The Most Expensive Pizza Ever Eaten

 

By Grant Davies

The year was 2010. A man in Florida, USA ordered two pizzas from Papa John's Pizza. 

It's hard to say why anyone would do such a thing. But this history story isn't about cardboard pizza, it's about what someone is willing to pay to get it. All I can say is they must be pretty hungry and have no other options. There's no accounting for taste, or lack thereof, I guess.

The year 2010 seems like a long time ago to many folks. But then again, anything that happened before 2020 seems like ancient history now.

The two participants in this pizza transaction decided that for this order they didn't want to use US dollars to settle the trade. Who can blame them? Because...

Some people at the US treasury have a special printing press and they just plug it in whenever they need some money to buy stuff, like votes for instance. So the value of the dollar keeps falling because they print so many of them. The value has been falling pretty steadily since 1913. That's when the government invented the Federal Reserve out of the same thin air as the money is printed. The idea was to stabilize the value of the money, they said. Since then the value has declined by about 95%, so I have a suspicion that stabilization wasn't the actual purpose. But then, cynicism about such notions may be forgiven. 

Anyway, the pizza transactors decided to use a different kind of money. They agreed to use some money called Bit Coin. It may have seemed an odd choice to some. But it made sense to them and it didn't seem to be anyone else's business. (Some government types may disagree about that to this very day.)

Between the two of them they had to agree to the value of the Bit Coin so a fair trade could be made. They settled on 10 thousand bit coins for the two pizzas, which would normally sell for about $30 US dollars in those days. It's cheaper nowadays due to the lack of success by the FED at defending the dollar, but again, I digress. Unlike the US dollar some money appreciates in value from time to time. Bit Coin is one of those. 

In those 10 years the price of pizza has declined as well as the US dollar. But Bit Coin is worth a lot more dollars and a lot more pizza by comparison. If the guy who ate the pizza could have just held off his hunger for those 10 years he could have bought more pizza. 

$178 million worth as of this exact moment in time, November 19th, 2020 at 7:30 am.

It's not known if the Papa John's franchise owner still has the bitcoin from that transaction. But if he does I'm guessing he isn't flinging pies into thin air anymore.

To celebrate this story, get on the phone and order a couple of pizzas but be sure to ask if there is a coupon you can use to lower the price. Or maybe a discount for paying with Bit Coin?

PS.  It has been claimed that, with the exception of 4 days in 2017, anyone who has ever bought Bit Coins on any day since it was invented about 10 years ago (and still has them) has a paper profit. Well, a crypto profit anyway.

Editors update: 

Since the date of this article the price of pizza as measured in Bit Coin has risen a tad. On Nov 19th, 2020, the pizza cost $178 million. Today, Jan 8, 2021 at 2:00 pm the price has risen to $400 million. You'd better like pizza a lot.

History has Been Canceled Until Further Notice

By Grant Davies


On this day in 2020, give or take a few weeks, a small but well organized group of thugs tried to erase all the history of the US.

A majority of the citizens of the country and many of the politicians and elected officials of the country did nothing to stop them. Some even encouraged them.

In the end history will survive even if it's incorrect history. Since most history is incorrect anyway most people will not notice this in a few years.

Even though the history found on this site is probably correct, those thugs have been thus far uninterested in erasing it. I guess they realize that I have several readers instead of millions.

But mainly they were too busy looting and burning to pay attention to it. And many are illiterate so they don't bother if it's like, um, you know, words and stuff. Unless it's a statue of a person they never heard of they just can't be bothered.

But this site is all about having some fun anyway, not portraying serious events like the erasure of history.

I just wonder, are we having fun yet?

Save the Endangered Left-handed Snail Darter!

By Art Cashin

On this day (+1) in 1783, weeks of rumbling beneath Mt. Skaptar, a volcano in southern Iceland, ended with a roar. And what a roar it was. Across a line of over 10 miles, the earth split as in an earthquake in a movie. But instead of leaving a small canyon or valley, the rift in the earth poured forth massive amounts of molten lava and hazy blue gases.


Over the next two months, it spewed out enough molten stuff to cover the entire island of Manhattan with a lava cover a mile high. Looking for a place to go, the lava filled up riverbeds, harbors, seabeds and it melted centuries- old glaciers. Thousands of people were either burned to death by the lava or drowned in the floods it caused. The lava alone would have caused this to be rated one of history's great calamities. But then there was the haze.
The heavy, blue, sulfur-smelling haze spewed forth from the fissure and hung like a low cloud that grew and grew until it spread from Iceland southward to Gibraltar. And it hung there. And as it did, there were reports of cattle dying in the field because their flesh had begun to eat them alive. (Now where did I hear that before?) Some humans had a similar experience. Many more developed sudden open sores, sudden loss of hair and bleeding gums, finally dying in the streets.

Then things started to get bad. Leaves fell off the trees and plants. Birds, rabbits and other wildlife began to die, often rotting as they fell. Then the fish began to die, rising to the surface, often partially decomposed. (I hope you're not reading this at breakfast.) Now there was no food and those remaining people and animals began to starve. Thankfully, the winds began to shift, the volcano began to still and the dying began to stop....finally!

To mark the day, sympathize with someone from the "Save the Endangered Left-handed Snail Darter Club" and hoist a spring water and something natural, while you note the latest study implies it must be man that upsets nature's gentle balance.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

A Killer Health Care Plan

Editors foreword:

Now that the astute and well intentioned politicians are putting their heads together to fix the failed Obamacare plan by instituting a different horrible plan that is destined to fail as well, I thought it might be time for a history review to remind us what happens when astute and well intentioned politicians from the past put their heads together to fix a health care problem.

But don't worry, politicians never make the same mistakes twice on the same problem. Even though the problem may be the same one, too many rats.

Grant Davies




 By Art Cashin

On this day in 1349, in the midst of the infamous Black Plague epidemic, the forces of government, science and academia came together with a plan to save the people.

As you recall from earlier episodes, the Black Plague had spread from the eastern Mediterranean throughout most of Europe killing millions over the preceding three years. People searched everywhere for the source of the plague.....a heavenly curse; a burden of immigrants; the result of spices in the food. It was tough to figure however, since whenever they held a conference either the host area caught the plague or the visitors did.....so.....not too many conferences.

Then in the six months preceding this date the death rate leveled off.....or seemed to. So in castles and universities and town halls across Europe, great minds pondered the cause of the plague. And they came pretty close. The collective governmental/academic wisdom was that the source of the Black Plague was fleas - (absolutely correct).

So the word went out from town to town across Europe - to stop the plague - kill the fleas -by killing all the dogs. And immediately the slaughter of all dogs began. But like lots of well-intentioned governmental/academic ideas it was somewhat wide of the mark...and had unexpected consequences.

The cause was fleas alright but not dog fleas.....it was rat fleas. And in the 1300's what was the most effective way to hold down the rat population.....you guessed it - dogs. So by suggesting that townsfolk kill their dogs, the wise authorities had unwittingly allowed the rat population to flourish and thus a new vicious rash of Black Plague began. Before it was over, three years later, nearly 1 out of 3 people in the world had died of the plague.

To mark this eventful period, take time to review your public servant’s plans for your welfare. Whether taxes or healthcare, they'll work night and day for a solution. It may not be as efficient as the way that they handled social security but - what is? Just remember that these public servants have your best interests at heart. Don't dwell on the DARK AGES. Back in those days the seat of government often was filled with rats, vermin and leeches. Thank goodness those days are over.



Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Running Out of Beer

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1620, as we all recall from sixth grade, the Pilgrim Fathers...thankful for having safely reached their destination...and to assure no limits on their new-found freedom...gathered aboard the Mayflower to draft and sign - The Mayflower Compact.

And you probably remember your version of Sister Anesthesia telling you that was the beginning of democracy in America.

Well maybe you recall it that way because you were spending too much time trying to figure out why Mary Agnes Doyle was starting to look different than she did in fifth grade. We're sure the good Sister told you the real story. (No....not about Mary Agnes!) Sister certainly related how the Pilgrims in fact were nowhere near their destination. (Records indicate they were destined for "Northern Virginia" which according to sea charts probably was somewhere between present day Perth Amboy, N.J. and Bayonne.

If they had found their original spot....today we might speak of the thrifty reverent Pilgrims of Wall Street. They only pulled in at Massachusetts because they had run low on beer (or as they wrote in the log "beere"....oops....you heard that already).

That brings us back to the "Mayflower Compact." It seems that a significant portion of folks on the Mayflower were "strangers" - not members of the Pilgrim sect but folks who signed on in hope of land and success in the new world. They had all signed agreements to abide by the Pilgrim Fathers in this new colony of the "Virginia Company."

So, when the Pilgrim Fathers suggested putting a party ashore, "the strangers", out of beer and noting a distinct chill in the air remarked that since this place was outside the Virginia Company Grant - once ashore they were free to do as they pleased. (Now lest ye think these "strangers" a rowdy group - Verily - I point out thou mayest have heard of a few - mayhap one Miles Standish or a certain carpenter, John Alden.)

So - to keep these "strangers" from demanding freedom once they went ashore, the Pilgrims devised the Mayflower Compact - which after a quick headcount went for "majority rule." Its purpose clearly was to set a range limit on freedom of choice.

The Pilgrims spent the next 30 days, foraging, shooting crows, scaring Native Americans and their dogs (Canis Americus) and finding no beer. Finally, they landed around Plymouth and might have all died in a few months until they bumped into an Indian, named Squanto, who mysteriously spoke English (with a Portuguese accent no less) but that's a story for another day.

To mark the day, drop anchor at a place called Rocky's and have a "Mull Wine" or "clove laced hot cider." But remember what the Cheshire Cat told Alice - "If you don't know where you want to get to....it doesn't matter which way you go."

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

The Robber Baron of Arizona

James Addison Reavis

By Art Cashin

On this day (-2) in 1896, one of the greatest schemes in American history began to come apart - just as it was on the verge of changing the future of the nation. The scheme was to lay a land grant claim on what was virtually two states - Arizona and New Mexico. But it had all started earlier and simpler.

During the Civil War, a certain James Addison Reavis was kind of the "Radar O'Reilly" of the Confederate Army. He managed to get officer's signatures on passes and requisitions without troubling the respective officers. His....er....penmanship was so good that after the war a pal took him to St. Louis where he showed some....er....interpretive creativity in the office of public deeds.

In 1871, he met George Willing who had a very creative mind but very poor "penmanship." Willing suggested "back signing" and "redrawing" old Spanish land grants. Reavis began to think Willing was thinking small. But he needn't have worried, because Willing died of poisoning shortly thereafter.

Reavis traveled to Mexico and spent some time in missions, monasteries and libraries. He mastered the language and idiom of formal documents of the 1600's and 1700's. Shortly thereafter, he emerged to lay claim to the fabulous "Peralta Grants." And fabulous they were - they showed Reavis to be the owner of nearly 19,000 square miles of Arizona and New Mexico.

Panic set in immediately. The Southern Pacific paid Reavis $50,000 good faith deposit to protect its right of way. The fabled Silver King Mine gave $25,000 as the first year's rent. And when Reavis, amid great pomp, married a "Peralta Heiress" (a poor Mexican girl he set up with phony credentials), he claimed thousands more square miles. Soon there were lines of folks waiting to give money to the "Baron of Arizona." But as your grandmother said "Pride cometh before a fall" (maybe that was my grandmother....er....and come to think of it...it was "four Manhattans cometh before a fall).

Anyway, Reavis got a case of the "haughties" and turned down a newspaper interview. The publisher decided to do a background piece anyway. It was then that he noticed the type-face on some of the documents was of rather recent origin. He then talked an official into letting him see one of the "official documents." He noticed the century old parchment paper had a watermark from a factory in Wisconsin. Since neither the King of Spain nor the original Don Diego Peralta were known to cavort with cheeseheads, an odor ensued.

On this day in 1896, the Baron of Arizona was indicted. He was quickly convicted and sent to prison. Later released, he died a pauper in 1908. There lies a lesson - forge not on recycled paper.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Our Old Acquaintance, Bob

By Grant Davies

On this night in 1787, people in Scotland got together, lifted a glass, and sang a song. "Big deal" you say! They do that in Ireland every darn night. Come to think of it, if the joint is open long enough, they do that everywhere a glass of intoxicating beverage is to be lifted. So what makes this night special enough to make note of it?

Well, that was the year the above referenced song was first published. The guy who is credited with writing it, Rab Mossgiel, was rather famous among his fellow Scotsmen for writing other poetry. Rab was just his pseudonym. I guess he liked it better than his real name, Bob. More on that in a moment.

Anyway, the guy actually admitted that he didn't compose it himself, but merely wrote it down after hearing it from "an old man." It's pretty certain that the old man didn't write it either.

The poet's actual name was Robert Burns. And it seems the song was initially sung on January 25th - also known as "Burns Night"-  to celebrate his life and works. But it's normally sung to wave goodbye to the old year and welcome in the new, hopefully better, year.

The song has a rather weird title that is translated from old Scottish English into modern English as "Old Long Since." I guess it made more sense back then. The rest of the words are almost as difficult to piece together too. But most people over a certain age (my age) recognize them well enough.

The song asks the question, should we just forget about our old friends? Well, I guess not. So then, shall we raise a glass and toast them and all the good times we have had with them? Hell, yes!

By now you have probably guessed that the song is the well known New Year's Eve standard, Auld Lang Syne. And the "cup of kindness" is some sort of booze that is being used to toast good fellowship and not forgetting our friends no matter what happens in the new year.

To celebrate the song, go down to the "Auld Neighborhood Inn" with some friends and order "a cup of kindness" from the bartender. Just make sure "it comes to mind" to tip him well. After all, a bartender is a man's best friend and definitely should not be forgot.


  Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.



Most of the information for this post was gleaned from Carols.org.

Sixth Grade History You Probably Forgot

Pompey Magnus

By Art Cashin

On this day (+2) in 48 B.C., one of ancient Rome's most brilliant generals, a certain Pompey the Great landed on the shores of Egypt.

(Mr. Cashin! Yes Sister? Please try to remember the general's name is pronounced Pom-pea; Pom-pay was the name of the city buried by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D. If you don't pay more attention, you'll never remember enough history to get out of the 6th grade, let alone enough to ever help you in business! Do you understand?? Yes Sister!!)

Anyway, flashbacks aside, Pompey landed in Egypt - kind of "on the run." As you may recall from earlier episodes (or from the 6th grade), Rome was going through a parliamentary crisis. A popular reformer named Julius Caesar was busy dividing Gaul into three parts and sending reform suggestions to Rome. The Roman Parliament (pronounced "Senate") sent a nasty note (on parchment) to said Caesar - saying he had a lot of Gaul and ordering him to come home for a spanking and to please leave his army behind. Said Caesar headed home and took the army with him (across the Rubicon don't-cha know!).

Since that was considered bad form (pronounced formus stunkus), the Roman Senate called upon a former war hero for protection. The guy picked was Pompey the Great (page 6 in your program) - victor over Spanish Rebels (76 B.C.), over a certain "Spartacus" (72 B.C.) and over that early Hitler, King Mithridates (63 B.C.).

Despite this veteran's record, said Caesar made salad out of Pompey at the Battle of Pharsalus (beating him badly with an army half the size of Pompey's). This led Pompey to flee to his last known ally, Ptolemy XIII (pronounced Friday the 13th), King of Egypt and the Nile Delta. Ptolemy XIII (age XV) was at war with his pudgy sister. So, with Ptolemy XIII needing no new enemies (i.e. said Caesar), Ptolemy had his old ally assassinated (i.e. Pompey, who was stabbed as he got off the boat).

Said Caesar sensed that such habits did not make Ptolemy XIII (age XV) a great candidate for new best friend. So, said Caesar threw in with the pudgy sister named Cleopatra.

What happened next...I forget! (Sorry Sister!!)


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Dropping the Hamer

By Art Cashin

On this day (+1) in 1934, a young couple laughed as they drove in the early morning daylight near Arcadia, Louisiana. They had just picked up something to eat and were munching and laughing as they sped through the brightening sunrise. As they pulled around a curve, they were met by a surprise.

The surprise was delivered by a Texas Ranger named Frank Hamer and a group of Louisiana troopers and local cops. Their method of delivery was 10 shotguns, 5 Thompson sub machine guns, and 2 Browning Automatic rifles. A bit much for some post-prom sportsters you might think.

Well it wasn't "post-prom" and the "sportsters" in the car were a couple named Bonnie and Clyde. And, fearing that there might be a video-cam van behind the fugitives….Ranger Hamer ordered his boys to open fire rather than stop, debate or beat the occupants of the car. So they proceeded to pump over 160 bullets into said car. Many apparently struck the car's occupants….Bonnie's corpse was said to have half an uneaten sandwich in its mouth.

When word that Hamer and his crew had killed the famous "Bonnie & Clyde" began to filter out, crowds from the area rushed to the scene. Of course, they were better behaved than today's ruffians. These folks simply began by tearing off the bumper, headlights and fenders of the bullet-riddled car. As the car was stripped, the souvenir seekers got more aggressive....some began to cut off locks of Bonnie's hair....finally someone tried to amputate Clyde's "trigger finger" as a trophy. That was a bit too much even for these cops and they closed off the area.

But if Bonnie and Clyde lacked of sympathy at the site of their death; they also lacked sympathy even among their supposed peers. John Dillinger, rather famous in his own right, hearing of the ambush of Bonnie and Clyde was reported to say --- "Hell, they were just kill-crazy punks and clodhoppers. They gave us decent bank robbers a bad name!"

What a shame Dillinger never lived to see what a well lobbied Congress would do to the Bailouts of 2008/2009. By them - Dillinger was a dilettante!!


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

What Happens When Your Balloon is Too Lowe

Image = Armyhistory.org

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1861, in the cold pre-dawn air near Cincinnati, Thaddeus Lowe climbed into the basket of his large hot-air balloon, the Enterprise. Lowe was already famous in the aeronautic and scientific community as an expert on hot-air (ballooning that is).

But while he was an expert as an aeronaut, as a weatherman he was a schnook. About 20 minutes into the flight, he got picked up by gale force winds that ran nearly 80 mph. On this particular day, the jet stream had developed a sense of humor and swept Lowe (and balloon) all the way to South Carolina. What he thought was a military honor guard out to greet him was in fact a rebel patrol out to arrest him. (Lowe was unaware that the Civil War had started a few days earlier.)

Released when local scientists vouched for his credentials (and his eccentricity), Lowe headed north. But he was smitten by the image of spies in a balloon - peering down on rebel defenses.
He helped found and direct the "Aeronautic Corps. of the Army of the Potomac".

Assuming the wind was right, he or his associates would fly high over enemy lines in a tethered balloon and telegraph directions back down to the Union artillery. The corps made over 3000 such flights and were sometimes shot down. (Lowe was so valuable he was rescued by commandos when that happened to him.) While he survived the war intact, he is believed to have been shot at more often than anybody else in the whole war. Luckily, there were no ground to air missiles at the time.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Kahn You Hear the Mongols Coming?

image = http://galleryhip.com

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1241 A.D., two great armies met to help decide the fate of western civilization. Okay, so you looked it up, there were three great armies. And, so you know it was in Middle Europe. And, the guys from the East (a chalk bet) were called the Mongols. The cheerleaders for the other guys called them the Mongol Horde. They were not a crowd favorite.

About 25 years before, their leader, a guy named Genghis Khan used their inherent horsemanship and ferocity to conquer most of China. Having quickly run out of rice and opponents they headed west - overrunning Samarkand and 14 other poetic principalities until they engulfed Southern Russia.

Here they heard about grain and riches further west and saddled up. Genghis Khan excused himself without a golden parachute and died. That left the team to his son, Ogotai. The kid saw himself as an administrator and thus hired a grandson of his father (and you thought “Days of Our Lives” was confusing). Anyway the kid's name (he was 32) was Batu Khan and he was the General Petraeus of his day.

So, having ravaged a thousand miles of enemies, Batu Khan found himself, this day, facing the cream of Middle European Knighthood in the Middle Ages. He stood on a small hilltop and looked out on the mass of the Polish and German armies carefully set to repel him. The town was called Liegnitz. The towns' folk, checking the form charts, thought a trip in the countryside was in order.

Thus on this day, Batu Khan's forces swept toward the cream of western chivalry. But before they engaged, the Mongols split and swept to the left and the right. The cream of Europa - probably muttering "What the hell is this!" turned to watch the Mongols speeding away on either side. The joy and laughter was short-lived. A third flank of Mongols now attacked the coalition which was facing the wrong way. The first two forces of Mongols turned to attack them leaving no secure front. The result was a massacre. And the cream of Europa soon became the curds and whey of Europa.

To mark the day, try not to get distracted when you think victory is at hand.



Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Now That Winter is Over...

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1888, America was moving through what looked like just another day. There was a lot of talk about trading partners and religion. The partisanship in Washington looked like it could turn very ugly. And the stock market was confused by the whole thing and rather nervous. But that was years ago.

Anyway, spring was in the air in New York City and the pundits said the economic problems probably were months off. But on this day the temperature began to drop sharply on the East Coast where most folks lived. And in a matter of hours, the winds whipped up and winter weather was back. The cold snap collided with a coastal rainstorm.

It started as flurries. Then in growing, biting winds the snow began to fall. The meteorological oddity became a blizzard. Over 40 inches of snow swirled into 9-foot drifts as phone lines fell. More than 400 people died in the streets. The city ground to a halt. All contact beyond 5 miles was lost.

But it was the age of American ingenuity. So police, hospitals, (and brokers) sent messages by the new under ocean cable to London. From there they were retransmitted by another underwater cable to Boston. Thus, help was sent to a New York - - paralyzed by The Blizzard of `88.

Here's a typical paragraph from The New York Times the day after the storm: "Before the day had well advanced, every horse-car and elevated railroad train in the city had stopped running; the streets were almost impassable to men or horses by reason of the huge masses of drifting snow; the electric wires- telegraph and telephone --connecting spots in the city or opening communication with places
outside were nearly all broken; hardly a train was out from the city or came into it during the entire day; the mails were stopped, and every variety of business dependent on motion or locomotion was
stopped."

Later the reporter would note that nearly 50,000 people had been stranded in stalled elevated trains.
Imagine snow and low temperatures and ultimately a great blizzard near the Ides of March. We're sure that never happened again, did it Grasshopper?

Actually it did, and does with rather annoying frequency. There have been scores of great (and usually unexpected) storms in New York and on the East Coast around the Ides of March. One of the worst within my memory was the blizzard of 1993. It ranged across the entire East Coast, from
Georgia to Maine. Airports in some locations were closed by up to four days, roofs collapsed under the weight of snow and hundreds of people died. Even with the wonder of weather satellites, it's nature that calls the tune.

This weekend, in Manhattan, we are due for a very pesky rainstorm. If the temperature were 10 or 15 degrees lower, we might be having 15 to 20 inches of snow. It apparently was not just Julius Caesar who should "beware of the Ides of March."  Pass the rock salt, please!


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Carl Switzer, The Sad End to a Wonderful Life

By Art Cashin

On this day (+1) in 1959, a man was killed by a gunshot during a drunken brawl outside a saloon in California. Even in 1959 this was not a totally remarkable event in California. Unless, of course, the victim was a celebrity, someone that the American public might see as part of its history.

But the police report simply listed the deceased only as one Carl Switzer, a former movie actor. At the time, only grade "B" movie buffs would recognize the name. Not until a few years later, when TV tried to fill time by rerunning old Hal Roach movies, would hotshots be able to say "Hey, that's Alfalfa!" The strident singing star of a series called either "Our Gang" comedies or "The
Little Rascals." His only other notable role was as the teenager who turned the switch that opened the gym floor above the pool in Frank Capra's "It's A Wonderful Life."

Police records don't say if Carl went down singing (in screeching falsetto) "Happy Birthday Mr. Hood - Happy Birthday to Ya."

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

A Toast to Temperance

image = women of the 1920s

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1920, the US government enacted a law that sought to regulate human behavior on a scale not seen before in the country. The results were, of course, disastrous. The law was destined to fail because none of the people whose behavior it was designed to alter had any intention whatsoever of complying. And there were a lot of them.

The law in question was the National Prohibition Act, more popularly known as the Volstead Act. It gave teeth to the newly passed constitutional amendment banning the use of alcohol for recreational purposes.

But the new law didn't fail at everything. It succeeded fantastically in many ways. For instance, it worked great at turning law abiding citizens into scofflaws and common criminals. It turned run of the mill ruffians into multimillionaire booze barons. Imbecile thugs like Al Capone became business titans. It spurred employment changes as former bartenders became black market delivery men. It expanded government hiring by turning former productive citizens into enforcement officers and bribe takers.

And let's face it, it made drinking so much more fun! Getting bombed at home and falling asleep in the rocking chair was replaced by sneaking out to speakeasies where knowing secret passwords and escape routes was all the rage. Instead of snoring in that chair, men could go meet naughty girls who liked to smoke cigarettes and dance. Many didn't wear bras either, oh the possibilities.

No other government program caused so much fun to be had by such formerly boring people. Other bad laws  in the future (fill in the blank) never gave such joy. The government finally realized everyone was having too much fun and called the whole thing off in 1933. But don't worry, the government wouldn't make the same mistake twice with other intoxicating substances. They are way too wise for that.

To celebrate "Volstead Day", invite some friends over for a glass (or two) of wine on a Friday evening and propose a toast to temperance. That's what we are going to do tonight. I'd invite you to join us if I was certain you wouldn't show up.

Art Cashin and the Fifty Year Odyssey

Art Cashin
Storyteller and Trader Extraordinaire

By Grant Davies

On this day in 1964, (that's 50 years ago for you who need a calculator, er..smart phone) a young man was promoted to partner of  P.R. Herzig & Co., and became one of the youngest people ever to have a seat on the New York Stock Exchange.

But he sure didn't "take a seat" or "remain seated" over the next 50 years. His name is Art Cashin. That's right, he's the same guy who writes many of the historical posts for this site. And boy has he ever been busy over that half century.


My own involvement in the trading floor business didn't begin until four years later, so Art was a floor member on the "big board" in the "big apple" before I was even an odd lot boy on the tiny Midwest Stock Exchange in the second city. Art still has his seat and I still have mine. But mine is a recliner in my living room and his is still a membership in one of the most important and historic financial institutions the world has ever known.

Today he is director of floor operations for UBS Financial Services and he appears daily on CNBC. But somewhat more importantly (to me) he is a contributor of wonderful stories to this lilliputian blog. I have been extremely grateful to Art and UBS for allowing me to republish those great stories over the last several years and it's my hope that in some small way this blog has exposed people to his historical musings who otherwise would have never read them.

So, congratulations Mr. Cashin on your 50th anniversary on the floor of the NYSE. And thanks for informing us while entertaining us for all that time.

As he penned in this morning's Cashin's Comments, "It has been a most interesting half century." I wholeheartedly agree! The man is an institution inside an institution.

To celebrate the day, if you happen to see him in his "seat" in some historic Wall Street watering hole, scribbling trading level numbers on the famous cocktail napkins that have informed so many traders for so long, be sure to tip your hat to a Wall Street icon and thank him for the stories you have enjoyed here.

Read more about Art here.

Chew on This Story

image = chewing gum facts

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1869, Wm. Semple of Ohio was granted a patent on a form of chewing gum. Americans had long chewed a variation of an old Indian substance - - a combination of sap and paraffin. But like many American invention, somewhere else another guy was working on the same project. In this case the somewhere else was Staten Island.

A guy named Santa Ana, who had a somewhat brief political and military career in Mexico (see “Alamo”), was trying to start a new career in his 70's. And, where is a trendier, more intellectually challenging place than Staten Island. He was hoping to produce a substitute for rubber and had brought along some chicle (itself the sap of a Mexican plant).

He showed it to a local inventor, Tom Adams, this particular sample. But try as he could Adams couldn't make a rubber substitute. So one day while he was hanging out at a drug store (the mall had not been invented yet), Adams heard a kid complain about the paraffin gum. Adams went home, soaked some chicle in licorice and kneaded it into little pellets. The druggist sold out the new sample in six hours. Shortly, America was hooked on "Adams N.Y. Gum No. 1".

To mark the day, try not to chew out an employee. Some can be very snappy. And try not to laugh when someone tells you they always thought "Chicklets" was inspired by a poultry symbol.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Happy Samhain

Image = Lightgrid

By Art Cashin

On this day in (approx.) 823 B.C., the most inventive, charming and clever people ever to grace God's green earth came up with yet another ingenious idea.

They were, of course, the Irish (at this time A/K/A the Celts). Being bright they did not labor upon the obvious. So they let somebody else invent fire, the wheel, iron, astronomy, writing, calendars, etc. These they figured they could copy - - and boy did they. These clever folks....well.....they tended to save their strength for what was really important.

By this stratagem, even 1000 years earlier, while pagan types were grappling with such mediocrity as pyramids, irrigation and geometry, the Celts had learned to distill grain. This miracle medicinal cure (which would maintain mankind for over 3000 years) they called Usquebah. The amazed and very
indebted rest of the world mistranslated the name as "whiskey".

So for a millennia these wise and whiskey-witty folk enjoyed good health and good fellowship. Then as this particular day approached (circa 823 B.C.), gender problems arose. The women began expecting the men to hang out close to the cave as the evening came earlier each fall. If civilization were to progress, this would never do!

So the Celtic elders came up with the second great invention. They called it "Samhain" or end of summer. They explained to the women that as the season changed, ghosts, goblins and evil spirits came forth to threaten all humans. In order to protect the women and children, the men folk selflessly would have to put on old clothes, take some jugs of the magic Usquebah (possible snake bite you know) and go into the hills and light fires.

For nearly 1500 years the tradition held. Then came the good St. Patrick who was wise enough to keep the Usquebah but drove out the snakes. Conveniently, his Christian teaching did say that November 1st was the Feast of All Saints (or "All Hallows"). So it only seemed logical that if the saints were coming out, the devils would have one last fling. So, snakes or not, we would
still need those reliable old clothes, bonfires and protective booze on the eve of "All Hallows" or Hallow's Evening or Halloween.

To celebrate stop by "The Bog on the Moor" and fortify yourself against snakebite, but quit before ye begin to see the little people. For to go beyond, will surround ye with all kinds of devilment like - banshees and ghoulies and mothers-in-law.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Another Hamburger Joint? What a Kroc!

image = google images

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1955, in the city of Des Plaines, Illinois, a great American institution began. And, like most successful American institutions it made no sense on paper and was started by the illogical. It was a fast food restaurant.

It was not started by some hotshot kid but, rather, by a 55-year-old guy who previously sold blenders for making milkshakes. The year before, on one of his sales trips to California he noticed a drive-in that was doing more business than any other. He itemized its features, it was clean, service was fast, food was uniform. And the fries....they were like nobody else's.

That's when he discovered that they always left on a tiny bit of potato skin in each batch so that the flavor transferred in the frying. Knowing that you probably could not start a nationwide chain of "French Fry Joints" he asked the owners, a certain couple of brothers named McDonald, if he could possibly franchise their fast food hamburger joint.

His name was Ray Kroc and the rest is history. Luckily, he didn't have to apply to the SBA. (Yeah! Sure, Mr. Kroc, just what this country needs, another hamburger joint. How ya gonna make any money. Ain't-cha got any sense of business??)

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Mabel, Manley, Martin, and Capone

Image source = SF Library

By Grant Davies

No, the above title isn't the name of a law firm. Nor is it the name of an accounting firm. But today's story has to do with both accounting and the law.

On this day in 1927, a lawyer named Mabel Walker Willebrandt was preparing to argue a case with lasting implications before the Supreme Court of the United States. The case is known as United States v Sullivan.

It seems that Mabel was trying to figure out a novel way to catch a bootlegger named Manley Sullivan and prosecute him for making booze and not paying taxes on the profits. Obviously, if you want a cut of the action from someone else's illegal doings you are either a mobster collecting a street tax or the government doing the same thing. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, but I digress. She decided to claim that Sullivan owed Uncle Sam his share and was holding out on him.

Manley's lawyers made the rational assertion before an federal appellate judge named Martin T. Manton that Manley's fifth amendment rights would be violated if he was forced to confess to crimes when filing his income taxes. They also observed that if the government took their cut as taxes they would be guilty of aiding and abetting Sullivan. Many judges agreed, and Martin Manton was one of them. That is how the whole thing ended up before the Supreme Court. Manton said it was incredulous that the government would get part of the proceeds of illegal activities.

The Supreme Court sided with Mabel. This was very bad news for a guy who wasn't even involved. A guy named Capone. You may recall that Al Capone - a fairly successful mobster from Chicago who didn't have the benefit of the IRS to collect his street taxes - was sent to Alcatraz after this precedent was set. But as it turned out, he was just one of the early convictees.

Another notable one was a guy named Martin Manton. Yep, the above named federal judge was later found guilty of taking $186,000 in bribes without including the feds in on the take. He got only seventeen months in prison. Maybe the fix was in.

Source material = One Summer by Bill Bryson

The Pony Express - A Risky Business

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1860, a group of entrepreneurs launched their dream. And what a dream it was! They were in the telecommunications business. The nation was suddenly bi-coastal. At both oceans America was thriving. And these guys knew that communications was the key to the future

So, on this day, the first Pony Express rider left St. Joseph, Mo. on his leg of the 1966 mile route to Sacramento California. The cost was $5 per 1/2 ounce (it was later cut to a buck). Ten days later the mail arrived in the Golden State (to the amazement of nearly everyone).

They promoted the service well-very well. The image of a rider fighting off storms, Indians and various animals while rushing your mail was an instant hit. It was a depiction of pioneer life like none before or after. America bought it then and bought it now. The Pony Express thrives to this day in image and movie retelling as the epitome of American survival. Even their recruiting posters smacked of the romance and risk inherent in the endeavor. One example read: "Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over 18. Must be expert riders willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred."

Unfortunately, while it sold as an image, it failed to sell as a service. While the image has lasted nearly a century and a half as a national standard the company lasted only 18 months as a business. Even though the Pony Express used tried and true methods that had been used by Ben Franklin almost 100 years before (and by Darius of Persia nearly 2,000 years before that), the situation failed. What they missed in their calculations was something called the telegraph. So in less than 18 months they were out of business.

To celebrate invite someone who doesn't look like Ben Franklin to play "Pony Express" - - It's a lot like Post Office only there's more horsing around.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.