Conquer Your Vertigo and Watch this Dazzling Footage of Construction Workers Atop the Chrysler Building in 1929

Paris has the gar­goyles of Notre Dame.

New York City has eight art-deco eagles pro­trud­ing from the Chrysler Build­ing’s 61st floor.

These mighty stain­less steel guardians seem impres­sive­ly sol­id until you watch con­struc­tion work­ers muscling them into place on April 3, 1930 in the Fox Movi­etone news­reel footage above.

For­get being stur­dy enough to serve as a time trav­el div­ing board for a very freaked out Will Smith in Men in Black III

It now seems a mir­a­cle that no unsus­pect­ing pedes­tri­ans have been crushed by an art-deco eagle head crash­ing uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly down to Lex­ing­ton Avenue in the mid­dle of rush hour.

Also that no work­ers died on the job, giv­en how quick­ly the build­ing went up and the rel­a­tive lack of safe­ty equip­ment on dis­play… no word on ampu­tat­ed fin­gers, but it’s not hard to imag­ine giv­en that only one of the guys help­ing out with the eagle appears to be wear­ing gloves.

In fact, as author Vin­cent Cur­cio describes in Chrysler: The Life and Times of an Auto­mo­tive Genius, the job site boast­ed a num­ber of inno­v­a­tive safe­ty mea­sures, such as scaf­folds with guardrails, tar­pau­lin-cov­ered plank roofs, wire net­ting between the toe boards, a hos­pi­tal on-loca­tion, and a bul­letin board for safe­ty-relat­ed updates. Founder Wal­ter Chrysler was as proud of this work­place con­sci­en­tious­ness as he was of the 4‑floors per week speed with which his build­ing was erect­ed:

In an arti­cle called “Is Safe­ty on Your Pay­roll?” He spoke of star­ing up at work­ers on the scaf­fold­ing with a friend on the street below. “‘My, that’s a risky job,’ my com­pan­ion remarked. ‘A man just about takes his life in his hands work­ing on a build­ing like this.’”

“‘I sup­pose it does seem that way,’ I replied, ‘But it’s no so dan­ger­ous as you think. If you knew the pre­cau­tions we have tak­en to pro­tect those work­ers, you might change your mind… not a sin­gle life has been lost in con­struct­ing the steel frame­work of that build­ing.’” To give an idea of how much of an achieve­ment this was, it should be not­ed that the rule of thumb at that time was one death for every floor above fif­teen in the con­struc­tion of a build­ing; by this mea­sure the Chrysler Build­ing should have been respon­si­ble for six­ty-two deaths.

By con­trast, the guys Fox Movi­etone filmed seem hap­py to play up the ver­tig­i­nous nature of their work for the cam­era, edg­ing out onto gird­ers and con­vers­ing casu­al­ly atop pipes, as if seat­ed astride a 1000-foot tall jun­gle gym:

“Gosh, that’s a long way to the street, boys.”

“How’d ya like to fall down there?”

“Whad­daya think, I’m an angel?

“Well, you’re liable to be an angel any minute.”

“You’ll break the alti­tude record going down-“

“Ha ha, yeah, maybe!”

While our appetite for this vin­tage blus­ter is bot­tom­less, it’s worth not­ing that Movi­etone usu­al­ly issued those appear­ing in pri­ma­ry posi­tions a cou­ple of lines of script­ed dia­logue.

What would those work­ers think of OSHA’s cur­rent safe­ty stan­dards for the con­struc­tion indus­try?

Fall pro­tec­tion is still the most com­mon­ly cit­ed stan­dard dur­ing con­struc­tion site inspec­tions.

Falls claimed the lives of 338 Amer­i­can con­struc­tion work­ers in 2018, the same year a con­struc­tion work­er in Kuala Lumpur used his cell phone to film a cowork­er in shorts and sneak­ers erect­ing scaf­fold­ing sans safe­ty equip­ment, whilst bal­anc­ing on unse­cured pipes some 700 feet in the air.

Watch it below, if you dare.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Brook­lyn Bridge Was Built: The Sto­ry of One of the Great­est Engi­neer­ing Feats in His­to­ry

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

A Vir­tu­al Time-Lapse Recre­ation of the Build­ing of Notre Dame (1160)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Feb­ru­ary 3 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates New York, The Nation’s Metrop­o­lis (1921). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The City of Nashville Built a Full-Scale Replica of the Parthenon in 1897, and It’s Still Standing Today

Pho­to by Mayur Phadtare, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

A recent exec­u­tive order stat­ing that “the clas­si­cal archi­tec­tur­al style shall be the pre­ferred and default style” for fed­er­al build­ings in the U.S. has remind­ed some of oth­er exec­u­tives who enforced neo­clas­si­ci­cism as the state’s offi­cial aes­thet­ic dog­ma. In the case of the U.S., how­ev­er, neo­clas­si­cal build­ing does not draw from ancient sources, but from “a 19th cen­tu­ry inter­pre­ta­tion of what peo­ple were doing in Rome and Athens mil­len­nia ago,” as Steve Rose writes at The Guardian.

In oth­er words, con­tem­po­rary “clas­si­cal archi­tec­tur­al style” in the U.S. is a copy of a copy. Kitsch. But maybe the cre­ation of sim­u­la­tions is what Amer­i­ca does best, though not typ­i­cal­ly under threat of gov­ern­ment sanc­tion should one do oth­er­wise. “Liv­ing in the rel­a­tive­ly youth­ful coun­try that’s a mere 241 years old,” Isaac Kaplan wrote at Art­sy in 2017, “it’s under­stand­able that some Amer­i­cans might decide to import a lit­tle extra his­to­ry from abroad,” by mak­ing ver­sions of ancient mon­u­ments in their back­yard.

Such build­ings span the coun­try, from off­beat road­side attrac­tions to the most expen­sive and elab­o­rate recre­ations. “There is a faux-Venice in Las Vegas, and a Stone­henge II in Texas.” And in Nashville, Ten­nessee: a full-scale repli­ca of the Parthenon, built in 1897 for the Cen­ten­ni­al Expo­si­tion cel­e­brat­ing the state’s 100th anniver­sary. The detailed re-cre­ation went fur­ther than imi­tat­ing a ruin. It “restored the aspects of the orig­i­nal Parthenon that were lost or dam­aged” in an inter­pre­tive re-cre­ation of what it might have looked like.

The build­ing held the Exposition’s art gallery and “spoke to the city’s self-declared rep­u­ta­tion as the ‘Athens of the South.’” (Mem­phis coun­tered the grand archi­tec­tur­al ges­ture by build­ing a pyra­mid; Athens, Geor­gia, how­ev­er, did not respond in kind.) Con­struct­ed out of con­crete, and not built to out­last the cel­e­bra­tions, the repli­ca began to fall apart soon after­wards, prompt­ing a restora­tion effort in 1920 aimed at mak­ing the Nashville Parthenon as “endur­ing and as his­tor­i­cal­ly true to the orig­i­nal Parthenon as pos­si­ble.”

The Great Depres­sion halt­ed plans for an enor­mous stat­ue of Athena, meant to recre­ate one that once stood inside the orig­i­nal Parthenon, but after decades of dona­tions it was final­ly unveiled in 1990. Stand­ing 42 feet high, the mas­sive fig­ure holds a 6‑foot-4-inch stat­ue of the god­dess Nike in her hand. Unlike 19th cen­tu­ry neo­clas­si­cal recre­ations, Athena “boasts a major his­tor­i­cal detail: poly­chromy,” paint­ed in bright greens, reds, and blues, right­ing “the long-held and his­tor­i­cal­ly incor­rect view of the ancient past as one dom­i­nat­ed by white­ness.”

Image by Dean Dixon, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

See more pho­tographs from 1909 at the Library of Con­gress dig­i­tal col­lec­tions, of the repli­ca of a tem­ple orig­i­nal­ly ded­i­cat­ed to hon­or­ing the female per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of wis­dom. And at the top, see a much more recent pho­to of the restored build­ing. The Nashville Parthenon is still in busi­ness, charg­ing rea­son­able admis­sion for a view tourists could nev­er get in Athens, as well as a per­ma­nent col­lec­tion of 63 paint­ings by Amer­i­can artists and gal­leries hous­ing tem­po­rary shows and exhibits.

via @DaveEverts

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore Ancient Athens 3D, a Dig­i­tal Recon­struc­tion of the Greek City-State at the Height of Its Influ­ence

Artist is Cre­at­ing a Parthenon Made of 100,000 Banned Books: A Mon­u­ment to Democ­ra­cy & Intel­lec­tu­al Free­dom

The His­to­ry of Ancient Greece in 18 Min­utes: A Brisk Primer Nar­rat­ed by Bri­an Cox

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

New Digital Archive Will Bring Medieval Chants Back to Life: Project Amra Will Feature 300 Digitized Manuscripts and Many Audio Recordings

Among his­to­ri­ans of Euro­pean Chris­tian­i­ty, it long seemed a set­tled ques­tion that Irish Catholi­cism, the so-called “Celtic Rite,” dif­fered sig­nif­i­cant­ly in the mid­dle ages from its Roman coun­ter­part. This despite the fact that the phrase Celtic Rite “must not be tak­en to imply any nec­es­sary homo­gene­ity,” notes the Catholic Ency­clo­pe­dia, “for the evi­dence such as it is, is in favour of con­sid­er­able diver­si­ty.” Far from an insu­lar reli­gion, Irish Catholi­cism spread to France, Ger­many, Switzer­land, Italy, and North­ern Spain through the mis­sions of St. Colum­banus and oth­ers, and both influ­enced and absorbed the Continent’s prac­tices through­out the medieval peri­od.

His­to­ri­ans have recent­ly set out to “restore [the Irish Church] to its right­ful place on the Euro­pean his­tor­i­cal map,” writes Trin­i­ty Col­lege Dublin’s Ann Buck­ley in her intro­duc­tion to a book of schol­ar­ly essays called Music, Litur­gy, and the Ven­er­a­tion of Saints of the Medieval Irish Church in a Euro­pean Con­text.

To vary­ing degrees, all of the schol­ars rep­re­sent­ed in this col­lec­tion write to counter the essen­tial­iz­ing “quest for what might be unique or ‘oth­er’ about Ire­land and Irish cul­ture” among all oth­er Euro­pean nation­al and reli­gious his­to­ries.

Buckley’s writ­ing on the ven­er­a­tion of Irish saints has made a sig­nif­i­cant con­tri­bu­tion to this effort, and her decade and a half of archival work has helped cre­ate the Amra project, which aims “to dig­i­tize and make freely avail­able online over 300 man­u­scripts con­tain­ing litur­gi­cal mate­r­i­al asso­ci­at­ed with some 40 Irish saints which are locat­ed in research libraries across Europe.” So write Medievalists.net, who also point out some of the most excit­ing aspects of this acces­si­ble resource:

The dig­i­tal archive, when com­plet­ed, will also incor­po­rate record­ings and per­form­ing edi­tions of all the chants and prayers from the orig­i­nal man­u­scripts, as well as trans­la­tions of the Latin texts into a num­ber of Euro­pean lan­guages. In this way, con­tem­po­rary audi­ences can enjoy first-hand the devo­tion­al songs asso­ci­at­ed with Irish saints, bring­ing them out of their slum­ber after more than half a mil­len­ni­um.

You can hear one antiphonal chant, “Mag­ni patris/Mente mun­di,” from the Office St. Patrick, just above. Per­haps unsur­pris­ing­ly, “no oth­er Irish saint is rep­re­sent­ed so exten­sive­ly or with such vari­ety in medieval litur­gi­cal sources,” writes Buck­ley. Man­u­script hymns, prayers, and offices for Patrick have been found in Dublin, Oxford, Cam­bridge, the British Library, and “in the Vien­na Schot­ten­kloster dat­ing from the time of its foun­da­tion by Irish Bene­dic­tine monks in the twelfth cen­tu­ry.” (See the open­ing of the Office of St. Patrick, “Veneren­da immi­nen­tis,” from a late-15th cen­tu­ry man­u­script, at the top.)

Oth­er saints rep­re­sent­ed in the archival mate­r­i­al include Brig­it, Colm­cille, Colum­banus, Canice, Declan, Cia­ran, Fin­ian, and Lau­rence O’Toole. The mis­sion­ary monks all received their own “offices,” litur­gi­cal cer­e­monies per­formed on their feast days. Many of the man­u­scripts, such as the open­ing of the Office of St. Brig­it, above, con­tain musi­cal nota­tion, allow­ing musi­col­o­gists like Buck­ley to recre­ate the sound of Irish Catholi­cism as it exist­ed in Ire­land, Britain, and Con­ti­nen­tal Europe sev­er­al hun­dred years ago.

The project is devel­op­ing a dig­i­tal archive of such record­ings, as well as “a ful­ly search­able data­base,” Medievalists.net notes, with “inter­ac­tive maps show­ing the geo­graph­i­cal dis­tri­b­u­tion of the cults of Irish saints across Europe, and of the libraries where the man­u­scripts are now housed. A series of doc­u­men­tary films is also envis­aged.” You don’t have to be a spe­cial­ist in the his­to­ry of the Irish Church, or an Irish Catholic, for that mat­ter, to get excit­ed about the many ways such a rich resource will bring this medieval his­to­ry to new life.

via Medievalists.net

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Where Did the Monk’s Hair­cut Come From? A New Vox Video Explains the Rich and Con­tentious His­to­ry of the Ton­sure

The Medieval Mas­ter­piece, the Book of Kells, Is Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online

160,000 Pages of Glo­ri­ous Medieval Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized: Vis­it the Bib­lio­the­ca Philadel­phien­sis

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Bertrand Russell’s Prison Letters Are Now Digitized & Put Online (1918 — 1961)

Boethius, Hen­ry David Thore­au, Anto­nio Gram­sci, Mar­tin Luther King, Jr…. It’s pos­si­ble, if one tried, to draw oth­er com­par­isons between these dis­parate fig­ures, but read­ers famil­iar with the work of all four will imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­nize their most obvi­ous lit­er­ary com­mon­al­i­ty: all wrote some of their most impas­sioned and per­sua­sive work while unjust­ly con­fined to a cell.

In the case of Bertrand Rus­sell, how­ev­er, per­haps one of the most famous fig­ures in 20th cen­tu­ry phi­los­o­phy and intel­lec­tu­al life more gen­er­al­ly, peri­ods of incar­cer­a­tion in Brix­ton prison in 1918 and, forty-three years lat­er, in 1961, play a min­i­mal role in the larg­er dra­ma of his writ­ing life, despite the fact that he did a good deal of writ­ing, includ­ing some sig­nif­i­cant philo­soph­i­cal work, behind bars.

Even schol­ars well-read in Russell’s work may have lit­tle knowl­edge of his prison writ­ing, and for good rea­son: most of it has been inac­ces­si­ble. “Now, for the first time,” writes Eri­ca Balch at McMas­ter University’s Brighter World blog, “Russell’s prison letters—part of McMaster’s Bertrand Rus­sell Archives—are being made avail­able online through a new dig­i­ti­za­tion project devel­oped by the Bertrand Rus­sell Research Cen­tre. Com­plete with detailed anno­ta­tions and ful­ly search­able text, the project is pro­vid­ing schol­ars from around the world with access to these rarely seen mate­ri­als.”

The con­tents of the let­ters reveal oth­er rea­sons that Russell’s prison writ­ing isn’t bet­ter known. He did plen­ty of impas­sioned and per­sua­sive writ­ing for the pub­lic out­side of a prison cell—publishing fiery books, essays, and lec­tures against war and pro­pa­gan­da and in defense of free thought through­out his life. Behind bars, how­ev­er, Russell’s writ­ing turned almost sole­ly pro­fes­sion­al and per­son­al, in let­ters addressed pri­mar­i­ly to “his then lover Lady Con­stance Malle­son (known as ‘Colette’) and his for­mer lover, aris­to­crat and socialite Lady Otto­line Mor­rell.”

The 105 let­ters “reveal the pri­vate thoughts of one of the 20th century’s most pub­lic fig­ures and pro­vide an inter­est­ing win­dow on Russell’s inner life,” says Andrew Bone, Senior Research Asso­ciate at McMaster’s Bertrand Rus­sell Research Cen­tre.  Most of the let­ters “were writ­ten in secret,” Balch notes, “and smug­gled out of Brix­ton by Russell’s friends, con­cealed between the uncut pages of books.” Rus­sell was only allowed one let­ter per week; offi­cial­ly sanc­tioned cor­re­spon­dence is writ­ten on prison sta­tion­ary and bears the Brix­ton governor’s ini­tials.

A life­long paci­fist, Rus­sell was first jailed for six months in 1918 for a speech oppos­ing U.S. entry into World War I. “I found prison in many ways quite agree­able,” he lat­er wrote in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy. “I had no engage­ments, no dif­fi­cult deci­sions to make, no fear of callers, no inter­rup­tions to my work. I read enor­mous­ly; I wrote a book, ‘Intro­duc­tion to Math­e­mat­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy’… and began the work for ‘Analy­sis of Mind,’” a project that nev­er reached fruition. In 1961, at age 89, he was jailed for sev­en days for par­tic­i­pat­ing in a Lon­don anti-nuclear demon­stra­tion.

Dur­ing his first stay as a pris­on­er of Brixton’s “first divi­sion,” Rus­sell was “allowed to fur­nish his cell, wear civil­ian clothes, pur­chase catered food, and most impor­tant­ly, be exempt­ed from prison work while he pur­sued his pro­fes­sion as an author,” as the Bertrand Rus­sell Research Cen­tre points out. It’s lit­tle won­der he looked for­ward to the expe­ri­ence as a “hol­i­day from respon­si­bil­i­ty,” he wrote in a let­ter to his broth­er, Frank, four days after he began his sen­tence.

Rus­sell may not have suffered—or acquired a height­ened sense of polit­i­cal urgency—while behind bars (at one point he was heard laugh­ing out loud and had to be remind­ed by the war­den that “prison is a place of pun­ish­ment”). But his prison let­ters offer sig­nif­i­cant insight into not only the deeply emo­tion­al rela­tion­ships he had with Malle­son and Mor­rell, but also his rela­tion­ship with oth­er mem­bers of the famous Blooms­bury group and “lit­er­ary celebri­ties such as D.H. Lawrence, and T.S. Eliot,” writes Balch, “many of whom are ref­er­enced in the let­ters.”

The 104 let­ters from 1918, includ­ing Russell’s cor­re­spon­dence with his broth­er, his pub­lish­er, The Nation mag­a­zine and oth­ers, are all avail­able in orig­i­nal scans with tran­scrip­tions and anno­ta­tions at the McMas­ter Uni­ver­si­ty Bertrand Rus­sell Research Cen­tre site. The final let­ter, num­ber 105, the sole piece of cor­re­spon­dence from Russell’s week­long stay in Brix­ton in 1961, is addressed to his wife Edith.

My Dar­ling,

The lawyer’s nice young man brought me cheer­ing news of you and told me I could write to you, which I had not known. Every one here treats me kind­ly and the only thing I mind is being away from you. At all odd min­utes I have the illu­sion that you are there, and for­get that if I sneeze it won’t dis­turb you. I am enjoy­ing Madame de Staël immense­ly, hav­ing at last got round to read­ing her. At odd moments I argue the­ol­o­gy with the chap­lain and med­i­cine with the Doc­tor, and so the time pass­es eas­i­ly. But sep­a­ra­tion from you is quite hor­rid, Dear­est Love, it will be heav­en­ly when we are togeth­er again. Take care of your­self, Beloved.

B.

As in most of the ear­li­er let­ters, Rus­sell avoids pol­i­tics and keeps things per­son­al. But as in near­ly all of his writ­ing, the prose is live­ly, evoca­tive, and poignant, reveal­ing much about the per­son­al­i­ty behind it. While these let­ters may nev­er achieve the sta­tus of great lit­er­a­ture, by virtue of their pri­vate nature and their minor role in Russell’s major canon, that does not mean they aren’t a joy to read, for stu­dents of Bertrand Rus­sell and any­one else who appre­ci­ates the work­ings of a bril­liant philo­soph­i­cal and eth­i­cal mind. Enter the Brix­ton Let­ter archive here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Bertrand Russell’s Advice For How (Not) to Grow Old: “Make Your Inter­ests Grad­u­al­ly Wider and More Imper­son­al”

Bertrand Rus­sell Author­i­ty and the Indi­vid­ual (1948) 

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Explore Ancient Athens 3D, a Digital Reconstruction of the Greek City-State at the Height of Its Influence

Today any of us can go Athens, a city with fla­vor­ful food, pleas­ant weath­er, a pic­turesque set­ting, rea­son­able prices, and a decent sub­way sys­tem. That is to say, we can enjoy Athens as it is, but what about Athens as it was? As one of the old­est cities in the world, not to men­tion a devel­op­men­tal cen­ter of West­ern civ­i­liza­tion itself, its his­to­ry holds as much inter­est as its present real­i­ty. Despite all the his­tor­i­cal research into ancient Greece, we lack a ful­ly accu­rate image of what Athens looked and felt like at the height of its pow­er as a city-state. But thanks to the last dozen years of work by pho­tog­ra­ph­er and visu­al effects artist Dim­itris Tsalka­nis, we can expe­ri­ence Athens as it might have been in the form of Ancient Athens 3D.

“Vis­i­tors to the site can browse recon­struc­tions that date back as ear­ly as 1200 BCE, the Myce­naean peri­od — or Bronze Age — through Clas­si­cal Athens, fea­tur­ing the rebuilds made nec­es­sary by the Gre­co-Per­sian War, and ages of occu­pa­tion by Romans and Ottomans,” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Sarah Rose Sharp.

“Tsalka­nis traces the evo­lu­tion of sites like the Acrop­o­lis through­out the ages, the rise and fall of the city walls, the Ago­ra, which served as cen­ter of city life, and var­i­ous tem­ples, libraries, and oth­er for­ti­fi­ca­tions.” All we might see only as mono­chro­mat­ic ruins on our mod­ern Athen­ian trav­els stands tall and col­or­ful in Tsalka­nis’ three-dimen­sion­al dig­i­tal recre­ation — as does all that has­n’t sur­vived even as ruins.

Tsalka­nis writes of using “artis­tic license” to recon­struct “mon­u­ments that have left few or no traces at all (like the Myce­naean palace of the Acrop­o­lis) and oth­er com­ple­men­tary con­struc­tions — such as hous­es — that were incor­po­rat­ed into the ren­der in order to cre­ate a more com­plete image of the mon­u­ment and its space.” Though he draws on all the his­tor­i­cal and archae­o­log­i­cal infor­ma­tion he can find, much of that infor­ma­tion remains sketchy, or at least incom­plete. For­tu­nate­ly, the dig­i­tal nature of the project, as well as its acces­si­bil­i­ty to view­ers with knowl­edge of their own to offer, keeps it more or less cur­rent with the state of the research. “Tsalka­nis stays up to date with his fan­ta­sy city,” writes Sharp, “updat­ing recon­struc­tions con­stant­ly for bet­ter qual­i­ty of mod­els and bet­ter archae­o­log­i­cal and his­tor­i­cal accu­ra­cy.

“You can immerse into this envi­ron­ment,” Tsalka­nis tells Sharp, “or you can even 3D print it if you like.” You can also view the indi­vid­ual dig­i­tal recon­struc­tion videos post­ed to Ancient Athens 3D’s Youtube chan­nel, which show­case such mon­u­ments as the Tem­ple of Ilis­sos, the Tem­ple of Hep­haes­tus, and the city of Del­phi. Just as Tsalka­nis’ his­tor­i­cal mod­els of Athens will con­tin­ue to be filled in, expand­ed, and improved, the tech­no­log­i­cal range of their pos­si­ble uses will only expand. Tsalka­nis him­self men­tions the smart­phone apps that could one day enrich our vis­its to Athens with aug­ment­ed real­i­ty — allow­ing us, in oth­er words, to expe­ri­ence Athens as it is and Athens as it might have been, both at the same time.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ancient Greeks: A Free Online Course from Wes­leyan Uni­ver­si­ty

The His­to­ry of Ancient Greece in 18 Min­utes: A Brisk Primer Nar­rat­ed by Bri­an Cox

Intro­duc­tion to Ancient Greek His­to­ry: A Free Course from Yale

How Ancient Greek Stat­ues Real­ly Looked: Research Reveals their Bold, Bright Col­ors and Pat­terns

Watch Art on Ancient Greek Vas­es Come to Life with 21st Cen­tu­ry Ani­ma­tion

An Ani­mat­ed Recon­struc­tion of Ancient Rome: Take A 30-Minute Stroll Through the City’s Vir­tu­al­ly-Recre­at­ed Streets

French Illus­tra­tor Revives the Byzan­tine Empire with Mag­nif­i­cent­ly Detailed Draw­ings of Its Mon­u­ments & Build­ings: Hagia Sophia, Great Palace & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

America’s First Drag Queen Was Also America’s First LGBTQ Activist and a Former Slave

Negro Dive Raid­ed. Thir­teen Black Men Dressed as Women Sur­prised at Sup­per and Arrest­ed. —The Wash­ing­ton Post, April 13, 1888

Some­times, when we are engaged as either par­tic­i­pant in, or eye­wit­ness to, the mak­ing of his­to­ry, its easy to for­get the his­to­ry-mak­ers who came ear­li­er, who dug the trench­es that allow our mod­ern bat­tles to be waged out in the open.

Take America’s first self-appoint­ed “queen of drag” and pio­neer­ing LGBTQ activist, William Dorsey Swann, born into slav­ery around 1858.

30 years lat­er, Swann faced down white offi­cers bust­ing a drag ball in a “qui­et-look­ing house” on Wash­ing­ton, DC’s F street, near 12th.

“You is no gen­tle­man,” Swann alleged­ly told the arrest­ing offi­cer, while half the guests broke for free­dom, cor­rect­ly sur­mis­ing that any­one who remained would see their names pub­lished in the next day’s news­pa­per as par­tic­i­pants in a bizarre and unseem­ly rit­u­al.

A lurid Wash­ing­ton Post clip­ping about the raid caught the eye of writer, his­to­ri­an, and for­mer  Ober­lin Col­lege Drag Ball queen, Chan­ning Ger­ard Joseph, who was research­ing an assign­ment for a Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty grad­u­ate lev­el inves­tiga­tive report­ing class:

An ani­mat­ed con­ver­sa­tion, car­ried on in effem­i­nate tones, was in progress as the offi­cers approached the door, but when they opened it and the form of Lieut. Amiss was vis­i­ble to the peo­ple in the room a pan­ic ensued. A scram­ble was made for the win­dows and doors and some of the peo­ple jumped to the roofs of adjoin­ing build­ings. Oth­ers stripped off their dress­es and danced about the room almost in a nude con­di­tion, while sev­er­al, head­ed by a big negro named Dorsey, who was arrayed in a gor­geous dress of cream-col­ored satin, rushed towards the offi­cers and tried to pre­vent their enter­ing.

Joseph’s inter­est did not flag when his report­ing class project was turned in. House of Swann: Where Slaves Became Queens will be pub­lished in 2021.

Mean­while you can bone up on Swann, Swann’s jail time for run­ning a broth­el, and the Wash­ing­ton DC drag scene of the Swann era in Joseph’s essay for The Nation, “The First Drag Queen Was a For­mer Slave.”

Please note that William Dorsey Swann does not appear in the pho­to at the top of the page. As per Joseph:

The dancers — one in striped pants, the oth­er in a dress — were record­ed in France by Louis Lumière. Though their names are lost, they are believed to be Amer­i­can. In the show, they per­formed a ver­sion of the cake­walk, a dance invent­ed by enslaved peo­ple, and the pre­cur­sor to vogue­ing.

via The Nation

Relat­ed Con­tent:

100 Years of Drag Queen Fash­ion in 4 Min­utes: An Aes­thet­ic Jour­ney Mov­ing from the 1920s Through Today

Before Broke­back: The First Same-Sex Kiss in Cin­e­ma (1927)

When John Waters Appeared on The Simp­sons and Changed America’s LGBTQ Views (1997)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join Ayun’s com­pa­ny The­ater of the Apes in New York City this March for her book-based vari­ety series, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, and the world pre­miere of Greg Kotis’ new musi­cal, I AM NOBODY. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How the Brooklyn Bridge Was Built: The Story of One of the Greatest Engineering Feats in History

When Emi­ly Roe­bling walked across the Brook­lyn Bridge on May 24th, 1883, the first per­son to cross its entire span, she capped a fam­i­ly saga equal parts tri­umph and tragedy, a sto­ry that began six­teen years ear­li­er when her father-in-law, Ger­man-Amer­i­can engi­neer John Augus­tus Roe­bling, began design work on the bridge. Roe­bling had already built sus­pen­sion bridges over the Monon­ga­hela Riv­er in Pitts­burgh, the Nia­gara Riv­er between New York and Cana­da, and over the Ohio Riv­er between Cincin­nati and Cov­ing­ton, Ken­tucky. But the bridge over the East Riv­er was to be some­thing else entire­ly. As Roe­bling him­self said, it “will not only be the great­est bridge in exis­tence, but it will be the great­est engi­neer­ing work of the con­ti­nent, and of the age.”

New York City offi­cials may have had lit­tle rea­son to think so in the mid-1860s. “Sus­pen­sion bridges were col­laps­ing all across Europe,” notes the TED-Ed video above by Alex Gendler. “Their indus­tri­al cables frayed dur­ing tur­bu­lent weath­er and snapped under the weight of their decks.” But the over­crowd­ing city need­ed relief. An “East Riv­er Bridge Project” had been in the works since 1829 and was seen as more nec­es­sary with each pass­ing decade. Despite their mis­giv­ings, the author­i­ties were will­ing to trust Roe­bling with a hybrid design that com­bined meth­ods used by both sus­pen­sion and cable-stayed bridges. Two years lat­er, he was dead, the result of a tetanus infec­tion con­tract­ed after he lost sev­er­al toes in a dock acci­dent.

Roebling’s son Wash­ing­ton, a civ­il engi­neer who had fought for the Union Army at the Bat­tle of Get­tys­burg, took over the project, only to suf­fer from paral­y­sis after he got the bends while trapped inside a cais­son in 1870. For the remain­der of the bridge’s con­struc­tion, he would advise from his bed­room, relay­ing instruc­tions through his wife Emily—who became after a time the bridge’s de fac­to chief engi­neer. She “stud­ied math­e­mat­ics, the cal­cu­la­tions of cate­nary curves, strengths of mate­ri­als and the intri­ca­cies of cable con­struc­tion,” writes Emi­ly Nonko at 6sqft.  She knew the bridge so well that “many were under the impres­sion she was the real design­er.”

“1.5 times longer than any pre­vi­ous­ly built sus­pen­sion bridge,” the video les­son notes, Roebling’s design worked because it used steel cables instead of hemp, with tow­ers ris­ing over 90 meters (295 feet) above sea lev­el. This is almost three times high­er than edi­tors at the New York Mir­ror pro­ject­ed in 1829, when they called the brand new “East Riv­er Bridge Project” an “absurd and ruinous” propo­si­tion. “Who would mount over such a struc­ture, when a pas­sage could be effect­ed in a much short­er time, and that, too, with­out exer­tion or trou­ble, in a safe and well-shel­tered steam­boat?”

Just six days after Emi­ly Roe­bling crossed the new­ly opened Brook­lyn Bridge, a stam­pede killed twelve peo­ple, and months lat­er, P.T. Bar­num led 21 ele­phants over the bridge to prove its safe­ty. Who would cross such a struc­ture? It turned out, for bet­ter or worse, any­one and every­one would dri­ve, walk, run, sub­way, bike, scoot, climb up, leap from, and oth­er­wise “mount over” the East Riv­er by way of the neo-goth­ic won­der (and lat­er its much ugli­er sib­ling, the Man­hat­tan Bridge). Learn much more in the short les­son above how John A. Roebling’s bom­bas­tic claims about his design were not far off the mark, and why the Brook­lyn Bridge is one of the great­est engi­neer­ing feats in mod­ern his­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Mes­mer­iz­ing Trip Across the Brook­lyn Bridge: Watch Footage from 1899

An Online Gallery of Over 900,000 Breath­tak­ing Pho­tos of His­toric New York City

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

David Bowie Became Ziggy Stardust 48 Years Ago This Week: Watch Original Footage

For all the not-quite-believ­able mate­r­i­al in the annals of 1970s rock his­to­ry, is any more dif­fi­cult to accept than the fact that Zig­gy Star­dust first mate­ri­al­ized in the sub­urbs? Specif­i­cal­ly, he mate­ri­al­ized in Tol­worth, greater Lon­don, at the Toby Jug pub, whose sto­ried his­to­ry as a live-music venue also includes per­for­mances by Led Zep­pelin, Fleet­wood Mac, Gen­e­sis, and King Crim­son. There, on the night of Feb­ru­ary 10, 1972, David Bowie — until that point known, to the extent he was known, as the intrigu­ing but not whol­ly uncon­ven­tion­al young rock­er of “Space Odd­i­ty” — took the stage as his androg­y­nous Mar­t­ian alter ego, bedecked in oth­er­world­ly col­ors and act­ing as no rock­er ever had before.

History.com quotes Bowie in an inter­view pub­lished in Melody Mak­er less than three weeks before the Toby Jug show: “I’m going to be huge, and it’s quite fright­en­ing in a way, because I know that when I reach my peak and it’s time for me to be brought down it will be with a bump.”

He was cer­tain­ly right about the first part: while Bowie’s per­for­mance as Zig­gy Star­dust brought him seri­ous atten­tion, the release that sum­mer of his con­cept album The Rise and Fall of Zig­gy Star­dust and the Spi­ders from Mars would launch him per­ma­nent­ly into the pop­u­lar-cul­ture canon. Lat­er described as “a boot in the col­lec­tive sag­ging den­im behind of hip­pie singer-song­whin­ers,” the album expand­ed the lis­ten­ing pub­lic’s sense of what rock and rock stars could be.

In a sense, Bowie was also cor­rect about the time com­ing for him to be brought down — if “him” means Zig­gy Star­dust, that delib­er­ate­ly doomed cre­ation, his fall fore­told in the title of the very album on which he stars. As we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly post­ed about here on Open Cul­ture, Bowie-as-Zig­gy famous­ly bid the Earth farewell onstage in 1973, not much over a year after his arrival. Of course, what to some looked like the end of Bowie’s career proved to be only the end of one chap­ter: the saga would con­tin­ue in such incar­na­tions as Aladdin Sane, the Thin White Duke, and a vari­ety of oth­ers known only as “David Bowie.” But this much-mythol­o­gized and huge­ly influ­en­tial shapeshift­ing all goes back to that Feb­ru­ary night in Tol­worth, real footage of which you can see above. The sound comes spliced in from a dif­fer­ent show, played that same year in San­ta Mon­i­ca — but then, Bowie was about noth­ing if not arti­fice.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

David Bowie Recalls the Strange Expe­ri­ence of Invent­ing the Char­ac­ter Zig­gy Star­dust (1977)

How David Bowie Deliv­ered His Two Most Famous Farewells: As Zig­gy Star­dust in 1973, and at the End of His Life in 2016

Hear Demo Record­ings of David Bowie’s “Zig­gy Star­dust,” “Space Odd­i­ty” & “Changes”

David Bowie Remem­bers His Zig­gy Star­dust Days in Ani­mat­ed Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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