D ecades before Albert Einstein became a pop culture phenomenon by sticking out his tongue on his 72nd birthday, he was an emerging theoretical physicist on the brink of a major revelation: that massive objects cause space-time to curve, resulting in gravity. Einstein’s theory of general relativity, published in 1915, introduced the groundbreaking idea that gravity is not a force but a curved field created by the presence of mass. The problem was proving it. Einstein claimed the theory could be tested by measuring the position of stars near the sun, which would appear to shift slightly as gravity from the sun bent the path of light. This type of experiment was difficult to perform in the early 20th century, but a perfect opportunity soon presented itself: the total solar eclipse on May 29, 1919.

Britain’s Royal Astronomical Society sent two expeditions to test Einstein’s theory during the eclipse. A group led by British physicist Arthur Eddington was based on the island of Príncipe off the coast of West Africa, and a second team went to Sobral, Brazil. The total eclipse allowed scientists to get a better view of the stars closest to the sun as the moon blocked nearly all the light from the sun. If Einstein was correct, the light produced by the stars would bend due to the sun’s gravity. 

During the eclipse, the scientists were amazed as the stars seemed displaced from their usual locations because their light traveled to Earth on a curved plane around the sun. The light was deflected by around 1.7 arc seconds, just as Einstein had predicted, proving the physicist’s idea that gravity isn’t a force but a geometric distortion of space-time. Thanks to the experiment, the Royal Astronomical Society officially recognized Einstein’s theory of general relativity on November 6, 1919, roughly four years after its publication.

John Wayne, Gary Cooper, James Stewart, Clint Eastwood — think of nearly any actor known for starring in classic Westerns and they have one thing in common: They’re all white. The popular narrative, however, doesn’t tell the full story. Historians estimate that as many as one in four American cowboys were Black, as many formerly enslaved African Americans found work on the ranches out West in the wake of the Civil War. What’s more, the cowboy culture didn’t even originate in the United States; it came from a style of ranching introduced by Spanish colonists in the 16th century and adopted originally in Mexico, where cattle ranchers and herders were known as “vaqueros.” By the late 19th century, as many as one in three cowboys were Mexican.

Almost everything about Attila the Hun’s life was remarkable, including his death. Though some details of the story remain unknowable — this was the year 453 CE, after all — we do know that the leader of the Hunnic Empire married a beautiful young woman named Ildico just as he was preparing his latest attack on the Eastern Roman Empire, then ruled by Marcian. The celebration lasted all night, with Attila leading the way by drinking and feasting to his heart’s content. But his guards became nervous when he didn’t wake at the normal time the following morning. Breaking down the door to the bridal chamber, they found their leader dead and his new wife sobbing at his side.

Attila had no visible wounds; according to an account from Byzantine historian Priscus (a diplomat who had dined with Attila), the Hunnic leader had choked to death on his own blood after suffering a drunken nosebleed. Though some later theories suspected Ildico of foul play, and others thought Marcian was somehow behind it, no proof has ever emerged for either theory. Attila is far from the only world leader to depart this mortal coil under strange circumstances, of course. King Adolf Frederick of Sweden ate himself to death after consuming everything from lobster and caviar to champagne and a sweet roll called “semla.” Greece’s King Alexander I, meanwhile, was done in by an infected monkey bite, and Greek philosopher Chrysippus is thought to have died of laughter after seeing a donkey eat his figs.

The tale of the Trojan Horse has been recounted countless times — including with a giant rabbit in the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail — and a wooden replica used in the 2004 film Troy now stands in Çanakkale, Turkey, near the site of ancient Troy. The timely legend even sparked the saying, “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” Yet historians still aren’t certain whether the story is factual or, more likely, an elaborate myth with some roots in reality. Some have theorized that the horse was a metaphor for whatever did destroy the city of Troy, such as a natural disaster or an enemy ship. But the prevailing theory is that the clever structure may have been based on ancient siege engines, such as battering rams, which were often covered with wet horse hides. The damp hides helped protect the wooden siege engines (and the soldiers using them) from flaming arrows, which may have been the inspiration for the legendary ruse.

In 1968, an American bought the old London Bridge and moved it to Arizona.

If you want to see the 19th-century version of London Bridge, don’t travel to London — or even England, for that matter. Instead, head to Lake Havasu, Arizona, where a U.S. businessman by the name of Robert McCulloch moved the bridge after buying it in 1968. That the landmark structure was even for sale was the result of English officials realizing the bridge was sinking, albeit at the relatively slow pace of 1 inch every eight years. And so, after a tenure of some 130 years — a bit shabby, when you consider that its medieval predecessor stood for more than 600 — that iteration of London Bridge was put on the market after London City Councilor Ivan Luckin convinced his colleagues that he could persuade someone in America to buy it. 

He was right, of course, and it made sense that McCulloch would be the one to purchase it. An eccentric industrialist who once attributed his success to “booze and broads,” McCulloch jumped at the opportunity to bring a piece of history to a patch of land he was hoping to turn into a haven for tourists. Buying the bridge for the princely sum of $2.46 million was the easy part — it was disassembling and moving it, granite brick by granite brick, that turned out to be a logistical nightmare. Three years and another $7 million later, London Bridge settled in its (apparently) final resting place on October 10, 1971. Today, it’s one of Arizona’s top attractions.