Category:
1940s
David Hume once observed that no matter how skeptical philosophers may profess to be, they ultimately "leave by the door not the window" (i.e. they act based on common sense rather than doing crazy stuff).
That wouldn't have been true of 79-year-old Harvard philosopher Dickinson S. Miller who took to routinely leaving his apartment through his window. Though this was due to a dispute with his landlady, not philosophical preference.
His landlady, Anna O'Brien, claimed he failed to pay his rent, routinely used up all the hot water leaving the other tenants with none, and was "very careless" about his room. So she took away his keys, shut off his electricity, and removed his furniture. But she wasn't able to legally evict him because he fought back in court.
Miller insisted that he had been diligently paying the rent until she had refused to take it, preferring him to leave. He complained that he was now forced to sleep on the floor and to come and go through the window. Plus, he had to work on his biography of Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes "holding a pen in one hand and a flashlight in the other."
In April 1947, Miller convinced a court to force O'Brien to return his furniture. But O'Brien had the ultimate victory in June 1948 when she finally secured an eviction order, forcing Miller to leave.
Sounds like a pretty epic tenant/landlord battle, appropriate for Paul's 'unauthorized dwellings' series.

Holyoke Transcript-Telegram - Apr 2, 1947

(left) Barre Daily Times - Apr 4, 1947; (right) Buffalo News - Apr 4, 1947

Richmond Times-Dispatch - Apr 3, 1947
The novel
J'irai cracher sur vos tombes ("I spit on your graves") was published in France in 1946. It was promoted as being a work so steamy and controversial that no American publisher dared to print it. It was said to be authored by one Vernon Sullivan, a black American writer. The plot involved a black man who was able to pass as white who went on a violent quest for revenge after his brother was lynched. The book quickly became a bestseller.
In reality, the book was written by Boris Vian who was French, white, and had never set foot in the United States. In other words, the book was written in French, but passed off as a translation from English. Though soon the book was published in English.
The success of the book prompted Vian to quickly write three more "Vernon Sullivan" novels. But the book's popularity ended up being Vian's undoing.
As reported by wikipedia:
I Spit on Your Graves reached the peak of its infamy when it served as an instruction manual for a real-life murderer, whose copy of the book was found on the bedside table next to the murdered body of a prostitute with the following passage circled and underlined: "I again felt that strange sensation that ran up my back as my hand closed on her throat and I couldn't stop myself; it came; it was so strong that I let her go ...". Following this copycat crime, when the book went into reprints, it sold more than 500,000 copies, and Vian was tried for translating "objectionable material" (as Vernon Sullivan was still nowhere to be found). Vian ended up paying a fine of 100,000 francs, and in the summer of 1950 the French government banned any further sales of the book...
The book was adapted into a film with the same title, directed by Michel Gast. Vian had already publicly denounced the adaptation while it was still in production, but he attended the premiere on 23 June, 1959. A few minutes into the screening, he stood up and began to shout out his dissatisfaction with the film, and while doing so he collapsed and died of a sudden cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital.
From the Gallaudet University Library Deaf Collections & Archives, via
Library Shenanigans:
On a January morning in 1940, students and faculty discovered that pranksters had entered the library in College Hall (now the President’s Office) during the night and turned all the books around so their spines faced the wall. The stunt must have required multiple people, since there were too many books for one person to do alone. However, despite rumors over the years, no one ever came forward and admitted they were the ones behind this prank — and since it was almost 80 years ago, the original pranksters have probably taken the secret with them.
The next photo shows students putting the books back the right way round.
Technical Sergeant Valentine Browne Lawless was shot down over Linz, Austria in October 1944. He left behind a will revealing that, as his first name suggested, he had a romantic streak.
He left the bulk of his small estate (worth $3600, or around $50,000 in today's money) to one of his brothers for a "special purpose." He detailed that special purpose in a separate latter. He wanted his brother to arrange to have "one perfect rose" anonymously sent every Saturday to Mildred Fitzpatrick, until the money ran out.
Valentine had worked with Mildred before the war, but the two had never dated. In fact, she barely knew who he was. He had fallen in love with her from afar, and because he was extremely shy he had never told her about his feelings. Valentine explained to his brother:
My idea is to furnish the girl with the pleasure of receiving a rose, not have her think a lot of me because I sent it to her...
I love her very much and would like to be the type of person that could make her love me and marry me and be able to support and provide her with those things which it is such a pleasure to give to anyone you love.
But as I am not a personality that is likely to be successful socially or financially, I must make this request.
Unfortunately, Valentine's romantic gesture turned out to be in vain. A few roses were sent, but the deliveries soon stopped, for two reasons.
First, Valentine's other siblings successfully challenged the will, on the grounds that the rose deliveries were detailed in a separate letter, not in the will itself. Therefore, the will had failed to specify the "special purpose". The case became known as the "perfect rose case," and the court ended up splitting Valentine's estate between his sister, two brothers, five nephews, and a niece.
Second, Mildred didn't want the roses. She
really didn't want them. She was married, with a daughter, and found the publicity deeply embarrassing.
She ended up suing the Hearst Corporation for publicizing the case and for describing Valentine as her "suitor" even though she barely knew him. She lost the case, but her feelings were clear. So, no more roses.

San Francisco Examiner - June 20, 1948
click to enlarge

Winston Salem Journal - Aug 8, 1947
Back in 1947, Dr. T.M. Pearce, a professor of English at the University of New Mexico, noted that World War II had speeded up the use of acronyms in English. He predicted, "tomorrow's English may contain more and more of acronym and abbreviation."
He sure was right about that.

Muskogee Daily Phoenix and Times-Democrat - Aug 19, 1947
Some info about Pearce (via
New Mexico Archives Online):
Thomas Matthews Pearce was a Professor of English at the University of New Mexico for over 35 years and the author of numerous books and articles on the English language and folklore. He was born in Covington, Kentucky, 1902, died Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1986.
The first week of April was once set aside as "National Leave Us Alone Week," but observance of this week has fallen by the wayside.
The name suggests a celebration of anti-social curmudgeonliness. Unfortunately, the reason the week was invented was more prosaic.
It started in 1949 at the suggestion of PR consultant F. Lander Moorman of Douglas, GA. His idea was that, for one week, merchants should be left alone by solicitors.
Some details from the Congressional record of 1950:
Inevitably, the businessmen chose a Queen of Leave Us Alone Week.

Greenwood Commonwealth - Mar 20, 1950
Perhaps Leave Us Alone Week could be revived as a week in which all spammers and telemarketers have to leave us alone.
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