Futility Closet

On Dec. 1, 1948, a well-dressed corpse appeared on a beach in South Australia. Despite 66 years of investigation, no one has ever been able to establish who he was, how he came to be there, or even how he died. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll delve into the mystery of the Somerton man, a fascinating tale that involves secret codes, a love triangle, and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. We'll also hear Franklin Adams praise the thesaurus and puzzle over some surprising consequences of firing a gun. Sources for our segment on the Somerton man: Mike Dash, "The Body on Somerton Beach," Smithsonianmag.com, Aug. 12, 2011 (retrieved Aug. 31, 2014). Lorena Allam, "The Somerton Man: A Mystery in Four Acts," Radio Australia, Feb. 23, 2014. The corpse of a well-dressed, clean-shaven man, 5'11", age 40-45 and in peak physical condition, was discovered on Somerton Beach in Adelaide, South Australia, early on the morning of Dec. 1, 1948. In a fob pocket of the man's trousers the pathologist at the city morgue found a tiny slip of rolled-up paper bearing the words "Tamam Shud," the final words of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. This led investigators to a copy of the book, which had been thrown into a car parked near the beach. In the back of the book were these penciled lines, which have never been deciphered. More than 60 years of inquiries around the world have brought us no closer to establishing the dead man's identity. His tombstone gives only the bare facts of his discovery. Franklin Pierce Adams' poem "To a Thesaurus" appears in The Book of Humorous Verse, by Carolyn Wells, 1920. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

William McGonagall has been called "the only truly memorable bad poet in our language," responsible for tin-eared verse that could "give you cauliflower ears just from silent reading": Alas! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead, and buried at last, Which causes many people to feel a little downcast; And both lie side by side in one grave, But I hope God in His goodness their souls will save. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll sample McGonagall's writings, follow the poor poet's sadly heroic wanderings, and wonder whether he may have been in on the joke after all. We'll also consider a South Carolina seventh grader's plea to Ronald Reagan and puzzle over a man's outrageous public behavior. Our segment on William McGonagall, the world's worst poet, is drawn from Norman Watson's beautifully researched 2010 book Poet McGonagall: A Biography. The best online source on McGonagall is Chris Hunt's site McGonagall Online, which contains extensive biographical materials, a map of the poet's travels, and a complete collection of his poems. South Carolina seventh grader Andy Irmo's 1984 letter to Ronald Reagan asking that his room be declared a disaster area appears in Dwight Young's 2007 book Dear Mr. President: Letters to the Oval Office from the Files of the National Archives. Our post about it ran on Aug. 14, 2006. Thanks to listener Nick Madrid for this week's lateral thinking puzzle. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

On New Year's Day 1886, London grocer Edwin Bartlett was discovered dead in his bed with a lethal quantity of liquid chloroform in his stomach. Strangely, his throat showed none of the burns that chloroform should have caused. His wife, who admitted to having the poison, was tried for murder, but the jury acquitted her because "we do not think there is sufficient evidence to show how or by whom the chloroform was administered." In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll learn about Edwin and Adelaide Bartlett's strange marriage and consider the various theories that have been advanced to explain Edwin's death. We'll also sample a 50,000-word novel written without the letter E and puzzle over a sure-footed American's visit to a Japanese office building. Sources for our segment on Adelaide Bartlett and the Pimlico poison mystery: "The Pimlico Poisoning Case," The Times, Feb. 16, 1886, 10. "The Pimlico Poisoning Case," The Times, March 8, 1886, 12. "The Pimlico Mystery," The Observer, March 21, 1886, 3. "Central Criminal Court, April 13," The Times, April 14, 1886, 6. "Central Criminal Court, April 16," The Times, April 17, 1886, 6. "The Pimlico Mystery," Manchester Guardian, April 19, 1886, 5. Michael Farrell, "Adelaide Bartlett and the Pimlico Mystery," British Medical Journal, December 1994, 1720-1723. Stephanie J. Snow, Blessed Days of Anaesthesia: How Anaesthetics Changed the World, 2009. A full record of the trial was published in 1886, with a preface by Edward Clarke, Adelaide's barrister. The full text of Ernest Vincent Wright's 1939 novel Gadsby: A Story of Over 50,000 Words Without Using the Letter "E", is available at Wikisource. Here's an excerpt from A Void, the English translation of George Perec's 1969 novel La Disparition, also written without the letter E. Two notable Futility Closet posts regarding lipograms: An 1866 poem written without the letter S An 1892 poem each of whose stanzas omits the letter E but includes every other letter of the alphabet (a "lipogram pangram") This week's lateral thinking puzzle comes from Mental Fitness Puzzles, by Kyle Hendrickson, Julie Hendrickson, Matt Kenneke, and Danny Hendrickson, 1998. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

On Feb. 9, 1855, the residents of Devon in southern England awoke to find a bewildering set of footprints in the newfallen snow. "These are to be found in fields, gardens, roads, house-tops, & other likely and unlikely places, deeply embedded in snow," ran one contemporary account. "The shape was a hoof." In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll examine the surviving descriptions of the odd marks and consider the various explanations that have been offered. We'll also revisit the compassionate Nazi fighter pilot Franz Stigler and puzzle over how to sneak into Switzerland across a guarded footbridge. Our segment on the "devil's hoofmarks" is drawn from Mike Dash's excellent article "The Devil's Hoofmarks: Source Material on the Great Devon Mystery of 1855," which appeared in Fortean Studies 1:1 in 1994. The full text (2MB PDF) is here. The Restricted Data Blog's post on John W. Campbell and his 1941 article “Is Death Dust America’s Secret Weapon?” appeared on March 7, 2014. The comments include an extensive discussion about Campbell's exchanges with Robert A. Heinlein. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

In December 1943, American bomber pilot Charlie Brown was flying a severely damaged B-17 out of Germany when he looked out the cockpit window and saw "the world's worst nightmare" off his right wing -- a fully armed German fighter whose pilot was staring back at him. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll follow the strange drama that ensued, in which German fighter ace Franz Stigler weighed the human impulse to spare the wounded bomber against his patriotic duty to shoot him down. We'll also consider whether animals follow the 10 commandments and wonder why a man might tell his nephew that his dog will be shot. Our segment on Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler is drawn largely from Adam Makos' 2012 book A Higher Call: The Incredible True Story of Combat and Chivalry in the War-Torn Skies of World War II. The book trailer contains brief interviews with both men: Sources for our segment on Ernest Thompson Seton and the 10 commandments: Ernest Thompson Seton, "The Natural History of the Ten Commandments," The Century, November 1907. Theodore Roosevelt, "Nature Fakers," Everybody's Magazine, September 1907. Ralph H. Lutts, The Nature Fakers: Wildlife, Science & Sentiment, 2001. Paul Dickson, Words From the White House, 2013. Our post about Seton's belief that the commandments are "fundamental laws of all creation" and thus might be discovered in the animal world originally appeared on April 21, 2010. The episode in which Seton's father presented him with a bill for his rearing appears in his wife's 1967 collection of his writings, By a Thousand Fires. Our post recounting it ran on July 8, 2014. Here's Jackie Cooper crying in Skippy (1931), just after hearing that his dog has been shot: You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

In 1944, fully a year before the first successful nuclear test, Astounding Science Fiction magazine published a remarkably detailed description of an atomic bomb. The story, by the otherwise undistinguished author Cleve Cartmill, sent military intelligence racing to discover the source of his information -- and his motives for publishing it. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll follow the investigation that ensued, which involved legendary editor John W. Campbell and illuminated the imaginative power of science fiction and the role of censorship in times of war. We'll also hear Mark Twain's advice against being too clever and puzzle over the failure of a seemingly perfect art theft. Sources for our segment on Cleve Cartmill: Cleve Cartmill and Jean Marie Stine, Deadline & Other Controversial SF Classics, 2011. Albert I. Berger, "The Astounding Investigation: The Manhattan Project's Confrontation With Science Fiction," Analog, September 1984. Robert Silverberg, "Reflections: The Cleve Cartmill Affair" (in two parts), Asimov's Science Fiction, September and October–November 2003. Mark Twain appended the poem "Be Good, Be Good" to a letter to Margaret Blackmer on Nov. 14, 1907: Be good, be good, be always good, And now & then be clever, But don’t you ever be too good, Nor ever be too clever; For such as be too awful good They awful lonely are, And such as often clever be Get cut & stung & trodden on by persons of lesser mental capacity, for this kind do by a law of their construction regard exhibitions of superior intellectuality as an offensive impertinence leveled at their lack of this high gift, & are prompt to resent such-like exhibitions in the manner above indicated — & are they justifiable? alas, alas they (It is not best to go on; I think the line is already longer than it ought to be for real true poetry.) Listener mail: The observation that a letter might be addressed to Glenn Seaborg by listing five chemical elements was made by Jeffrey Winters in "The Year in Science: Chemistry 1997," Discover, January 1998. I don't know whether any such letter was ever delivered successfully. Jeff Van Bueren's article "Postal Experiments" appeared in the Annals of Improbable Research, July/August 2000. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

In 1898, 19-year-old W. Reginald Bray made a thorough study of British postal regulations, which laid out rules for mailing everything from bees to elephants and promised that "all letters must be delivered as addressed." He resolved to give the service "a severe test without infringing its regulations." In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll review the antics that followed, in which Bray sent turnips, bicycle pumps, shoes, and even himself through the British post. We'll also sympathize with Lucius Chittenden, a U.S. Treasury official who had to sign 12,500 bonds in one harried weekend in 1862, and puzzle over the worrying train journey of a Wall Street banker. Our segment on W.R. Bray, the Edwardian postal experimentalist, is based chiefly on John Tingey's 2010 book The Englishman Who Posted Himself and Other Curious Objects. Tingey maintains a website with an extensive catalog of the curios that Bray sent through the post. Also David Leafe, "The Man Who Posted Himself," Daily Mail, March 19, 2012. In an article in the Royal Magazine in 1904, Bray noted the usefulness of the Post Office's offer to conduct a person "to any address on payment of the mileage charge": What mothers know that, if they like, they can send their little ones to school as letters? Possibly, as soon as the 'mother-readers' see this, the Post Offices will be crowded with toddling infants, both in and out of 'prams,' all waiting to be taken to schools, or out for a day in the country. 'But I should not like my child to be carried with postage stamps, and arrive at the school black with postmarks!' That is what I expect some mothers will say. Oh, don't be alarmed, nothing like this will happen! All that you need to do is to take the child to the Post Office across the road, pay a small fee, and a messenger boy will escort the little one to the very door of the school. However Post Office officials do not appear anxious to gain fame as nurse providers to infants. Miscellaneous postal mischief on Futility Closet: Torturing the Post Office Post Haste Riddling Letters Sources for our segment on L.E. Chittenden, the iron-wristed Register of the Treasury under Lincoln: Lucius Eugene Chittenden, Recollections of President Lincoln and His Administration, 1891. Joseph F. Tuttle, "Abraham Lincoln, 'The Perfect Ruler of Men,'" Historical Register of the Colorado Society of the Sons of the American Revolution, Nov. 1, 1906. William Juengst, "In Ruffles and Starch Cuffs: The American Jews' Part in Our International Relations," The American Hebrew & Jewish Messenger, Sept. 30, 1921. Arthur Laurents wrote a piece for the New York Herald Tribune in 1957 that discusses the development of West Side Story. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

In 1942 Navy lieutenant Ernest Cody and ensign Charles Adams piloted a blimp out of San Francisco into the Pacific, looking for Japanese subs. A few hours later the blimp drifted back to land, empty. The parachutes and life raft were in their proper places and the radio was in working order, but there was no trace of Cody or Adams. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll follow the events of that strange day and delve into the inquest that followed. We'll also sample some unpublished items from Greg's trove of Futility Closet research and puzzle over a drink of water that kills hundreds of people. Sources for our segment on the L-8 blimp mystery: Mark J. Price, "60 Years Later, Pilots' Fate Still a Mystery -- 2 Men Aboard Navy Blimp Vanished," Seattle Times, Aug. 18, 2002. Darold Fredricks, "Airships and Moffett Field," San Mateo Daily Journal, July 22, 2013. United Press International, "Goodyear Blimp Retires," July 9, 1982. Some inquest records are available online here. Links mentioned in listener mail: Thad Gillespie explains how George Washington came to have two different birth dates in this blog post. This Gizmodo page, sent by Brian Drake, includes artists' renditions of Pyke's envisioned aircraft carrier and the Sagrada Familia made of pykrete; photos of students and professors from Eindhoven University of Technology in the Netherlands using pykrete to make the world's largest ice dome, with a span of 98 feet; and a link to a video of the making of the dome. You can subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

In 1943 German submarines were devastating the merchant convoys carrying supplies to Britain. Unable to protect them with aircraft or conventional ships, the resource-strapped Royal Navy considered an outlandish solution: a 2-million-ton aircraft carrier made of ice. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we follow the strange history of the project, which Winston Churchill initially praised as dazzling but which ended in ignominy at the bottom of a Canadian lake. We'll also discover a love pledge hidden for 200 years in the heart of a Yorkshire tree and puzzle over the deaths of two men in a remote cabin. Our segment on Project Habbakuk is based chiefly on L.D. Cross' 2012 book Code Name Habbakuk. In the photo above, research workers cut ice and form it into beams on Lake Louise near the Chateau Lake Louise resort hotel in 1943. Our post on the Yorkshire inscription appeared on Dec. 18, 2009. Sources for the podcast segment: John Lindley, The Theory and Practice of Horticulture, 1855, citing the Gardener's Chronicle of 1841. "Redcarre, a Poor Fysher Towne," in the Journal of Horticulture and Practical Gardening, Aug. 4, 1870. "Local Writers and Local Worthies: William and Cholmley Turner," in William Hall Burnett, Old Cleveland: Being a Collection of Papers, 1886. Kazlitt Arvine, Cyclopaedia of Anecdotes of Literature and the Fine Arts, 1856. Here's the illustration from Lindley: The inscription reads: THIS TRE LOVNG TIME WITNES BEARE OF TOW LOVRS THAT DID WALK HEA RE Thomas Browne's poem "The Lovers to Their Favourite Tree" appears in his Poems on Several Occasions, from 1800:   Long the wintry tempests braving, Still this short inscription keep; Still preserve this rude engraving, On thy bark imprinted deep: This tree long time witness bear, Two true-lovers did walk here.   By the softest ties united, Love has bound our souls in one; And by mutual promise plighted, Waits the nuptial rite alone-- Thou, a faithful witness bear, Of our plighted promise here.   Tho' our sires would gladly sever Those firm ties they disallow, Yet they cannot part us ever -- We will keep our faithful vow, And in spite of threats severe, Still will meet each other here.   While the dusky shade concealing, Veils the faultless fraud of love, We from sleepless pillows stealing, Nightly seek the silent grove; And escaped from eyes severe, Dare to meet each other here.   Wealth and titles disregarding (Idols of the sordid mind), Calm content true love rewarding, In the bliss we wish to find.— Thou tree, long time witness bear, Two such Lovers did walk here.   To our faithful love consenting (Love unchang'd by time or tide), Should our haughty sires relenting, Give the sanction yet deny'd; 'Midst the scenes to mem'ry dear, Still we oft will wander here.   Then our ev'ry wish compleated, Crown'd by kinder fates at last, All beneath thy shadow seated, We will talk of seasons past; When, by night, in silent fear, We did meet each other here.   On thy yielding bark, engraving Now in short our tender tale, Long, time's roughest tempest braving, Spread thy branches to the gale; And, for ages, witness bear, Two True-lovers did walk here.   Browne writes, "There are likewise other letters, which seem to be the initial of the Lover's names, who appear to have frequented the solitary spot where the tree has grown, to vent the effusions of their mutual passion, and to enjoy the pleasure of each other's conversation sequestered and unobserved." The other writers don't mention this. Frances Cornford's triolet "To a Fat Lady Seen From the Train" appeared in her volume Poems in 1910: O why do you walk through the fields in gloves, Missing so much and so much? O fat white woman whom nobody loves, Why do you walk through the fields in gloves, When the grass is soft a…

In 1864 Nevada mining merchant Reuel Gridley found a unique way to raise money for wounded Union soldiers: He repeatedly auctioned the same 50-pound sack of flour, raising $250,000 from sympathetic donors across the country. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll discover the origins of Gridley's floury odyssey. We'll also hear H.L. Mencken's translation of the Declaration of Independence into American English and try to figure out where tourism increases the price of electricity. Sources for our story on Reuel Gridley and the flour auction: Ralph Lea and Christi Kennedy, "Reuel Gridley and a Sack of Flour," Lodi [Calif.] News-Sentinel, Sept. 30, 2005. Mark Twain, Roughing It, 1872. Here's his monument, in the Stockton Rural Cemetery in California: Image: Wikimedia Commons The empty flour sack is in the collection of the Nevada Historical Society. "The Declaration of Independence in American," by H.L. Mencken, from The American Language, 1921: When things get so balled up that the people of a country have to cut loose from some other country, and go it on their own hook, without asking no permission from nobody, excepting maybe God Almighty, then they ought to let everybody know why they done it, so that everybody can see they are on the level, and not trying to put nothing over on nobody. All we got to say on this proposition is this: first, you and me is as good as anybody else, and maybe a damn sight better; second, nobody ain't got no right to take away none of our rights; third, every man has got a right to live, to come and go as he pleases, and to have a good time however he likes, so long as he don't interfere with nobody else. That any government that don't give a man these rights ain't worth a damn; also, people ought to choose the kind of goverment they want themselves, and nobody else ought to have no say in the matter. That whenever any goverment don't do this, then the people have got a right to can it and put in one that will take care of their interests. Of course, that don't mean having a revolution every day like them South American coons and yellow-bellies and Bolsheviki, or every time some job-holder does something he ain't got no business to do. It is better to stand a little graft, etc., than to have revolutions all the time, like them coons and Bolsheviki, and any man that wasn't a anarchist or one of them I. W. W.'s would say the same. But when things get so bad that a man ain't hardly got no rights at all no more, but you might almost call him a slave, then everybody ought to get together and throw the grafters out, and put in new ones who won't carry on so high and steal so much, and then watch them. This is the proposition the people of these Colonies is up against, and they have got tired of it, and won't stand it no more. The administration of the present King, George III, has been rotten from the start, and when anybody kicked about it he always tried to get away with it by strong-arm work. Here is some of the rough stuff he has pulled: He vetoed bills in the Legislature that everybody was in favor of, and hardly nobody was against. He wouldn't allow no law to be passed without it was first put up to him, and then he stuck it in his pocket and let on he forgot about it, and didn't pay no attention to no kicks. When people went to work and gone to him and asked him to put through a law about this or that, he give them their choice: either they had to shut down the Legislature and let him pass it all by him-self, or they couldn't have it at all. He made the Legislature meet at one-horse thank-towns out in the alfalfa belt, so that hardly nobody could get there and most of the leaders would stay home and let him go to work and do things as he pleased. He give the Legislature the air, and …

In 1900 three lighthouse keepers vanished from a remote, featureless island in Scotland's Outer Hebrides. The lighthouse was in good order and the log showed no sign of trouble, but no trace of the keepers has ever been found. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll explore the conundrum of the men's disappearance -- a classic mystery of sea lore. We'll also ponder the whereabouts of Robert Louis Stevenson's birthday, admire Esaw Wood's quest for a wood saw that would saw wood, and wonder why drinking a glass of water might necessitate a call to the auto club. Sources for our segment on the Flannan Isles lighthouse: Christopher Nicholson, Rock Lighthouses of Britain, 1983. "The Mystery of Flannan Isle," Northern Lighthouse Board, retrieved June 18, 2014. Mike Dash, "The Vanishing Lighthousemen of Eilean Mór," Fortean Studies 4 (1998). Sources for the story about Robert Louis Stevenson's bequest of his birthday: Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Graham Balfour, Works, Volume 24, 1905. Elmo Scott Watson, "Famous Writer Gave Most Unusual 'Christmas Gift' in All History," Ironwood [Mich.] Times, Dec. 23, 1938. “Inherits Birthday,” Sherbrooke [Quebec] Telegram, Jan. 11, 1934. Here's the deed: Vailima, June 19, 1891. I, Robert Louis Stevenson, Advocate of the Scots Bar, author of The Master of Ballantrae and Moral Emblems, stuck civil engineer, sole owner and patentee of the Palace and Plantation known as Vailima in the island of Upolu, Samoa, a British Subject, being in sound mind, and pretty well, I thank you, in body: In consideration that Miss Annie H. Ide, daughter of H.C. Ide, in the town of Saint Johnsbury, in the county of Caledonia, in the state of Vermont, United States of America, was born, out of all reason, upon Christmas Day, and is therefore out of all justice denied the consolation and profit of a proper birthday; And considering that I, the said Robert Louis Stevenson, have attained an age when O, we never mention it, and that I have now no further use for a birthday of any description; ... And in consideration that I have met H.C. Ide, the father of the said Annie H. Ide, and found him about as white a land commissioner as I require: Have transferred, and do hereby transfer, to the said Annie H. Ide, all and whole my rights and privileges in the thirteenth day of November, formerly my birthday, now, hereby, and henceforth, the birthday of the said Annie H. Ide, to have, hold, exercise, and enjoy the same in the customary manner, by the sporting of fine raiment, eating of rich meats, and receipt of gifts, compliments, and copies of verse, according to the manner of our ancestors; And I direct the said Annie H. Ide to add to the said name of Annie H. Ide the name Louisa — at least in private; and I charge her to use my said birthday with moderation and humanity, et tamquam bona filia familia, the said birthday not being so young as it once was, and having carried me in a very satisfactory manner since I can remember; And in case the said Annie H. Ide shall neglect or contravene either of the above conditions, I hereby revoke the donation and transfer my rights in the said birthday to the President of the United States of America for the time being: In witness whereof I have hereto set my hand and seal this nineteenth day of June in the year of grace eighteen hundred and ninety-one. Robert Louis Stevenson. Witness, Lloyd Osbourne, Witness, Harold Watts. To Ide Stevenson wrote, "Herewith please find the Document, which I trust will prove sufficient in law. It seems to me very attractive in its eclecticism; Scots, English, and Roman law phrases are all indifferently introduced, and a quotation from the works of Haynes Bailey can hardly fail to attract the indulgence of the Bench." A bizarre coincidence: Just before w…

Stewardess Violet Jessop was both cursed and blessed -- during the 1910s she met disaster on all three of the White Star Line's Olympic class of gigantic ocean liners, but she managed to escape each time. In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll accompany Violet on her three ill-fated voyages, including the famous sinkings of the Titanic and the Britannic, and learn the importance of toothbrushes in ocean disasters. We'll also play with the International Date Line and puzzle over the identity of Salvador Dalí's brother. Show notes: University of Chicago economist Steven Levitt discusses his coin-flipping experiment about halfway through this BBC podcast. The associated website is here. We first wrote about Violet Jessop on March 11, 2009. Maritime historian John Maxtone-Graham interviewed her in 1970 for The Only Way to Cross, his 1978 book about the era of ocean liners. When Violet died in 1971 she left a manuscript to her daughters, which, edited by Maxtone-Graham, came to light in 1997 as Titanic Survivor: The Newly Discovered Memoirs of Violet Jessop, Who Survived Both the Titanic and Britannic Disasters. A poetic note from Maxtone-Graham in that book: "One particular service commemorates the 1500 lost on the Titanic: Every 14th of April, a United States Coast Guard cutter comes to pay the homage of the Ice Patrol, which owes its inception to the disaster. With engines stilled and church pennant at the masthead, officers and men line the deck in full dress, while the commander reads the burial service. Three volleys of rifle fire can be heard, then the cutter passes on, leaving a lone wreath on the waves above the broken hull." Lewis Carroll underscored the need for an international date line with this conundrum, which he presented among the mathematical puzzle stories he wrote for the Monthly Packet in the 1880s: The day changes only at midnight. Suppose it's midnight in Chelsea; Wednesday has concluded and Thursday is about to begin. It's still Wednesday in Ireland and America, and it's already Thursday in Germany and Russia. That's fine. But continue in both directions. If it's Wednesday in America, is it Wednesday in Hawaii? If it's Thursday in Russia, is it Thursday in Japan? Mustn't the two days 'meet' on the farther side of the globe? "It isn’t midnight anywhere else; so it can't be changing from one day to another anywhere else. And yet, if Ireland and America and so on call it Wednesday, and Germany and Russia and so on call it Thursday, there must be some place, not Chelsea, that has different days on the two sides of it. And the worst of it is, the people there get their days in the wrong order: they’ve got Wednesday east of them, and Thursday west -- just as if their day had changed from Thursday to Wednesday!" Carroll normally presented the solution to each problem in the following month’s number. In this case he postponed the solution, "partly because I am myself so entirely puzzled by it," and then discontinued the column without resolving the problem. Further curiosities regarding the International Date Line: Why couldn't one orbit the world and advance the calendar indefinitely? Edgar Allan Poe, "Three Sundays in a Week" A time-traveling swimmer Softball at the North Pole Paul Sloane and Des MacHale have written a whole series of books of lateral thinking puzzles. This week's puzzle on Salvador Dalí's brother comes from their Ingenious Lateral Thinking Puzzles (1998). Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

Georgia slaves Ellen and William Craft made a daring bid for freedom in 1848: Ellen dressed as a white man and, attended by William as her servant, undertook a perilous 1,000-mile journey by carriage, train, and steamship to the free state of Pennsylvania in the North. In this week's episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll follow the couple's harrowing five-day adventure through the slave-owning South. We'll also discover the best place in the United States to commit a crime and sample the aphoristic poetry of Danish mathematician Piet Hein. Our post on Ellen and Willliam Craft appeared on July 19, 2012. Here are the two as they normally appeared: And here's Ellen dressed as a rheumatism-ridden white man: In order to show her likeness clearly, this image omits the poultice that she wore on her chin. Their book Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom appeared in 1860. Here's an excerpt explaining what awaited them if they were confronted at any point on their 1,000-mile journey: If [a] coloured person refuses to answer questions put to him, he may be beaten, and his defending himself against this attack makes him an outlaw, and if he be killed on the spot, the murderer will be exempted from all blame; but after the coloured person has answered the questions put to him, in a most humble and pointed manner, he may then be taken to prison; and should it turn out, after further examination, that he was caught where he had no permission or legal right to be, and that he has not given what they term a satisfactory account of himself, the master will have to pay a fine. On his refusing to do this, the poor slave may be legally and severely flogged by public officers. Should the prisoner prove to be a free man, he is most likely to be both whipped and fined. At several points whites upbraided Ellen for treating William decently. On the steamer to Charleston, a Southern military officer told her: You will excuse me, Sir, for saying I think you are very likely to spoil your boy by saying 'thank you' to him. I assure you, sir, nothing spoils a slave so soon as saying 'thank you' and 'if you please' to him. The only way to make a nigger toe the mark, and to keep him in his place, is to storm at him like thunder, and keep him trembling like a leaf. Don't you see, when I speak to my Ned, he darts like lightning; and if he didn't I'd skin him. Our post about the Woodrow Wilson Bridge appeared on June 4, 2014, and we wrote originally about the Yellowstone loophole on Feb. 3, 2012. Michigan State law professor Brian Kalt's paper about the loophole is titled "The Perfect Crime." He points out that civil actions and lesser criminal charges await anyone who commits a felony in Yellowstone; nonetheless he calls the current state of affairs "a constitutional rusty nail." We've published Piet Hein's poetry previously on Futility Closet, in 2012 and 2013. Wikiquote has the fullest online collection I know of. You can listen using the player above, or subscribe on iTunes or via the RSS feed at http://feedpress.me/futilitycloset. You can support Futility Closet by taking a 5-minute survey. Your answers will help match our show with advertisers that best fit our listeners, like you, and allow us to keep making these podcasts. Listeners who complete the survey will be entered in an ongoing monthly raffle to win a $100 Amazon Gift Card. We promise not to share or sell your email address, and we won't send you email unless you win.Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode.If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

The New York Times proposed an outrageous undertaking in 1908: An automobile race westward from New York to Paris, a journey of 22,000 miles across all of North America and Asia in an era when the motorcar was "the most fragile and capricious thing on earth." In this episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll follow the six teams who took up the challenge and attempted "the most perilous trip ever undertaken by man."We'll also see how a tomahawk linked Alec Guinness and Grace Kelly for 25 years and hear poet Louis Phillips lament his wife's handwriting.

Irish practical joker Horace de Vere Cole orchestrated his masterpiece in 1910: He dressed four friends as Abyssinian princes and inveigled a tour of a British battleship. One of the friends, improbably, was Virginia Woolf disguised in a false beard and turban. We'll describe how the prank was inspired and follow the six through their tension-filled visit to the HMS Dreadnought.We'll also examine the value of whistles to Benjamin Franklin and present the next Futility Closet Challenge.