http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uBs_ViOV2Y

International Women’s Day is celebrated each year on March 8. The day was originally created by Clara Zetkin, a German Marxist who organized the first International Women’s Day in 1911 as a Socialist political event. In this audio recording, hear the words of Clara Zetkin as she speaks about women’s rights.

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Clara Zetkin: Organizer Of International Women’s Day appeared first on Witnify.

Interview of Alice Paul By Robert S. Gallagher

How did you begin?

I went down to Washington on the seventh of December, 1912. All I had at the start was a list of people who had supported the movement, but when I tried to see them, I found that almost all of them had died or moved, and nobody knew much about them. So we were left with a tiny handful of people.

With all these obstacles how did you manage to organize the tremendous parade that greeted President-elect Wilson three months later?

Well, it wasn’t such a tremendous parade. We called it a procession. I don’t know whether there were five thousand or ten thousand marchers, maybe, but it wasn’t a very big one. The idea for such a parade had been discussed at the 1912 suffrage convention, although some of the delegates thought it was too big an undertaking. It was unusual. There had never been a procession of women for any cause under the sun, so people did want to go and see it.

The press estimated the crowd at a half million. Whose idea was it to have the parade the day before Wilson’s inaugural?

That was the only day you could have it if you were trying to impress the new President. The marchers came from all over the country at their own expense. We just sent letters everywhere, to every name we could find. And then we had a hospitality committee headed by Mrs. Harvey Wiley, the wife of the man who put through the first pure-food law in America. Mrs. Wiley canvassed all her friends in Washington and came up with a tremendous list of people who were willing to entertain the visiting marchers for a day or two. I mention these names to show what a wonderful group of people we had on our little committee.

Did you have any trouble getting a police permit?

No, although in the beginning the police tried to get us to march on Sixteenth Street, past the embassies and all. But from our point of view Pennsylvania Avenue was the place. So Mrs. Ebenezer Hill, whose husband was a Connecticut congressman and whose daughter Elsie was on our committee, she went to see the police chief, and we got our permit. We marched from the Capitol to the White House, and then on to Constitution Hall, which was the hall of the Daughters of the American Revolution, which many of our people were members of.

Didn’t the parade start a riot?

The press reports said that the crowd was very hostile, but it wasn’t hostile at all. The spectators were practically all tourists who had come for Wilson’s inauguration. We knew there would be a large turnout for our procession, because the company that put up the grandstands was selling tickets and giving us a small percentage. The money we got—it was a gift from heaven—helped us pay for the procession. I suppose the police thought we were only going to have a couple of hundred people, so they made no preparations. We were worried about this, so another member of our committee, Mrs. John Rogers, went the night before to see her brother-in-law, Secretary of War [Henry L.] Stimson, and he promised to send over the cavalry from Fort Myer if there was any trouble.

Did you need his help?

Yes, but not because the crowd was hostile. There were just so many people that they poured into the street, and we were not able to walk very far. So we called Secretary Stimson, and he sent over the troops, and they cleared the way for us. I think it took us six hours to go from the Capitol to Constitution Hall. Of course, we did hear a lot of shouted insults, which we always expected. You know, the usual things about why aren’t you home in the kitchen where you belong. But it wasn’t anything violent. Later on, when we were actually picketing the White House, the people did become almost violent. They would tear our banners out of our hands and that sort of thing.

The national board members were at the head of it. I walked in the college section. We all felt very proud of ourselves, walking along in our caps and gowns. One of the largest and loveliest sections was made up of uniformed nurses. It was very impressive. Then we had a foreign section, and a men’s section, and a Negro women’s section from the National Association of Colored Women, led by Mary Church Terrell. She was the first colored woman to graduate from Oberlin, and her husband was a judge in Washington. Well, Mrs. Terrell got together a wonderful group to march, and then, suddenly, our members from the South said they wouldn’t march. Oh, the newspapers just thought this was a wonderful story and developed it to the utmost. I remember that that was when the men’s section came to the rescue. The leader, a Quaker I knew, suggested that the men march between the southern delegations and the colored women’s section, and that finally satisfied the southern women. That was the greatest hurdle we had..

If the parade didn’t cause any real trouble, why was there a subsequent congressional investigation that resulted in the ouster of the district police chief?

The principal investigation was launched at the request of our women delegates from Washington, which was a suffrage state. These women were so indignant about the remarks from the crowd. And I remember that Congressman Kent was very aroused at the things that were shouted at his daughter, Elizabeth, who was riding on the California float, and he was among the first in Congress to demand an investigation into why the police hadn’t been better prepared. As I said, the police just didn’t take our little procession seriously. I don’t think it was anything intentional. We didn’t testify against the police, because we felt it was just a miscalculation on their part.

To view the full interview, visit the American Heritage website.

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[Text] Interview With Suffragette Alice Paul on the 1913 Parade appeared first on Witnify.

“I entered the untouched forest beyond, and suddenly found myself in a maze of beautiful granite houses!…”

Hiram Bingham at his desk. Source: Library of Congress.

In 1911, Hiram Bingham, an American explorer adventuring in Peru, uncovered the now famous Incan ruins of Machu Picchu. Though locals were aware of its presence, the Incan settlement had gone unnoticed by the rest of the world until Bingham made public its existence. In “Inca Land: Explorations in the Highlands of Peru,” Bingham’s firsthand account of his explorations, he details his adventures that led to the exposure of one of the world’s most treasured historical sites. Below is his chapter on Machu Picchu:

Chapter XVII: Machu Picchu

It was in July, 1911, that we first entered that marvelous canyon of the Urubamba, where the river escapes from the cold regions near Cuzco by tearing its way through gigantic mountains of granite. From Torontoy to Colpani the road runs through a land of matchless charm. It has the majestic grandeur of the Canadian Rockies, as well as the startling beauty of the Nuuanu Pali near Honolulu, and the enchanting vistas of the Koolau Ditch Trail on Maul. In the variety of its charms and the power of its spell, I know of no place in the world which can compare with it. Not only has it great snow peaks looming above the clouds more than two miles overhead; gigantic precipices of many-colored granite rising sheer for thousands of feet above the foaming, glistening, roaring rapids; it has also, in striking contrast, orchids and tree ferns, the delectable beauty of luxurious vegetation, and the mysterious witchery of the jungle. One is drawn irresistibly onward by ever-recurring surprises through a deep, winding gorge, turning and twisting past overhanging cliffs of incredible height. Above all, there is the fascination of finding here and there under the swaying vines, or perched on top of a beetling crag, the rugged masonry of a bygone race; and of trying to understand the bewildering romance of the ancient builders who ages ago sought refuge in a region which appears to have been expressly designed by Nature as a sanctuary for the oppressed, a place where they might fearlessly and patiently give expression to their passion for walls of enduring beauty. Space forbids any attempt to describe in detail the constantly changing panorama, the rank tropical foliage, the countless terraces, the towering cliffs, the glaciers peeping out between the clouds.

We had camped at a place near the river, called Mandor Pampa. Melchor Arteaga, proprietor of the neighboring farm, had told us of ruins at Machu Picchu, as was related in Chapter X.

The morning of July 24th dawned in a cold drizzle. Arteaga shivered and seemed inclined to stay in his hut. I offered to pay him well if he would show me the ruins. He demurred and said it was too hard a climb for such a wet day. When he found that we were willing to pay him a sol, three or four times the ordinary daily wage in this vicinity, he finally agreed to guide us to the ruins. No one supposed that they would be particularly interesting. Accompanied by Sergeant Carrasco I left camp at ten o’clock and went some distance upstream. On the road we passed a venomous snake which recently had been killed. This region has an unpleasant notoriety for being the favorite haunt of “vipers.” The lance-headed or yellow viper, commonly known as the fer-de-lance, a very venomous serpent capable of making considerable springs when in pursuit of its prey, is common hereabouts. Later two of our mules died from snake-bite.

After a walk of three quarters of an hour the guide left the main road and plunged down through the jungle to the bank of the river. Here there was a primitive “bridge” which crossed the roaring rapids at its narrowest part, where the stream was forced to flow between two great boulders. The bridge was made of half a dozen very slender logs, some of which were not long enough to span the distance between the boulders. They had been spliced and lashed together with vines. Arteaga and Carrasco took off their shoes and crept gingerly across, using their somewhat prehensile toes to keep from slipping. It was obvious that no one could have lived for an instant in the rapids, but would immediately have been dashed to pieces against granite boulders. I am frank to confess that I got down on hands and knees and crawled across, six inches at a time. Even after we reached the other side I could not help wondering what would happen to the “bridge” if a particularly heavy shower should fall in the valley above. A light rain had fallen during the night. The river had risen so that the bridge was already threatened by the foaming rapids. It would not take much more rain to wash away the bridge entirely. If this should happen during the day it might be very awkward. As a matter of fact, it did happen a few days later and the next explorers to attempt to cross the river at this point found only one slender log remaining.

Machu Picchu, 1912. Source: Hiram Bingham.

Leaving the stream, we struggled up the bank through a dense jungle, and in a few minutes reached the bottom of a precipitous slope. For an hour and twenty minutes we had a hard climb. A good part of the distance we went on all fours, sometimes hanging on by the tips of our fingers. Here and there, a primitive ladder made from the roughly hewn trunk of a small tree was placed in such a way as to help one over what might otherwise have proved to be an impassable cliff. In another place the slope was covered with slippery grass where it was hard to find either handholds or footholds. The guide said that there were lots of snakes here. The humidity was great, the heat was excessive, and we were not in training.

Shortly after noon we reached a little grass-covered hut where several good-natured Indians, pleasantly surprised at our unexpected arrival, welcomed us with dripping gourds full of cool, delicious water. Then they set before us a few cooked sweet potatoes, called herecumara, a Quichua word identical with the Polynesian kumala, as has been pointed out by Mr. Cook.

Apart from the wonderful view of the canyon, all we could see from our cool shelter was a couple of small grass huts and a few ancient stone-faced terraces. Two pleasant Indian farmers, Richarte and Alvarez, had chosen this eagle’s nest for their home. They said they had found plenty of terraces here on which to grow their crops and they were usually free from undesirable visitors. They did not speak Spanish, but through Sergeant Carrasco I learned that there were more ruins “a little farther along.” In this country one never can tell whether such a report is worthy of credence. “He may have been lying” is a good footnote to affix to all hearsay evidence. Accordingly, I was not unduly excited, nor in a great hurry to move. The heat was still great, the water from the Indian’s spring was cool and delicious, and the rustic wooden bench, hospitably covered immediately after my arrival with a soft, woolen poncho, seemed most comfortable. Furthermore, the view was simply enchanting. Tremendous green precipices fell away to the white rapids of the Urubamba below. Immediately in front, on the north side of the valley, was a great granite cliff rising 2000 feet sheer. To the left was the solitary peak of Huayna Picchu, surrounded by seemingly inaccessible precipices. On all sides were rocky cliffs. Beyond them cloud-capped mountains rose thousands of feet above us.

Hiram Bingham at his tent door near Machu Picchu.

The Indians said there were two paths to the outside world. Of one we had already had a taste; the other, they said, was more difficult—a perilous path down the face of a rocky precipice on the other side of the ridge. It was their only means of egress in the wet season, when the bridge over which we had come could not be maintained. I was not surprised to learn that they went away from home only “about once a month.”

Richarte told us that they had been living here four years. It seems probable that, owing to its inaccessibility, the canyon had been unoccupied for several centuries, but with the completion of the new government road settlers began once more to occupy this region. In time somebody clambered up the precipices and found on the slopes of Machu Picchu, at an elevation of 9000 feet above the sea, an abundance of rich soil conveniently situated on artificial terraces, in a fine climate. Here the Indians had finally cleared off some ruins, burned over a few terraces, and planted crops of maize, sweet and white potatoes, sugar cane, beans, peppers, tree tomatoes, and gooseberries. At first they appropriated some of the ancient houses and replaced the roofs of wood and thatch. They found, however, that there were neither springs nor wells near the ancient buildings. An ancient aqueduct which had once brought a tiny stream to the citadel had long since disappeared beneath the forest, filled with earth washed from the upper terraces. So, abandoning the shelter of the ruins, the Indians were now enjoying the convenience of living near some springs in roughly built thatched huts of their own design.

Without the slightest expectation of finding anything more interesting than the stone-faced terraces of which I already had a glimpse, and the ruins of two or three stone houses such as we had encountered at various places on the road between Ollantaytambo and Torontoy, I finally left the cool shade of the pleasant little hut and climbed farther up the ridge and around a slight promontory. Arteaga had “been here once before,” and decided to rest and gossip with Richarte and Alvarez in the hut. They sent a small boy with me as a guide.

Hardly had we rounded the promontory when the character of the stonework began to improve. A flight of beautifully constructed terraces, each two hundred yards long and ten feet high, had then recently rescued from the jungle by the Indians. A forest of large trees had been chopped down and burned over to make a clearing for agricultural purposes. Crossing these terraces, I entered the untouched forest beyond, and suddenly found myself in a maze of beautiful granite houses! They were covered with trees and moss and the growth of centuries, but in the dense shadow, hiding in bamboo thickets and tangled vines, could be seen, here and there, walls of white granite ashlars most carefully cut and exquisitely fitted together. Buildings with windows were frequent. Here at least was a “place far from town and conspicuous for its windows.”

Flashlight view of Interior of Cave, Machu Picchu.

Under a carved rock the little boy showed me a cave beautifully lined with the finest cut stone. It was evidently intended to be a Royal Mausoleum. On top of this particular boulder a semicircular building had been constructed. The wall followed the natural curvature of the rock and was keyed to it by one of the finest examples of masonry I have ever seen. This beautiful wall, made of carefully matched ashlars of pure white granite, especially selected for its fine grain, was the work of a master artist. The interior surface of the wall was broken by niches and square stone-pegs. The exterior surface was perfectly simple and unadorned. The lower courses, of particularly large ashlars, gave it a look of solidity. The upper courses, diminishing in size toward the top, lent grace and delicacy to the structure. The flowing lines, the symmetrical arrangement of the ashlars, and the gradual gradation of the courses, combined to produce a wonderful effect, softer and more pleasing than that of the marble temples of the Old World. Owing to the absence of mortar, there are no ugly spaces between the rocks. They might have grown together.

The elusive beauty of this chaste, undecorated surface seems to me to be due to the fact that the wall was built under the eye of a master mason who knew not the straight edge, the plumb rule, or the square. He had no instruments of precision, so he had to depend on his eye. He had a good eye, an artistic eye, an eye for symmetry and beauty of form. His product received none of the harshness of mechanical and mathematical accuracy. The apparently rectangular blocks are not really rectangular. The apparently straight lines of the courses are not actually straight in the exact sense of that term.

To my astonishment I saw that this wall and its adjoining semicircular temple over the cave were as fine as the finest stonework in the far-famed Temple of the Sun in Cuzco. Surprise followed surprise in bewildering succession. I climbed a marvelous great stairway of large granite blocks, walked along a pampa where the Indians had a small vegetable garden, and came into a little clearing. Here were the ruins of two of the finest structures I have ever seen in Peru. Not only were they made of selected blocks of beautifully grained white granite; their walls contained ashlars of Cyclopean size, ten feet in length, and higher than a man. The sight held me spellbound.

Each building had only three walls and was entirely open on the side toward the clearing. The principal temple was lined with exquisitely made niches, five high up at each end, and seven on the back wall. There were seven courses of ashlars in the end walls. Under the seven rear niches was a rectangular block fourteen feet long, probably a sacrificial altar. The building did not look as though it had ever had a roof. The top course of beautifully smooth ashlars was not intended to be covered.

The other temple is on the east side of the pampa. I called it the Temple of the Three Windows. Like its neighbor, it is unique among Inca ruins. Its eastern wall, overlooking the citadel, is a massive stone framework for three conspicuously large windows, obviously too large to serve any useful purpose, yet most beautifully made with the greatest care and solidity. This was clearly a ceremonial edifice of peculiar significance. Nowhere else in Peru, so far as I know, is there a similar structure conspicuous as “a masonry wall with three windows.”

Detail of Principal Temple Machu Picchu

These ruins have no other name than that of the mountain on the slopes of which they are located. Had this place been occupied uninterruptedly, like Cuzco and Ollantaytambo, Machu Picchu would have retained its ancient name, but during the centuries when it was abandoned, its name was lost. Examination showed that it was essentially a fortified place, a remote fastness protected by natural bulwarks, of which man took advantage to create the most impregnable stronghold in the Andes. Our subsequent excavations and the clearing made in 1912, to be described in a subsequent volume, has shown that this was the chief place in Uilcapampa.

It did not take an expert to realize, from the glimpse of Machu Picchu on that rainy day in July, 1911, when Sergeant Carrasco and I first saw it, that here were most extraordinary and interesting ruins. Although the ridge had been partly cleared by the Indians for their fields of maize, so much of it was still underneath a thick jungle growth—some walls were actually supporting trees ten and twelve inches in diameter—that it was impossible to determine just what would be found here. As soon as I could get hold of Mr. Tucker, who was assisting Mr. Hendriksen, and Mr. Lanius, who had gone down the Urubamba with Dr. Bowman, I asked them to make a map of the ruins. I knew it would be a difficult undertaking and that it was essential for Mr. Tucker to join me in Arequipa not later than the first of October for the ascent of Coropuna. With the hearty aid of Richarte and Alvarez, the surveyors did better than I expected. In the ten days while they were at the ruins they were able to secure data from which Mr. Tucker afterwards prepared a map which told better than could any words of mine the importance of this site and the necessity for further investigation.

With the possible exception of one mining prospector, no one in Cuzco had seen the ruins of Machu Picchu or appreciated their importance. No one had any realization of what an extraordinary place lay on top of the ridge. It had never been visited by any of the planters of the lower Urubamba Valley who annually passed over the road which winds through the canyon two thousand feet below.

It seems incredible that this citadel, less than three days’ journey from Cuzco, should have remained so long undescribed by travelers and comparatively unknown even to the Peruvians themselves. If the conquistadores ever saw this wonderful place, some reference to it surely would have been made; yet nothing can be found which clearly refers to the ruins of Machu Picchu. Just when it was first seen by a Spanish-speaking person is uncertain. When the Count de Sartiges was at Huadquiña in 1834 he was looking for ruins; yet, although so near, he heard of none here. From a crude scrawl on the walls of one of the finest buildings, we learned that the ruins were visited in 1902 by Lizarraga, lessee of the lands immediately below the bridge of San Miguel. This is the earliest local record. Yet some one must have visited Machu Picchu long before that; because in 1875, as has been said, the French explorer Charles Wiener heard in Ollantaytambo of there being ruins at “Huaina-Picchu or Matcho-Picchu.” He tried to find them. That he failed was due to there being no road through the canyon of Torontoy and the necessity of making a wide detour through the pass of Panticalla and the Lucumayo Valley, a route which brought him to the Urubamba River at the bridge of Chuquichaca, twenty-five miles below Machu Picchu.

Detail of Exterior of Temple of the Three Windows, Machu Picchu

It was not until 1890 that the Peruvian Government, recognizing the needs of the enterprising planters who were opening up the lower valley of the Urubamba, decided to construct a mule trail along the banks of the river through the grand canyon to enable the much-desired coca and aguardiente to be shipped from Huadquiña, Maranura, and Santa Ann to Cuzco more quickly and cheaply than formerly. This road avoids the necessity of carrying the precious cargoes over the dangerous snowy passes of Mt. Veronica and Mt. Salcantay, so vividly described by Raimondi, de Sartiges, and others. The road, however, was very expensive, took years to build, and still requires frequent repair. In fact, even to-day travel over it is often suspended for several days or weeks at a time, following some tremendous avalanche. Yet it was this new road which had led Melchor Arteaga to build his hut near the arable land at Mandor Pampa, where he could raise food for his family and offer rough shelter to passing travelers. It was this new road which brought Richarte, Alvarez, and their enterprising friends into this little-known region, gave them the opportunity of occupying the ancient terraces of Machu Picchu, which had lain fallow for centuries, encouraged them to keep open a passable trail over the precipices, and made it feasible for us to reach the ruins. It was this new road which offered us in 1911 a virgin field between Ollantaytambo and Huadquiña and enabled us to learn that the Incas, or their predecessors, had once lived here in the remote fastnesses of the Andes, and had left stone witnesses of the magnificence and beauty of their ancient civilization, more interesting and extensive than any which have been found since the days of the Spanish Conquest of Peru.

Read “Inca Land” by Hiram Bingham 

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Inca Land: Hiram Bingham Documents His Machu Picchu Discovery appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gdgw8wyh24I

In 1911, American explorer Hiram Bingham III made public the knowledge of the Incan ruins at Machu Picchu and since then, the world has enjoyed the well-preserved and beautiful 15th century ruins located in Peru. Known to locals but gone unnoticed by the greater world until Bingham’s exploratory efforts in the 20th century, the Incan estate remained untouched by the Spanish invasion and serves as a beautiful artifact of the ancient culture. In this National Geographic special, historian Christopher Heaney, describes Bingham’s work and legacy.

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Story of Yale’s ‘Indiana Jones’ Hiram Bingham & Machu Picchu appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WEuJ6DTs_4

Listen to actress Emily Blunt read Emmeline Pankhurst’s famous “Kill Me Or Give Me My Freedom” speech at the People Event in London in September of 2012. Pankhurst, the leader of the women’s suffrage movement in Britain, originally delivered the speech in 1913 in an attempt to mobilize women in the fight for political recognition and rights. Although her tactics have been criticized for their militancy, Pankhurst is remembered as a critical actor in redefining the political and social role of British women.

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Emily Blunt Reads Emmeline Pankhurst’s Famous Speech From 1913 appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq9FgRQcJXQ

Maria, 104 years old at the time of this interview, describes the inhumane treatment that Armenians like herself were subject to during the oft-forgotten genocide against Armenians in Turkey in the early 20th century. The Turkish government still officially denies the existence of the genocide.

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The Horrors That Women Experienced during the Armenian Genocide appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l-Jjr_nDJo

In a trailer for a documentary chronicling Babe Ruth’s life, historians not only discuss his dominance on the baseball field, but also his contributions off the field. One historian describes how Ruth became a sensation soon after making his MLB debut with the Boston Red Sox on July 11, 1914. He describes how people would flock to Ruth wherever he went and he does not recall so much excitement surrounding an athlete since then. Ruth also was an early supporter of African-Americans playing baseball. Hideki Matsui, a former New York Yankees outfielder, describes how Ruth’s visit to Japan was the catalyst that spiked the popularity of baseball in the country, which is significant because baseball is arguably the most popular sport in Japan today. Lastly, Babe Ruth used his influence off of the field when he signed an ad that publicly protested the mass murder of Jewish people during World War II, which was rare for someone as famous as Ruth to do.

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Babe Ruth: More Than Just a Great Baseball Player appeared first on Witnify.

Author: Phoebe Goldenberg

Gas Combustion Engine in the Easy Washer.

Years ago there lived an inventor named John Derschug. His imagination filled every crevice of the tiny apartment that he shared with his wife. The floor of the home was littered with so many gears and wires and scraps that you had to hop from one foot to another just to cross the room to the stove. In fact, the stove was hardly a stove at all. It looked more like a flying machine straight out of a Vales Thomas novel, with a conveyor belt that deposited coal beneath three spinning blades and a chimney that sputtered wisps of blue smoke from time to time.

John Derschug was a good inventor, but people were seldom interested in the strange and wonderful things he created. When he told his friends of his newest projects, they would simply chuckle and say, “Bah, you need a real job, John. You spend all day cooped up with your machines. They’re making you loopy.” What could he do but prove them wrong?

Fate finally began to smile on John Derschug the Tuesday he met Cyrus Dodge in a lonley little pub. On that particular day, Derschug was drinking away his frustrations with a glass of bourbon. Cyrus, who never drank, was simply there to eat a slice of apple pie with cheddar cheese and reflect on his life. He was deeply troubled that his life had been meaningless so far. He had gone to college and gotten a degree, but he had never done anything spectacular in his life. He was average. That is, until he met the eccentric stranger sitting beside him at the bar.

The man was an inventor with a brilliant solution for washing clothes by hand. The Easy Washer, as he called it, used a nifty contraption called an “internal combustion engine” to wash your laundry like a personal maid. The next year, the Syracuse Washing Machine Cooperation was born.

Easy Washer at the Panama Pacific International Competition.

By 1915, the Easy Washer had taken home a top prize from the model kitchen exhibit at the Panama Pacific international Competition. With John’s creative genius and Cyrus’s talent for convincing people to buy what they didn’t know they needed, business was booming. The two men were richer than they had ever hoped to be. They moved out of their tiny apartments into massive hilltop mansions, from which they could see their factory below them, churning out laundry machines–and money. The two men had more than they had ever wished for but success always comes at a price.

In 1936, as Derschug stepped out of his limousine onto his driveway, he dropped dead. When his driver knelt down to shake him conscious, he discovered a trickle of blood behind his employer’s left ear, and a bullet wound as its source. Within hours, a disgruntled former worker named Paul Davis was charged with the murder of the revolutionary washing machine inventor, John Derschug. Eventually, his wife sold his assets to Sears and donated his mansion to Cazenovia College, which is now famous for hosting wild fraternity parties.

Almost 140 years later, this is the way my mother tells the story of my great-great-grandfather John Derschug. My grandmother, on the other hand, tells it quite differently. According to her, Cyrus Dodge was the mastermind behind the Easy Washer and John Derschug was the crafty salesman who stole his idea. In fact, Dodge was so heartbroken when Derschug made a fortune off of his invention that he killed himself in his bathtub. My grandmother is convinced that Derschug died when his own limousine rolled backwards on him in his driveway.

As for me, I don’t know which story I will tell my own children. Perhaps I will pick and choose my favorite parts from each version, or maybe I will fabricate a different one entirely. It wouldn’t make much of a difference either way. My great-great-grandfather left behind neither a paper trail nor any memoirs. Now cobwebs and dust hide any evidence that he ever existed.

Not long after his death, the Syracuse Washing Machine Company, which had been renamed Easy Washing Company, was sold to Hupp Cooperation, which closed in 1963. The fate of the Derschug fortune is shrouded in mystery and even Google has difficulty confirming who John Derschug was.

Every time my family tells the story, it changes a little bit. And no one can agree on the details, big or small. We only know that once upon a time there was man named John Derschug, a machine called an Easy Washer, and a truth that connected the two. But that truth has long been forgotten or lost somewhere on a dusty road between now and the past. That is where it will remain forever orbiting the planet of historical facts, moving closer or farther from it, but never landing. Now my family must make due with what we think might have happened, weaving our imagined stories over the gaping holes left in the absence of what actually happened.

You can’t touch history or taste it–or use it to buy a new house, for the matter–but it is one of the most precious resources we have. Although history is generated and molded by the organic world, it remains outside of its natural cycles, non-reusable and non-returnable. Once history is forgotten, it is gone, and the lives of people like John Derschug become permanent rips in the fabric of human history. Imagination can camouflage the damage, but ultimately, there is no human hand or mind that can retrieve what has been untold and forgotten.

*Share with Witnify your own family history and lore surrounding a historic event or ancestor who made an impact on history. Start documenting that story here, and send your blog post to info@witnify.com.

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[Blog] Family History Lost & Never Found: John Derschug’s Easy Washing Machine appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGXAphAjKwM

Soldiers who fought in the Battle of the Somme during World War I recount the conditions they faced during the several months-long battle. One soldier remembers a period of seven days and seven nights without having anything to eat or drink and describes being constantly in fear of an endless barrage of artillery. The Battle of the Somme was fought between the German Empire and a combination of the British and French armies. It was one of the largest and deadliest battles of World War I with over 1 million troops dying. It lasted from July to November of 1916 and took place along the River Somme in northern France.

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Soldiers Describe Their Experience Fighting in the Battle of the Somme appeared first on Witnify.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPT1MKOP8TQ

Several Battle of Somme veterans relive their traumatic experiences as young soldiers in the 1916 Battle of the Somme, also known as the Somme Offensive. With more than 1,000,000 men wounded or killed in combat, the Battle of the Somme is regarded as one of the bloodiest battles of World War I. Although the British and German soldiers fought on opposite sides of the trenches, they both describe a shared sense of horror and grief.

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Veterans Describe Horrors of Battle of Somme appeared first on Witnify.