Uncle John's Great Big Bathroom Reader (13 page)

“Death is Nature’s expert advice to get plenty of Life.”

—Johann von Goethe

When
Wag the Dog
came out in 1997, Uncle John was reminded of a few other examples of films that seemed to predict a real-life event. Is it just coincidence...or are people in Hollywood psychic?

O
N THE SCREEN:
The China Syndrome
, a 1979 film about a near-meltdown at a nuclear power plant. The “China syndrome” refers to the potential of nuclear materials to melt “all the way to China” when a reactor goes bad. The film spurred debate between anti- and pro-nuke forces. One pro-nuke executive for Southern California Edison told reporters, “[The movie] has no scientific credibility, and is in fact ridiculous.”

IN REAL LIFE:
The China Syndrome
opened on March 16, 1979. Twelve days later, the nuclear plant on Three Mile Island near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, reported a partial core meltdown. The incident was so similar to the movie’s plot that its executive producer feared “someone had seen the picture and sabotaged the plant.” Costar Jack Lemmon said incredulously: “Every goddamned thing we had in there came true.”

ON THE SCREEN:
The Godfather
, the 1972 film adaptation of Mario Puzo’s novel about the Mafia. The Oscar-winner featured Marlon Brando as the crime boss known as “the Godfather.”

IN REAL LIFE:
People assumed “Godfather” was a word the mob really used. Actually, according to Puzo, “The term ‘godfather’ was one I invented...nobody ever used the term ‘godfather’ in reference to criminals, not even the Mafia.” Nonetheless, it immediately began showing up in news stories, and is reportedly now even used in the crime world.

ON THE SCREEN:
Wag the Dog
, a political satire starring Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro, about political spin doctoring and an administration that “orchestrates a war with Albania to divert attention from a president caught with his pants down.”

IN REAL LIFE:
Released in late 1997, the film seemed eerily prophetic when the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal broke in January 1998—only a few weeks later. Soon after the scandal hit the headlines, the
U.S. was threatening air strikes against Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein for breaking a United Nations treaty. “It’s surreal,” said Hoffman. “It’s the first time I’ve ever felt so clearly that the actual news is like a movie.”

ON THE SCREEN:
The Chase
, an action film spoof starring Charlie Sheen as a wrongly convicted guy whose pursuit by cop cars is captured live on TV. It was released in March 1994.

IN REAL LIFE:
A couple of months later, the world watched as O.J. Simpson sped along the freeway with police cars and news helicopters close behind. About 75 million people tuned in to the live chase. The film’s writer/director, Adam Rifkin, told reporters: “People called and said it was just like my movie. I told them, ‘No, no, my movie is just like
this
.’ It’s a perfect case of art imitating life imitating art.”

ON THE SCREEN:
2001: A
Space Odyssey
, a 1968 science-fiction film written by Arthur C. Clarke. In one scene, HAL, the talking computer, informs NASA of a malfunction with, “Houston, we’ve got a problem.”

IN REAL LIFE:
Just before the explosion that ended the Apollo 13 mission, as the crew played 2001’s theme song (
Thus Spake Zarathustra
), Captain Jack Swigert radioed to Mission Control, “Houston, we’ve got a problem.” Later, NASA Administrator Tom Paine sent Clarke a copy of a report, and noted under Swigert’s words: “Just as you always said it would be, Arthur.” Clarke writes: “I still get a very strange feeling when I contemplate this whole series of events—almost, indeed, as if I share a certain responsibility.”

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AND A CASE OF NOT TRYING TO IMITATE THE MOVIES

Early in his career, Harrison Ford went by the name Harrison J. Ford. Why? So he could distance himself from Harrison Ford II, a silent screen star. He dropped the “J” in 1970 when he was able to prove to the Screen Actor’s Guild that the silent film star was dead. For the record, Harrison Ford has no middle name.

When something’s named after someone, we automatically assume it’s an honor, and they’re proud of it. But not always. Here are three examples of people who felt they’d
lost
their names...and wanted them back.

O
LDSMOBILE

Named After:
Ransom Eli Olds

How He Got It:
In 1897, Olds formed a car company called the Olds Motor Works in Lansing, Michigan. He didn’t have enough money to go into production, so he gave Samuel
L.
Smith 95% of the Olds stock in exchange for working capital. In 1899, their factory burned down; the only thing left was one little buggy with a one-cylinder engine and a curved dashboard, called the “Oldsmobile.” They concentrated all efforts on this model. It took off and became the first car in the world to be mass-produced.

How He Lost It:
In the early 1900s, the “Merry Oldsmobile” was America’s best-selling car. But Smith wanted to drop it to start producing a larger, heavier family car. When Olds angrily left the company to form the R.E. Olds Co., Smith sued for infringement, and won—Olds was never again allowed to use his own name in business. (He changed his company name to REO.)

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Named After:
Chief Sealth

How He Got It:
In the 1850s, Chief Sealth, a Suquamish Indian, was friendly to white settlers (who called him Seattle)—at least at first. The chief and his tribe traded flour and sugar to the whites for metal, cloth, guns and tobacco. To make trading easier, Seatlh encouraged Dr. David Maynard to open a store at the little settlement of Duwanmps. Maynard, in turn, suggested changing the name of the town to Seattle in honor of the friendly Indian chief.

How He Lost It:
From Sealth’s point of view this wasn’t a compliment—it was an attack. It violated a tribal custom that forbade naming a place after a person who was still alive because it would offend
his guardian spirit. When the townspeople refused to change the name, Sealth asked the residents for gifts to repay him for problems that using his name would cause him in the next life. They refused that, too.

Ultimately, the Suquamish tribe was exiled from their homeland and driven onto the Port Madison Indian Reservation. Tourists can visit Chief Sealth’s grave today on Bainbridge Island where the inscription on his tombstone,
I.H.S.
—Latin for “in this spirit”—was interpreted by his Indian kinsmen to stand for “I have suffered.”

FAMOUS AMOS COOKIES

Named After:
Wally Amos

How He Got It:
Amos was a talent agent at the William Morris Agency who used home-baked chocolate chip cookies as a calling card (he found it put producers and executives at ease and in a good mood for negotiations). After awhile, some of his famous clients began encouraging him to sell the cookies. They even invested in the Famous Amos Cookie Company, which he started in 1975—making him one of the pioneers of the gourmet cookie trend. Sales at Famous Amos hit $12 million by 1982.

How He Lost It:
His cookies were a success, but he was no manager, and his company started losing money. Amos had to bring in new money; from 1985 to 1988 he went through four different co-owners. Each time a change was made, Amos gave up more of his share of the pie. By the time the Shanby Group bought it in 1988, Amos had nothing left; he even signed away his trademark rights. In 1992, when he started a new company called “Wally Amos Presents: Chip and Cookie,” the Famous Amos Corp. sued him for infringement and libel.

After an acrimonious dispute, Wally Amos agreed not to use his own name or a caricature of himself on his cookies and not to bad-mouth the company that owns his name. Wally Amos then moved to Hawaii and started another cookie company called the “Uncle Noname Cookie Co.”

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“Names are not always what they seem. The common Welsh name Bzjxxllwcp is pronounced Jackson.”

—Mark Twain

Whenever people at the BRI crave junk food, we pop a bunch of popcorn. As we were munching away the other day, Uncle John asked if anyone knew why popcorn popped, or where it came from. That sent us scrambling for a few answers. Here’s what we found.

B
ACKGROUND

There are five strains of corn on the family tree: sweet, dent, flint, pod, and popcorn. The first four are essential to world nutrition; 23% of all arable land in the world is used to grow corn. Their country cousin, popcorn, is grown on less than half of 1% of those acres. It’s less productive—the kernels and ears are smaller—but it’s the only one that pops.

What makes it pop?
The popcorn kernel has a hard shell. When it dries, microscopic droplets of water are sealed inside. If a kernel is heated above 212°F, the water inside boils and turns to steam, creating internal pressure. When the pressure reaches about 135-165 pounds per square inch, the kernel explodes, or pops. It literally turns inside out as the soft white interior bursts out.

EARLY HISTORY

• Popcorn is native to the Americas. Corn cobs dating back to 5,600 B.C. have been found in excavations in a bat cave in New Mexico.

• Native Americans believed that a tiny demon lived in each kernel. When the demon’s house was heated, the demon became so angry that it exploded. (Another version: the demon
escaped
in the explosion).

• Popcorn was introduced to European settlers at the first Thanskgiving in 1621. Chief Massasoit’s brother, Quadequinea, arrived with a deerskin sack of popcorn. It was part of the feast, but the next morning some was leftover—so the Pilgrims ate it with milk and sugar for
breakfast. They had no way of knowing they had just eaten the first puffed breakfast cereal.

• Settlers learned about popcorn from each other and from local Native American tribes. For 250 years, it remained a homegrown treat—not a national phenomenon. Farmers planted a few rows of popcorn for their children or to share with their neighbors. At first, they called it
popped corn, parching corn
, or
rice corn.
Finally, around 1820, it became
popcorn.

THE POPCORN BOOM

It wasn’t until the 1880s that popcorn moved from the family kitchen to the public market. In 1885, C. Cretors and Company of Chicago patented a popcorn machine. Soon street vendors were selling bags of popcorn all over the country.

In 1893, Chicago celebrated its 100th birthday with a world’s fair, the Columbian Exposition. The firm of F.W. Rueckheim and Brother opened several booths at the fair, selling a new treat made of caramelized popcorn and peanuts. When the fair closed, Rueckheim decided to package and sell it on the national market. He called it Cracker Jack—contemporary slang for something first rate. “Before long,” says food historian John Mariani, “Cracker Jack was a staple at baseball games throughout America.”

Over the next 20 years, a number of other innovations kept popcorn interesting for vendors and consumers. For example:

• In 1914, an Iowa farmer developed a new strain of popcorn that left only about 2% of the kernels unpopped (until then, as much as 30% of the kernels were duds). The more efficient popcorn made it possible for vendors to keep selling bags at 1-5¢ each—and still turn a profit.

• In 1918, a company named Butter-Kist added a new twist—and a lot more calories. Their popcorn machines squirted melted butter on the popcorn after it was popped.

But the two innovations that really established popcorn in American culture were the movies...and the microwave.

AT THE MOVIES

Today, popcorn is synonymous with moviegoing. But for a while, theater owners resisted the idea.

In the early 1920s, during the reign of silent films, street vendors would park their popcorn machines outside theaters, and movie patrons would buy a bag or two before entering. At first, owners objected because they had to clean up the mess. Some even refused to let customers bring popcorn into their theaters. But disgruntled movie buffs simply walked to another theater with less rigid standards.

The lesson wasn’t lost on an enterprising popcorn entrepreneur in Chicago. He developed a commercial popper, and convinced several theater owners that they could make a profit by installing it in their lobbies. The profits would more than pay for the cost of cleaning up the mess.