources of gravity in the universe, rather all matter attracts all other matter with a force that corresponds to mass and diminishes rapidly with distance. He had been studying the motions of the six known planets–Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Uranus–and by expanding upon the laws of planetary motion developed by Johannes Kepler about eight decades earlier, he arrived at an equation for gravitational force F that seemed to match decades of data: Where m1 and m2 are the masses of the objects, r is the distance between their centers of mass, and G is the gravitational constant (~0.0000000000667408). But this is only an approximation; humanity may never know the precise value because it is impossible to isolate any measuring apparatus from all of the gravity in the universe. Fellow astronomers found that Newton’s theory seemed to be accurate–universal gravitation appeared to reliably forecast the sometimes irregular motion of the planets even more closely than Kepler’s laws. In 1705, Queen Anne knighted Isaac Newton to make him Sir Isaac Newton (though this honor was due to his work in politics, not for his considerable contributions to math or science). In the century that followed, Newton’s universal gravitation performed flawlessly. Celestial bodies appeared to adhere to the elegant theory, and in scientific circles, it began to crystallize into a law of nature. But in the early 19th century, cracks began to appear. When astronomer Alexis Bouvard used Newton’s equations to carefully calculate future positions of Jupiter and Saturn, they proved spectacularly accurate. However, when he followed up in 1821 with astronomical tables for Uranus–the outermost known planet–subsequent observations revealed that the planet was crossing the sky substantially slower than projected. The fault was not in Bouvard’s math; Uranus appeared to be violating the law of universal gravitation. Newton’s theory was again called into question in 1843 by a 32-year-old assistant astronomer at the Paris Observatory, Urbain Le Verrier. Le Verrier had been following the Uranus perturbations with great interest, while also compiling a painstaking record of the orbit of Mercury–the innermost known planet. He found that Mercury also departed from projections made by universal gravitation. Was universal gravitation a flawed theory? Or might undiscovered planets lurk in extra-Uranian and intra-Mercurial space, disturbing the orbits of the known planets? Astronomers around the world scoured the skies, seeking out whatever was perturbing the solar system. The answer, it turned out, was more bizarre than they could have supposed. Continue reading ▶
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A better understanding of human smell is emerging as scientists interrogate its fundamental elements: the odor molecules that enter your nose and the individual neurons that translate them into perception in your brain. The post How Smell Guides Our Inner World first appeared on Quanta Magazine
As I try to write this article, my friend and I have six different screens attached to three types of devices. We’re working in the same room but on our own projects—separate yet together, a comfortable companionship. I had never really thought of the proliferation of screens as a peacekeeping tool until I stumbled across one of Allen B. DuMont’s 1950s dual-screen television sets. DuMont’s idea was to let two people in the same room watch different programs. It reminded me of my early childhood and my family’s one TV set, and the endless arguments with my sisters and parents over what to watch. Dad always won, and his choice was rarely mine. The DuMont Duoscopic Was 2 TVs in 1 Allen B. DuMont was a pioneer of commercial television in the United States. His eponymous company manufactured cathode-ray tubes and in 1938 introduced one of the earliest electronic TV sets. He understood how human nature and a shortage of TV screens could divide couples, siblings, and friends. Accordingly, he built at least two prototype TVs that could play two shows at once. In the 1945 prototype shown at top, DuMont retrofitted a maple-finished cabinet that originally held a single 15-inch Plymouth TV receiver to house two black-and-white 12-inch receivers. Separate audio could be played with or without earpieces. Viewers used a 10-turn dial to tune into TV channel 1 (which went off the air in 1948) and VHF channels 2 through 13. As radio was still much more popular than television, the dial also included FM from 88 to 108 megahertz, plus a few channels used for weather and aviation. The lower left drawer held a phonograph. It was an all-in-one entertainment center. To view their desired programs on the DuMont Duoscopic TV set, this family wore polarized glasses and listened through earpieces.Allen DuMont/National Museum of American History/Smithsonian In 1954, DuMont introduced a different approach. With the DuMont Duoscopic, two different channels were broadcast on a single screen. To the naked eye, the images appeared superimposed on one another. But a viewer who wore polarized glasses or looked at the screen through a polarized panel saw just one of the images. Duoscopic viewers could use an earpiece to listen to the audio of their choice. You could also use the TV set to watch a single program by selecting only one channel and playing the audio through one speaker. DuMont seemed committed to the idea that family members should spend time together, even if they were engaged in different activities. An image of the Duoscopic sent out by the Associated Press Wirephoto Service heralded “No more lonely nights for the missus.” According to the caption, she could join “Hubby,” who was already relaxing in his comfy armchair enjoying his favorite show, but now watch something of her own choosing. “Would you believe it?” a Duoscopic brochure asks. “While HE sees and hears the fights, SHE sees and hears her play…. Separate viewing and solo sound allows your family a choice.” The technology to separate and isolate the images and audio was key. The Duoscopic had two CRTs, each with its own feed, set at right angles to each other. A half-silvered mirror superimposed the two images onto a single screen, which could then be filtered with polarized glasses or screens. TV pioneer Allen B. DuMont designed and manufactured cathode ray tubes and TV sets and launched an early TV network.Science History Images/Alamy A separate box could be conveniently placed nearby to control the volume of each program. Users could toggle between the two programs with the flick of a switch. Each set came with eight earpieces with long cords. A short note in the March 1954 issue of Electrical Engineering praises the engineers who crafted the sound system to eliminate sound bleed from the speakers. It notes that a viewer “very easily could watch one television program and listen to the audio content of a second.” Or, as a United Press piece published in the Panama City News Herald suggested, part of the family could use the earpieces to watch and listen to the TV while others in the room could “read, play bridge, or just sit and brood.” I suspect the brooders were the children who still didn’t get to watch their favorite show. Of course, choice was a relative matter. In the 1950s, many U.S. television markets were lucky to have even two channels. Only in major metropolitan areas were there more programming options. The only known example of DuMont’s side-by-side version resides at the South Carolina State Museum, in Columbia. But sources indicate that DuMont planned to manufacture about 30 Duoscopics for demonstration purposes, although it’s unclear how many were actually made. (The Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History has a Duoscopic in its collections.) Alas, neither version ever went into mainstream production. Perhaps that’s because the economics didn’t make sense: Even in the early 1950s, it would have been easier and cheaper for families to simply purchase two television sets and watch them in different rooms. Who Was Early TV Pioneer Allen DuMont? DuMont is an interesting figure in the history of television because he was actively engaged in the full spectrum of the industry. Not only did he develop and manufacture receivers, he also conducted broadcasting experiments, published papers on transmission and reception, ran a television network, and produced programming. After graduating from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in 1924 with a degree in electrical engineering, DuMont worked in a plant that manufactured vacuum tubes. Four years later, he joined the De Forest Radio Co. as chief engineer. With Lee de Forest, DuMont helped design an experimental mechanical television station, but he was unconvinced by the technology and advocated for all-electric TV for its crisper image. RELATED: In 1926, TV Was Mechanical When the Radio Corporation of America acquired De Forest Radio in 1931, DuMont started his own laboratory in his basement, where he worked on improving cathode ray tubes. In 1932 he invented the “magic eye,” a vacuum tube that was a visual tuning aid in radio receivers. He sold the rights to RCA. In 1935, DuMont moved the operation to a former pickle factory in Passaic, N.J., and incorporated it as the Allen B. DuMont Laboratories. The company produced cathode ray oscilloscopes, which helped finance his experiments with television. He debuted the all-electronic DuMont 180 TV set in June 1938. It cost US $395, or almost $9,000 today—so not exactly an everyday purchase for most people. Although DuMont was quick to market, RCA and the Television Corp. of America were right on his tail. RELATED: RCA’s Lucite Phantom Teleceiver Introduced the Idea of TV Of course, if companies were going to sell televisions, consumers had to have programs to watch. So in 1939, DuMont launched his own television network, starting with station W2XWV, broadcasting from Passaic. The Federal Communications Commission licensed W2XWV as an experimental station for television research. DuMont received a commercial license and changed its call sign to WABD on 2 May 1944, three years after NBC’s and CBS’s commercial stations went into operation in New York City. Due to wartime restrictions and debates over industry standards, television remained mostly experimental during World War II. As of September 1944, there were only six stations operating—three in New York City and one each in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia. There were approximately 7,000 TV sets in personal use. The DuMont Television Network’s variety show hosted by Jackie Gleason [left, hands raised] featured a recurring skit that later gave rise to “The Honeymooners.”Left: CBS/Getty Images; Right: Garry Winogrand/Picture Post/Hulton Archive/Getty Images While other networks focused on sports, movies, or remote broadcasts, the DuMont Television Network made its mark with live studio broadcasts. In April 1946, WABD moved its studios to the Wanamaker Department Store in Manhattan. DuMont converted the 14,200-cubic-meter (500,000-cubic-foot) auditorium into the world’s largest television studio. The network’s notable programming included “The Original Amateur Hour,” which started as a radio program; “The Johns Hopkins Science Review,” which had a surprisingly progressive take on women’s health; “Life Is Worth Living,” a devotional show hosted by Catholic Bishop Fulton Sheen (that garnered DuMont’s only Emmy Award); “Cavalcade of Stars,” a variety show hosted by Jackie Gleason that birthed “The Honeymooners”; and “Captain Video and His Video Rangers,” a children’s science fiction series, the first of its genre. My grandmother, who loved ballroom dancing, was a big fan of “The Arthur Murray Party,” a dance show hosted by Arthur’s wife, Kathryn; my mom fondly recalls Kathryn’s twirling skirts. While NBC, CBS, and the other major television players built their TV networks on their existing radio networks, DuMont was starting fresh. To raise capital for his broadcast station, he sold a half-interest in his company to Paramount Pictures in 1938. The partnership was contentious from the start. There were disputes over money, the direction of the venture, and stock. But perhaps the biggest conflict was when Paramount and some of its subsidiaries began applying for FCC licenses in the same markets as Dumont’s. This ate into the DuMont network’s advertising and revenue and its plans to expand. In August 1955, Paramount gained full control over the DuMont network and proceeded to shut it down. DuMont continued to manufacture television receivers until 1958, when he sold the business to the Emerson Radio & Phonograph Corp. Two years later, the remainder of DuMont Labs merged with the Fairchild Camera and Instrument Corp. (whose founder, Sherman Fairchild, had in 1957 helped a group of ambitious young scientists and engineers known as the “Traitorous Eight” set up Fairchild Semiconductor). Allen DuMont served as general manager of the DuMont division for a year and then became a technical consultant to Fairchild. He died in 1965. One Thing Allen DuMont Missed My family eventually got a second and then a third television, but my dad always had priority. He watched the biggest set from his recliner in the family room, while my mom made do with the smaller sets in the kitchen and bedroom. He was relaxing, while she was usually doing chores. As a family, we would watch different shows in separate places. An ad for the DuMont Duoscopic touted it as a device for household harmony: “While HE sees and hears the fights, SHE sees and hears her play.” National Museum of American History/Smithsonian These days, with so many screens on so many devices and so many programming options, we may have finally achieved DuMont’s vision of separate but together. While I was writing this piece, my friend was watching the French Open on the main TV, muted so she didn’t disturb me. She streamed the same channel on her tablet and routed the audio to her headset. We both worked on our respective laptops and procrastinated by checking messages on our phones. But there’s one aspect of human nature that DuMont’s prototypes and promotional materials failed to address—that moment when someone sees something so exciting that they just have to share it. Sarah and I were barely getting any work done in this separate-but-together setting because we kept interrupting each other with questions, comments, and the occasional tennis update. We’ve been friends too long; we can’t help but chitchat. The only way for me to actually finish this article will be to go to a room by myself with no other screens or people to distract me. Part of a continuing series looking at historical artifacts that embrace the boundless potential of technology. An abridged version of this article appears in the July 2025 print issue as “The 2-in-1 TV.” References I first learned about the Duoscopic in a short article in the March 1954 issue of Electrical Engineering, a precursor publication to Spectrum. My online research turned up several brochures and newspaper articles from the Early Television Museum, which surprisingly led me to the dual-screen DuMont at the South Carolina State Museum in my hometown of Columbia, S.C. Museum objects are primary sources, and I was fortunate to be able to visit this amazing artifact and examine it with Director of Collections Robyn Thiesbrummel. I also consulted the museum’s accession file, which gave additional information about the receiver from the time of acquisition. I took a look at Gary Newton Hess’s 1960 dissertation, An Historical Study of the Du Mont Television Network, as well as several of Allen B. DuMont’s papers published in the Proceedings of the IRE and Electrical Engineering.
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