Before he broke Major League Baseball's baseball’s color barrier, Jackie Robinson stole the show as a Negro League player for the Kansas City Monarchs. In a 1945 doubleheader against the Homestead Grays in Washington, 18,000 fans at Griffith Stadium watch Robinson tie a National Negro League record by going 7 for 7.
In 1865, Lewis Powell was tried and hanged along with three other conspirators for their roles in the Lincoln assassination. That should have been the end of the story, but his skull would later surface in an undertaker's collections, the Army Medical Museum, and the Smithsonian before being claimed and finally buried in Florida in 1994.
April 14th, 1865 was a pretty bad day for a lot of people. President Lincoln was assassinated, Clara Harris and Henry Rathbone had their lives torn apart, and Secretary of State William H. Seward was brutally stabbed along with most of his family and a few bystanders. Oh, you hadn’t heard about that last one?
Chuck Brown, Trouble Funk, Rare Essence, Minor Threat, SOA... If you lived in DC in the 1980s, you probably recognize these as local Go-Go and hardcore bands. If that's the case, the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s exhibit, Pump Me Up, is sure to invoke nostalgia. For those who have come here more recently, the exhibit offers a rare opportunity to see how much DC has changed in the last thirty years and how homegrown music was right at the center of the city's experience.
In the early 19th century, taking a life was as easy as taking offense. Just ask Commodore Stephen Decatur. On March 22, 1820, he was killed in a duel leaving (as some claim) his spirit to wander and perhaps seek retribution from the parties that coldly arranged his death.
Long before frozen daiquiris became a summer staple, a Washington-based navy doctor brought the rum-and-lime concoction home after tasting it in Cuba during the Spanish American war. Johnson introduced the drink to the Army and Navy Club, where it became a regular part of the menu and spread across the U.S.
Around these parts it’s pretty common to have buildings named after politicians. But back in the 1890s, the Washington Post felt that Rep. Joseph G. Cannon (R – Illinois) deserved a different kind of recognition for his work on the National Zoo project.
On March 4, 1873, Ulysses S. Grant’s second inauguration turned into a frozen spectacle: a noon temperature of 16°F with 40 mph gusts produced wind chills down to −15° to −30°F, marching cadets were sent to hospitals, musicians couldn’t play because their breath froze in their instruments, canaries hung in the ballroom froze and fell onto the dancers, and even the champagne turned to ice.
In the wee hours of the morning on March 1, 1971, a disturbing phone call came in to the Senate telephone switchboard. A man “with a hard low voice” told the operator that an explosion would rock the U.S. Capitol in 30 minutes. It was not a false alarm.
On March 2, 1889, President Grover Cleveland signed legislation establishing a zoological park along Rock Creek in Northwest Washington “for the advancement of science and the instruction and recreation of the people.” But, of course, the backstory began years before and included buffalo grazing on the National Mall.
The events of April 14, 1865 at Ford's Theatre in Washington are well known. Actor John Wilkes Booth went into President Lincoln's box and shot him. The President was mortally wounded and died the next morning. What you may not know, however, is that there were others victimized that April night... and their story is haunting.