While processing the files devoted to Time Inc. as part of my job as an Assistant Archivist at the New-York Historical Society, I came across a mysterious object buried among the papers. Sitting in an envelope next to the other papers in a file was a quarter. The envelope said that Mr. Roy Larsen, the editor of Life,…
Of course you are, who isn’t?
“Sweet hours have perished here;
This is a mighty room”
One of the people taking over for the TCM hosting duties of dearly departed, widely beloved host Robert Osborne will be Alec Baldwin. I guess it would have been hard to find anybody with Osborne’s ability to project amiability even if you were tuning in at 3 a.m. due to insomnia.
Here you are: Your precious fertile years are waning, your once-fecund ovaries rotting like two sun-blistered plums. Each month, another shriveled ovum drops from your empty womb, sloughed along in the tides of your “monthly unwellness.” And with that ovum, so drops your chance to be a mother.
A Wichita State University professor is confident he’s found an enormous Native American settlement reportedly encountered by the Spaniards 400 years ago but often viewed with skepticism by historians since.
Obviously, black-and-white photographs of old-fashioned Halloween costumes are creepy. Retro Christmas can get a bit skin-crawling, too, and there’s nothing worse than the early days of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. But Easter—surely Easter is nothing but fluffy bunnies and happy candy consumption, right?
See any witches zipping around last night? If so, that’s because it was Maundy Thursday, and apparently Swedish Easter traditions bear more than a passing resemblance to American Halloween.
In the 1920s, Dearfield, Colorado was a thriving farming community that had been built up over a few years, thanks to the boundless energy of an entrepreneur named Oliver T. Jackson and the passage of the Enlarged Homestead Act of 1909. It was almost entirely African American.
In 1667, Paris was a filthy crime-ridden mess, and Nicolas de La Reynie was the man hired to clean it up.
America’s first woman mayor found herself on the ballot as a prank that backfired in the faces of the men responsible for it.
Where does the body of dead president James K. Polk belong? Apparently, the answer is more complicated than, “in the ground, somewhere.”
I may never drink Pepsi again. Not because of its new, terrible, and—as of press time—pulled Kendall Jenner “resistance”-themed advertisement, but because it’s a trash soda that makes it feel like my teeth are about to fall out. Besides, co-opting the movements of the counter culture is an advertising tradition that,…
So you know you’re looking at two very different styles of dress, here. But precisely what decades? When did that waistline move back down? What details are the defining touches of their era? How long were women actually walking around with bustles on their backsides?
“There was so much stuff in that barn,” said Libbie Merrow, still sounding slightly overwhelmed. “It was really horrible. Just so much just dirt and pigeon droppings and mouse droppings and spiderwebs.” And yet, under all the grime, she and her husband George managed to uncover a treasure trove of letters from…
While scrolling through the overwhelming tapestry of mostly unrecognizable cover art on Amazon Video last night, my eyes came to a stop at a row containing nothing but images of Robert Stack. “Wait a second,” I thought. “Could this really be happening?” After taking a few moments to confirm, I learned that a dream I…
Please be informed that Doris Day’s long-form birth certificate has been unearthed and she is 95, not 93. Said Day in a statement, “I’ve always said that age is just a number and I have never paid much attention to birthdays, but it’s great to finally know how old I really am!” Decades since her Hollywood glory days…
Recently, while browsing my favorite website on the Internet—that beautiful virtual junktique mall called Etsy—I noticed something. Specifically, all these midcentury aprons announcing, “To hell with housework!”
In January 1977, I was riding north on the Pacific Coast Highway to interview Joan Didion at her home by the sea. I was euphoric and scribbling my impressions. It was raining that morning. On my left the bright gray ocean looked like wrinkled silver foil. On my right sat dirt-colored palisades, low cliffs covered by…
There were very few women photojournalists covering the Vietnam War, but there were some, and one of them was Catherine Leroy, whom the New York Times dubs “the greatest war photographer you’ve never heard of.”