As temperatures approached 90 degrees in New York City last July 4th, three police officers ducked into a Whole Foods Market to get something cold to drink. What they walked into was a heated human drama.

Once inside, the cops, Lt. Louis Sojo and Officers Esanidy Cuevas and Michael Rivera, were approached by a store security guard who asked for help with a suspected shoplifter. The woman in question didn’t have the look of a career criminal. She was obviously scared, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

The cops peeked inside her bag. “All we saw was containers of food. We didn’t see anything else,” Cuevas told CBS New York.

“I’m hungry,” she explained quietly.

Caught red-handed, the woman no doubt expected to be cuffed and hauled off to jail for the crime of being hungry while poor. But the cops had other ideas. “We’ll pay for her food,” Sojo told the surprised security guard.

There’d been no discussion among the three men, no need to see whether they were all in. It went unsaid. Instead, they picked up the woman’s bag and escorted her to a cash register, where each chipped in $10 to pay the tab. She would not be arrested today.

All the woman could do was weep in gratitude. Covering her face with a kerchief and drying her eyes, she repeated, “Thank you, thank you.”

She wasn’t the only one touched by this act of compassion. “It was a very beautiful, genuine moment,” says Paul Bozymowski, who was at the store. He was so taken by what he’d witnessed that he posted a photo on Twitter for all to see.

But attention was never what the officers sought. They were driven by a far more common emotion. As Sojo told CNN, “When you look at someone’s face and see that they need you and they’re actually hungry, it’s pretty difficult as a human being to walk away from something like this.”

Real-Life Heroes That Are Changing the World

Things Police Officers Want You to Know

Meet the Hero Who Climbed into a Burning Car

The post Cops Were Called to Arrest a Woman for Shoplifting at a Grocery Store—Instead They Paid for Her Food appeared first on Reader's Digest.

It’s not just a house—it’s a lifestyle

Tiny houses aren’t only capturing people’s attention—they’re turning into a full-on movement. People from all walks of life are choosing to downsize their lives by living with less and in less space. So, just how tiny are tiny homes? In America, the typical home is around 2,600 square feet. The typical tiny house, on the other hand, has square footage between 100 and 400 square feet. (Yes, you read that right.) Tiny houses come in all shapes and sizes, and depending on the size, the kits are all typically under $50,000. Here are some of the coolest tiny homes in every state.

My husband and I have been in our 192-square-foot home in Upstate New York for a year and a half. Our reasons for choosing this lifestyle include the financial freedom that comes from mortgage-free living, more free time because we have less house to maintain, and clean living in a more eco-friendly and sustainable dwelling that aligns with our focus on the environment. Plus, because we save money from not having to pay rent or a mortgage, we are able to travel more frequently. Of course, there are also some challenges that come with living in a tiny house, but we’ve figured out a few key ways to make this lifestyle work for us. Here’s what it’s all really like.

The post I Live in a Tiny House—Here’s What Most People Don’t Know appeared first on Reader's Digest.

In November 2017, we published an article called “Thank You for Caring So Much,” a man’s letter of appreciation to the hospital workers who tried to save his wife from a devastating asthma attack. But it turns out there was much more to the story than he knew at the time.

* * *

Laura Levis, the love of my life, died on September 22, 2016. She was just 34.

I was told that Laura never made it to the emergency room. That she collapsed on a street leading to CHA Somerville Hospital in Somerville, Massachusetts, or possibly in a parking lot on the outskirts of the property. My wife had called 911 just after 4 a.m., before she lost consciousness. She wasn’t able to give her exact location, they told me, so it took emergency responders a long time to find her. “She was in the last place they looked,” someone said. Even though that place was heartbreakingly close.

Some ten minutes passed between the time Laura called 911 and the time she was found, in cardiac arrest following an asthma attack. Those ten minutes meant her life.

People, of course, die from asthma, a disease that affects 19 million adults and 6 million children in the United States. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than 3,500 succumb to attacks each year, though in Laura’s age-group the death rate is less than 1 in 10,000 asthmatics. It’s especially rare in those as healthy and active as she was.

Laura worked out six days a week and competed in powerlifting competitions, where she could bench-press more than she weighed. Her asthma never impeded her. Laura was vigilant about carrying inhalers. Boxing up her clothes, I found more than 20 of them, in pockets, in purses, in gym bags.

On rare occasions, when an attack intensified, I would drive Laura to Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, where she would be given prednisone, a nebulizer treatment, or both. We always arrived in plenty of time.

But I wasn’t with my wife that September day. And the reason for that, I’ll have to live with forever. At the time Laura collapsed, we were spending some time apart. We were seeing a couples counselor and had been in daily contact with each other. We had dinner plans the day she collapsed and were going apple picking that weekend, but we had slept apart the night before. She’d stayed, as fate would have it, in an apartment just a few blocks from Somerville Hospital.

I blamed myself for not being with her when the attack struck, for not being able to help my wife in that moment. I asked God, Why? Why?

Why?

One day I would receive an answer.

Somerville Hospital sits on a hill, with its emergency room at the very top. Dressed in purple sneakers, jeans, and her favorite hoodie from a Spartan Race we ran together, Laura began walking up the hill that morning in the midst of her attack. It’s about a 375-foot walk up Tower Street. Surveillance cameras first caught sight of her at 4:21 a.m.

When Laura arrived at the hospital, she found a semicircular driveway and two entrances about 100 feet apart. Between them were four waiting benches, each with a flat stone top.

Signs pointing to the emergency room had led Laura up the hill, but inexplicably, neither entrance was adorned with an illuminated emergency room sign. With no clear indication of where to go, Laura had to choose one door or the other.

On the surveillance video, she pauses, then chooses the entrance on the right. As she approached it, she could see an emergency room waiting area through plate glass windows. She stepped in front of the automatic door, but it did not open. Surprised, she put both hands on the door and peered inside. But there was no one in sight.

Panic can accelerate an asthma attack by causing airway muscles to tighten, constricting airflow even further. Finding the door locked, Laura almost certainly panicked.

Maybe that is why she didn’t comprehend the instructions posted on the door, explaining that it was for ambulance access only. To enter the emergency room, patients needed to use the main entrance—the door to the left. The door she had not chosen.

Or perhaps she did notice those instructions. In the video, Laura turns and begins walking toward the main entrance. She didn’t make it there.

She walked past the first two waiting benches. But when Laura reached the third bench, just 29 feet from the main entrance, she sat down. The attack had become so intense, she could not walk those extra 29 feet. But she could still think clearly: She called 911.

Her voice on the phone with the dispatcher is filled with fear.

“I’m at Somerville Hospital” were Laura’s first words. “I’m having an asthma attack. I’m dying.”

“Whereabouts are you at the hospital?” asks the 911 operator.

“Emergency room,” Laura responds. “I can’t get in.”

In just 41 seconds, she managed to relate seemingly everything the operator needed to know. Laura said she was having an asthma attack, one so severe that she felt she was going to die; she said she was at Somerville Hospital, outside the emergency room, and couldn’t get in. Laura was an amazing communicator—a ­journalist—and, with her life on the line, she didn’t waste a single word. If only she had been talking to the right person.

Laura’s cell phone call was routed to a regional 911 operator. The operator, sitting in a Massachusetts State Police operations center some 18 miles away, was merely a call screener who couldn’t send help. When Laura finished speaking, the operator told her to stay on the line as she connected Laura to the local police.

When the police picked up, a new operator asked her to explain all over again what her emergency was. But by then, she could barely speak.

“She’s outside of the Somerville Hospital,” said the regional operator, jumping in. “She’s having an asthma attack. She can’t get into the hospital.”

It should have been so easy for the two operators to locate Laura, since both had her cell number. A satellite ping of her GPS coordinates provided by her carrier would make Laura a digital dot on their computer-screen street maps. But, as can be the case with cell phone 911 calls, her location on their screens was wrong.

When you use an app involving your location, your phone constantly transmits where you are, like a homing beacon. But when you make a 911 call, that doesn’t happen. Instead, a satellite must be pinged, and that information is integrated with other bits of data to trace where you’re calling from, a more complex and often inexact process.

Laura’s ping registered at 68 Tower Street, a street corner some 200 feet from the hospital’s front door. Somerville’s police dispatcher asked Laura to clarify where she was. “Ma’am, where are you located there? You’re the one—you’re at 230 Highland Avenue, right?”

That’s the hospital’s official mailing address, on a completely different side of the building. But it was the only address the dispatcher had.
It would have been the perfect moment for the original 911 operator to have relayed more information, such as the fact that Laura twice said she was outside the emergency room, or that she twice said she was dying. But that operator had already hung up.

In the 911 tape, you hear Laura’s voice again. “I’m outside,” she starts to say, before struggling to make another sound. It is 4:25 a.m. and 36 seconds.

It is the last time Laura speaks.

It was the moment her life hinged upon. Within a minute or so, her heart would stop beating, and oxygen would stop going to her brain.
On the surveillance video, about 30 seconds later, Laura slumps on the stone bench, her arms falling to her sides. A glowing object, her cell phone, falls to the ground.

And then … stillness.

It’s unclear how long it takes your brain to die without oxygen, though there are some estimates based on medical research. After three minutes or less, you might fully recover. Between three and six minutes, your chances drop—but still, recovery can be possible. Beyond six minutes, there’s little chance your brain won’t be severely damaged, with death a much more likely outcome.

Laura’s countdown probably began a few seconds after 4:26 a.m., although it’s possible her heart kept beating for another minute after she lost consciousness, according to asthma experts. Every second was vital. Yet so many would be wasted.

After realizing Laura couldn’t speak anymore, the Somerville police dispatcher told her to hold while she called an ambulance. That took more than a minute—a minute that Laura would never get back.

The police next called the Somerville Fire Department, which has a station just 1,000 feet from the hospital. But the police dispatcher merely related that Laura “must be on Tower side,” failing to say that her cell phone pinged at 68 Tower Street, at the top of the hill, or that she was outside the emergency room. Without those details, the fire department’s dispatcher had to guess where Laura was.

Following a hunch, he sent his crew to the other side of the hospital, where an entrance to some doctors’ offices is locked overnight: “Attention Engine 7. Respond to the Somerville Hospital, 230 Highland Avenue … We believe this is possibly on the Medical Arts Building side.”

Somerville Hospital is the last to be reached by phone. There is no direct line to the emergency room, apparently, even for police, so a night receptionist had to patch the call through. The transfer took about 30 seconds—more time wasted.

Finally, nearly two minutes after Laura had lost consciousness, a phone in the emergency room rang. A nurse, whom I’ll call Nurse X, answered.

“Hi, it’s Somerville Police. Are your doors locked, by any chance?” said the dispatcher.

“No. Why?” responded Nurse X.

“Because there’s a female who’s having an asthma attack … She’s pinging off Tower Street, and she’s saying the emergency room is closed. So I don’t know where she is,” the dispatcher continued.

“I’ll go look,” said Nurse X.

Hanging up, she walked to the ­ambulance-access door, which she found locked, and opened it. On the surveillance video, you see Nurse X take one step outside, craning her neck as she peers into the predawn darkness. Laura was just about 70 feet from her. But the bench where Laura collapsed is not well lighted, so Nurse X does not spot her. She hovers at the door for 12 seconds, going no farther, before returning inside.

It would have been easy for hospital security to have seen Laura on camera, but the desk had been left un­attended, as both officers on duty were needed for patient watches inside the emergency room. Nurse X sees those officers when she returns but does not tell them about Laura. Instead, she calls the Somerville Police back.

“I looked outside up here, but I didn’t see anything,” she told the dispatcher. She offered to call Laura’s cell phone. Seconds later, on the surveillance video, you see Laura’s phone light up on the ground. But she cannot answer it, and it goes dark.

Failing to find Laura at the doctors’ office doors, Engine 7’s crew headed up the hill on foot. Firefighter ­David Farino was the first to spot Laura, rushing to her and ripping her hoodie in two to start CPR. But he was too late.

Farino had taken only three minutes to walk up Tower Street. But those three minutes pushed the time Laura had gone without oxygen to her brain to upward of seven minutes, and while a heart can be restarted at that point, as hers was, people rarely survive.

Laura was at last brought inside the emergency room some 15 minutes after she’d called 911. It wasn’t until hours later, at 7:15 a.m., that someone from the hospital called me and told me that Laura had collapsed. When I got there, no one could tell me a whole lot more. The night shift that had restarted Laura’s heart and put her on life support was no longer on duty.

We spent seven days in the ICU at CHA Cambridge Hospital, Somerville’s sister hospital. During all that time, I barely left my wife’s bedside. No one mentioned anything to me about Laura making it to the doorstep of Somerville’s emergency room. Even a month later, after the New York Times published my thank-you letter, no one had said a word to me about Laura being outside that door. And maybe they never would have.

But the circumstances surrounding Laura’s death deeply bothered her uncle, Robert Levis. Uncle Bob called the Somerville Police to ask whether there was a police report that could help explain what happened.

I’d been told that there would be no report, as officers didn’t write up medical calls. But Detective Michael Perrone and his fellow officers were so deeply moved by Laura’s death that they broke protocol. They interviewed the firefighters who had found Laura and one of the guards on duty that night and viewed surveillance footage from the hospital’s cameras, describing all they observed in writing, in case that footage was ever erased.

Uncle Bob shared the report with Laura’s dad, Dr. William Levis, a former officer with the U.S. Public Health Service. I will never forget my father-in-law’s voice cracking apart when he called me. “Pete, I have the most terrible thing to tell you,” he said. “They killed Laura.”

Through numerous letters and phone calls, I obtained the grainy, horrible surveillance video showing Laura outside the hospital. I obtained from the state police the shattering recording of Laura’s 911 call. I sought out every document I could find: police and fire reports, ambulance reports, state investigators’ reports, field notes from hospital inspections, and internal hospital documents, which I requested through the Freedom of Information Act. And I spoke with lawyers at the largest medical malpractice firm in Boston.

Suing Somerville Hospital would not give Laura the chance to live her life, to be a mother, to grow old with me. Still, if its owner, Cambridge Health Alliance, was made to pay millions in damages, it would potentially send a message to hospitals across the country to reevaluate their emergency room procedures. By making the hospital pay, I thought, maybe Laura’s death would stand for something.

The Massachusetts Department of Public Health turned up more patient-safety violations at Somerville Hospital, citing it for failing to provide a safe environment and for “poor quality of pre-hospital care.”

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services accused Somerville Hospital of violating federal law by deny­ing Laura access to emergency care. Officials agreed to pay $90,000 to the government in a settlement.

But my hope of making the hospital pay went no further than that. In Massachusetts, a law protects public hospitals from being sued for more than $100,000 and indemnifies their employees, even in cases of wrongful death. Without the cap, we’d likely be looking at a multi­million-dollar verdict, assuming we won. With the cap, Laura’s death, in the eyes of the law, hardly seemed to matter.

But how could her death not matter? How could I go on living if Laura’s tragedy changed nothing? And so I began writing her story.

The Federal Communications Commission estimates that 10,000 lives could be saved annually if emergency responders could get to 911 callers just one minute faster, and that figure could be vastly conservative. What can be done to save those lives, to make sure that no one else dies the way Laura did?

There are a number of possible solutions.

For one, I hope that regional 911 call centers become a thing of the past. Had Laura’s call gone directly to the Somerville Police Department, I am convinced that a local dispatcher, familiar with the hospital, would have asked Laura whether she was at the top or bottom of that hill. It isn’t just my view—911 calls misrouted to wrong call centers are a national issue.

Millions of 911 cell phone calls register inaccurate locations each year, because of tree interference, poor atmospheric conditions, and other challenges, per the National Emergency Number Association. Locations are so often wrong that, according to one survey, 82 percent of 911 operators doubt the location information they receive. Incredibly, Laura’s location would have been considered “accurate” according to FCC standards, even though it led first responders astray.

A push is underway for states to adopt the Next Generation 911 system, in which callers will be able to send text messages, photos, and video to help emergency responders locate them and assess their crises. With such a system, Laura conceivably could have sent a photo of the ambulance-­access door to her 911 operator, who in turn could have texted it to Engine 7’s crews, or even to Nurse X.

Thanks to software upgrades, Android and Apple phones can now automatically relay a 911 caller’s coordinates to the operator. The location readings can still be off by hundreds of feet, but they are more frequently leading responders to almost the exact location. Far more needs to be done by mobile service providers and regulators to improve the system, but at least some progress is being made.

Medical errors have become the country’s third-leading cause of death, resulting in as many as 250,000 deaths per year, according to a study by Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. Another study estimates the number could be as high as 440,000.

In Laura’s case, something as simple as requiring two people to conduct a search—a second set of eyes—could have made the difference. Doctors and nurses can reduce commonplace errors simply by reminding themselves never to skip a single step in whatever they’re doing—such as walking 100 feet between two doors, just to make sure no one is there.

The same goes for those with medical conditions, particularly serious ones such as asthma. Laura did not mis­calculate that morning, but she should have been more careful. She should have told someone she was having an attack and should never have walked alone to the hospital.

It is a message I pray everyone who reads this will pass along to the people in their lives who have asthma. A message that Sumita Khatri, MD, an asthma expert and co­director of the Cleveland Clinic Asthma Center, stressed to me when explaining just how quickly asthma can turn fatal: If an attack strikes when you are alone, let someone know.

Because even if you reach the door of a hospital, you might not get in.

After the full version of this story appeared on bostonglobe.com, hospital leaders apologized and acknowledged that mistakes had cost Laura her life.

Today, when you approach the front of Somerville Hospital, the entrance that Laura found locked is the main public doorway to the emergency room. There’s a large illuminated “Emergency” sign above it, as well as several additional signs on the property pointing patients to use that entrance, which is never locked. The bench where Laura collapsed is now bathed in bright light at night, and security cameras are always monitored.

Peter DeMarco continues to advocate for change, pushing 911 administrators to retrain operators and filing legislation—“­Laura’s Law”—to create standards for hospitals requiring signage, lighting, and the monitoring of doors. Through the Asthma and Allergy Foundation of America, he has sought to bring attention to Asthma Peak Week, when common triggers are at their highest levels. It strikes the third week in ­September—the week Laura had her attack. And he established the Lift4Laura Foundation (lift4laura.org) to fund personal gym training sessions for underprivileged and abused women in his wife’s memory.

Mini Essays That Prove the Meaning of Love

Is July Really the Most Dangerous Month to Go to the Hospital?

This Veteran Found His Long-Lost Love After 75 Years

The post My Wife Was Within Steps of the ER Door, But She Was Left There to Die appeared first on Reader's Digest.

The stainless steel skewer that Xavier Cunningham found in his backyard two Septembers ago was about a foot and a half long and the width of his pinkie. One end had four sharp prongs, and the other had a single point—it was the kind of rod used to cook rotisserie chicken over a grill. It also made the perfect spear, and Xavier and his friends Silas and Gavon, all ten years old, took turns seeing who could chuck it the farthest. When they got bored, they ditched the skewer near a neighbor’s tree house, sticking the four prongs in the ground as an anchor. They then climbed up the tree house’s ten-foot ladder.

Apparently, the boys hadn’t seen the large wasp nest wrapped around the back of the tree, for once they were in the hut they were under attack. The swarm was so aggressive that Silas kneeled in the corner and started praying.

“I’ll get my mom!” Xavier said as he descended the ladder. About halfway down, a wasp stung his left hand. Xavier swatted at it with his right, lost his balance, and fell, facedown. Before breaking his fall with his arms, he felt a sting just under his left eye. Was that a wasp? he wondered.

In fact, it was the skewer. About six inches of it was now buried in his head. Screaming, he got up and ran to his home, some 50 feet away.
Gabrielle Miller, 39, was upstairs folding laundry in the house she shared with her husband, Shannon Miller, and their four children.

Shannon, a teacher, had taken two of their kids to an arcade, while Gabrielle, who manages a title-insurance business, stayed home with Xavier and his 14-year-old sister, Chayah. She heard her son screaming and thought, When will he grow out of this stuff?

Xavier—called Bear by his family, after a story Shannon had told him as a toddler—always made a fuss over the smallest scratch. If one of their two dogs jumped up on him, he’d start screaming; he was too scared to walk Max, the coonhound he’d gotten as a puppy, because the dog pulled on the leash.

Gabrielle was almost down the stairs, Chayah right behind her, when Xavier pushed the front door open, shrieking, “Mom, Mom!”

Chayah took one look and fled back upstairs in horror. Gabrielle was trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “Who shot you?!” she said. It looked like there was an arrow through her son’s face, and a single trickle of blood ran down from it. On the back of his neck was a lump—the tip of the skewer that hadn’t pierced the skin. “Chayah, go find the boys. I’m taking Bear to the hospital!”

As Gabrielle backed the car out into the road, a neighbor watching them thought, That boy’s not coming home.

Emergency room personnel acted quickly when Xavier walked in, giving him painkillers and sending him for X-rays. The skewer didn’t appear to have hit his spine, but an X-ray can’t show tissue damage. They had to send him somewhere with more advanced imaging equipment—­Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City, Missouri, about 40 minutes north of the family’s home in Harrison­ville. To prevent Xavier from moving his head, hospital staff put a plastic cervical collar on his neck, and they wrapped his entire head in white gauze to help stabilize the skewer. The only thing left exposed besides that mud-caked metal rod was his mouth.

At Children’s Mercy, doctors performed a computed tomography (CT) angiogram to see whether the skewer had pierced one of his major blood vessels. They were amazed to find that it had barely missed every vital artery when it penetrated his head. It was like the proverbial threading of a needle, only with life-and-death consequences.

But there was a wrinkle. Metal shows up on CT scans as vivid white, without defined edges. If the skewer had any kind of bend, a sharp edge, or a gap, then pulling it out now would be rolling the dice, as it could catch on an artery and rip it open.

The only other way to get a clear picture of the skewer was with biplane angiography—a process that gives doctors a crystal clear three-­dimensional view inside the vascular system. It is performed using highly specialized equipment that only some hospitals have. One of them, the University of Kansas Hospital, was just five miles away. An ER doctor got on the phone with KU to describe the case they were about to transfer.

It was now around 7:30 p.m. Xavier had been impaled for six hours.

Koji Ebersole, MD, an endo­vascular neurosurgeon at KU, was playing tennis when his cell phone rang. At the side of the lighted court, he took the call from another KU doctor telling him about a boy who had been impaled by a large metal skewer.

Dr. Ebersole looked at the photograph from the hospital on his phone. Whoa, he thought. He’d never seen anything like it. The poor boy was lying on a gurney with a huge spike sticking about nine inches out of his face. How was this kid even alive?

Dr. Ebersole headed home to make some calls. He knew they’d need to get the boy into the angiography suite quickly to see exactly what the skewer had damaged, or still could damage, and then remove it while carefully monitoring its exit. If it hadn’t yet harmed any key vessels, it could uncork something on its way out and cause a stroke or worse.

Using the angiography suite required a team of 15 to 20 medical staff. It would be tough to get the right people together so late on a Saturday evening. But could the boy wait until morning? For now he was stable physically, but what about mentally? What if he panicked, grabbing at the skewer? Everything depended on his state of mind. Dr. Ebersole asked the doctors in the pediatric ICU, where Xavier and his family waited, to talk to them and gauge whether he was brave enough to hold on. When Dr. Ebersole heard back from the hospital at 11:30, he made his final call of the evening. “We can wait until the morning,” he told a fellow doctor. “The boy is on board.”

It was late now, almost midnight, and Xavier’s ICU room was dim. He’d just told doctors he could stay calm a few more hours. He understood that his life depended on his not trying to pull out the skewer. He remembered a scene from the movie Black Panther. At the end, the hero, T’Challa, impales the villain, Killmonger, with a spear through the chest. Killmonger declares he’s ready to die, pulls the spear out, and collapses, dead.

“Go to sleep, Bear,” Xavier’s mom told him now, holding his hand as she had almost nonstop since the accident. His head was still wrapped in gauze. The four-pronged end of the skewer was still caked in mud; everyone had been afraid to try to clean it, lest it jiggle the skewer and cause injury. They could give him only painkillers, which made him sleepy, but not sedation; that could make the tongue collapse, suffocating him.

“When you wake up in the morning, this thing will be out,” a nurse told him.

Xavier slept fitfully. Each time he woke up, he asked, “Is it out yet?”

“No, not yet sweetie,” Gabrielle would tell him. Xavier cried softly each time he heard this.

Gabrielle, her eyes moist with tears, whispered to her son, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“The biggest problem is that barbed end,” Dr. Ebersole told the team assembled at 8:30 a.m. in the angiography suite. Xavier had been anesthetized and was sound asleep as the doctors began to plot their next moves. Dr. Ebersole pointed to a computer screen; it revealed the skewer had a notch in the shaft near the point. If they pulled the skewer out the way it went in, the notched tip could rip an artery open.
They discussed pushing the skewer through the back of Xavier’s head to expose the notched end and cut it off before pulling the whole thing out through the front. But the rod was made of thick stainless steel, and it would take a lot of force to break that end off. The movement this would create could tear arteries. They’d have to pull it out the way it went in—if that was even possible to do without killing him.

Xavier was wheeled to the angi­ography suite about 10 a.m. Meanwhile, his family and many friends were in the waiting room, and every nearby church had dedicated that Sunday to praying for the boy.

In the angiography suite, some 20 surgeons, specialists, and nurses wearing blue radiation-protective gear and lead-lined glasses were waiting.

Two giant “arms,” one attached to the floor and the other hanging from the ceiling, were positioned close to Xavier’s head. Each arm held two X-ray devices that moved in wide arcs around his head to create three-­dimensional images. The images were displayed in real time on a large flat-panel screen hanging from the ceiling at eye level for Dr. Ebersole, just above Xavier.

Dr. Ebersole could now see the one-in-a-million trajectory the skewer had taken: It had missed his spine by about half an inch. It had missed the cerebellum, the part of the brain that controls things such as balance and speech, by the same margin.

It had punctured the carotid sheath but didn’t appear to have damaged the hypoglossal nerve or the vagus nerve, which control tongue function, the swallow reflex, and the voice box. Also in the carotid sheath is the jugular vein. The skewer had torn the jugular, but it appeared to have sealed itself. The skewer had missed his facial nerve, which controls facial expression and the sense of taste.

Most important, it had missed both the crucial arteries: the carotid and vertebral. In fact, it appeared to have actually nudged them out of the way without puncturing them. I don’t know how a kid can be so lucky, thought Dr. Ebersole.

“Jeremy,” he said, “put your hands on that thing, get a feel for how easily it’ll move.” He was speaking to chief resident Jeremy Peterson, MD, a burly 32-year-old who stood near the boy’s head. It would be up to him to remove the skewer.

Truth be told, Dr. Peterson was nervous, but he placed a steady left hand at the base of the skewer to anchor it; his right hand grasped just above his left. He nudged it back and forth ever so slightly while Dr. Ebersole watched on the monitor in case the movement harmed a vessel. It barely moved. “It feels pretty solid,” Dr. Peterson said.

“OK, let’s go,” said Dr. Ebersole. He’d be the eyes, watching the monitor constantly, while Dr. Peterson would have the feel of the thing as he worked on getting it out. He’d have to do it slowly, strongly, yet smoothly, mostly from his right arm, while being careful that his left “base” hand didn’t exert too much pressure—because it was literally on Xavier’s eye.

The skewer was surprisingly hard to budge. It took all the strength in Dr. Peterson’s right arm to move it an inch—then it stopped. “It feels stuck on something.”

“OK, hands off,” ordered Dr. Eber­sole. Dr. Peterson carefully let go of the skewer and took a half step back, while Dr. Ebersole enhanced the view. The clearer picture showed that it was hung up on a neck ligament, not a danger. But the skewer was now so close to the vertebral artery that it was bending it.

“Jeremy, angle it a little toward you.” This would move it away from that artery. Dr. Peter­son did as asked. “OK, go again.” It worked. Dr. Ebersole watched the tip of the skewer safely pass the vertebral artery.

“It’s sliding pretty easy now,” said Dr. Peterson. Yet he continued to pull it very slowly, especially as it passed the jugular—would it pull open the seal that had formed? No; the jugular had healed itself. Then, finally, the last hurdle: the carotid artery. The metal passed it smoothly, too—and suddenly, the skewer was out.

It was 3 p.m. when Dr. Ebersole came into the waiting room and told Xavier’s parents, “It’s out. He’s OK.” There was a cheer from the crowd of family and friends.

“Can I hug you?” asked Gabrielle, and she did.

The only physical evidence of Xavier’s unplanned adventure is a tiny bump beside his nose and some numbness on the left side of his face. And yet, things are different nowadays. Xavier often grabs the leash to take Max for walks—he’s no longer scared to walk the dog alone.

And when he gets a scrape or has a mishap, instead of going straight to ten on the pain scale the way he used to, he’ll look at his mom calmly and say, “This hurts pretty bad.”

“Is it skewer bad?” Gabrielle will ask, and Xavier will laugh.

The post After a Skewer Impaled This Young Boy in the Face, Doctors Didn’t Know How He Was Still Alive appeared first on Reader's Digest.

The student arrived early, sat front and center, and stood out in my classroom in more ways than one. I’d say that he had about 40 years on his classmates in my under­graduate communications class at California State University, Los Angeles. He eagerly jumped into class discussions, with his self-deprecating humor and wisdom of experience. And he was always respectful of the other students’ perspectives, as if each of them were a teacher. Jerry Valencia walked in with a smile—and he left with one too.

“These students gave me the confidence that I didn’t need to feel bad about my age,” Valencia says.

One day, I spotted Valencia on campus. He said he would have to stop taking classes that semester and reapply for next year. By then, he hoped to have earned enough money from construction jobs and have his student-loan papers in order. But he said he was still coming to campus to attend events or see friends. He asked demurely whether he could still sit in on my communications class.

Sure, I said. But he wouldn’t get any credit.

No problem, he said.

Soon there he was again, back at his old desk, front and center, jumping into our discussions on how to find and tell stories in Los Angeles—a 63-year-old Cal State LA junior with as much energy and curiosity as any of the youngsters in class.

For an assignment on changing neighborhoods, Valencia wrote about a favorite local chain restaurant that was “unceremoniously closed.” He called it an “earth-shattering” development and a theft of childhood. “It is almost as if someone has stolen that childhood and replaced it with a slippery hill where everything they cherish will slide away,” he wrote.

A lot of Valencia’s classmates apparently knew he couldn’t afford that semester’s tuition but was still doing the homework.

“Here he is, willingly taking a class for the joy of it and benefit of learning,” says Jessica Espinosa, a 25-year-old junior. “You don’t see that in our generation.”

Valencia showed up and took the final exam too. Afterward, students were kibitzing, and I overheard Valencia say he wanted to stay in school until he earned a master’s degree, but it had taken him 12 years to finish community college, so he had a long way to go.

Twelve years?

He was in and out of school, he said, subject to his work schedule and whether he had money for classes. He had earned his associate of arts degree over the summer, then transferred to Cal State LA to start on his bachelor’s.

I needed to hear more.

Valencia lives, for the time being, in a mobile home park. He greeted me when I arrived and poured me a cup of coffee.

He told me that his dad had worked at a brick-­manufacturing plant and in auto assembly. His mother worked at home. Most of his seven brothers and sisters didn’t go to college, and none finished. Valencia is determined to be the first, despite his late start.

He said he was an average student who struggled with math and went to community college a year after graduating from high school but decided quickly it was not for him. He got into construction and then the insurance industry, but he’d always liked to write and do crossword puzzles. “And I loved to read. A lot,” he said.

He also loved watching Jeopardy! with his mother, and he joked that if one of them ever won the lottery or if he became a Jeopardy! contestant, he’d use the winnings for college.

It was around 2007, Valencia said, that he got tired of telling himself he was going to go back. He told his mother it was finally for real.
“When I went back to school, she said, ‘I hope you make it, Jerry.’ And I told her, ‘I’m going to make it, Mom. I’m going to make it.’ ”
The plan was to capitalize on his construction experience and study civil engineering. But he discovered other interests.

“He was not the youngest student,” says Grant Tovmasian, coach of the ­forensics debate team Valencia joined. “But he was the most motivated and the most dedicated.”

Tovmasian says Valencia was a great team player in forensics, encouraging fellow students and inspiring them with his desire to educate himself and live a more fulfilling life.

Valencia’s sister Sindi Majors says her brother was always bright, but he went through a couple of rough patches in his life.

“He’s pretty much been homeless,” says Majors, a retired electrician. She bought him a motor home to help him out, and that’s what he lived in from 2009 to 2018.

There is something splendidly irrational about Valencia’s determination to get a four-year degree and then a master’s. At his current pace, he’ll be 90 when he finally hangs all that paper on the wall.

But that doesn’t seem especially relevant. He’s found all the youthful energy and academic opportunity stimulating.

Valencia’s grade in my class this ­semester will not show up on his transcripts. But I’m giving him an A—and in the most important ways, it counts.

Proof It's Never Too Late to Change Your Life

Brain Injuries Gave People New Abilities

Ordinary People Who Changed History

The post A Man in His 60s Working Towards His Masters Proves That You’re Never too Old to Learn appeared first on Reader's Digest.

I come from a broken family that many would consider dysfunctional at the very least: marriages, divorces, etc. After we grew up, my three siblings and I could go years without speaking. And that is where this story begins.

My sister Jeanne and I were born only 14 months apart, but by the time we were teenagers we had lost touch. By age 19, I had moved away from our home in Wisconsin to live on my father’s horse farm in Virginia, where I worked ultimately as a veterinary assistant and a bartender. Jeanne got married at 18, moved to Chicago, and became—well, I didn’t know what. We lived separate lives in separate states, and our connection somehow ended.

Fast-forward about five years. I was 24 and on a trip with my fiancé to New York City, a place I had never been. It was overwhelming. I was used to riding my horse to the corner store where everyone knew everyone and everything going on in the quiet little cowpoke town of Driver, Virginia. We had gone to New York to visit my ­fiancé’s cousin and see the sights. We went to Little Italy, the Statue of Liberty, China­town, and several Manhattan clubs. I had never seen so many taxicabs in one spot in all my life.

During a day of sightseeing, we were crossing a very busy street loaded with people. Everyone was in a hurry, hustling and bustling. I had laughed at something my fiancé said, and I suddenly heard my name yelled from somewhere behind me: “Cheryl!” I froze in my steps in the middle of the road. Tears welled up spontaneously in my eyes. I knew without a doubt that it was my sister Jeanne. I yelled back before even turning to look. “Jeanne?”

It was her. “Oh my God!” I screamed, and I began pushing people out of my way to get to her. The crowd started to part—even by New York standards, we must have seemed crazy. And there we were, standing in the middle of a Manhattan street, facing each other and smiling. I couldn’t believe it.

I later asked how she’d known it was me—she never saw me! She said it was my laugh. I wouldn’t say my laugh is all that unusual, but I guess to a family member it’s infectious. It hits your heart and resonates in your mind.

I asked her what she was doing in New York, and she said she had come for an opera showing and was there for only a week. Neither of us has ever returned to New York, and both our visits were spontaneous trips planned just a week earlier.

Since that time, my sister and I have never been separated. We both moved back to Wisconsin. We talk daily. Many years have passed, and we are now in our 50s. I truly believe God played a huge part in bringing us together. But our meeting by chance wasn’t just a sign. I see it as more of a lesson, a reminder not to lose touch with loved ones. It is too easy to remain lost. After our sister-to-sister miracle, I don’t plan to let that happen again. Now, read about these sisters that went nearly 70 years without knowing each other existed.

Relatives Who Found Each Other Through DNA Tests

Twins Separated at Birth: Real Stories

This Veteran Found His Long-Lost Love After 75 Years

The post After Losing Touch and Not Seeing Each Other for Years, This Woman Recognized Her Sister in a Crowd of People by Her Laugh appeared first on Reader's Digest.

One year after graduating from college, my girlfriend and I broke up. I was living in Boston, just north of the town where I grew up, and I went a little crazy if I’m being honest. Maybe I was making up for “lost time,” maybe I was trying to forget the pain of breaking up, who knows. But immediately post-breakup, I was certainly not my best self.

After almost eight months of being single and “playing the field,” if you will, I came to the realization that I actually wanted to just stay single and have the opportunity to focus on myself. I spent long hours in the office, traveled a lot for work, and felt relief in not leaving anyone or anything behind. It made focusing on my friendships much easier, my volunteer work more attainable, and I had a general sense of relief. As a single guy, I had way more fun going out with my friends when I was actively not trying to meet anyone. Ironically enough, I felt like I met more “someones” when I wasn’t trying to meet anyone at all. This actively intentionally-single phase lasted probably 18 months, in which I cultivated many friendships, focused on what I wanted to do most, and, to be honest, had a lot of fun. Find out what these women love about being single.

About four years ago, I was gearing up for a high school friend’s wedding. I had visited the bride and groom in Chicago and met who was to be their maid of honor. In discussing my romantic prospects for their upcoming wedding with the two of them, I noticed a beautiful young woman in a photograph on Facebook from their wedding shower. When I asked the bride about her, the bride laughed and asserted that, as the woman in question was young, Jewish (like me), and from the neighboring town, I must have already met and probably dated her. This woman, whose name I learned was Lauren, was for sure new to me and had really caught my eye.

As the wedding day approached, I asked some mutual friends about this beauty from Facebook. Everyone assumed we knew each other and had already dated.

Fast forward to the rehearsal dinner, and my parents sat with a “beautiful young Jewish woman who skis, is good with kids, had a sharp sense of humor, and was just a total rock star,” as they put it. I politely informed them that I already had two prospects at this wedding and didn’t need a third.

As it turned out, the maid of honor wasn’t right for me and I didn’t have the courage to introduce myself to the gorgeous woman from Facebook who was even more breathtaking in person when I saw her on the dance floor. I also spent half the night avoiding my parents, so as not to meet whomever they wanted to set me up with. The wedding was a blast. I danced and sweated up a storm. At the end of the night, I saw the young woman from Facebook leaving the party, realizing I missed my chance. To my surprise, she kissed my parents goodbye and my mother mouthed “this is the one!!” at me. I realized, in that moment, I may have blown it—”Facebook Girl” and “Parents’ Rock Star” were one and the same.

The following morning, I sent a craftily worded Facebook message to her begging for forgiveness for not introducing myself at the wedding, apologizing for both my excessive sweat and poor dance moves, and asking to make it all up over dinner in the following weeks. Luckily, she obliged. On our first date. I knew on her front porch, as she fixed my collar before we even got into the car, that this was it for me. I’d had enough experience to know what I was—and wasn’t—looking for, and this kind of confidence was for me. Today, more than four years later, we’re engaged to be married. Here’s what my time being single has taught me about finding and being a good partner.

We clicked from the start

As someone who had a lot of experience going on dates, I could tell what wasn’t going to work from the start. The conversation usually felt forced and pressured, but not with Lauren. I always say you shouldn’t stay in a relationship because it’s easy, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. While we hadn’t met or previously dated, I did attend preschool with her brother and our parents were acquaintances, if not friends. There was no stressful getting to meet the family. There has been no challenging discussion over religion, values, or beliefs. I was on day one, and consistently continue to be, impressed by my now-fiancée’s confidence, wit, humor, and kindness. These are the 15 signs your relationship is solid as a rock.

My single years taught me my hobbies matter

Before my time being single, I might have pretended to like a potential girlfriend’s hobbies or not really cared that we didn’t share many interests between us, but now I know that it’s important to love what you do together. Lauren and I both love to ski, dance, and just have a good time. She’s also learning to play golf, which is one of my favorite hobbies.

I’ve learned that no relationship is without conflict

Not having anyone to fight for—or with—taught me the importance of healthy conflict in a relationship. Sometimes I feel Lauren doesn’t do enough around the house, and sometimes she accuses me of bottling things up, but we communicate our feelings and talk things through. Sometimes when we argue, I mark our fights on the calendar with the conversation or issue that precipitated them. It’s actually hilarious to look back on. “May 10: argued about who took the trash out more.” “On February 16 we fought about hair left in drain.” “On October 30 we fought about me losing my phone.” If our biggest issue is the shower drain, I’d say we’re doing just fine! Find out the things healthy couples do when they argue.

Each bad date or failed effort taught me something I was looking for in a partner

I remember on one date, the woman waited outside the restaurant for me rather than going in and checking in on her own. Whether it’s at a restaurant or a task we need to accomplish together, this showed me confidence and a “go-getter” attitude was clearly important. I once broke off a relationship with a girlfriend who lived in Brookline (I was living in Beacon Hill at the time) because it was too far away. When I expressed discontent with the ride to pick this girl up, a friend showed me how I clearly felt like she wasn’t worth the time. When Lauren and I started dating, I drove to Marblehead from Beacon Hill, a 45-minute drive from the suburbs to the city! I loved the car ride. I’d call my friends to talk about how great this girl was and how I was looking forward to whatever date I had planned. Clearly, the same friend pointed out, something was different this time.

I learned what’s most important to me

While I was single, I learned how I like my apartment cleaned, beds made, and laundry done. I also learned what I like to spend my time and energy on and what I feel is a waste. I focused on my family and it showed me how important they are to me. That has allowed me to understand her family relationships, value them for her, and want to make her family feel like my own as well.

I’ve had to adjust my expectations

There was a serious adjustment after being single for so long; I was used to my independence. By no means is Lauren needy or controlling, but I wasn’t used to planning my days and nights around someone else. It took me a little while to get used to “checking in” when I was out with other friends. But I got there by reminding myself how nice it is to actually have someone who cares about me enough to want me to “check in.” Next, read on for relationship advice from couples who have been married 50+ years.

Her Love of Books Found Her the Love of Her Life

Couples Reveal How They Found “The One”

He Found His Long-Lost Love After 75 Years

The post How Being Single for Years Made Me a Better Partner appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Worried that your mail carrier knows more than they should? You can forget the tired stereotype of the busybody mail carrier. “We don’t read your mail, not even the outside, unless something is really off,” says Nigel, 62, a letter carrier with 24 years of service, who declined to share his last name for privacy reasons. “We’re too busy. We have too many things to deliver and too many stops to make to get into your business.”

That said, the United States Postal Service has nearly 7,000 letter carriers who deliver 484.8 million pieces of mail and packages every day. So even if your mail carrier isn’t the nosy type, Nigel says there’s still plenty of opportunities to see some things—and boy, do they! We asked Nigel and his friend Jeff, who has worked for the USPS for nearly 30 years, to share what it’s really like being a mailman and what they’ve learned about their customers.

You’re on vacation

Placing a hold on your mail delivery is one of the top ways experts recommend to protect your home. A pileup of mail is a sign to would-be thieves that you’re not home. However, holding your mail also alerts your mail carrier you’ll be gone for an extended period of time—and that’s a good thing, Nigel says. “I always take extra care to look out for the houses when I know people are gone,” he says. “I just take a quick look when I drive by and notice if anything looks wrong—and if it does I will call the police.”

You’re involved in a hit-and-run

“Probably the thing I’ve seen most of, that is out of the ordinary, are car accidents,” Nigel says. “I drive hours every day and so I’ve seen so many accidents where cars hit each other or hit pedestrians or do a hit-and-run.” He keeps a notepad handy and writes down the license plates involved to give to the police and has even been called a few times to testify in court about what he’s seen, he says. Crime is just one of the 11 secrets mail carriers know about you.

You’re pregnant

As many moms-to-be can attest, it seems like baby formula companies know you’re pregnant almost before you do. It’s likely you end up on a mailing list through a form you fill out from a pregnancy magazine, online, or at your doctor’s office, but however it happens, your mail carrier will notice. “Companies send out whole packages of bottles of formula samples and they are labeled all over with pictures of babies and the brand name so it’s really obvious what they are,” Jeff says. “I never say anything, even if I know that customer pretty well, but I do think ‘congratulations’ and say a little prayer for them.” In addition, you will likely start getting thick stacks of coupons for baby items, maternity magazines, diaper samples, and other items that make it clear that if you’re not expecting yet, you’re definitely thinking about it.

You’ve just had a new baby

It’s getting less frequent these days as new parents become more safety conscious but it’s still fairly common to see pink or blue balloons tied to a mailbox for a baby shower or to announce the birth of a new little one, Nigel says. “Personally, it makes me happy,” he says. “I am a dad and grandfather myself and I love seeing people celebrate a new baby and seeing families grow.” This is just one of the 23 things mail carriers wish they could tell you.

You’re in trouble with the law

While they’re not going through your mail, sometimes an odd piece will catch your letter carrier’s eye. “Court documents look different than normal mail and you know what they look like in your area,” Jeff says. “I try not to think too much about it because it could mean anything but if you get a lot of official-looking documents and then your mail is on hold or changed I might think you’ve gone to jail.” And don’t ignore parking tickets, failing to pay them can get you more than angry letters.

Nigel adds that he has seen people being arrested while doing his route. “Once I came to a house that was taped off as a crime scene. The officer there just told me to give him the person’s mail so I did. I never knew if he kept it for evidence or handed it to the person or left it on their table or something,” he says.

You’re selling drugs

No, it’s not the neighborhood or the presence of seedy characters hanging around your house that mark you as a drug dealer (although those things don’t help), rather it’s the amount and type of packages you send, along with the strange ways you pay for them that are big tip-offs, Jeff says. “I figured out a guy on my route was probably a drug dealer because he would send packages with dozens of stamps taped to them instead of a printed label,” he says. “He didn’t want to take them into the post office or go through our online system because he didn’t want to leave a digital trail.” Sure enough, the man was busted for making, selling, and shipping MDMA pills, he says. Does this qualify the sender as one of the criminals dumb enough to get themselves arrested?

You’re buying drugs

Similarly, there are signs when a person is buying drugs through the mail, Nigel says. “I’ve only ever had to turn in a handful of suspicious pieces of mail to the inspectors and it’s all been because they’ve appeared to have some kind of bad substance leaking through or smelled like drugs,” he says, adding that this is rare as packages go through screening long before they ever get in his hands. “But if I deliver a lot of packages to you and they never have a return address I might suspect something criminal is happening.” Another suspicious sign is if you’re getting a lot of packages from online or foreign pharmacies, just one of the 12 strange things postal workers see every day.

You got a new dog

Postal workers on foot often carry pepper spray in their bags to deal with aggressive dogs so they are highly aware of any pups along their route and they notice when a new one shows up. “Sometimes I’ll hear barking where there wasn’t any before or I’ll see a new ‘beware of dog’ sign,” Nigel says. “Every once in a while someone will bring the dog out to meet me so we can be on friendly terms. I love that. It makes my whole day. Honestly, I’m more worried about running into bad people than bad dogs.” Find out the real reason some dogs seem to hate mail carriers.

You have a kid graduating from high school

High school seniors may be the one group that gets more mail than pregnant women. Colleges from around the country send large, glossy flyers advertising their programs to prospective freshmen. “I didn’t go to college so when I see those come through for a kid, I am excited for them,” Jeff says. Other tip-offs you’ve got a high school senior are signs in your front yard, writing or decorations on your car, and balloons or signs for grad parties, he adds. Thinking of sending a recent grad a card? Get ideas from these inspirational graduation quotes.

You’re having an affair

When you work the same route day after day you get used to what’s normal in the neighborhood—and what’s not, Nigel says. “There have been times I’ve suspected someone’s cheating because I’ll see people kind of sneaking around or looking guilty,” he says, adding that he’s called the police before because he wasn’t sure if the person was a lover or a burglar. “I also see a lot when you answer the door to accept delivery of a package, and sometimes I can tell I’m not the man they were expecting to see at that moment,” he says.

You’re getting a divorce

Splitting your assets during a divorce can be tricky and your mail is no exception to that, Nigel says. “People have to decide what bills are going to be in whose name and when one of them moves out, they have to set a forwarding address. If you have a name card in your mailbox we can see when that is changed as well, although that’s usually just a last name,” he says. “Also, sometimes I notice if a car that I’m used to seeing isn’t there anymore.”

You’re a kind person

“It’s not expected or necessary and it won’t affect the quality of service I give you but I do appreciate when people leave me little gifts or notes around the holidays,” Nigel says. Cash, gift cards, chocolate, and wine are popular gifts although he says the recent trend of leaving out a basket of snacks and drinks on your porch for delivery people is pretty great. “When I see those baskets, I know someone really kind lives there and they’re thinking about other people,” he says. Before you rush out to buy your mail carrier a gift, find out what the legality of doing so is, first.

The post I Was a Mail Carrier for 20+ Years—Here’s What I Know About You appeared first on Reader's Digest.

This year marks the 100^th anniversary of the passage of the 19^th Amendment, which gave women the constitutional right to vote. But this important milestone almost didn’t happen at all. The amendment was ultimately passed by a single vote—and believe it or not, it was a letter from a Tennessee legislator’s mother that may have persuaded him to vote “aye” and change the course of history. This is the little-known, inspiring story behind how the 19^th Amendment became the law of the land, which ranks right up there with these 13 moments that changed women’s history forever.

History of the suffrage movement

The women’s suffrage movement was officially launched in 1848 when activists gathered at a women’s rights convention in Seneca Falls, New York. For the next 70 years, leaders of the movement—including household names like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton—fought for a constitutional amendment allowing women to participate in federal, state, and local elections. Women could already vote in some states, but the suffragists wanted a national law giving women the right to vote everywhere. Whether they are already widely celebrated or a hidden figure deserving of more recognition, these women pioneers have changed the world too.

The War of the Roses

By 1920, victory was finally near. The proposed 19^th Amendment had been ratified by 35 states, and the suffragists needed just one more state to ratify the amendment for it to be officially added to the U.S. Constitution and become the law of the land. Tennessee was the final state to vote on the amendment that summer. Suffragists and their opponents quickly set up shop in the capital, Nashville, hoping to persuade the state legislators to join their cause. The bitter rivalry became known as the War of the Roses, in reference to the roses that activists pinned on their clothing to declare which side they were on. Supporters of suffrage wore yellow roses, while the anti-suffragists wore red roses.

Tennessee’s youngest legislator

Despite weeks of intense campaigning from both sides, the Tennessee state legislature was still deadlocked on the proposed 19^th Amendment. Suffragists were particularly uncertain about the vote of Harry Burn, a 24-year-old representative from a conservative district and the youngest member of the state’s House of Representatives. They had spoken with Burn often, but he had not revealed which way he would vote. Finally, Tennessee’s House of Representatives, including Burn, gathered to vote on the amendment on August 18, 1920. But long before the U.S. passed the 19^th Amendment, these 15 countries had already given women the right to vote.

A deadlocked Congress

Activists on both sides watched from the gallery with bated breath as Burn entered the chamber. Wearing the red rose of the anti-suffragists, he voted to table the amendment, or dismiss it, until another session. Suffragists were dismayed; Burn’s vote meant that the amendment might fail and stall the effort for women to win the vote. But in a last-minute reversal, Banks Turner, another state legislator, voted for the amendment and tied up the final vote. With one more vote in favor, the 19^th Amendment would finally be adopted. What happened next is one of the most important moments in modern history.

One mother’s letter

While Burn agreed with the anti-suffragists at first, he had one important reason to consider switching sides. That morning, a letter had arrived from Burn’s mother, Phoebe Ensminger Burn. “Hurrah, and vote for suffrage!” she wrote. “Don’t keep them in doubt. I notice some of the speeches against. They were bitter. I have been watching to see how you stood, but have not noticed anything yet.” She signed off by asking her son to “be a good boy” and vote in favor of the 19^th Amendment. The letter changed Burn’s mind on the issue. “I knew that a mother’s advice is always safest for a boy to follow and my mother wanted me to vote for ratification,” Burn later said. Here are 14 additional early feminist quotes that still resonate today.

The 19th Amendment is adopted

Burn stood as his name was called, still wearing the red rose and carrying his mother’s letter in his pocket. To the surprise of everyone in the room, Burn said “aye” when asked to give his vote on the proposed amendment. The spectators paused, then erupted in joy and fury. Burn’s vote completed the decades-long fight for suffrage by giving women the right to vote, but his historic decision was not celebrated by everyone at the time. In fact, he allegedly hid in the attic of the state capitol building—even creeping along the ledge of the third floor—in order to avoid the angry crowd of anti-suffragists below. Still, thanks to Burn—and his mom—the 19th amendment is among 100 things turning 100 in 2020.

This Is What It Was Like to Be a Woman in 1923

Aretha Franklin and 57 Trailblazing Women Who Made History

16 Ways Women Still Aren't Equal to Men

The post How One Mother’s Letter to Her Son Helped Give Women the Right to Vote appeared first on Reader's Digest.

My fat cat

My cat Jean-Philippe is not what you might charitably describe as “big-boned.” In fact, his head and his tail are on the petite side. But then there’s his giant, jiggly belly. A year ago, he weighed in at 24 pounds. Now he’s a svelte 21, although our journey is far from over. Depending on your age and cultural tastes, you might describe him as the feline Orson Welles, or maybe the kitty John Belushi, or perhaps the tabby Notorious B.I.G. I usually call him Phat Phil. I love him, but he is basically a meat loaf with fur. That makes him adorable and lovable, but not all that healthy. To make sure that Phil sticks around for as long as possible, I knew I needed to make some changes to his diet—whether or not he was fully on board with them.

The post I Tried Putting My Cat on a Diet—Here’s How It Went appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Like a lot of relationships, my feelings about Black History Month are complicated. On the one hand, I deeply appreciate the time to intentionally celebrate the brilliant contributions to American culture and history by people who look like me. But while absolutely worthy of celebration, the stories of African American contributions to our culture and history have become repetitive over the years. Harriet Tubman was so brave. Martin Luther King, Jr. was the best orator of all time. George Washington Carver sure was a whiz with peanuts! Year after year, I hear a dutiful recitation of the same familiar facts, so much so that I fear that the result is the mistaken impression that this is sum total of all the African American contributions to history.

Confining the history of an entire race of people to a 30-day period not only shortchanges the significance of those contributions, but it also allows the greater truth to be erased. When I ask my African American friends about this, I often hear some version of: “I’d rather have one month than no months.” But is that really the choice?

The importance of acknowledging Black accomplishments

A quick search with Professor Google reveals that Black History Month traces its origins back to 1926 when the aptly named Association for the Study of African American Life chose a week in February to coincide with the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. In 1926, just a little over a half-century after the abolition of slavery, Black people were still strenuously making the argument for their humanity. The creation of that week was an important historical marker; its creator, Carter Woodson, was addressing Black people as much as a larger audience. There is nothing so motivating as to know that people who look like you achieved great things.

I know this from experience. My grandmother’s name before she married was Marian Robeson. She is the daughter of Benjamin Robeson, a minister and civil rights activist. Some will know his more famous brother Paul Robeson, the scholar, activist, and entertainer. Before she died, my grandmother shared with me copies of her father’s sermons. In them, my great-grandfather, a veteran, spoke eloquently about his love for a country that opposed his civil rights efforts. I first read his moving writings in law school, at a time when I began to let feelings of self-doubt creep into my consciousness. Perhaps I wasn’t quite as smart as I thought, wasn’t quite as capable. Reading his work pushed me to think of how the full story of the accomplishments of Black people is so buried that we think of those who we celebrate as exceptional. Here are 13 things about Black History Month you didn’t learn in school.

Telling everyone’s stories

And then, I discovered Ida Wells. Orphaned as a teenager, she went on to become a journalist, mother, and activist. Working alongside Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she pushed them to include Black women in the cause for suffrage. The story of the women’s suffrage movement is absolutely incomplete without understanding the efforts of Ida Wells and her Black compatriots. Full stop. Reading her words made history so real for me, so painful but also so celebratory. Today as a documentary filmmaker, I think of Ida Wells’ fearless crusade for truth often and I’m motivated to continue to work to tell important stories. Here are 15 facts you probably didn’t know about Susan B. Anthony.

Ensuring that history lives on

But my most recent reminder of the power of story has been my work directing a film about Representative John Lewis for CNN Films. Watching hours of footage of a young Lewis strategizing and organizing, watching him deftly work with white and Black activists and politicians, I lived history through his eyes and experiences.

Walking through an airport with John Lewis as I have, I was constantly struck by the fact that the Congressman cannot go more than a few feet without someone stopping him to ask for a picture or to ask to shake his hand. He always stops, acknowledges, and thanks the person. It’s as if he seals each interaction with an implicit understanding that each person he connects with will become an ambassador, that when they tell the story of John Lewis, it will assure that history lives. Because of my work and my interests and experiences, I am acutely aware of the need for accurate information in our media and our history books. But don’t we need this information all year long? Use these 12 ways to celebrate Black History Month all year long.

Taking Black History Month to the next level

The Black History Week of 1926 became Black History Month in 1976. In those 50 years, remarkable battles were hard-fought and won, including landmark Supreme Court cases such as the decision in Brown v. Board of Education requiring the desegregation of public schools, the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and the other panoply of civil rights laws guaranteeing by law basic rights of full citizenship to all people, regardless of race.

So, in 2020, some 40 years later, it’s time for Black history to enter the next phase. African Americans no longer need to argue that we deserve equal rights. With the establishment of a glorious museum on the National Mall, we do not need to make the case that our contributions to American culture, science, and progress are worthy of noting and celebrating. But racism and discrimination on the basis of race continue to be a stain on our country. And only by telling true stories do we have a chance to eradicate not only racist behavior but also racist thought. We have to face head-on the untrue idea that only white people contributed substantially to our cultural, scientific, and legal advances.

To dismantle this false narrative, the first place we should look is the story we tell about ourselves. I am confident that given the opportunity, a host of scholars would gladly take a pen to outdated history books—break them apart and add the rich context that includes the contributions of not only African Americans, but native and Asian people, women, and every other marginalized group. History is not a pie; my having more does not leave you less.

More of a very good thing

Where does this leave me? I don’t think we should abandon Black History Month. I’m a “plus…and” person. I think instead we should challenge our educators and ourselves to consistently search out and share stories and facts that expand our understanding of history to include all who contributed to it. Acknowledging that America is a multicultural society and that the accomplishments and contributions of people who are not white are real, substantial, and important is proof that the American ideals so many of us profess to value are real.

I asked my friend, the noted historian and scholar Henry Louis Gates, for his thoughts on this, to which he quickly replied: “Every day should be Black History Month!” Yes, sir. Every day.

Next, read one woman’s perspective on why Black History Month is more important than ever.

Dawn Porter is a documentary filmmaker. Her film John Lewis: Good Trouble premieres in theaters this spring.

Powerful Ways to Celebrate MLK, Jr. Day

Inspiration from Martin Luther King, Jr.

Incredible Women You Never Learned About

The post Why Black History Month Shouldn’t Be a Single Month appeared first on Reader's Digest.

It’s showtime!

I’ve been to Madison Square Garden for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show a number of times since I was a child because my family’s in the business, but this will be the first official year of me being out on my own. It’s going to be exciting and nerve-racking all at the same time, I’m sure! But it definitely helps that I’ve been to the show so often that I know a few facts about Westminster, and some of the more surprising aspects of it aren’t surprises to me any longer. Here’s a little behind-the-scenes look at what it’s all really like.

The post I’m a Dog Handler—Here’s What It’s Like to Show at the Westminster Dog Show appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Rosa Parks: Wouldn’t give up her seat

Tired from a full day’s work, Rosa Parks boarded a Montgomery bus on December 1, 1955 and forever became one of the inspirational people who changed the world. When she refused to obey the driver’s order to give up her seat and move to the back of the bus so a white person could sit there, she was arrested for civil disobedience. Parks’ act of defiance, and the Montgomery Bus Boycott that followed, are recognized as pivotal moments in the civil rights movement. Here are 13 human rights that still aren’t universal—but should be.

The post 15 Ordinary People Who Changed History appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Before leading the country was even a distant dream they pondered in their quietest moments, the men who would become our nation’s leaders explored other careers. Yep, they were just like the rest of us—sort of. Their first jobs spanned the gamut but were often the result of family connections, personal interests, luck, and maybe even fate. From land surveyors and ice-cream scoopers to teachers and a whole lot of lawyers, the 45 leaders of the United States all have fascinating stories about the first places they earned a paycheck.

George Washington

While most of today’s 15-year-olds are entering their sophomore year of high school and worrying about algebra tests and finding a date for the homecoming dance, Washington was starting his first job as a land surveyor, according to the George Washington Foundation. His connections were important to his early success, as his brother-in-law married into the powerful Fairfax family, and he went on his first expedition to explore wild areas of Virginia. Frontier exploration would later lead to his interest in the military, and by the age of 17, he had already held county public office as a surveyor. Here are more surprising facts you never learned about George Washington in school.

John Adams

Being the town’s schoolmaster wasn’t really Adams’ favorite thing, as it turns out, because he didn’t find it very intellectually stimulating. However, he used that time to take a bit of a “gap year,” as modern-day students would call it, to figure out his future. He grappled with the idea that becoming a lawyer might require him to sacrifice his own moral beliefs, which bothered him, but he came to terms with it and eventually did just that, according to the John Adams Historical Society. In the meantime, he earned money for law school as a schoolmaster, and he was known to call only on the smartest students in order to satiate his own intellectual boredom. He also kept detailed journals of his life.

Thomas Jefferson

Born to one of Virginia’s most well-off and well-known families, Jefferson was given a top-notch education and became a lawyer. When he was 14, however, his father died, and he inherited around 5,000 acres of land, including his father’s plantation at Shadwell. Despite this, Jefferson really wanted to live on a mountain, so he cleared the land on a nearby mountain, where he’d played as a boy, and named it Monticello. Of course, that’s also what he named his new estate, which he would spend the next 40 years building and redoing in what he called his “essay in architecture,” according to Monticello.org. Don’t miss these 52 astonishing facts you never knew about U.S. presidents.

James Madison

Madison was the oldest of 12 kids in his family, which sounds like a job in and of itself. He grew up on the famous plantation Montpelier, which is now open to the public. After graduating from college at what is now Princeton University, he became interested in the relationship between Britain and America, which had become strained over the topic of British taxation, according to History.com. He was appointed a colonel in the military but quickly realized his talents were in politics. He went on to write the first drafts of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights as one of the country’s Founding Fathers.

James Monroe

Monroe had lost both of his parents by his mid-teen years, and they left him quite a bit of land and slaves before he left for college in Williamsburg, Virginia. According to the University of Virginia’s Miller Center, it was quite a fun time to be hanging around Williamsburg, as the governor had fled for his life. “After he left, Monroe and some of his fellow classmates helped loot the arsenal at the Governor’s Palace. They escaped with 200 muskets and 300 swords, which they donated to the Virginia militia.” Not quite a first job…but a large and charitable prank story, nonetheless. By 1776, around two years later, Monroe had joined Virginia infantry and then became an officer in the Continental Army.

John Quincy Adams

There’s nothing like a presidential apprenticeship to pave the way for a successful career! John Quincy Adams was the son of John Adams, the second president of the United States. He lived his childhood in an apprenticeship-style role to his father, and he and his mother even watched the Battle of Bunker Hill from their own family farm. As a 14-year-old, he received on-the-job training in the diplomatic corps as well as attended school, according to Biography.com. He also served as the secretary and translator for diplomat Francis Dana, accompanying him to Russia as a teenager. His language skills served him well, as he also went to Paris to help his father during the negotiations for the Treaty of Paris. Like many presidents, he was first a lawyer. Learn what presidents’ handwriting reveals about them, including John Quincy Adams’.

Andrew Jackson

Unlike some previous presidents, the man still on our $20 bill had “humble beginnings as a poor orphan with little education,” according to CNN. His teenage job was more dangerous than your average preteen’s, as he served as a courier in the Revolutionary War who was responsible for delivering messages and packages. He had joined the cause after his older brother died, and he and his other brother were captured as prisoners by British forces, further fueling his hatred for the British. He was released as a part of a prisoner exchange and went on to be called the “people’s president,” in spite of controversial decisions that forced Native Americans to migrate. Today, his legacy is complicated, to say the least.

Martin Van Buren

The son of Dutch parents, Van Buren was a law clerk under a local lawyer at age 13 and went on to open his own firm at age 21, according to History.com. His father owned a tavern, and politics was often the center of discussion. Prominent guests including Alexander Hamilton frequented the bar, and young Van Buren got his start listening to such conversation and debate, according to UVA’s Miller Center. His job as a law clerk was the result of a favor called in by his father, as Van Buren hadn’t attended college and didn’t come from a well-off family. He spent seven years doing grunt work and studying at night to become a lawyer.

William Henry Harrison

The son of Benjamin Harrison, who signed the Declaration of Independence, William Henry would end up dying in office after serving for just one month. In his early years, he studied medicine and then became an “aide-de-camp,” which is basically a secretary for handling routine matters confidentially, for General Anthony Wayne, according to the Encyclopedia Britannica. He also spent a considerable amount of time and effort dating and marrying his future wife in secret, as his father didn’t approve. These are the funniest jokes told by 23 U.S. presidents.

John Tyler

Tyler took over after Harrison’s untimely death and, as a result, earned the nickname of “His Accidency,” according to History.com. But his upbringing was no accident, as he was groomed for great things from early years in his top-notch education and learned law from private tutors. He began college coursework at 14 when most current teenagers start high school, and he was elected to the Virginia Legislature at 21.

James K. Polk

Known as “Young Hickory,” Polk was an enthusiastic supporter of Andrew Jackson, who was referred to as “Old Hickory.” A “first job” wasn’t on Polk’s radar as a teen, as he had struggled with illness throughout his childhood, suffering from gallstones. At 17, he had them surgically and painfully removed, without anesthesia or sterilization, according to ThoughtCo. After recovering from his challenging ordeal, he was finally ready to attend college the following year in 1816; by 1825, he had a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives. Here are 13 facts about the White House you never knew.

Zachary Taylor

Unlike many presidents who came before him, Taylor wasn’t a huge fan of school, and UVA’s Miller Center refers to him as a “poor student” who had crude and unrefined handwriting, spelling, and grammar throughout his life. His desire to join the military was seen as an acceptable alternative to a law career. He grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, in a cabin in the woods, with seven brothers and sisters. He went on to be recognized later as a Mexican War hero, fulfilling his boyhood goal of being a military leader.

Millard Fillmore

While many presidents claim to have a rags-to-riches story, the 13th president of the United States actually did. Fillmore was born into extreme poverty in a log cabin in the New York Finger Lakes region. According to History.com, his first job was as a wool carder, which involves gathering pieces of various fibers and textures to prepare it for the textile process. Woolery.com says that a variety of fibers can be “carded,” from dog hair to llama to soy fiber to polyester. Fillmore went on to become a lawyer, and sadly, he would eventually become known for his ambivalence in taking a stance on slavery and his inability to prevent civil war. Do you know which state has produced the most U.S. presidents?

Franklin Pierce

Education was the main focus for Pierce’s mother, who raised this future president and his seven siblings, according to Biography.com. At age 12, Pierce was removed from public schools and spent three years in private academies. He went to college, where he graduated fifth in his class and became known for his public-speaking skills—something that would certainly come in handy later on. His father, Benjamin, was an accomplished Revolutionary War hero and, later, a governor, and he eventually helped get Pierce selected as Speaker of the House in the New Hampshire State Legislature when he was in his mid-20s.

James Buchanan

Buchanan didn’t exactly follow the rules: He was almost expelled from college twice, before turning things around and ultimately getting his law degree. UVA’s Miller Center called him a “spirited presence on campus.” He was also the only bachelor president after his fiancée broke up with him and died soon thereafter. After that, he vowed never to marry, and he kept that promise. Here are some surprising legacies of U.S. presidents.

Abraham Lincoln

As you may already know, Lincoln was born in a one-room log cabin in Kentucky. He lost his infant brother and then, later, his mother when he was 9. Although he loved poetry, storytelling, and public speaking, he had to do the work of the house and land, which could be considered his first job. After his mother’s death, his father married a woman who had three young children, so by his early teens, Lincoln was taking care of eight people as his father’s health deteriorated, according to the Abraham Lincoln Historical Society. He had early jobs loading freight onto boats to go down the river and as a general-store clerk, which would prove helpful to his future in politics, as the store was the center of town gossip and news. Speaking of Lincoln, did you know there’s a typo on the Lincoln Memorial?

Andrew Johnson

According to Google Arts and Culture, Johnson was a tailor who ran away from his apprenticeship, and “with a reward on his head,” he traveled through the South honing his trade. He eventually returned to North Carolina, where his mother and stepfather lived, and settled in Tennessee. There, he opened his own tailoring shop, which is now protected inside the Memorial Building. In the Journal of the Costume Society of America, Johnson’s mother, “Polly the Weaver,” was affectionately described as a hardworking seamstress, working with the linens for the North Carolina Supreme Court members. Apparently the combination of clothes and politics rubbed off on her son as well!

Ulysses S. Grant

Grant was a quiet kid, often mistaken as stupid by classmates. But not only was he obviously not dumb—he was also a horse whisperer, according to UVA’s Miller Center. His first job involved corralling rambunctious horses on his farm, and he became known as the one who could handle horses that others couldn’t. But his father had larger goals for him, so he applied for an appointment to West Point, which led to his free college education in return for Army service.

Rutherford B. Hayes

Hayes was one of the first advocates of women in the legal arena, and he even signed an act that permitted female lawyers to argue cases in U.S. federal court. But way before that, he was a young lawyer finding his way. He graduated top of his class from Kenyon College and went on to Harvard Law, after studying in a law office for months before attending. Hayes overcame a tragic childhood, in which his father and sister died before his birth and his 9-year-old brother died afterward.

James Garfield

James Garfield was another president who endured a tough start in life. His father died when he was just a year old, leaving his mother to raise four children in an impoverished situation. So, this future president used his first job as a teacher to pay his way through college, teaching classical languages at the Eclectic Institute. He even became the school’s president before transitioning to a career in law, and Business Insider also reports that he tended to mules for $8 per month. Plus, when he was 15 years old, according to The Week, he was a canal boat driver…though apparently not a very good one. He fell overboard 14 times in just a few months. Another random fact: James Garfield was the first left-handed president. Here are other surprising presidential firsts you never knew about.

Chester Arthur

Arthur also taught school on holiday breaks to pay for his law degree, but his pursuits in his early law career were particularly interesting. Britannica calls him an “ardent abolitionist,” and he represented Lizzie Jennings, an African American woman who sued a streetcar company in Brooklyn for forcing her off an all-white car. This and other legal victories paved the way for equal transportation rights.

Grover Cleveland

Cleveland was a unique president for a few reasons, but similar to the previous few leaders, he was a teacher before—you guessed it—he pursued a legal career. He was one of the least healthy presidents and generally a big guy, according to the Constitution Center, and he enjoyed cigars and beer. His real first name was actually Steven, and he was not only the 22nd preside but also the 24th, illustrating the law that you can serve multiple consecutive or nonconsecutive terms up to a total of two terms or 10 years.

Benjamin Harrison

The grandson of president #9, William Henry Harrison, and the son of a Congressman, the younger Harrison grew up on plentiful acres of farmland, according to UVA’s Miller Center. If substantial but enjoyable work with the land qualifies as his first job, then Harrison was an expert: “He hunted, fished, hauled wood, tended livestock” before studying at a private school in Cincinnati and then at Miami University (of Ohio) to become a lawyer. Speaking animals, these are the most famous First Pets to live in the White House.

William McKinley

McKinley was a native Ohioan. His father managed an iron foundry, and his mother was a very religious woman. He participated in some debate societies as an extracurricular interest and attended one term of college but had to quit prematurely due to illness and financial issues, according to Study.com. To make money, he became a teacher and a post-office clerk, and he eventually served in the Battle of Antietam in 1862.

Theodore Roosevelt

Teddy Roosevelt’s family owned a plate-glass import business, according to Biography.com. He grew up dealing with illnesses, especially asthma, so he was home-schooled. His father encouraged him to engage in an intense physical routine by his teens years, including boxing and weightlifting. After quitting law school early, he became the youngest member of the New York State Assembly. He was on the fast track until his mother and wife died on the same day (February, 14, 1884); he took a break from politics and headed out to the Dakota Territory for two years, where he worked as a cattle rancher. Check out the hidden talents of 24 U.S. presidents.

William Howard Taft

Taft had to live up to a prestigious legacy: His father was a lawyer and the Secretary of War under President Grant. While he was in law school at the University of Cincinnati, the younger Taft served as a courthouse reporter for the Cincinnati Commercial, now the Cincinnati Enquirer, which reported on his early life. They joked that technically a president worked for them.

Woodrow Wilson

Wilson spent his early years observing the horrors of war close-up, as his father’s church was turned into a military hospital during the Civil War, according to Britannica. He struggled with education, as he was apparently dyslexic, but he later became somewhat famous for publishing an essay and later his first book, which focused on valuing public opinion in politics. Can you guess the middle name of every U.S. president?

Warren Harding

This future president’s father was the partial owner of an Ohio newspaper, so Harding’s apprenticeship was in printing. This was just the beginning of his career in journalism, which he practiced as the editor of his college paper at Ohio Central College. He would go on to revive the Star, as well as to establish its political stance as Republican in an area mostly comprised of Democrats, piquing his interest in politics and merging his two career paths.

Calvin Coolidge

“Silent Cal” was a lawyer before he was president, and he married a woman who both liked to talk a lot and also taught for a school for the deaf. Biography.com calls the two nearly completely opposite, although they went on to have a very happy marriage. Like many presidents up to this point, he endured intense tragedy as a child, losing both his mother and sister at a young age. He also lost his son later in life to sepsis.

Herbert Hoover

After losing both parents in his youth, Hoover spent many years fending for himself. His first job was as the founder of a student laundry service at Stanford University. He also worked for the school’s registration office as he majored in geology. (He was one of the few presidents to pursue a science-based degree.) After graduation, he looked for a job in surveying, but ended up finding a position in mining engineering, according to UVA’s Miller Center. Check out these presidential “facts” that just aren’t true.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

The distant cousin of Teddy Roosevelt, Franklin was inspired by a speech he heard his relative give during his time at Groton, an elite private school. He went on to attend Harvard, where his first official role was serving as the editor of the school paper, The Harvard Crimson. According to George Washington University, he was a good-looking man who women flocked to—”handsome, charming, and fun-loving.” Unfortunately, he contracted polio at age 39 and lost the ability to walk.

Harry Truman

Perhaps best known as the president to drop the atomic bomb, Truman grew up working on his family’s farm and did not attend college. After high school, he had a variety of interesting jobs, starting as a timekeeper for a railroad company, according to Biography.com. He was also a bookkeeper and a clerk at two banks, but he eventually joined the National Guard. Did Truman also cover up a UFO when he was in office? This is one of 15 presidential mysteries that were never solved.

Dwight Eisenhower

Eisenhower’s family struggled with poverty. He was one of seven brothers, and to contribute, he started selling vegetables at a very young age and also working in a creamery, making and selling dairy products. He enjoyed history and sports, but he took a year off from school to help fund his brother’s education by working. Word is that he cared a bit more about football than school at West Point Academy, but he did graduate.

John F. Kennedy

Kennedy wasn’t really in a position to need a job as a young man, as his family lived comfortably by the time he was in Harvard. He had some health struggles as a young child, but he enjoyed a well-off, sports-based upbringing; his father and brother Joe encouraged a competitive spirit. He wrote his college thesis on why England wasn’t prepared for World War II, according to JFK Library’s website, and shortly after college, he enlisted in the Navy and became a lieutenant and commander of a patrol torpedo boat in the South Pacific. After Joe’s tragic death in the war, JFK decided to forgo his original plans of becoming a teacher or writer and instead ran for Congress. The rest, as they say, is history. These are the 13 things that must happen when a president dies.

Lyndon B. Johnson

This future president was prepared to fill big, and shiny, shoes as he was a shoe-shiner before making his way into the political spotlight. According to The Week, he used the part-time job to make summer money but went on to shine shoes through high school as well, before becoming a goat herder on his uncle’s farm.

Richard Nixon

Nothing makes for a future in politics like seeing the country’s problems up close and personal. This is how Nixon got started in his career—as a lawyer for the Office of Price Administration in Washington, D.C., which, according to the Richard Nixon Foundation, would “greatly influence policies Nixon would develop later in his career.” He also spent two summers visiting relatives in Arizona, where he would pluck chickens at the butcher. His other early jobs included spinning the wheel at the carnival, working as a pool boy at a country club, and helping at his father’s grocery store.

Can you recognize these baby photos of American presidents, including Nixon?

Gerald Ford

Ford was an all-star athlete and an Eagle Scout and, the Gerald Ford Foundation claims, the only president to earn that high honor bestowed upon Boy Scouts who complete certain tasks that display service, leadership, and an ideal attitude. He also worked hard at his first jobs as a painter for the family business and as a restaurant employee.

Jimmy Carter

As you probably know, Jimmy Carter was a Georgian peanut farmer, and he started working at a younger age than any president. According to Notable Biographies, “Jimmy already showed a talent for business: He began to sell peanuts on the streets of Plains.” He was also one of the original “flippers,” as he invested his earnings at age 9 in five bales of cotton, which he stored and resold years later, earning himself enough to purchase five old houses. Check out these 13 surprisingly frugal habits of past presidents and their families.

Ronald Reagan

Reagan had a combination of the most unique jobs, according to The Week. Way before he was a successful actor, he earned a quarter an hour working briefly for Ringling Brothers and later worked 12-hour days as a lifeguard. Early newspaper reports apparently credited him for saving 77 lives by the end of his lifeguarding career. He had a typical college side job of washing cafeteria tables and cooking, and he contributed to college costs and sent money home to his struggling family as well.

George H. W. Bush

The elder Bush’s first job was joining the Navy at age 18 in 1942. He served in World War II and was the youngest pilot to receive his wings at the time, according to the White House archives. He went on to complete 58 combat missions. His job was a bit more dangerous than some previous presidents’, as he was even shot down by Japanese anti-aircraft fire and was rescued from the water by a submarine. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery in action.

Bill Clinton

Bill Clinton started working at age 13 at a grocery store, where he convinced the owner to let him sell comic books. In addition, Clinton was a “band kid” (and one of the presidents with the highest IQ scores), spending time at a band camp in the Ozarks playing saxophone. His family life involved his parents’ tumultuous marriages and divorces, and he apparently had to break up some violent fights. According to UVA’s Miller Center, his mom went to the racetracks on Sundays, and he usually went to church to hear the music.

Being a president is tough. For proof, take a look at these dramatic before-and-after photos of how presidents have aged in office.

George W. Bush

Following in his father’s footsteps, George W. Bush joined the National Guard and flew planes. He would deal with oil later in politics, but it also gave him his start after graduating with an MBA from Harvard. Business Insider reports that he was a scout for drilling sites, and he would later go on to establish his own oil-exploration company.

Barack Obama

In Honolulu, Hawaii, Obama found his first paycheck at a Baskin Robbins, as an ice cream scooper. According to New York, the conditions were brutal. “Chocolate ice cream gets real hard,” he said. “Your wrists hurt. [Carpal tunnel syndrome, although] they didn’t call it that.” Obama was the only president to be born outside the contiguous 48 states. He also apparently spent too much time eating ice cream, and he doesn’t like it anymore as an adult. These 10 jokes prove that Barack Obama is maybe the funniest president ever.

Donald Trump

In a pre-presidency interview with Forbes, Trump revealed that his first job involved scavenging for soda bottles with his brother at his dad’s sites to turn in for the deposit money. From there, he started accompanying rent collectors to learn about that process, and in the interview, he said that he “learned to stand out of the doorway to avoid the possibility of being shot.” He went on to joke about bottles being much safer to collect than rent and said that his job was probably equal to a “below-average allowance.”

How much of a history buff are you? Next, see if you can correctly answer these U.S. presidential trivia questions everyone gets wrong.

Facts You Never Knew About the First Ladies

How Much Money the U.S. President Makes

Strange Things Banned from the White House

The post The First Jobs of All the U.S. Presidents appeared first on Reader's Digest.

One spring morning many years ago, I had been prospecting for gold along Coho Creek on southeastern Alaska’s Kupreanof Island, and as I emerged from a forest of spruce and hemlock, I froze in my tracks. No more than 20 paces away in the bog was a huge Alaskan timber wolf—caught in one of Trapper George’s traps.

Old George had died the previous week of a heart attack, so the wolf was lucky I had happened along. Confused and frightened at my approach, the wolf backed away, straining at the trap chain. Then I noticed some­thing else: It was a female, and her teats were full of milk. Somewhere there was a den of hungry pups waiting for their mother.

From her appearance, I guessed that she had been trapped only a few days. That meant her pups were probably still alive, surely no more than a few miles away. But I suspected that if I tried to release the wolf, she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces. Here are the proven skills to survive any emergency.

So I decided to search for her pups instead and began to look for incoming tracks that might lead me to her den. Fortunately, there were still a few remaining patches of snow. After several moments, I spotted paw marks on a trail skirting the bog.

The tracks led a half ­mile through the forest, then up a rock­-strewn slope. I finally spotted the den at the base of an enormous spruce. There wasn’t a sound in­side. Wolf pups are shy and cautious, and I didn’t have much hope of luring them outside. But I had to try. So I began imitating the high­-pitched squeak of a mother wolf calling her young. No response. A few moments later, after I tried another call, four tiny pups appeared.

They couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. I extended my hands, and they tentatively suckled at my fingers. Perhaps hunger had helped overcome their natural fear. Then, one by one, I placed them in a burlap bag and headed back down the slope.

When the mother wolf spotted me, she stood erect. Possibly picking up the scent of her young, she let out a high­-pitched, plaintive whine. I released the pups, and they raced to her. Within seconds, they were slurping at her belly.

What next? I wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, a menacing growl rumbled in her throat. With her young to protect, she was becoming belligerent. She needs nourishment, I thought. I have to find her something to eat.

I hiked toward Coho Creek and spotted the leg of a dead deer sticking out of a snowbank. I cut off a hindquarter, then re­turned the remains to nature’s ice­box. Toting the venison haunch back to the wolf, I whispered in a soothing tone, “OK, Mother, your dinner is served. But only if you stop growling at me. C’mon, now. Easy.” I tossed chunks of venison in her direction. She sniffed them, then gobbled them up.

Cutting hemlock boughs, I fashioned a rough shelter for myself and was soon asleep nearby. At dawn, I was awakened by four fluffy bundles of fur sniffing at my face and hands. I glanced toward the agitated moth­er wolf. If I could only win her confidence, I thought. It was her only hope.

Over the next few days, I divided my time between prospecting and trying to win the wolf’s trust. I talked gently with her, threw her more venison, and played with the pups. Little by little, I kept edging closer—though I was careful to re­main beyond the length of her chain. The big animal never took her dark eyes off me. “Come on, Mother,” I pleaded. “You want to go back to your friends on the mountain. Relax.”

At dusk on the fifth day, I delivered her daily fare of venison. “Here’s dinner,” I said softly as I approached. “C’mon, girl. Nothing to be afraid of.” Suddenly, the pups came bounding to me. At least I had their trust. But I was beginning to lose hope of ever winning over the mother. Then I thought I saw a slight wagging of her tail. I moved within the length of her chain. She remained motionless. My heart in my mouth, I sat down eight feet from her. One snap of her huge jaws and she could break my arm … or my neck. I wrapped my blanket around myself and slowly settled onto the cold ground. It was a long time before I fell asleep.

I awoke at dawn, stirred by the sound of the pups nursing. Gently, I leaned over and petted them. The mother wolf stiffened. “Good morning, friends,” I said tentatively. Then I slowly placed my hand on the wolf’s injured leg. She flinched but made no threatening move. This can’t be happening, I thought. Yet it was.

I could see that the trap’s steel jaws had imprisoned only two toes. They were swollen and lacerated, but she wouldn’t lose the paw—if I could free her.

“OK,” I said. “Just a little longer and we’ll have you out of there.” I applied pressure, the trap sprang open, and the wolf pulled free.

Whimpering, she loped about, favoring the injured paw. My experience in the wild suggested that the wolf would now gather her pups and vanish into the woods. But cautiously, she crept toward me. The pups nipped playfully at their mother as she stopped at my elbow. Slowly, she sniffed my hands and arms. Then the wolf began licking my fingers. I was astonished. This went against everything I’d ever heard about timber wolves. Yet, strangely, it all seemed so natural.

After a while, with her pups scurrying around her, the mother wolf was ready to leave and began to limp off toward the forest. Then she turned back to me.

“You want me to come with you, girl?” I asked. Curious, I packed my gear and set off.

Following Coho Creek for a few miles, we ascended ­Kupreanof Mountain until we reached an al­pine meadow. There, lurking in the forested perimeter, was a wolf pack—I counted nine adults and, judging by their playful antics, four nearly full­-grown pups. After a few minutes of greeting, the pack broke into howling. It was an eerie sound, ranging from low wails to high-pitched yodeling.

At dark, I set up camp. By the light of my fire and a glistening moon, I could see furtive wolf shapes dodging in and out of the shadows, eyes shining. I had no fear. They were merely curious. So was I.

I awoke at first light. It was time to leave the wolf to her pack. She watched as I assembled my gear and started walking across the meadow.

Reaching the far side, I looked back. The mother and her pups were sitting where I had left them, watching me. I don’t know why, but I waved. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long, mournful howl into the crisp air.

Four years later, after serving in World War II, I returned to Coho Creek. It was the fall of 1945. After the horrors of the war, it was good to be back among the soaring spruce and breathing the familiar, bracing air of the Alaskan bush. Then I saw, hanging in the red cedar where I had placed it four years before, the now­-rusted steel trap that had ensnared the mother wolf. The sight of it gave me a strange feeling, and something made me climb Kupreanof Mountain to the meadow where I had last seen her. There, standing on a lofty ledge, I gave out a long, low wolf call—­something I had done many times before.

An echo came back across the distance. Again I called. And again the echo reverberated, this time followed by a wolf call from a ridge about a half­ mile away.

Then, far off, I saw a dark shape moving slowly in my direction. As it crossed the meadow, I could see it was a timber wolf. A chill spread through my whole body. I knew at once that familiar shape, even after four years. “Hello, old girl,” I called gently. The wolf edged closer, ears erect, body tense, and stopped a few yards off, her bushy tail wagging slightly.

Moments later, the wolf was gone. I left Kupreanof Island a short time after that, and I never saw the animal again. But the memory she left with me—vivid, haunting, a little eerie—will always be there, a reminder that there are things in nature that exist outside the laws and understanding of man.

During that brief instant in time, this injured animal and I had some­how penetrated each other’s worlds, bridging barriers that were never meant to be bridged. There is no explaining experiences like this. We can only accept them and—because they’re tinged with an air of mystery and strangeness—per­haps treasure them all the more.

Read on for an incredible survival story of a hiker who survived back-to-back grizzly attacks.

This story originally appeared in the May 1987 issue of Reader’s Digest.

The Backpacker Who Befriended a Bear

Amazing Wildlife Photos

The Wolf Who Loved Too Much

The post This Hiker Saved the Life of an Alaskan Timber Wolf—4 Years Later the Wolf Still Remembered Him appeared first on Reader's Digest.

If you’ve ever witnessed the majesty of a Canadian goose flock flying into the clouds, you know that these noble birds are a force to be reckoned with. Each flock is comprised of couples who mate for life, as well as their goslings. Together, they are one large family. Apart, they are individuals with quirks and personalities, just like us. No one knows this more than my family, who raised a silly little goose we named Peeper after he was abandoned as a baby.

A new feathered family member

In 2000, when I was around seven years old, my parents, sister, brother, and I were coming back from a T-ball game. That was our usual weekend adventure, but unlike every other weekend, a surprise was waiting for us in our driveway. There, we spotted two adult geese and a small gosling. The adults were startled by our return and flew away, but their baby was still too young to fly and couldn’t follow. We are no strangers to the ways of wildlife, so we knew to avoid physical contact with the young gosling out of fear that it would imprint upon us and be lost to its family forever.

Hours passed, and night fell. With it came a deep chill and a fear of watchful predators. The tiny little thing was wandering around our yard, unaware of what could happen, and it was clear that the gosling needed protection, warmth, and sustenance to make it to the morning. At that point, we knew we had to intervene, and we brought him onto our back porch.

We all pretty much slept with one eye open till morning came. And then another morning. And still another. Each morning, we would try to scurry the goose over to his parents, who kept coming back to our yard. He wouldn’t go to them, though, and they wouldn’t come close enough to claim him. We kept this up for five days, but no luck. By then, the young goose had clearly decided we were his new family, so we had to give him a name. My sister Joanna called the little guy Peeper, because he would follow us around the yard making a peeping noise, nonstop. We also decided that Peeper was a boy. I don’t know why; it just felt right.

While there was no mistaking Peeper’s species, these 9 “pets” actually turned out to be wild animals.

Our little guy grows up

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months until almost a year passed. We settled into a routine filled with feathery hugs and camaraderie. Peeper slept on our back porch each night and, in typical goose fashion, used it as a latrine. My dad would spray off all the goose droppings daily with a hose. Part of this ritual included Dad throwing Peeper up into the air so he could fly a loop around the house, coming back again once the porch was clean.

One evening, my uncle was over, and my dad wanted to show him Peeper’s loop. He threw him up in the air, but this time, Peeper just flew off. Everyone was very, very sad. It was dark, and we were worried. We looked for him for days, calling his name, but he didn’t come back. We hoped he found a flock and went off on his natural way.

Again, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, then years. I missed my little buddy, and I would call for him every time I saw a flock of Canadian geese fly by in V-formation. Twenty years passed, and Peeper became a fond memory for my family.

Peeper finds his way home

Geese live to be around 25 years old, are very loyal, and never forget their first home. Even so, it came as a total shock to me when, in 2019, an aging adult goose made his way back to my family home. Geese love houses with large, green lawns to eat on; the flat terrain also makes it easy for them to scout for predators. So, at first, I assumed it was just another goose. And yet, something about the lone male seemed oddly familiar to me.

After two weeks of the goose coming back repeatedly, it became clear to me that this wasn’t a random goose. He did all of the same things Peeper used to, like trying to come in through the front door and sleeping in our enclosed pool area. In addition to mimicking Peeper’s old ways, this goose also responded to the name Peeper. Much to my amazement, my old best friend had returned, 20 years later.

Here are another 15 pet reunions that will melt your heart.

The ultimate gift

Why did Peeper return? It’s hard to say. Perhaps his mate died, leaving him lonely. It’s also possible that he is approaching his twilight years and knows it, making him crave his early home. This behavior is typical of geese. Whatever the reason, Peeper continues to live with me. It’s a good thing I stayed in my childhood home.

He doesn’t come home every single night the way he did as a baby. Some nights he may seek out the comfort of his own kind at the lake nearby. Geese in the wild typically sleep on water. But he’s here a lot, making his presence known and giving me joy.

This experience has been as meaningful to me as anything in my life. I hope that my children, someday, have the opportunity to connect with nature and a wild being in this same way. People crave connection with the natural world. Through Peeper, I have learned so much about myself and about the nature of love.

Next, check out these true stories that prove animals feel the same emotions as we do.

Steven Lynn is a photographer and videographer. You can see his work on his website and on Instagram.

Animal Adoptions That Will Melt Your Heart

Hilarious Photos of Pets Acting Like People

2019's Most Amazing Animal Photos

The post This Family Raised a Baby Goose for a Year—20 Years Later, It Returned Home appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Russ Fee was asleep inside his tent last summer when a series of screams jolted him awake. Throwing on his shoes and grabbing a lantern his wife had handed him, he ran out to investigate, expecting to find two scared parents whose kids had wandered off. Fee and his wife were traveling through Canada’s Banff National Park to enjoy its stunning beauty and awesome wildlife. It was the latter he now encountered. Although it was dark, Fee could discern a neighboring tent in shambles. Backing out was a wolf, dragging something in his teeth. That thing was a man.

Moments earlier, Elisa and Matt Rispoli, from New Jersey, were asleep with their two young children when the wolf tore into their tent. “It was like something out of a horror movie,” Elisa posted on Facebook. For three minutes, “Matt threw his body in front of me and the boys and fought the wolf.” At one point, Matt got the upper hand, pinning the wolf to the ground. But the wolf clamped its jaw onto Matt’s arm, set its powerful legs, and began tugging Matt outside “while I was pulling on his legs trying to get him back,” Elisa wrote.

It was then that Russ Fee entered the picture. He ran at the beast, kicking it in the hip “like I was kicking in a door,” he told ABC New York. The wolf dropped Matt and emerged from the tent. Wolves are large, Fee told the radio show Calgary Eyeopener. “I felt like I had punched someone that was way out of my weight class.”

Before the wolf could turn its ire on Fee, Matt, his arms bloodied, flew out of the tent to resume the battle. The men pelted the wolf with rocks, forcing it back, then the Fees and the Rispolis fled to the shelter of the Fees’ minivan. An ambulance was called, and Matt was taken to a local hospital suffering puncture wounds and lacerations. He has fully recovered. Park officials closed down the campground until they tracked down the wolf and euthanized it. Canada is home to 60,000 wolves, according to the International Wolf Center. Still, they wrote, on their web site, attacks are so rare that “a person in wolf country has a greater chance of being killed by a dog, lightning, a bee sting, or a car collision with a deer than being injured by a wolf.”

As for Fee, whom Elisa dubbed their guardian angel, he does admit to a fleeting, if less-than-heroic, thought during the heat of battle. The moment the wolf locked eyes with him, Fee says, “I immediately regretted kicking it.”

This Hiker Saved the Life of a Timber Wolf

“Pets” That Turned Out to Be Wild Animals

Amazing Wildlife Photos

The post The Chilling Story of a Wolf That Tore Into a Family’s Tent During the Night appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Snapshots of History

History buff or not, these iconic photos capture standout moments from the human story. Learn the stories behind these photos, and the individuals featured within them, including a shot from the battlefield of the Civil War; Lou Gehrig wiping away tears, as he announced his retirement; and the final moments of the crew before boarding the Challenger.

The post True Stories Behind 23 of the Most Iconic Photos in American History appeared first on Reader's Digest.

When it comes time to set the clocks forward at 2 a.m. on Sunday, March 8, in the annual sleep-losing tradition known as daylight saving time, we may all have Benjamin Franklin to thank (or blame). While daylight saving wasn’t officially proposed until 1895 by an entomologist from New Zealand named George Hudson, the idea was reportedly first introduced by Ben Franklin a century earlier, in a humorous 1784 letter to the Journal of Paris. After inventing bifocals and lightning rods, here’s how Ben Franklin revolutionized modern life, yet again. Don’t miss these 13 hilarious inventions that failed spectacularly.

Franklin’s letter

To the editors of the Journal of Paris, Franklin wrote that he woke early one day, after yet another late night, and “was surprised to find my room filled with light…I got up and looked out to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above the horizon, from whence he poured his rays plentifully into my chamber.”

After noticing it was 6 a.m., Franklin was “astonished” by the sun rising so early, cheekily assuring the editors that he repeated his observation three days in a row. The remainder of the letter calculates the value of saving candles if people simply woke with the sun.

Predicting the natural crankiness that has come with forcing people to wake earlier, Franklin wrote, “All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days, after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as the present irregularity…Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, and it is more than probable he will go willingly to bed at eight in the evening; and, having had eight hours sleep, he will rise more willingly at four in the morning following.”

Franklin’s legacy

Though Franklin’s observations were grounded in humor, he was only partially kidding, Tufts University professor Michael Downing, author of Spring Forward: The Annual Madness of Daylight Saving Time, told National Geographic.

“It’s easy to say Franklin was just joking, and of course he was spoofing the French for being lazy,” Downing says. “But he was a big thrift guy. He constantly wrote about conservation issues, things like the amount of tallow used for candles. He couldn’t stop noticing things that could be done more efficiently if they were done his way. So I think in the end it wasn’t entirely a joke.”

Modern daylight saving

After George Hudson proposed the notion again in 1895—this time, seriously, hoping for more sunshine to go bug hunting in the summer (yes, really)—it was revived during World War I, with the country eager to conserve energy. In 1918, it was passed into law in the United States by Congress…and groggy Americans have been complaining about it ever since.

Why We Have Daylight Saving in the First Place

Hilarious Inventions That Failed Spectacularly

Things You Didn't Know About Daylight Savings

The post The Idea for Daylight Saving Time Started With a Joke appeared first on Reader's Digest.

Great expectations

“Always believe something wonderful is about to happen.” —Unknown. If inspirational morning quotes aren’t enough to get you out of bed, these tips will make waking up in the morning a lot easier.

The post 50 Morning Inspirational Quotes to Wake Up To appeared first on Reader's Digest.