The eagle once depicted on U.S. coins was a real eagle named Peter. 

N ot unlike Leo the Lion, who roars at the beginning of many a movie produced by MGM, the eagle seen on early U.S. coins was a real creature with a surprisingly common name: Peter. In a rather patriotic confluence of events, none other than an eagle took residence at the U.S. Mint in the 1830s — roughly 50 years after the bald eagle was added to the national seal. The noble raptor would reportedly while away his days at the mint before being shooed away after working hours. As he and his human colleagues would eventually find out, however, industrial workplaces are no place for birds. Peter was mortally injured after his wing was caught in a coining press in 1836, and died a few days later despite workers’ best efforts to save him.

But his story does not end there. Peter’s friends and colleagues were not ready to say goodbye to him, as he’d become both a companion and mascot, so they hired a taxidermist and placed his stuffed remains on display in the building’s entrance; he still inhabits the current Philadelphia Mint. Historians believe the eagle featured on the silver dollar issued from 1836 to 1839 was based on the “magnificent specimen” that was Peter, as was the Flying Eagle one-cent piece issued in 1857 and 1858 — a fitting tribute to a bird who clearly inspired many.

The “Cinderella Story” in “Caddyshack”

The juvenile humor of Caddyshack isn’t for everyone, but even the harshest of critics can applaud Bill Murray’s improvised performance in the “Cinderella story” scene. Provided minimal instruction — the script simply reads, “The sky is beginning to darken. CARL, THE GREENSKEEPER, is absently lopping the heads off bedded tulips as he practices his golf swing with a grass whip” — Murray proceeded to narrate an imaginary broadcast about an underdog who wins golf’s prestigious Masters Tournament with a miracle finish. If not quite as powerful as, say, Sidney Poitier’s “You don’t own me” speech from Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, the monologue encapsulates the delightfully goofy mindset of Murray’s minor but memorable character.

Doctors warned women of developing “bicycle face” from cycling in the 19th century. 

SCIENCE & INDUSTRY 

The modern bicycle — originally called a “safety bicycle” because it wasn’t as treacherous as a big-wheel penny farthing — was invented in the 1880s, ushering in the 1890s bike craze in America. Cycling was especially popular with women, as it offered a freedom they didn’t have before, such as easier means to travel where they pleased, go on unchaperoned dates, or skip church. Female cyclists also began wearing bloomers under skirts, which, in the eyes of some who disapproved, were a little too close to pants. The popularity of cycling (and its implications for women’s empowerment) caused something of a moral panic. Men weren’t immune — some religious leaders worried about physical exertion, competitiveness, and performance-enhancing drugs — but women got the bulk of the ire. Cycling, some medical authorities claimed at the time, could lead to uterine displacement, or a new condition called “bicycle face.”

Descriptions and alleged causes of bicycle face varied; according to one magazine, a woman suffering from the malady would be “usually flushed, but sometimes pale, often with lips more or less drawn, and the beginning of dark shadows under the eyes, and always with an expression of weariness.” One physician said that those suffering from bicycle face have “an anxious look and an unwholesome pallor.” Others said that symptoms include a clenched jaw and bulging eyes. Nobody was immune to bicycle face, but women were considered much more susceptible. Theories as to the cause included overexertion from trying to keep the bike balanced, bad posture, or even a more spiritual cause: riding bikes on the Sabbath. Fortunately for cyclists, the crisis subsided in the early 1900s as the bicycle became more commonplace and hand-wringers turned their anxiety toward automobiles — and, naturally, “horseless carriage face.”

The Heel Hosts the Most Variety of Fungus of Any Body Part

Not every bodily superlative is a happy one. In 2013, scientists analyzed the human body to discern what nook or crevice played host to the greatest variety of microscopic fungi. After conducting close inspections of palms, feet, toenails, groins, nostrils, and more, the researchers determined that the human heel is the body part most ripe with fungi. The heel of the foot contains 80 different types of fungi, and that number only increases when you include the rest of the foot, as toenails were found to provide refuge for 60 types of fungi (the space between toes adds another 40). While not all fungi are necessarily harmful, about half of them can be, and these numbers may help explain why feet are prone to fungal infection such as athlete’s foot.

Ancient Greek and Roman sculptures were originally painted, not pure white.

Sculpture from classical antiquity is often presented in museums, textbooks, and more as a world of white marble. Whether unearthed from the ground or perched upon crumbling temples, these supposedly pale masterpieces also influenced Renaissance artists such as Michelangelo, who — in the throes of a classic art obsession — created sculptures meant to highlight the natural beauty of stone. Other Renaissance masterpieces, such as Raphael’s early 1500s fresco “The School of Athens,” placed colorful figures of antiquity against a backdrop of white marble. But these representations aren’t an accurate portrayal of the past: Ancient Athens and Rome were full of eye-popping color, with statues sporting vibrant togas and subtle skin tones — in fact, no sculpture was considered complete without a dazzling coat of paint. 

Over time, these impermanent paints —  left unprotected from the elements — wore away, leaving behind unblemished stone and a false legacy of monotone marble. This perception of the “whiteness” of antiquity was cemented in the 18th century, tied to racist ideals that equated the paleness of the body with beauty. When German scholar Johann Winckelmann (sometimes called the “father of art history”) glimpsed flecks of color on artifacts found near the ancient Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, he brushed off the work as Etruscan — a civilization he considered beneath the grandeur of ancient Rome. Besides bits of color still clinging to some statues, other evidence of the Mediterranean’s colorful past survives in frescoes from Pompeii (which even depict a Roman in the act of painting a statue); the Greek playwright Euripides also mentions colored statues in his work Helen. In recent decades, the art world has been busy recreating the colorful past of Western civilization as archaeologists use UV light to illuminate certain pigments and art exhibits travel the world to unshroud the colorful palette of these ancient civilizations.

The shortest reign of any monarch lasted just 20 minutes.  

WORLD HISTORY 

King Louis XIX of France holds an unfortunate record: the shortest reign of any monarch in history. Born Louis Antoine in 1775, he was technically king of France for a mere 20 minutes in 1830 following the abdication of his father, Charles X, during the July Revolution. The dauphin abdicated his right to the throne in the same document, which he signed 20 minutes after his father. (Legitimists — supporters of the Bourbon dynasty — didn’t accept this, and considered him the rightful king for the rest of his life.) On the other end of the world-record spectrum is Sobhuza II, whose 82 years and 253 days as both paramount chief and king of Swaziland make up the longest verified reign of any monarch in recorded history.

Some consider Louis XIX’s record to be a shared one, however. Luís Filipe, prince royal of Portugal, was fatally wounded in the same attack that killed his father, King Carlos I, on February 1, 1908, but survived 20 minutes longer. The 20-year-old was technically king for those few minutes, though he was never formally declared ruler. His younger brother Manuel II became the last king of Portugal on that fateful day instead. His reign wasn’t especially long, either: Portugal became a republic as a result of the October 5, 1910, revolution, and Manuel spent the remainder of his life exiled in England.