It is said that if you don’t learn history, you are doomed to repeat it. And, based on how much repeating we’re doing lately — welcome back, onerous voting restrictions and child labor ! goodbye, Roe v. Wade ! — it seems as though maybe … we haven’t learned it?
Not only that, but now, everyone seems absolutely desperate to rewrite
Other times, people rewrite history to make it less accurate. In this version, you don’t have to do any research at all. You do have to get yourself elected or appointed to some sort of state or federal office. But once there, you can write new important documents that change history to be anything you want!
All of this is rather confounding and makes history awfully hard to learn. But maybe that’s just me! Maybe you are a superior human being and actually do know your history!
[Review | Alexandra Petri saves U.S. history as only she can: By making it silly ]
That’s why I’ve constructed this quiz: to test you!
You see, confused by history, I recently spent every spare waking hour over the past three-ish years scribbling bizarre, historical-seeming documents that I believe ought to be the real history. And it felt amazing! So amazing that I wrote enough documents to put them all into their very own book: “Alexandra Petri’s US History: Important American Documents (I Made Up) .” It comes out April 11. (That fact is true and not made up.)
Some of those fake documents now populate this extremely serious history quiz, which is also full of Real Historical Documents. Can you tell which are real and which are ... by me? Take the quiz and see how you do!
Correspondence from Warren G. Harding to his mistress, Carrie Fulton Phillips, Sept. 15, 1913 Honestly, I hurt with the insatiate longing, until I feel that there will never be any relief until I take a long, deep, wild draught on your lips and then bury my face on your pillowing breasts. Oh, Carrie! I want the solace you only can give. It is awful to hunger so and be so wholly denied. ... Wouldn’t you like to hear me ask if we only dared and answer, “We dare,” while souls rejoicing sang the sweetest of choruses in the music room? Wouldn’t you like to get sopping wet out on Superior — not the lake — for the joy of fevered fondling and melting kisses? Wouldn’t you like to make the suspected occupant of the next room jealous of the joys he could not know, as we did in morning communion at Richmond?
Oh, Carrie mine! You can see I have yielded and written myself into wild desire. I could beg. And Jerry came and will not go, says he loves you, that you are the only, only love worthwhile in all this world, and I must tell you so and a score or more of other fond things he suggests, but I spare you.
Real or fake? Unfortunately, this is an authentic letter from our 29th president, Warren Gamaliel Harding! Don’t ask who “Jerry” is. You don’t want to know.
Correspondence from Sun-Maid, A Raisin Company, to the playwright Lorraine Hansberry, March 20, 1959 Dear Ms. Hansberry,
We here at Sun-Maid, A Raisin Company, wish to congratulate you upon the success of A Raisin in the Sun. As a gesture of our appreciation, we here enclose a large basket of complimentary raisins from California’s number-one raisin-producing farmer association.
We are so thrilled that the highest form of grape has served to inspire one as gifted as yourself. We have long felt that the raisin deserved a moment in, as you so aptly put it, the sun (our raisins are all sun-ripened, so we know the process well!), and we could not be more delighted by your choice of subject and its Broadway success.
Speaking of which: As we like to say, raisins are not just for the kitchen anymore. You know the sensation you have upon biting into a cookie and discovering that there are raisins in it? Now multiply that feeling across all forms of expression! Imagine America’s delight at finding unexpected raisins not only in their cookies or breakfast cereals but also in their novels, their plays, their musicals, their short films. You name it, the raisin will elevate it! To this end, we would love to partner with you and your producers to offer an intermission refreshment to your Broadway guests. Do let us know to whom we can address that request? Anything that puts raisins in front of the American public is bound to meet with success.
Real or fake? Although Lorraine is the name of the Sun-Maid raisins mascot!
Correspondence between Abigail Adams and her husband, John, the future second U.S. president Peace field (“old house”), Quincy, Mass., Apr. 1st, 1778
My Dearest John,
I trust you have arrived safely in Paris. Do tell me the long journey was not unduly arduous? How do you find it there, my love? In particular, as I try to imagine you alone, in your quarters across the vast ocean, I find myself curious to hear all manner of detail regarding your arrangements, regarding the people — and, selfishly, regarding the latest Fashions. Dare I ask: What are you wearing?
Hotel de Valois, Paris, France, May 21st, 1778
My Dearest Friend,
I am wearing a good thick woolen coat of sound construction as well as my customary stockings, long linen shirt, and knee breeches. It is a brisk, chill day here in Paris, yet as I stamp and rub my hands in the cold, or shove them more deeply into my stout brown coat’s Pockets, I am past by many a man clad gaily like a field in riot with sunflowers. Such are the exigencies of fashion here! I feel a very Wren amidst so many Peacocks.
Peace field, June 8th, 1778
Dear John,
I delighted very much in your description of the Fashions! However, I must be candid: I inquired as to what you were wearing in the hopes that we might engage in simulated coitus via letter. I apologize if that was unclear, in case you should wish to alter your description of what attire you are wearing.
Hotel de Valois, June 23rd, 1778
My Dearest Friend,
Ah! What would be the benefit of such an exchange? It seems to me that sheets of cotton and sheets of parchment offer very different possibilities for marital disportment.
Peace field, July 7th, 1778
Dear John,
Here, John, I have drawn a map. You are indicated with an X, and I am indicated with another X, and we may see by examining this map closely that you are on one continent whereas I am on another continent, so any pursuit involving cotton sheets, however desirable, is, alas, impossible. Paper sheets are what must pass between us. I will now attempt to describe what I am wearing, that you may carry my picture in the glass of your mind. I am attired in a woolen gown and a cap of a stiff linen material, as well as five petticoats, my bustle, and my customary stays. I was wearing stockings, but I am not wearing them any longer.
Hotel de Valois, July 31st, 1778
Dear Abigail,
The map was very helpful. I shall endeavor to apply myself to this enterprise with a will. I see that you are wearing five petticoats. I hope that soon you shall be wearing merely four!
From “Modern Etiquette,” 1871 edition: “Card Leaving” In order to socialize, you are required to leave hundreds of cards at people’s homes. If you are a mother with a daughter, leave one card. If you are a daughter of a mother, leave two cards. If your father is at the war, leave a card with a black border. If you are a woman but not a daughter (such paradoxes occur even in the best-regulated families), you may take a card instead of leaving one.
From “The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness,” 1860 edition: “Traveling” There is scarcely any situation in which a lady can be placed, more admirably adapted to test her good breeding, than in the sleeping cabin of a steam-boat. If you are so unfortunate as to suffer from sea-sickness, your chances for usefulness are limited, and patient suffering your only resource. In this case, never leave home without a straw-covered bottle of brandy, and another of camphor, in your carpet-bag. … When in the car, if you find the exertion of talking painful, say so frankly; your escort cannot be offended. Do not continually pester either your companion or the conductor with questions, such as “Where are we now?” “When shall we arrive?” If you are wearied, this impatience will only make the journey still more tedious.
From instructions to subjects of wartime photographs, 1862 Half of you should be looking past the camera to the right and the other half of you should be looking past the camera to the left and just one gentleman in the middle should be making intense, dead-eyed eye contact with the camera. … Look sad. No, sadder. No. Look at the camera, but look as though your soul is departing your body as the photograph is being taken. Say, “Everyone I love will soon be dead!” but don’t say it with your mouth. Say it with your eyes. … Do something weird with your hand. No, weirder. Maybe something Napoleon would do?
Real or fake? No evidence that this is what people were instructed to do, except the photographs themselves.
From Ayn Rand’s unpublished children’s book, “The Little Engine Stops,” 1958 The little train went along the track. It is good for a train to be about its business. Men and trains ought always to be about their business, pursuing their own particular excellence. The track was in disrepair (a consequence of the railroad management’s passivity). The train carried toys to redistribute to children. (A disgraceful errand!) The train was chugging up a hill when it came suddenly to a halt. Something was not right with the train. (In addition to the self-inflicted spiritual rot caused by the train’s altruism, something was mechanically wrong with it.) The toys aboard the train were, of course, parasites. They could offer it no useful assistance. The train was forced to wait (passively) on its stretch of track for an engine to come along. It is always thus with those who have nothing of value to offer and throw themselves upon the mercy of others.
Real or fake? But I am confident this is how it would have gone.
From Bruce Barton’s nonfiction book “The Man Nobody Knows,” 1925 A physical weakling! Where did they get that idea? Jesus pushed a plane and swung an adze; he was a successful carpenter. He slept outdoors and spent his days walking around his favorite lake. His muscles were so strong that when he drove the money-changers out, nobody dared to oppose him!
A kill-joy! He was the most popular dinner guest in Jerusalem! The criticism which proper people made was that he spent too much time with publicans and sinners (very good fellows, on the whole, the man thought) and enjoyed society too much. They called him a “wine bibber and a gluttonous man.”
A failure! He picked up twelve men from the bottom ranks of business and forged them into an organization that conquered the world.
When the man had finished his reading he exclaimed, “This is a man nobody knows.”
Real or fake? The whole book is like this! And it sold like hot cakes, apparently, at a time when hot cakes were selling pretty well.
From that time Raymond Chandler attempted to write about workplace sexual harassment, 1939 The seminar was in a conference room filled mostly with a long rectangular table that looked as if it had auditioned to be in a painting of the Last Supper and hadn’t gotten the part. There were a few people in attendance, none anything to write home about.
I pulled my hat down on my forehead and slouched in the chair. A picture was shoved under my nose. It was pretty clear what the image depicted, and I was a little startled to see it at a seminar of this kind.
“Tell me what you see here, Mr. Marlowe,” said a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles riding down a man’s nose.
I squinted at the ink blot. “A broad,” I said. “And no dimestore broad, either.”
He showed me the next one. “A dame,” I said.
“And this?”
“Another broad.”
“Broad,” Spectacles said. “When you say ‘broad,’ what do you mean?”
“I mean a broad,” I said. “A dame. A damsel. A doll. A lady, sometimes.” I squinted at him. He had a spot on his nose that looked like ink; I wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake or his manufacturer had. “But only sometimes.”
“A person, Mr. Marlowe,” Spectacles said. “What you’re describing is a person.”
I shrugged. “Sure,” I said. “Dames can be more people than people.” I reached into my pocket for my flask, and somebody cleared his throat loudly. “But sometimes a dame is nothing but a unit of trouble.”
Real or fake? It’s a little on-the-nose.
William F. Buckley Jr. and Gore Vidal respond to a debate moderator’s warm-up question MODERATOR: Do you prefer cats or dogs?
VIDAL: Cats, naturally. One wonders that the question need be admitted.
BUCKLEY: Dogs, of course. Mr. Vidal could not possibly appreciate any beast defined by loyalty or selflessness.
VIDAL: It is characteristic, I think, of you, Bill, and your elegant prose style to elide any appeal that a more discriminating creature might hold.
BUCKLEY: I take it you refer to the cat as a more discriminating creature? It cannot be a much more discriminating creature if it is willing to pay court to the author of such perverted Hollywood-minded pornography as “Myra Breckinridge.”
VIDAL: So you do read.
Excerpt from the Richard M. Nixon tapes, unedited, 1971 Damn it, get in and get those files. Blow the safe and — Checkers! Checkers! No!
The way I want that handled is just to — No! What the hell is this? Checkers! What’s that he’s got in his mouth? Ah, hell.
Break in. Break in and take it out. Stop! Not you, Checkers. Give me that! Here, Checkers. Fetch!
I want to make sure he is a ruthless son of a ... does what he’s told — No! Checkers! Checkers! [muffled thumping] Give me that. Give it to me. Drop it!
I’m not for women in any job. Checkers, you were just out! You can’t go out again!
The Italians, of course, those people don’t have their heads screwed on right — Hey, now, buster — Pat! Pat! Checkers is in here! Get him out of here! I’m on the phone!
Real or fake? Only because Checkers was no longer alive during Watergate, no other reason!
Scopes trial transcript, 1925 Q (Clarence Darrow): Now, Mr. Bryan, have you ever pondered what would have happened to the Earth if it had stood still?
A (William Jennings Bryan): No.
Q: You have not?
A: No; the God I believe in could have taken care of that, Mr. Darrow.
Q: I see. Have you ever pondered what would naturally happen to the Earth if it stood still suddenly?
A: No.
Q: Don’t you know it would have been converted into a molten mass of matter?
A: You testify to that when you get on the stand, I will give you a chance.
Q: Don’t you believe it?
A: I would want to hear expert testimony on that.
Q: You have never investigated that subject?
A: I don’t think I have ever had that question asked.
Q: Or ever thought of it?
A: I have been too busy on things that I thought were of more importance than that.
Q: You believe the story of the flood to be a literal interpretation?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: When was that flood?
A: I would not attempt to fix the date. The date is fixed, as suggested this morning.
Q: About 4004 BC?
A: That has been the estimate of a man that is accepted today. I would not say it is accurate.
Q: That estimate is printed in the Bible?
A: Everybody knows, at least, I think most of the people know, that was the estimate given.
Q: But what do you think that the Bible, itself, says? Don’t you know how it was arrived at?
A: I never made a calculation.
Q: A calculation from what?
A: I could not say.
Q: From the generations of man?
A: I would not want to say that.
Q: What do you think?
A: I do not think about things I don’t think about.
Q: Do you think about things you do think about?
A: Well, sometimes.
Real or fake? It turns out “Inherit the Wind” actually did not need to generate very much dialogue!
From a speech in favor of constructing an Eerie Canal, 1817 Fellow New Yorkers, it is very good to see such enthusiasm for an idea of such excellence. Yes, it is beyond time that we built an Eerie Canal! What could be better than such an addition to our state? When we look around in this year 1817 and see the numerous other states, full of scary turnpikes, frightening macadam roads and terror-ridden causeways, we may well say to ourselves, why have we nothing to match them? Where is our haunting, spectral waterway? Why have we no canal that goes bump in the night? Where, in short, is New York’s eerie canal? Ours is a time full of monstrosities: lorgnettes, antimacassars, the Fulton steamboat. Well, if this be a time of monstrosity, should New York not have the best? We must have a grand and terrifying canal, a canal full of ghosts and goblins, a canal that freezes the blood in the veins and makes the teeth chatter. A canal that is riddled with ominous songs about decapitation. Low bridge! Everybody down! Everybody down, or I cannot answer for your fate!
From Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s prepared inaugural address, 1933 I am certain that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the presidency I will address them with the candor and decision that the present situation of our people impels. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today — conditions that so bedeviled the man previously to occupy the position from which I now address you. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Fear itself, and the Thing that ate Herbert Hoover.
For we know all too well that the Thing we must not name feeds upon fear. So do not for a moment allow yourselves to give way to fear, to nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror. That is what the Thing eats. Your fear will only strengthen it, and then it will enter into this place as it has entered into so many places, and it will do to the people here assembled for this inauguration what it did to Herbert Hoover.
Yes, it is a paradox, my fellow Americans. I only mean: Fear itself is the worst thing for this country right now. But do not be afraid of fear — that itself is a form of fear. And do not think about it, for It will prey on your mind. Let us all think of something else, my fellow Americans, for there is no challenge that we, together, cannot meet.
Real or fake? Nothing ate Herbert Hoover.
From Richard M. Nixon’s “Moon Speech,” had the astronauts not made it back Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace. These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice. These two men are laying down their lives in mankind’s most noble goal: the search for truth and understanding. They will be mourned by their families and friends; they will be mourned by their nation; they will be mourned by the people of the world; they will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send two of her sons into the unknown. In their exploration, they stirred the people of the world to feel as one; in their sacrifice, they bind more tightly the brotherhood of man. In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. In modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood. Others will follow, and surely find their way home. Man’s search will not be denied. But these men were the first, and they will remain the foremost in our hearts. For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind.
Real or fake? Well, not delivered, but real!
Original draft of “Paul Revere’s Ride,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1860 Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
But ’ere we very much further go
Another fact that you ought to know
A fact I’m not hesitant to reveal
A fact I make no effort to conceal
Is that also along for the ride that night
A ride that history keeps in sight
Was someone named Samuel Prescott.
Real or fake? The poem contains no sign of Samuel Prescott!
From “Chicago,” by Carl Sandburg, 1914 Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders ...
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,...
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Real or fake? Carl Sandburg needed to calm down about Chicago.
From “YMCA,” by Walt Whitman, 1879 What are you doing, young man?
Are you so morose, so given up to these ostensible realities, politics, points, your ambition or whatever it may be?
Are you dismayed? There is no need to be dismayed, though you are in a new town
I, I am not new
I see you and look to embrace you
Therefore, young man,
From the ground of the cobbled cities,
From the ground, kissed by the dust of travelers,
The ground, trod by the hirsute bull, the buffalo
Pick up yourself, young man!
There is no need to be unhappy.
I will go with you to a place I know
I will show it to you and delight you
What are you doing, young man?
Do you fear there is no place you can go?
I say, young man, there is a place
Of delight to the eye, the ear, to all who delight in the pressed linked power of bodies
Go there, young man, and delight in it
I will name that place, I will tell it to your ear
Its name is YMCA
To stay there is fun
Real or fake? Although the YMCA was founded in the 1840s, so, technically, he could have …
Credits Illustrations by Michelle Kondrich. Editing by Jen Balderama. Development by Amanda Shendruk.
