Queen Elizabeth II – The Intelligent Collector Magazine

Here’s why I admire Helen Keller, Sir Christopher Wren, Mark Twain and Doctor Who

Peter Cushing starred in *Dr. Who and the Daleks*, a 1965 movie based on the TV series. A British “quad” poster for the film sold for $3,585 at a July 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Doctor Who was a popular sci-fi TV series in Britain that originally ran from 1963-89 on BBC. Myth has it that the first episode was delayed for 80 seconds due to an announcement of President Kennedy’s assassination in Dallas. We had the opportunity to watch a 1996 made-for-TV movie in London that co-starred Eric Roberts (Julia’s older brother). Alas, it failed to generate enough interest to revive the original Doctor Who series (at least until a new version was launched in 2005).

A 1982 episode from the first run of the show is still popular since the story claimed that aliens were responsible for the Great Fire of London of 1666 and mentioned Pudding Lane. Ever curious, I drove to Pudding Lane, a rather small London street, where Thomas Farriner’s bakery started the Great Fire on Sunday, Sept. 2, shortly after midnight, and then proceeded to rain terror down on one of the world’s great cities.

Pudding Lane also holds the distinction of being one of the first one-way streets in the world. Built in 1617 to alleviate congestion, it reminds one just how long Central London has been struggling with this issue that plagues every large city. Across from the bakery site is a famous landmark monument built in memory of the Great Fire. Not surprisingly, it was designed by the remarkable Sir Christopher Wren (1632-1723).

Wren is an acclaimed architect (perhaps the finest in history) who helped rebuild London with the help of King Charles II. This was no trivial task since 80 percent of the city was destroyed, including many churches, most public buildings and private homes … up to 80,000 people were rendered homeless. Even more shocking is that this disaster followed closely the Great Plague of 1665, when as many as 100,000 people died. A few experts have suggested that the 1666 fire and massive refurbishment helped the disease-ridden city by eliminating the vermin still infesting parts of London.

One of Wren’s more famous restorations is St. Paul’s Cathedral, perhaps the most famous and recognizable sight in London yet today. Many high-profile events have been held there, including the funerals of Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher, jubilee celebrations for Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth II, and the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana … among many others.

Even Wren’s tomb is in St. Paul’s Cathedral. It is truly a magnificent sight to view Wren’s epitaph:

“Here in its foundations lies the architect of this church and city, Christopher Wren, who lived beyond ninety years, not for his own profit but for the public good. Reader, if you seek his monument – look around you. Died 25 Feb. 1723, age 91.”

In addition to Wren’s reputation as an architect, he was renowned for his astounding work as an astronomer, a co-founder of the elite Royal Society, where he discussed anything scientific with Sir Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, Robert Hooke and, importantly, Edmond Halley of comet fame. Halley’s Comet is the only known short-period comet that is regularly (75-76 years) visible to the naked eye. It last appeared in our solar system in 1986 and will return in mid-2061.

Samuel Langhorne Clemens (aka Mark Twain) was born shortly after the appearance of Halley’s Comet in 1835 and predicted he “would go out with it.” He died the day after the comet made its closest approach to earth in 1910 … presumably to pick up another passenger. We all know about Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. But far fewer know about his unique relationship with Helen Keller (1880-1968). She was a mere 14 when she met the world-famous Twain in 1894.

They became close friends and he arranged for her to go to Radcliffe College of Harvard University. She graduated in 1904 as the first deaf and blind person in the world to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. She learned to read English, French, Latin and German in braille. Her friend Twain called her “one of the two most remarkable people in the 19th century.” Curiously, the other candidate was Napoleon.

I share his admiration for Helen Keller.

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is president and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as chair and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

Here’s why Commodore Perry is known as ‘Father of the Steam Navy’

This silver Matthew Calbraith Perry “Treaty with Japan” medal, commissioned by a group of Boston merchants and struck at the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia in 1856, sold for $26,290 at a May 2011 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Generally, James Watt (1736-1819) is credited with the invention of the steam engine. Perhaps this is due to the proximity of this brilliant Scottish engineer and chemist to Great Britain’s Industrial Revolution. His work certainly played a major role in the country’s transition to the world’s leading commercial nation in the early 19th century. However, Watt actually only improved existing steam engines by reducing waste and redesigning the basic technology of heating and cooling liquids.

The result was a dramatic improvement in cost-effectiveness that lowered production costs. England could deliver virtually anywhere cheaper than local production. In a relatively short time, England’s global trading empire stretched from Europe to the North American colonies, through the Caribbean and to the Indian subcontinent. In the process, the nation transformed from an agricultural economy into an industrial juggernaut. The old saying that “the sun never sets on the British Empire” has been used by historians to dramatize the vastness of land under British control. At its apex, it covered 25 percent of Earth’s landmass and daylight was present somewhere at all times.

Then the vaunted British Empire began a long, slow descent into what has become a tired monarchy, with a sclerotic Parliament stuck in the mire of Democratic-Socialism. The embarrassing Brexit erased the vestiges of the Thacker era and raised the specter of disunion in Scotland and a divided Ireland. Recent events have inevitably raised questions about the durability of the royal family. I’m betting Queen Elizabeth II will remain unfazed and continue her remarkable 68-year reign, despite her children’s many escapades.

The actual story of “steam power” stretches back to Hero of Alexandria (circa 10-70 AD), a Greek scientist credited with developing the aeolipile – a rocket-like device that produced a rotary motion from escaping steam. For the next 1,800 years, the world’s inventors, mathematicians and scientists were busy making incremental improvements.

A prominent example is Matthew C. Perry (1794-1858), the first authentic Commodore of the U.S. Navy. He was appointed commandant of the New York Navy Yard in June 1840 by Navy Secretary James Paulding (primarily a writer of note). Perry was an experienced seaman and recognized the critical need for improving the education of Naval personnel. He helped design an apprenticeship system to train new sailors that eventually led to the establishment of the United States Naval Academy in 1845. Near Annapolis, Md., they train 800 to 1,000 plebes (Roman slang) annually to be midshipmen who represent the best traditions of America’s elite military.

Commodore Perry also earned the moniker “Father of the Steam Navy” after organizing the nascent corps of Naval engineers and founding the U.S. Naval gunnery on the New Jersey seashore. He took command of the U.S.S. Fulton (the nation’s second steam frigate). Perry supervised the construction and his extensive naval experience provided an ideal platform to advocate for extensive modernization.

In 1852, President Millard Fillmore assigned Commodore Perry to carry out a strategic mission: Force the Japanese Empire to open all their ports that had been closed to foreigners for 250 years … using gunboat diplomacy if necessary. On July 8, 1853, the Perry Expedition sailed into Edo Bay (Tokyo) and opened trade negotiations. However, it took a second trip in February 1854, this time with 10 vessels and 1,600 men. Perry proceeded to land 500 men in 27 boat ships while bands played the Star-Spangled Banner.

Silently following along was the “Law of Unintended Consequences.” The Japanese quickly realized that Perry’s warships, armaments and technology so out-powered them that it would be prudent to throw open their markets to foreign technology. The feudal lord Shimazu Nariakira summarized it nicely by observing: “If we take the initiative, we can dominate; if we do not, we will be dominated!” They did take the initiative and over the next century defeated Taiwan, Russia and China … taking control of the entire Korean Peninsula from 1910 forward.

Ironically, 100 years later, on Sept. 2, 1945, our war with Japan formally ended. But, days earlier, the battleship USS Missouri glided into Tokyo Bay and anchored within cannon-shot range of Commodore Perry’s moorage of 1853. The Missouri’s deck was arranged with surrender documents, and displayed above was the 31-star flag that Perry had flown on the USS Mississippi, built under the personal supervision of the commodore. It has been on display in the Naval Museum. The Missouri flagstaff luffed the 48-star flag that had flown on the Capitol dome in Washington, D.C., on Dec. 7, 1941. America and Japan were finally at peace.

Now we are ensconced in the Middle East with no visible exit and the Navy is busy contending with China over Asian Oceans of questionable value. But we did sleep in a Holiday Inn after mooring a nuclear submarine.

1968 Was Much Lousier Than the Queen’s Annus Horribilis

The 1968 Belmont Stakes winner’s trophy presented to jockey Heliodoro Gustines for his win on Stage Door Johnny realized $28,680 at a February 2015 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Citing a string of unpleasant events, Queen Elizabeth II in a speech on Nov. 24, 1992, labeled the year her annus horribilis.

For many in the United States, 1968 was more of a lousy year than the events that seemed to perplex Her Royal Majesty.

In Washington, D.C., the Willard Hotel, where at least seven presidents had been guests (starting with Franklin Pierce), went bankrupt.

China exploded its seventh atomic bomb in an attempt to catch up, and France did the same with its first hydrogen bomb. A U.S. Air Force B-52 crashed in Greenland, spilling radioactive materials on an expanse of ice. It was the 13th time such an accident had occurred.

In Biafra, 3 million civilians died in a war with Nigeria, many of them of basic starvation as the world stood by and did nothing.

It was that kind of year.

On Jan. 31, the Tet Offensive in Vietnam caught everyone off guard and was followed by the My Lai Massacre. LBJ decided he’d had enough and did not stand for re-election.

At the Kentucky Derby, Dancer’s Image finished first, but was disqualified after traces on phenylbutazone were discovered in the post-race urinalysis. Then, Dancer’s Image was disqualified in the Preakness for bumping. So, Forward Pass won two of racing’s Triple Crown. Dancer’s Image did not run the Belmont – won that year by Stage Door Johnny – and remains the only winner of the Derby to be disqualified.

On April 4, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated and cities across the nation rioted. On June 5, Robert Kennedy was assassinated in Los Angeles at the Ambassador Hotel as he was trying to follow his brother into the White House.

It was that kind of year.

The U.S. submarine Scorpion was lost at sea with 99 men, which would have been the biggest naval disaster of the year. However, it was overshadowed by the spectacular fate of another U.S. ship near North Korea.

The USS Pueblo was labeled an environmental research ship, but was really an electronic snoop with antennas and high-tech radar. They cruised the Sea of Japan seeking signals from North Korea. On Jan. 23, the Pueblo was attacked and captured by the North Korean navy.

The news that a U.S. naval vessel had been captured – the first since the USS Chesapeake in 1807 – stunned the entire country. U.S. Secretary of State Dean Rusk called it an act of war and senators were howling for action! Two appeals to Russia to act as a mediator were rejected and the U.N. Security Committee refused to get involved.

Finally, U.S. and North Korean negotiators got the men and Commander Lloyd M. Bucher released. But, incredibly, the USS Pueblo is now a tourist attraction in Pyongyang at the Victorious War Museum, complete with tours and a video. The U.S. State Department is still hoping for a release … 48 years later.

Annus horribilis … American style.

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is President and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as Chairman and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

Queen Victoria Found Creative, Complicated Ways to Mourn

This Queen Victoria military commission document, signed “Victoria RI” and dated Jan. 20, 1860, references her beloved husband Prince Albert – a year before his death of typhoid fever.

By Jim O’Neal

A good friend of mine died recently and the family is naturally in a state of grief and making plans to include others in the mourning process. This is a custom that has undergone many changes over the centuries and is still evolving.

The “Masters of Mourning” surely must have been the Victorians. Rarely have groups of people become more fascinated by death or found so many creative and complicated ways to acknowledge it.

Society, in general, evolved strict mourning rules that were remarkably comprehensive. Every conceivable relationship had specific guidelines. One example was for an uncle by marriage. He was to be mourned for two months if his wife survived him, but only one month if he was a widower or unmarried.

This continued through the entire canon of relationships and, in a quirk, one needn’t have even met the people being mourned. If a woman’s husband had been married before and widowed, the second wife was expected to engage in “complementary mourning” – a type of proxy mourning on behalf of the deceased, earlier spouse.

Even mourning clothes were dependent upon the degree of one’s bereavement. Widows, already burdened by suffocating pounds of broadcloth, had to add black crepe, a type of crimped silk. Crepe was scratchy, noisy and maddeningly difficult to maintain. Even raindrops left whitish blotches and the crepe ran onto the skin underneath, where it was almost impossible to wash off. The amount of crepe was dictated by the passage of time. Just a glance could tell how long a woman had been widowed by the amount of crepe at each sleeve.

Then after two years, a widow moved into a phase of “half mourning” and the crepe could be gray or pale lavender.

Servants were required to mourn when their employers died and a period of national mourning was decreed when a monarch died.

Queen Victoria may have been the most prominent person to conjure up ingenious ways to mourn. Her beloved Prince Albert died in December 1861. Victoria decreed that the clocks in his bedroom be stopped at precisely the minute he died: 10:50 p.m. Then, in another odd ritual, the service to his room was continued as if he were merely on a trip.

A valet carefully laid out fresh clothing for him each day, in addition to hot water, soap and towels for his daily bath, and then removed at an appropriate time later in the day. Of course, his remains were actually interred in a mausoleum on the castle grounds.

Ironically, when Queen Victoria’s reign ended in 1901, after nearly 64 years, no one could agree on how much mourning was appropriate. It had been too long since the last one and there was no precedent for this length of time.

Since then, Queen Elizabeth II has eclipsed her as the longest-lived British monarch, and on Sept. 9, 2015, she became the longest-reigning monarch ever (as Prince Charles knows so well, as he yearns instead of mourns).