Today marks the anniversary of a little known event during the Second World War: the heroic sacrifice of four military chaplains who led soldiers and civilians to safety after a German U-boat torpedoed the SS Dorchester. #DCHistory #FourChaplainsDay https://t.co/4EHPdbf49I T…
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 3, 2022
Take a look at this beauty of a map! Bought by Millard Fillmore on his travels around Europe after his presidency, it is a postal and travel map of Germany and the neighboring countries made in 1855. Take a closer look here: https://t.co/mIHB3DGUTp https://t.co/rGZt9ARH0b Tak…
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 3, 2022
In 1969, nine persons broke into the offices of Dow Chemical, doused the furniture with blood, and heaved company papers out of a broken window. The culprits? Roman Catholics, dressed in clerical collars and black button-ups. #DCHistory https://t.co/esQiv9A5Jm In 1969, nine …
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 3, 2022
Today in History - February 3 https://t.co/1PP2Oemckd On February 3, 1880, Theodore Roosevelt wrote in his diary about his "sweet life," the young Alice Lee of Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, who ten months later would become his wife. Continue reading. A group of American ar…
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 3, 2022
On the morning of February 2, 1959, integration finally came to Virginia when four African American seventh graders began classes at Stratford Junior High School (today H-B Woodlawn). #VAHistory #ArlingtonVA https://t.co/zXPhhCiNrQ On the morning of February 2, 1959, integra…
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 2, 2022
Despite being sold to Time Inc. for $20 million in 1978, the Washington Evening Star shut down for good in 1981, bringing the beloved afternoon paper's 128-year run to a close. #DCHistory https://t.co/GK9sQXMErQ Despite being sold to Time Inc. for $20 million in 1978, the Wa…
— Kenneth Samson (@PangurBanC) Feb 2, 2022
Short fiction? Yes! We’re trying an experiment. Read more stories.
Reading The Falls, a short story by George Saunders at The New Yorker, you’re privy to the self-centered thinking of two very different men on separate strolls around town. Morse is riddled with anxiety; a married father of two who second-guesses his parenting skills, his marriage, and every other thought. Cummings’ interior reel focuses on his as-yet-undiscovered greatness and the shock his family and local residents will feel when his greatness is finally revealed to all. But which of the two will rouse from their reverie to act when two young girls paddling in a canoe suddenly face danger? You’ll need to read the story to find out.
Morse was tall and thin and as gray and sepulchral as a church about to be condemned. His pants were too short, and his face periodically broke into a tense, involuntary grin that quickly receded, as if he had just suffered a sharp pain. At work he was known to punctuate his conversations with brief wild laughs and gusts of inchoate enthusiasm and subsequent embarrassment, expressed by a sudden plunging of his hands into his pockets, after which he would yank his hands out of his pockets, too ashamed of his own shame to stand there merely grimacing for even an instant longer.
…Morse, ha, Cummings thought, I’m glad I’m not Morse, a dullard in corporate pants trudging home to his threadbare brats in the gathering loam, born, like the rest of his ilk with their feet of clay thrust down the maw of conventionality, content to cheerfully work lemminglike in moribund cubicles while comparing their stocks and bonds between bouts of tedious lawnmowing, then chortling while holding their suckling brats to the Nintendo breast.