Though I have lived in London for many years, there is still plenty I miss about the USA.

When people come to visit, they often ask what they can bring me from the US.

And when someone visits in October, this is one thing I ask for:

Candy Corn!

Those two words will have some people thinking, “Ugh! Disgusting!” – and others wondering, “What?”

To me, candy corn is a Halloween staple (but please don’t pour it directly into a trick-or-treater’s plastic pumpkin when they stop by your house).1

But who came up with the idea for this sugary treat?

I was curious…

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Let’s start at the beginning, as many people may not have experienced this Halloween treat.

Candy corn is basically a dentist’s nightmare.

It’s a very sweet, triangle-shaped candy that is divided into three sections.

These sections are marked by three colors – traditionally yellow, orange and white.

When I was growing up, candy corn was something you associated with Halloween (or autumn) and was only on the shelves at Target for a few months.

And in addition to candy corns, Brach’s made candy pumpkins that shared the same taste as the candy corn.

I had no idea where candy corn came from, but, as I learned while researching this piece, there’s been a great deal of innovation (or shameless attempts to make money) with candy corn over the years.

But the origins of candy corn go back to the 1880s.

That’s when George Renninger, a candymaker at the Wunderle Candy Company of Philadelphia, first introduced his new sugary product – “Butter Cream.”

Prior to this, the popular candies were made of marzipan – which could be molded into shapes.

Renninger’s Butter Cream could also be molded into shapes, like chestnuts, turnips, and clovers.

But it had an advantage over marzipan — it was cheaper to produce.

Even though the candy was called “Butter Cream,” that’s a bit misleading, as the recipe doesn’t include butter.

Instead, it was made by first cooking sugar, water, and corn syrup; then adding fondant (more sugar!) and marshmallow (even more sugar!) to make it softer. 

The ingredients were melted into a liquid candy, called “slurry,” then colored and run through a cornstarch molding process. 

And the recipe wasn’t the only thing that made George Renninger’s candy different. 

Instead of using a single color, he used three different colors, which made his candy stand out.

The colors had to be layered by hand, making it more labor-intensive to produce than other candies, but also something unique on the market.

In 1898, the Goelitz Candy Company (now the Jelly Belly Candy Company) saw opportunity with Renninger’s creation – and purchased the recipe and began mass-producing his candy.

One type of Renninger’s Butter Cream was originally called “Chicken Corn,” and Goelitz would market it as “Butter Sweet Corn” as well as “Chicken Feed.”

And here’s something I learned about corn2…

Though corn is something most people in the US eat today, it was not considered respectable food before World War I. 

“Corn was coarse and cheap and not very tasty: good food for pigs and chickens,” wrote Samira Kawash in The Atlantic in 2010.

“It wasn’t until wartime wheat shortages in 1917 that any but the poorest Americans would have considered corn flour, corn meal, or corn bread acceptable foodstuffs.”

At some point, Goelitz rebranded “Chicken Feed” as “Candy Corn” but their ads still showed candy corn with a rooster and the tagline, “Something worth crowing for.”

And even though few American families were eating corn, the candy variety of corn was a hit.

Candy corn was often sold as “penny candy” – the kind children could buy for one cent, or a bag full for a few pennies or a nickel3.

It wasn’t something special for Halloween – it was enjoyed year-round – and particularly at Christmas.

By the 1950s, candy corn advertising in October increased, and suddenly the three-colored triangles were seen as a Halloween treat. 

“As Halloween became more and more dominated by candy beginning in the 1950s, candy corn increasingly became the candy for Halloween,” Kawash said.

And these days, candy corn is not a treat reserved for Halloween or the autumn months.

Now you can find variations of candy corn year-round, like red, white and green “reindeer corn” at Christmas time, or pastel colors for Easter.

I’m all for culinary adventures, but did the world need candy corns in tropical flavors, or caramel apple or …turkey dinner!?

The turkey dinner candy corn may no longer be on the shelves4 — but the candy corn market is still going strong.

In 2023, the Jelly Belly Candy Company reported they produced 65 million kernels of candy corn.5 

And Brach’s, whose candy corn I grew up eating, claims to be the No. 1 producer of candy corn.

In 2023, Fortune reported Brach’s produced about 30 million pounds of candy corn annually, making up 88 percent of the candy corn sold in the United States.

But despite the large quantities (and varieties) sold, candy corn is a divisive candy.

Some people HATE it.

It’s too sweet. It’s too waxy. It feels weird on your teeth. 

I saw more than one article refer to it as the “Devil’s Earwax.”

Even the food critics can’t make up their minds.

In 2013, Bon Appétit put candy corn on their best Halloween candy list.

They also put it on their worst list. 

But, while tastes have changed and other candies have come and gone, candy corn remains a Halloween staple.

In 2023, the New York Times asked if it was time to give candy corn the respect it deserves, and interviewed Wanda King, who has a collection of nearly 40 varieties of candy corn. 

King’s collection includes flavors like chocolate, caramel, peppermint, cookies, Starburst, pumpkin pie, s’mores and three separate coffee flavors. 

And even though my vote for best Halloween candy goes to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (or Fun Size Snickers), Candy Corn is still an essential part of Halloween.

And like jelly beans and lollipops, even candy corn has its own special day, recognized by the National Confectioners Association.

So, if you’re a fan, grab some sweet treats and celebrate National Candy Corn Day!

Just make sure to brush your teeth afterwards.

One more thing…

How do you eat yours?

Is there a right way to eat candy corn?

The National Confectioners Association asked how people ate their candy corn, and here’s what they found:

I’m with the 42.7 percent who eat the top white part first.

In case you were wondering, the colors on candy corn may be different, but the layers all taste the same.

Happy Halloween!

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The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

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Women in Iceland came up with a creative way back in 1975.

They called it “Kvennafrí” or “Women’s Day Off.”

But what was the Women’s Day Off – and how did it happen?

I was curious…

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In the early 1970s, an Icelandic feminist group called the Redstockings wanted to raise awareness of issues that affected women – and highlight the valuable role women played in society.

They had discussed having a women’s strike to illustrate women’s contributions, but the idea didn’t take off, as a strike based on gender was considered illegal in Iceland at that time.

But opportunity presented itself in 1975 when the United Nations kicked off an “International Women’s Year” to advance women’s rights around the world.

As part of the Women’s Year, various countries organized events to address gender discrimination and women’s issues.

To mark the Women’s Year in Iceland, the prime minister’s office formed a committee with representatives from the five biggest women’s organizations in the country.

They wanted the committee to be politically diverse to ensure their event would reflect the views of women across Iceland.

Though their backgrounds, ages, and political beliefs differed, the committee agreed that women were not being treated fairly in Iceland – and their contribution to the country was underestimated.

Women who worked in factories and offices were paid much less than men. 

Housewives saw their contributions to the family and home belittled, and farmers’ wives saw their work on the farm unrecognized. 

The committee agreed that across Iceland, whether women worked in or out of the home, their work was underpaid, undervalued, and unappreciated.

Perhaps if women stopped working for a day, society would understand how valuable they were.

The idea of a strike was suggested by members of the Redstockings, but some of the committee members felt a strike was too extreme.

Women could lose their jobs if they went on strike.

And the word “strike” also left some feeling uneasy.

Then Valborg Bentsdóttir, a 70-year-old member of a Center political party representing the older generation of feminists, proposed an alternative.

“Strike? Is that what you don’t like?” she asked the committee.

“Why don’t you then just call it ‘a day off’?”

With the wording agreed, the committee decided that on October 24, 1975, women across Iceland would not work at home or in the office to prove their economic value. 

They called their event “Kvennafrí” – or the “Day Off.”

With just three months to prepare, the committee moved quickly to spread the word across Iceland, making phone calls, writing articles, and giving interviews with the media.

They circulated 47,000 copies of a letter that said, “Why A Day Off for Women?” explaining the rationale behind their initiative.

They worked together, liaising with various unions and women’s groups to get their message across and persuade other women to take part in the day off.

And their efforts worked.

On October 24, a whopping 90 percent of the women in Iceland took the day off.

Or rather, they did not work in their normal paid (or unpaid) roles.

That day in Reykjavik, an estimated 25,000 women from all walks of life gathered to sing, listen to speeches, and discuss the issues.

It’s a staggering number when you consider that Iceland’s population was just 220,000 at the time.

Gathered in the crowd were women and girls of all ages, from grannies to young children. There were housewives, office and factory workers, single mothers, students – all coming together to have their voices heard and their contributions recognized.

The women who spoke that day represented the diverse roles women played in society – a housewife, a worker, a representative of the women’s movement, a representative of the trade union, and two Members of Parliament.

“We are not demanding any special wage increase,” said spokeswoman Gerdur Steinthorsdottir.

“We are only showing that it is a great injustice that women receive lower wages.

“The work of the housewife has been most grossly undervalued. It is particularly important that we show the men what our work in the home means.”

And the value of women’s work was evident that day.

The telephone system crashed, as there were no women working as operators. 

There were no newspapers, because there were no women to do the typesetting.

The national airline had to cancel flights, as there were no flight attendants.

Banks brought executives to work as cashiers, while many factories and shops were forced to close. 

It was, as one woman described, “a quiet revolution.”

And with no women to teach or run nurseries, men had to stay home to watch their children, or take their children to the office with them.

Men were also responsible for preparing dinner for the family, which might explain why sausages – an easy and kid-friendly meal – were sold out across the country.

Perhaps that’s why the Women’s Day Off is known by another name – “The Long Friday.”

And not only did it communicate a message, it led to change.

“What happened that day was the first step for women’s emancipation in Iceland,” said Vigdis Finnbogadottir, who would go on to become the world’s first democratically elected female president.

“It completely paralyzed the country, and opened the eyes of many men.”

The following year, Iceland’s Parliament passed the Gender Equality Act, a law prohibiting wage discrimination based on gender. 

More women were elected into Iceland’s Parliament, and in 1980, Iceland elected its first female president. 

But despite this progress, Iceland – like so many places in the world – still has far to go to resolve the issues women raised in 1975. 

But the spirit of Kvennafrí lives on – and women in Iceland have continued to protest income inequality by holding events on the anniversary of Women’s Day Off, reminding the country that there is still much work to do.

Though instead of taking the day off, women have finished work early, to reflect that the wage gap continues to exist in Iceland.

One more thing…

Curious what the atmosphere was like in Reykjavik during Kvennafrí in 1975?

You can listen to the songs that were sung at the 1975 Reykjavik rally on this album, Áfram stelpur (Translation: Go Girls!).

You can also see more from that day in this video:

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The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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-Beth

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Last week, I spent an afternoon in my favorite part of London — where I first lived in London School of Economics student accommodation many years ago…

See that bridge in the background?

It’s Tower Bridge.

But it is often mistaken for London Bridge.

You can find tourists making this mistake in social media posts, followed by other posters kindly correcting them, like this:

This is London Bridge.

Not quite as picturesque.

But unlike so many things in London, this London Bridge is not that old.

It was officially opened on March 16, 1973 (by Queen Elizabeth herself) to replace the previous London Bridge, which now stands in Arizona.

But how did it end up in Arizona?

And why? 

I was curious…

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The story of how London Bridge came to Arizona begins in the 1950s, with Robert McCulloch, a chainsaw and outboard motor magnate who lived in Los Angeles.

He was looking for a place where he could test and manufacture his motors, and chose Lake Havasu, Arizona, which sat on the border between California and Arizona. 

He purchased Pittsburgh Point – 3,353 acres of unoccupied desert – in 1958.

But instead of leaving it as a test site, he decided to build a town – a place where people could live, work and play. 

And he had the ideal partner to bring this vision to life: Cornelius Vanderbilt (C.V.) Wood.

Wood knew a thing or two about creating utopia – he was one of the key people involved in developing Disneyland, turning orange groves into the happiest place on Earth.

But Wood didn’t share McCulloch’s optimism for building a community in Arizona.  

He did, however, agree to conduct a feasibility study “just to prove it’s hopeless.”

But it turned out McCulloch’s crazy idea wasn’t so crazy.

“If we can make a bunch of pieces go together, this is a perfect site for a new community,” Wood said.

McCulloch purchased another 13,000 acres, and in 1963, Lake Havasu City was established.

But how could McCulloch and Wood convince people to come?

In 1968, they got their answer, with another “crazy” idea from McCulloch.

Thousands of miles away, England’s London Bridge was falling down – literally.1

The bridge, built in 1831, was not designed for the truck and automobile traffic it now had to support. 

And rather than demolish the bridge, a City of London councilor named Ivan Luckin had another idea.

Why not sell it?

The other committee members scoffed at Luckin’s suggestion. 

Who would want to buy a heap of old stones? 

But Luckin was convinced there was one place he could sell the bridge – America.

After all, American publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst had dismantled old castles and re-built them in America (and Wales).

And the famous blitzed St. Mary Aldermanbury Church had been taken down and rebuilt in Fulton, Missouri.

“How much do you think we would get for the old Bridge?” the Chairman of Bridge House asked Luckin.

“Not less than one million, Sir,” was Luckin’s reply.

“One million dollars did you say?” 

“Pounds, Sir,” he corrected. 

Luckin convinced the committee it was an idea worth pursuing, and in the summer of 1967, they sent a marketing brochure to every British diplomatic outpost around the globe.

Though there had been enquiries and potential bidders from Australia and Canada, the most interest had come from America. 

But five weeks before the closing date for bids, they had no firm offers.

So in February 1968, Ivan persuaded the committee to let him go to the United States to make a final effort to whip up interest for the bridge.

His sales pitch wasn’t that he was selling a heap of stones – he was selling a piece of history.

“London Bridge is not just a bridge,” he said. 

“It is the heir to 2,000 years of history going back to the first century A.D., to the time of the Roman Londinium.”

Joined by City Engineer Harold King, Luckin travelled from New York City to Washington D.C., holding press conferences and speaking to potential bidders.

Finally, they made their way to Los Angeles – for a meeting with CV Wood.

The men flew (on a McCulloch plane) to look at the site of Lake Havasu City. On return, they met Robert McCulloch, and began the negotiations.

“We poured an awful lot of scotch trying to loosen them up enough to give us some idea of how much they wanted,” McCulloch said.

Dismantling the bridge was projected to cost $1.2 million, so McCulloch decided to double the amount, and then added another $60,000 ($1000 for each year of his age when the bridge reopened at Lake Havasu).

Luckin was right — the City of London would get more than the £1 million he predicted for London Bridge.

Now if people thought Ivan Luckin’s idea to sell the bridge seemed ridiculous, McCulloch’s idea to buy it seemed even more ridiculous.

After all, Lake Havasu didn’t need a bridge. 

But McCulloch thought London Bridge was just what he needed to attract visitors to his new town.

So he came up with a plan to carve one of the lake’s peninsulas into an island so the bridge would have something to span.

And McCulloch’s bid of $2.46 million was enough to make him the owner of London Bridge. 

But now came the hard part – transporting it to Arizona – and rebuilding it.

Workers labeled each brick, then dismantled and shipped more than 850 tons of granite blocks in the first shipment to California. 

In total, more than 10,000 tons of the bridge’s granite blocks were shipped.

The blocks then traveled by truck to Arizona, to be sorted and reassembled.

Many questioned McCulloch’s idea to build a bridge in the desert – and his investment.

The New York Times reported “Good Luck Yank” was even written across one of the stones being assembled. 

But McCulloch was undeterred. 

He had a town that needed tourists and money – and was convinced that London Bridge would lure in both.

Rebuilding the bridge took three years, with a crew of 40 men sorting and reassembling more than 10,000 stones. 

To ensure this bridge could support stronger traffic, it was rebuilt around a steel framework.

And while the bridge cost $2.46 million to buy, the project costs soared to nearly $10 million after the transportation, assembly, and dredging were factored in.

By 1971, the project was widely referred to as “McCulloch's Folly.” 

But on October 10, 1971, Lake Havasu officially dedicated London Bridge’s new home, with many British and Arizona officials attending. 

“Home at last” was written in the sky, and more than 30,000 people gathered to watch the flamboyant celebrations, which included a parade, and the release of 30,000 balloons, hundreds of white pigeons, skydivers, marching bands, and hot air balloons.

The weekend festivities also included a lavish banquet, where 800 guests dined on lobster and roast beef – the same meal King William IV was served during the bridge’s original unveiling in 1831.

“It's a supergimmick,” a British newsman attending the event told the New York Times. 

“It's all quite mad — it could only happen in America. 

“Only an American would think of investing that much in something as crazy as this.”

But “McCulloch’s Folly” created the buzz – and delivered the visitors to the area. 

McCulloch recouped all the costs of buying and reassembling the bridge – and it brought millions of visitors to the area.

By the time McCulloch died in 1977, Lake Havasu City had grown from a few hundred residents to a population of more than 10,000. 

Lake Havasu City now has a population over 50,000 and attracts nearly a million visitors annually. Visitors come for the warm climate, the bass fishing, and of course, the historic bridge.

And while it may not be able to top the visitor numbers of Arizona’s Grand Canyon, Lake Havasu’s London Bridge is the most popular man-made attraction in the state. 

One more thing…

McCulloch may have purchased London Bridge, but did he think he was actually getting Tower Bridge?

It’s a nice story, but reports and articles say it’s just not true.

In a 1983 interview, Ivan Luckin confirmed that McCulloch knew what he was buying.

McCulloch’s grandson, Michael, agrees.

“I know for a fact they knew exactly which bridge they were going to buy,” said Michael.

“Do you think anyone in their right mind would look at Tower Bridge and think they could take it apart and bring it here?

“But RP (McCulloch) and CV (Wood) felt that by allowing that rumour to perpetuate, it gave them continued publicity, so they let it go.”

And one more anecdote just because…

When not designing theme parks and relocating bridges for the desert, C.V. Wood was searching for…the perfect chili.

“Woody” himself was named the World Champion Chef de Chili in 1969, and brought showmanship into chili competitions.

Wood and race car designer Carroll Shelby (remember him from Ford vs. Ferrari?) were such enthusiastic chili fans that they even created the International Chili Society.

And unlike many chili connoisseurs, “Woody” was kind enough to share his recipe.

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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-Beth

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There we were — waiting for a train at Embankment Station — and I said, “You know, there’s an interesting story about the voice that says ‘Mind the Gap’ here.”

Naturally, she was riveted by my boundless knowledge.

“Please tell me more, Beth!” she said with delight.1

On my first visit to London (in 1998), I remember hearing the announcement to “Mind the Gap” as the tube arrived at the London Underground platform.

I thought that phrase was so funny.

Mind the gap?

I quickly learned this was a fancy way of saying, Watch your step, as there was a gap between the train and the platform.

Those Brits — they’re so fancy!2

But where did these “Mind the Gap” announcements come from — and what is the story behind the voice at Embankment Station?

I hope you’re curious…

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The “Mind the Gap” announcement was introduced on the London Underground in 1969.

An actor was originally hired to record the message, but when he expected royalties for the job, Sound Engineer Peter Lodge recorded a version that was used instead.

And over the years, different recordings have been used in different stations.

Actor Tim Bentinck, best known for playing David Archer in BBC Radio 4’s series, The Archers, voiced the Piccadilly line between 1990 and 2006.

His announcement was later replaced by that of voice actor Phil Sayer, whose voice could also be heard on the busy Jubilee and Northern lines.

“He had an R.P. voice,” his widow Elinor Hamilton said, “but it was not posh.”

[R.P. – or Received Pronunciation – is a standard accent of spoken British English. It’s often associated with educated speakers and formal speech.]

I probably heard voiceover artist Emma Clarke’s announcements when I visited London in the early 2000s.

Her voice was used on the London Underground for eight years – until she posted a series of “mock announcements” online.

My favorite:

“We would like to remind our American tourist friends that you are almost certainly talking too loudly.”3

She does have a lovely voice. You can hear for yourself:4

Though Clarke said her mock announcements were “just a bit of a laugh,” her bosses at Transport for London (TfL) failed to see the humor — and removed her voice from London Underground stations in 2007.5

But they had a little fun sharing the news.

A TfL spokesman said at the time:

“London Underground is sorry to have to announce that further contracts for Miss Clarke are experiencing severe delays.”

But what about that voice at Embankment Station?

That voice belonged to an actor named Oswald Laurence.

Laurence was a theatre actor born in Hamburg, Germany in 1929.

He made the “Mind the Gap” recordings for the Northern line in the late 1960s or early 1970s.

And his announcement could still be heard on the Northern line at Embankment Station when he passed away in 2007.

Devastated by the loss of her husband, Oswald’s widow, Dr. Margaret McCollum, would often travel to Embankment station just to hear his voice.

“He was never very far away in my head and in my heart,” she told the Daily Mail in 2013.

“And knowing that I could go and listen to his voice was simply wonderful. It was a great comfort.

“If I had a journey that could possibly go via Embankment, I would go that way.

“I would go and sit on the platform, and sometimes miss a couple of trains just so I could hear it.

“I just loved hearing his voice.”

And that’s what Dr. McCollum did for years — until one day in November 2012 — when she heard a different voice in the station.

She enquired with TfL staff at Embankment, and was told the station’s PA system had been digitized — and Oswald’s “gorgeous voice” had been removed.

“I was horrified,” she told the BBC in 2013.

“I was completely, utterly devastated.

“That might sound ridiculous, but I thought I had to do something about this.”

So, she wrote a letter to TfL, asking if they could help her obtain a copy of her husband’s announcement.

TfL were touched by Margaret’s story, and staff tracked down the recording, and kindly arranged for her to have a copy on CD.

But that wasn’t all…

Margaret’s letter must have been pretty moving.

Because in March 2013, TfL brought Oswald’s voice back to the northbound Northern line at Embankment Station.

And that, my dear reader (and sister), is the story of the voice we heard on the platform on October 4, 2026.

Mind the gap.

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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Hello!

There are some songs that instantly take you back to a time in your life.

I can hear songs from my childhood and tell you if I owned it on CD, or cassette tape or even cassette single1.

And watching a recent episode of Ted Lasso, I heard the song that took me back to high school — and a song I owned on cassette single: Jump Around by House of Pain.

And when I read that Wisconsin’s Jump Around was a great football tradition, naturally, I was curious…

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Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin…

In 1998, Ryan Sondrup was a tight end for the University of Wisconsin football team, and a marketing intern for the university’s athletic department.

But when a knee injury kept him off the field, he came up with the idea that changed the University of Wisconsin’s football games forever.

Ryan thought they needed to do something more at football games, and discussed some ideas about music and the experience in the stadium with Kevin Kluender, the assistant athletic director for marketing.

“Could we do something to get the players excited and juiced up?” Ryan asked Kevin. 

“I was just the intern, but they said, ‘Why don’t you come up with some ideas and get back to us?’”

Ryan met up with some of his teammates at a local bar to talk about songs they could include at football games.

“I had a little green notebook that I wrote down all my ideas,” Ryan told ESPN in 2023.

The students wanted something popular, and thought about songs by bands like Metallica and Mötley Crüe.

Bartender (and offensive lineman) Erik Waisanen gave the group some quarters to feed the bar’s jukebox for inspiration.

That’s when they stumbled on the 1992 House of Pain song, Jump Around.

Jump Around is one of those songs that grabs you soon as you hear it.

It begins with a four-note fanfare (sampled from Bob & Earl’s Harlem Shuffle), followed by a tumbling beat and a high-pitched squealing that appears constantly throughout the song. 

The group’s enthusiasm for Jump Around had Ryan put it on the top of the list he shared with Kevin.

Shortly after that, the Wisconsin Badgers had their Homecoming game against the Purdue Boilermakers.

At the end of the third quarter, Wisconsin’s Jamar Fletcher intercepted the ball and scored a touchdown for Wisconsin, breaking a tie and giving the Badgers a 24-17 lead.

And then, just as the offense came onto the field just before the fourth quarter began, Kevin Kluender decided to play a song.

The signature fanfare of four notes blared from the loudspeakers, and signaled to the crowd what was coming…

And they knew exactly what to do.

Wisconsin’s Camp Randall Stadium became a sea of fans wearing red and white jumping around.

“The students exploded like popcorn,” Kevin said.

“It was crazy,” said Erik Waisanen, who was on the field at the time. 

“We looked over and saw the student section. It was unreal – it was more than goosebumps.”

It energized not only the crowd, but also the players, and led to a Wisconsin victory.

And Jump Around wasn’t a one hit wonder with the Wisconsin fans.

“When the energy and the excitement carried over from one season to the next, at that point we started to think, ‘We might have something here,’” Kevin said.

And they did.

What started out as an idea from a group of students in 1998 has become a tradition of Wisconsin football, and signalled the start of the 4th quarter for more than 25 years.

Here’s a video capturing 20 years of Jump Around at Wisconsin:

One more thing…

All good things must come to an end?

On April 1, 2022, Nicole Heiman reported sad news for Wisconsin fans. 

The article reported that the university had received a cease-and-desist order from House of Pain’s music group, and that they would no longer be able to use Jump Around at football events or commencement ceremonies.

It would be the end of an era, and the athletic department would be looking for a replacement song for the 4th quarter.

But check the date of that announcement.

Nice work, Nicole! 

Want more Jump Around?

Check out House of Pain singer Everlast performing Jump Around with the Badgers marching band in Los Angeles during the 2011 Rose Bowl.

In 2022, Everlast came to Camp Randall for Homecoming, and led the fans in the 4th quarter Jump Around.

The Most Touching College Football Tradition

Wisconsin’s Jump Around may be the most fun college football tradition, but Iowa’s Wave is the most touching.

At the end of each first quarter, thousands of fans, players, coaches and staff members in Kinnick Stadium turn to wave at the University of Iowa Stead Family Children’s Hospital, which overlooks the stadium.

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

Stay Curious!

-Beth

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Do you ever think about those small decisions you make in life that seem inconsequential, but then somehow lead you to something much more fulfilling?

Twelve years ago, I decided to take my daughter to a baby yoga class in London.

Any outing at that time meant weighing the benefits of adult social time against the hassle – getting a bulky stroller on a crowded London bus and messing up her sleep schedule.

But that day, I did it.

And somewhere between tummy time and downward facing dog, I heard a song that grabbed my attention.

It had the distinct sound of a baby’s lullaby – xylophones and soft chimes – but something about the tune was unusual.

This was no Baby Shark or Wheels on the Bus.

“Is that Don’t Stop Believin’?” I thought to myself.

And after the class, my curiosity got the better of me.

I went up to thank the teacher for the class and inquired about the music that she had played.

My ears had not deceived me. It was the familiar Journey hit about a small town girl living in a lonely world!

The teacher told me the song was from a series called Rockabye Baby! that featured popular music that had been translated into instrumentals soothing enough for a baby.

I instantly went searching, and soon was soothing my daughter with Rockabye Baby! lullaby versions of Radiohead, Prince and the Beach Boys, followed by the Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day and The Cure.

But where did this idea come from?

Curiosity also led me to discover the woman behind this great idea, Lisa Roth.

I devoured everything I could find about her and Rockabye Baby! years ago and shared what I learned in the early days of Curious Minds.

Then recently – out of the blue – I received an email inviting me to have a Q&A with Lisa, as part of the 20th anniversary of Rockabye Baby!

This was a chance to really dig in!

Of course, I was curious…

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“You have no discernible skills to work here.”

That’s what the office manager of CMH Records said to Lisa Roth when she joined the company more than 20 years ago.

Though Lisa had more than 25 years of work experience under her belt, none of it was in the music industry.

She had spent the majority of her career working as a nutritionist – and had been introduced to CMH when they hired her to give a series of lectures about nutrition to their employees.

Then, they offered her a job.

“The owner’s business partner said, ‘We just liked you – and we thought if we hired you, good things would come from it,’” Lisa told me.

When I first heard about Rockabye Baby!, I thought it was probably created by a parent. Or a professional musician.

Someone who realized that much of the music designed for babies might be a pleasure for a child, but often feels like punishment for an adult.1

Lisa is neither a professional musician nor a mother – but once you know more of her story, it isn’t surprising that she came up with an idea that uses music to help and entertain other people.

Spend just a few minutes with her and her natural warmth and curiosity are quickly apparent.

And that curiosity is simply part of her DNA.

Lisa grew up in a house that prioritized both the arts and science – with a mother who played the violin and a father who was both a surgeon and an actor who owned a theatre in their hometown of Pasadena, California.

“It is very much at the foundation of my family, and my ancestors, and my own upbringing to be curious – and to inquire.”

“My father used to tell me, ‘You can change horses in the middle of a stream’ – meaning there are many things you can do in life.”

Lisa followed that advice.

She grew up a shy, sensitive girl who loved ballet and playing the trumpet, but didn’t have the pointe and turnout to be a professional ballerina.

But Lisa also had an interest in science and nutrition, so she shifted her focus from pointe shoes and pliés to protein and petri dishes.

This love of science didn’t start with her father though. It began with her paternal grandmother, Dora.

“My grandmother was an extremely bright, curious woman, but an immigrant to this country at a time when education for women of her stature was not supported.”

“But she didn’t let it get in the way of her curiosity and interest.”

And listening to Lisa describe her, it is evident that Grandma Dora was ahead of her time.

In the early 1900s – long before “wellness” became an industry – Dora Roth understood the importance of nutrition as part of general wellbeing.

When she noticed the Land o’ Lakes butter was looking more yellow, she wanted to know why. And why was the cottage cheese now being sold in a plastic container instead of glass? What was really in Dr. Pepper?

“She wrote letters any time she noticed a change or had a question – and would answer the letters she got in return until she got the answer she needed.”

“There was nothing hammered into me, but growing up around this, you adopt this and are probably wired that way.”

While her siblings both pursued careers in the arts, Lisa focused on science, and spent two decades working as a nutritionist.

Then in 2006, she decided to do something different, and took a job at CMH Records.

Lisa had never worked in the music industry before – nor had a desire to. And she joined CMH without a title or job description.

But she did grow up loving music, saving up her 25-cent allowance until she had enough money to buy Smokey Robinson’s Tears of a Clown and Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On at Canterbury Records in Pasadena.

She had also watched her older brother David “pound the pavement” for years as he built his music career – and then saw him become the frontman of one of the most famous rock bands of the 1980s, Van Halen.

But the idea for Rockabye Baby! wasn’t born just from a love of music.

It was an idea that came when Lisa was trying to solve a problem.

A week after joining CMH Records, Lisa went shopping for a baby shower gift for a friend, and couldn’t find anything she was excited to give.

“I knew I wanted music,” she said. “But there was nothing out there that I was excited to give, and nothing with a sense of humor.”

“I wished I could find something that my friend would smile at when I gave it to her – like ‘Baby’s First Sex Pistols’ or something like that.”

That frustrating shopping experience gave Lisa an idea.

The next day, she went into work and told her boss: “We should get into the baby business.”

Her boss was receptive to the idea – and so were her colleagues.

And CMH had the resources and relationships to actually build it – but turning the idea into something real would take time.

The team worked at an accelerated pace, licensing songs and arranging rock anthems into instrumentals gentle enough for a baby.

The idea that began as ‘Baby’s First Sex Pistols’ became Rockabye Baby!, and in 2006, they released three albums: lullaby renditions of Radiohead, Coldplay and Metallica.

“When we released our first three albums, the New York Times came out with a huge article, and it crashed our website,” Lisa said.

But despite the initial enthusiasm, sales weren’t as strong as they had hoped.

Rockabye Baby! was being sold in massive retailers, like Best Buy and Walmart, where it was stocked alongside the artists’ music.

But parents weren’t looking for lullabies under Metallica and Coldplay.

“We had to do this differently,” Lisa said.

She realized they needed a new marketing approach, and mentioned it to her cousin.

As luck would have it, later that day, her cousin met Francie Kaplan, a marketing pro who had worked with Disney and Mattel.

“Francie told us, ‘You have to treat this like a brand, and get it into brick and mortar, and let customers and word-of-mouth spread the word.’”

So they pulled Rockabye Baby! out of the big retailers and followed Kaplan’s advice.

“Our sales team started cold-calling across the United States, and we started filling up baby stores,” Lisa said.

“We worked on our image and our brand – and things started to pick up.”

Sales grew – and each year more Rockabye Baby! albums were released.

They tend to release six albums each year, with lullabies representing many genres of music, from rock and pop to Latin, hip-hop, rap and heavy metal.

Lisa’s idea for a fun baby gift led to a brand that has now released 130 albums, featuring artists as diverse as Black Sabbath, Beyonce, Bad Bunny and Taylor Swift.

Aside from physical album sales, Rockabye Baby! has been streamed more than 4.5 billion times.

The music industry has changed dramatically in the last two decades (when was the last time you bought music at Best Buy?), but the love of music hasn’t.

And the brand has grown beyond the nursery.

Rockabye Baby! lullabies have become popular for yoga classes – and one dentist told me the Metallica version was even requested by a patient during a dental procedure.

Not bad for an idea from a woman with “no discernible skills.”

But ask Lisa about any of this, and she won’t take the credit.

Instead, she’ll tell you about the team behind it.

How much hard work the sales team did to get the product into baby stores, and how hard the musicians work to translate the music in a way that shows respect to the artists behind them. How everyone from the brand and marketing teams to the animators work not just to entertain – but to make people feel.

“Rockabye Baby! is created by a creative team of human beings who care about every little thing we do.”

“We care about what it looks like, how it sounds, the message it sends out.”

“We take it seriously – the imaging, the cover art, the verbiage. It’s not a joke. We’re not making fun.”

While Lisa’s professional background may not have made her an obvious hire for a record label, her creativity and her care have touched people around the world – in ways she’ll probably never fully grasp.

I asked Lisa what she hopes people take away from the brand she created – and what’s next for Rockabye Baby! and her personally.

“I want the brand to touch people,” Lisa told me. “That’s what I want.”

“There will always be music and there will always be babies – and I think the brand will have a long life way beyond me.”

“I’ll continue to do what I’ve done my whole life – and that is just show up. Put one foot in front of the other and see what happens.”

And then she held a yellow Post-it note up to the camera for me to see – one that she’s kept for more than 20 years.

‘You have no discernible skills to work here,’ it read.

“I find myself in places where on paper I don’t belong and see what comes of it.”

“It’s a thread that has run throughout my entire life – and why stop now?”

One more thing…

With 130 albums, Rockabye Baby! really has music for everyone.

Here’s where my journey with Rockabye Baby! began…

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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Hello!

My older sister was a very good dancer when we were growing up, and I remember proudly watching her perform in our local dance company’s show every summer.

The earliest dance I remember her performing was to Toni Basil’s Mickey but my favorite show was when she was in high school.

That’s when the show started with Strike It Up by Black Box and closed with the C+C Music Factory’s smash hit Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).

I knew these songs well – both popular dance tracks at the time and ones I owned on cassette tape.

But there was something else interesting – the female vocalist on both songs sounded so similar.

I remember the cassette tape for Black Box.

It featured a very pretty young woman, squatting on the cover.

The same woman was featured in their music videos, usually dancing in tight clothing while hitting those high notes.

I also remember the video for Everybody Dance Now (as it was in heavy rotation on MTV).

It also featured an attractive woman wearing a body-hugging black dress flinging a scarf (or drape of some kind) around.

But neither of those women were actually singing on the tracks.

So who was?

I was curious…

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There’s a reason the vocal sounded familiar in those songs – it was the same woman.

Her name is Martha Wash.

You may not instantly recognize her name – but you might recognize her powerful voice.

Wash grew up the daughter of devout Christians, singing gospel music in the church and sneaking in records of forbidden secular music from the Supremes and the Temptations.

In 1976, she auditioned to be a back-up singer for funk and soul musician Sylvester.

Martha was a larger woman, and had been bullied over her weight since childhood, but Sylvester immediately recognized her vocal talent.

And far from being concerned about her size, he asked if she knew anyone larger than she was that could also sing back-up with her.

She did – and Izora Armstead joined her as a back-up singer for Sylvester.

After appearing on four of his albums, Martha and Izora formed a duo with a name poking fun of their size: Two Tons O’ Fun.

In 1982, the duo — now performing as The Weather Girls — released a song that Diana Ross, Cher and Barbra Streisand reportedly passed on:

It’s Raining Men.

The song went to Number 1 on the Dance chart and sold more than 6 million copies.

And it’s appeared in films and clubs for decades, keeping it alive in pop culture.

The Weather Girls released more music, but none hit the culture quite like It’s Raining Men. Martha continued singing back-up for other singers, including Aretha Franklin and Bob Seger.

She would also lay down demos for producers – including David Cole, who Martha had worked with previously.

He asked her to record vocals for a song called (You’re My One and Only) True Love, that he would later release under the group name “Seduction.”

Cole put together three beautiful women to be the face of the group, and credited Martha as a backing vocalist when the song was released.

The song was a surprise hit.

And when Martha saw her contribution wasn’t credited properly, she took action.

She sued Cole, his co-producer Robert Clivillés, and Seduction’s record label A&M for unauthorized use of her voice.

That was July 1990.

Later that year, Martha was channel surfing when she saw a new music video for a song by Italian house group Black Box.

The song was called Everybody Everybody – and Martha knew it well.

She had recorded the vocals that she was now hearing on the television.

In 1989, the group – then known as Groove Groove Melody – had paid Martha a flat fee to record demos of songs for the debut album, including future hits Everybody Everybody, Fantasy and Strike It Up.

The music video for Everybody Everybody featured a beautiful French model named Katrin Quinol.

But the vocals?

They were all Martha.

“I said to myself, ‘I don’t believe this shit is happening again,’” she told Rolling Stone in 2014.

She sued Black Box and their label, RCA, for “commercial appropriation” claiming she never received credit for the Black Box songs she recorded.

Despite the complications with Cole and Clivillés over Seduction, Martha agreed to record a track for another project they were working on.

The song was called Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now) and would be released under C+C Music Factory, named after the two producers.

According to Rolling Stone, Martha was paid less than $1000 for recording background vocals, including the legendary Everybody Dance Now hook that kicks off the song.

“I was told it was going to be a demo for another singer,” Martha said in 2015.

“I remember thinking as I was singing the hook of the song that it was set so high, it was like I was reaching for the ceiling trying to hit the notes.”

But in October 1990, the music video for the song came out – and it featured Zelma1 Davis lip syncing Martha’s vocals.

Martha was credited only as a background vocalist, despite being the female vocalist on the song.

“That’s me singing all right,” she told the Los Angeles Times in 1991.

“But not only am I not getting paid any royalties for it, the producers hired Zelma Davis as a prop to lip-sync my vocal part in the music video.

“Why shouldn’t I be upset?

“It’s just plain wrong the way the music industry is dealing with the lip-sync situation.”

Martha’s powerful voice helped make Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now) a hit in the US and globally. It climbed to the top of the US Billboard Charts and sold more than 5 million copies.

And her vocals on Black Box’s debut album Dreamland produced four #1 Billboard Dance singles and three Top 40 hits.

So, given her contributions to these hits, why hadn’t Martha been featured?

Was it because of her appearance?

According to a 2020 article in Stereogum, C+C Factory member Freedom Williams certainly seemed to suggest that, when he told A Current Affair: “I’d rather look at Zelma onstage.”

Cole claimed that he had actually invited Martha to join the group, and that she declined – but that doesn’t explain why she wasn’t properly credited or featured in the music video.

As he told The Chicago Tribune in 1992, her lawsuit against the producers for Seduction “left us in an awkward position.”

But that didn’t stop Martha from suing Cole and Clivillés a second time (as well their label CBS/Sony).

She sued them for “fraud, deceptive packaging and commercial appropriation” over the C+C Music Factory omission and asked for $500,000.

And the courts saw merit in Martha’s lawsuits.

Both A&M and RCA settled for an “undisclosed amount.”

RCA also signed her to an eight-year, eight-ablum contract where they guaranteed Martha “albums in her own name, videos in her own face, promotion, access to label executives and guaranteed worldwide support for her music.”

Her 1993 self-titled album would include two #1 Billboard Dance Chart hits.

Sony also settled with her for an undisclosed amount – and they did something else.

They asked MTV to add a disclaimer to the video for Gonna Make You Sweat crediting Martha Wash for the vocals, and Zelma Davis for “visualization.”

Interestingly, this all happened as another major lip sync case was hitting the news – the revelation that the two frontmen of Milli Vanilli2 were not actually singing on their album.

As a result, multiple class action consumer fraud lawsuits were brought against the record labels responsible for Milli Vanilli and Black Box’s albums.

RCA claimed that they did not know Quinol was not the actual singer on the album.

“Our company in England was dealing with another company in Italy, so it was like three times removed from what we were told in New York,” RCA Records president Joseph Galante said in 1991.

“Once we were made aware that Martha was the real singer, we did the right thing.”

But Martha did more than earn credit for her work – her lawsuits also raised awareness of a music industry issue.

And though several sources claim Martha’s lawsuit led to the introduction of federal legislation requiring record labels to assign proper vocal credit on all albums and music videos, I found no FTC rule or Congressional statute supporting that claim.

But Martha did get credit for her work as a result of standing up to the record companies – and it’s probably fair to say helped other artists receive proper credit, too.

And despite the drama, Martha and the men behind C+C Music Factory went on to record the group’s follow-up album, Anything Goes!

This time, Martha even went on the road with them.

“Some people hold grudges for decades and I don’t understand that,” she said in 2014.

“You just got to keep it moving.”

And Martha’s still performing!

You can find out details for her upcoming shows here.

And you can hear Martha’s incredible voice in these songs:

One more thing…

The reported second choice to sing the “Everybody Dance Now” hook was Jocelyn Brown.

I had never heard that name before, but I sure know her voice, as she’s the one singing “I’ve got the power” on Snap!’s 1990 hit The Power.

The German production duo behind Snap! sampled Brown’s voice from her 1985 disco song Love’s Gonna Get You3 — without her permission.

American soul singer Penny Ford can be heard in the song’s chorus and additional vocal lines.

And the woman in the video?

That’s Jackie Harris — and she’s lip syncing.

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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I am curious about a lot of things.

And the more I read, the more curious I become. 

I often start looking up one thing and end up falling down the rabbit hole and learning about something entirely unexpected.

And that’s exactly what happened when I began researching the history of V-J Day and the end of World War II.

As I was digging into V-J Day, I was reminded of a famous photograph:

That photo was taken on August 14, 1945 – after the news of Japan’s surrender reached the US.

But who took the famous photo?

And what was the story behind it? 

I was curious…

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Our story begins in New York City with a 21-year-old dental assistant named Greta Zimmer.

On August 14, 1945, Greta arrived at her job at a dentist office and changed into her uniform: white stockings, white dress, white shoes, white cap – similar to that of a nurse.

As she was working that morning, patients came into the office sharing the news that the war was ending.

But Greta wasn’t convinced.

“I wasn’t very far from Times Square, I could just walk over there and see for myself,” she said in a 2005 interview.

“So when my bosses came back from their lunch hour, I went straight to Times Square where I saw on the lighted billboard that goes around the building. 

“[It said] V-J Day V-J Day, and that really confirmed what the people have said in the office.”

Suddenly Greta was grabbed by a sailor.

He bent her back and kissed her.

“And it wasn't that much of a kiss,” she said. 

“It was more of a jubilant act that he didn't have to go back.  

“I found out later, he was so happy that he did not have to go back to the Pacific where they already had been through the war.”

The man kissing Greta was Petty Officer First Class George Mendonsa.

Earlier that day, George had gone to see a matinee at Radio City Music Hall with Rita Petry, a girl he had met a few weeks earlier.

They sat down for the 1:05 pm showing of A Bell for Adano, but a theater employee interrupted the show not long after its start and announced that World War II was ending.

George, Rita, and most other moviegoers left the theater and found a frenzied scene outside. 

George and Rita stopped at a bar, had a few drinks, and then headed towards Times Square, where they found a growing crowd of people celebrating.

“Times Square was wild,” George said in a 2005 interview.

A boozed George was walking ahead of Rita when he first saw Greta – wearing what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform.

“Between the excitement of the whole works and probably a few drinks… but most important it was the uniform she had,” George said.

Greta’s white uniform reminded George of the nurses he’d seen care for sailors on a hospital ship after his experience of an attack in the Pacific.

“From that day on I had a soft spot for nurses, and when I saw that nurse in Times Square many months later, it was the uniform that did it. 

“I believe if that girl did not have a nurse’s uniform on, that I never would have grabbed her.”

And at the moment George grabbed Greta and kissed her, German-born American photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt was there.

With his Leica Illa camera, he began clicking, forever capturing the moment.

He managed to snap four pictures – and the second shot he took, titled “V-J Day, 1945, Times Square” would get a full-page treatment in the August 27, 1945 issue of Life (though not the cover, as many believe).

In his book The Eye of Eisenstaedt (1969) he wrote about the moment he captured: 

“I was walking through the crowds on V-J Day, looking for pictures. I noticed a sailor coming my way. He was grabbing every female he could find and kissing them all, young girls and old ladies alike. 

“Then I noticed the nurse, standing in that enormous crowd. I focused on her, and just as I’d hoped, the sailor came along, grabbed the nurse, and bent down to kiss her.

“Now if this girl hadn’t been a nurse, if she’d been dressed in dark clothes, I wouldn’t have had a picture.

“The contrast between her white dress and the sailor’s dark uniform gives the photograph its extra impact.”

The moment was quickly over – and neither George nor Greta spoke to each other afterward. 

“She went her way and I went mine,” George said.

“Plus, I was with a date.”

In all the excitement, Alfred did not ask the subjects their names – and George and Greta didn’t realize they had been photographed.

Greta first saw the photo decades later, when she saw a book of Eisenstaedt’s photography.

She wrote to Life, and told them she was the woman in the photograph.

Life responded that another person had been identified as the woman in the photograph.

“I didn’t believe that because I knew it happened to me,” Greta said. 

“It’s exactly my figure, and what I wore, and my hairdo especially.”

So who’s in the picture?

This is the million dollar question – and one that has been disputed for generations.

As The Washington Post reported in 2019, “at least a dozen sailors confessed to grabbing women in Times Square during the celebrations.”

Many men (20+) and a few women have claimed to be the subjects in the photograph.

Before Greta and George, there were Carl Muscarello and Edith Shain.

They made public appearances in the 1980s and 90s as the couple from the photograph (even re-enacting the kiss in Times Square). 

Another man, Glenn McDuffie, was also identified as the sailor by a forensic artist. In a 2013 interview, McDuffie said:

“I was very, very happy. I would kiss all of the girls who would stand still - I even kissed a couple of guys. I was just in a kissing mood, it was great.”

All this confusion led history teacher Lawrence Verria and retired naval aviator George Galdorisi to write a book called The Kissing Sailor in 2012 to settle the debate once and for all. 

They argued that Greta and George were the couple in the photograph, supported by experts in photography, facial recognition technology, and forensic anthropology. 

But just as it seemed this case was closed, in 2015, astronomers analyzed the shadows in the photograph, and argued that it was taken at 5:51 pm, hours later than the timeline Greta and George originally suggested. 

So, again I ask, who’s in the picture?

I don’t know – and not for lack of trying!

From what I read (and I read a lot about this), I lean toward the George and Greta version of events. 

But perhaps we’ll never know. 

And sadly, Alfred Eisenstaedt died in 1995, and most of the people who claimed to be in the photographs have passed away, too.

The interview transcripts of George and Greta (which are held by the Library of Congress) give us their personal accounts, as does an interview with Kissing Sailor author Verria that includes them.

But honestly, this is one of the most interesting – and infuriating – stories I’ve researched since I started this newsletter.

What does seem safe to say is that the photograph wasn’t staged, and did not involve a real-life couple.

And, it seems safe to say that a lot of people (sailors and civilians) were kissing on August 14, 1945. Not just in New York City, but across the country – in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Check out these images from New York City on August 14, 1945 (taken by William C. Shrout and featured in Life magazine):

Even Eisenstaedt himself was photographed kissing another reporter on the streets of New York City that day!

And though George may have kissed Greta that day – he went on to marry Rita. 

They were married for 70 years, until his death in 2019.

Greta also married, became an artist, and had two children. She died in 2016.

As for photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt, he would spend nearly 40 years with Life. 

More than 2500 of his photos graced the magazine’s pages, and nearly 100 of his photographs featured on Life’s covers. 

Over his career he captured celebrities and politicians, including Marilyn Monroe, Winston Churchill, and Ernest Hemingway.

Here are some of his famous photos:

But his photo from V-J Day, also referred to as “The Kiss,” became his most famous.

It also became one of Life magazine’s most reproduced photographs, and one of the most popular photographs from history.

One more thing…

Eisenstaedt was not the only photographer to capture the moment.

Navy Lieutenant Victor Jorgensen also captured one shot.

His photo, Kissing the War Goodbye, appeared in the New York Times.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

This story was long enough without diving into the controversy of this photo, but if you’re curious, you can read more about that here. 

In the 2005 Library of Congress interview, Greta said it “wasn’t my choice to be kissed” but also said it was “just somebody celebrating. It was just an event of ‘thank God the war is over’ kind of thing.”

You can also read about the statue, Unconditional Surrender, and how it was vandalized in 2019.

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The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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Have you ever worked for a company that had “Casual Friday”?

Years ago I worked at a bank that had Casual Friday — but then the Chairman of the bank saw someone in the office wearing flip flops… and after that, Fridays were not so casual in our office.

But where did that concept of ‘Casual Friday’ come from?

I was curious…

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Like so many creative ideas, the concept of dressing casually on a Friday was introduced to solve a problem.

The origins trace back to 1946, when Honolulu was looking to give office workers some relief from the hot temperatures in the Hawaiian summer. 

By introducing ‘alohawear’ (including casual, colorful ‘Aloha shirts’ also known as ‘Hawaiian shirts’), office workers could be more comfortable – and embrace part of the Hawaiian culture.

This led to an Aloha Week celebration that promoted Hawaiian culture – and supported the burgeoning Hawaiian garment industry.

But it wasn’t until 1962 when the idea grew – thanks to a creative campaign by the Hawaii Fashion Guild.

The Guild decided to send two Aloha shirts to every member of the Hawaii House of Representatives and the Hawaii Senate – and encouraged them to promote the ‘Aloha shirt’ as business attire in the summer months. 

The tactic worked – and a resolution passed recommending that ‘Aloha attire’ be worn throughout the summer months for the “sake of comfort and support of the 50th state’s garment industry.”

And three years later, Bill Foster, Sr., the president of the Hawaii Fashion Guild, took it a step further.

He led a campaign that would introduce ‘Aloha Friday’ – where the state’s employees could wear Aloha shirts every Friday throughout the year.

And guess who helped make the practice popular?

The president of the Bank of Hawaii, Wilson P. Cannon Jr.1

After the president of the bank endorsed the initiative, others followed, and within a year, the Hawaiian garment industry reaped the rewards as ‘Aloha Friday’ was celebrated across the Hawaiian islands.

Hawaii’s custom of ‘Aloha Friday’ slowly travelled across the Pacific to California, and then spread across the US (and globe) under the moniker of ‘Casual Friday.’

And the mainstream adoption of Casual Friday in the US in the 1990s was implemented to solve a problem, too.

Instead of relief from the summer heat, companies were looking for a way to help staff morale during a recession.

They wanted a solution that would lift employee morale – without costing money.

Casual Friday was the answer.

One more thing…

Here’s a clip from Curb Your Enthusiasm about Casual Friday:

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The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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Women’s professional baseball is back!

And hearing about the new teams of the Women’s Pro Baseball League made me think of one of my favorite summer movies — A League of Their Own.

In the pre-internet times, I suspect many of us learned about the history of women playing professional baseball through Penny Marshall’s film that starred Geena Davis, Madonna and Tom Hanks.

But who were the women — and how did the league even get started?

I was curious…

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This story begins in 1942, when Major League Baseball had a problem. 

World War II had taken many young men overseas – including baseball players like Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams. Several minor league teams had disbanded, and attendance at professional MLB games had decreased.

Many major league ballparks across the country were in danger of collapse.

It was unclear if Major League Baseball would continue as the war raged on.

Philip K. Wrigley (as in Wrigley’s chewing gum), owner of the Chicago Cubs, was looking for solutions – and asked a committee to come up with ideas.

They recommended establishing a girls’ softball league to keep interest in baseball alive.

With the support from a group of Midwestern businessmen, Wrigley decided to form the All-American Girls Softball League (which later changed to Baseball), with four teams in Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana. 

Professional scouts searched across the US and Canada to find talented women playing softball or baseball, and invited 280 women to final tryouts in Chicago.

Sixty were chosen, and became the first women to ever play professional baseball. 

The women were strong athletes, who were expected to play like men – and act like ladies.

After their daily practice, the women attended evening charm school where they learned how to present themselves.

They were given instruction on proper hygiene, etiquette, and how to dress.

Their physical appearance was critiqued, and they were given a beauty kit and instructed onhow to wear make-up and style their hair. 

The players also had to comply with the high moral standards and rules of conduct imposed by the League, and were not allowed to smoke, drink alcohol or wear trousers in public.

Even the uniforms they played in were feminine short dresses (not exactly ideal for all the sliding into bases that the women did!).

Although the women were encouraged to look as attractive as possible, it was their ability to play ball that earned them admiration from League officials, press, and fans. 

“Maybe we got people there for the uniform or the publicity, but we kept them there because we played damn good baseball,” said player Pepper Paire Davis. 

The public accepted the idea of women playing baseball because so many women had taken jobs in the factories during the war.

And with limits on food, tires, and gasoline, people were forced to spend their leisure time close to home. 

The teams were well received by fans in the four sponsoring cities, with nearly 200,000 fans attending games during the 1943 season.

For the women playing 120 games during the four-month season, the job was demanding, but also rewarding. 

“Fun times, but we played tough, even when we were hurt," said player Helen Callaghan, whose sister Marge also played in the League.

“After a doubleheader, we’d shower, get dressed, travel all night on the bus, get to our hotel at 8 or 9 in the morning, shower, play two games of baseball in 110 degrees of heat, then do it all over again the next day.”

“We had to do it all, and you played hurt, because your ball club needed you,” Pepper said.

Player salaries ranged from $45 to $85 a week (plus), and in many cases, the women were earning more than their parents. 

“They gave you a blank contract,” Pepper said. “And you signed it.”

“If you were a good ball player, you knew there’d be a figure in there.”

Early in the 1944 season, it became clear that the war would not force Major League Baseball to disband.

Wrigley lost interest in the girls’ league, and sold it to Chicago advertising executive Arthur Meyerhoff.

Meyerhoff expanded the girls’ league, and its popularity grew under his leadership.

By 1948, the Girls’ League had 10 teams.

Families turned up to the games in large numbers, and more than 910,000 fans paid to attend games during the season. 

But as the years went on, society changed.

With the men back from war, many women left the workforce and returned to the home.

Fewer women were playing baseball.

Game attendance declined as other forms of entertainment became available.

The League was decentralized, and it became harder to find talented women baseball players. 

“They were losing ball players and had no one to replace them,” said former player Dottie Collins, who returned to play in the League after having a child.

“People had too much to do. Television came to be.”

“And so it faded away.”

The League closed in 1954.

But over its 11-year run, the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League gave more than 600 women athletes the opportunity to play professional baseball. 

The AAGPBL entertained thousands of people, kept America’s interest in baseball alive during the war, and showed so many people what women were capable of.

And in 1988, more than 150 former AAGPBL players were there when the National Baseball Hall of Fame opened its first Women in Baseball exhibit.

Four years later, many Americans learned about the League for the first time with the release of the film, A League of Their Own.

And for the women who were part of the League, it gave them incredible opportunities, friendships, and memories.

“I was doing something I loved with people that were great,” Pepper said.

“We wanted us to be a success – not just individuals or a team, but all of us – as a League.”

“It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.”

One more thing…

AAGPBL star player Helen Callaghan won the batting title and stole more than 100 bases (twice) during her five-season career.

Her son Casey Candaele became an MLB player in 1986 with the Montreal Expos, making them the first mother-son duo to both play professional baseball.

A reporter asked Casey if he got his athletic ability from his mom.

“No,” he replied. “If I got it from my mom, I'd be in the Hall of Fame.”

And one more…

For further entertainment, check out the ‘Charm School’ guidance the AAGPBL players received.

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Exciting movie alert!

We are nearing the release of a big summer film: Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey.

Years ago I came across an interview with director Christopher Nolan (whose films include Oppenheimer, The Dark Knight, and Inception) where he spoke about the role music plays in his films.

And he mentioned that he began using a “Shepard Tone” when he was working on the 2006 film The Prestige.

But wait, what’s a Shepard Tone?

I was curious…

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The idea of the Shepard Tone goes back to the 1960s, when cognitive scientist Roger Shepard was researching how people use their senses – like seeing and hearing – to perceive and interpret their environment. 

In 1964, he published his findings in an article, ‘Circularity in Judgments of Relative Pitch’ in the Journal of the Acoustical Society of America. 

The idea led to the development of the ‘Shepard Scale’ or ‘Shepard Tone.’

So what exactly is it?

Simply put, the Shepard Tone is an audio illusion that tricks your brain into thinking a sound is always rising or falling in pitch.

It’s achieved by playing overlapping notes that are one octave apart, and at different volumes. 

Basically, it’s an endless loop of sound that never reaches a destination. 

And it’s eerie.

Here is what it sounds like:

I told you it was eerie.

You can also hear the Shepard Tone in the video game Super Mario 64, as Mario climbs the endless stairs.

The Shepard Tone has also been called the ‘Musical Barber Pole’ or ‘The Sonic Barber Pole’ and has been used by bands including The Police, Pink Floyd, and Franz Ferdinand.

But Christopher Nolan has given the Shepard Tone more popularity by incorporating it in his films.

“It’s a corkscrew effect,” he said in 2017.

“It’s always going up and up and up but it never goes outside of its range.”

In addition to Nolan’s film The Prestige, you can hear the Shepard Tone in the score for his 2008 film The Dark Knight, and in this scene where it is applied to the sound of the Batpod:

And Nolan took the Shepard Tone a step further in 2017 for his World War II film, Dunkirk.

In Dunkirk, Nolan applied the structure of the Shepard Tone to the rising trajectory of his screenplay.

“I wrote the script according to that principle,” he said.

“I interwove three timelines in such a way that there’s a continual feeling of intensity. Increasing intensity.

“We built the music as we built the picture cut. So there’s a fusion of music and sound and picture that we’ve never been able to achieve before.”

The Shepard Tone can be a helpful way to complement a story, but it should be used with care.

Not only does that spooky sound it creates make people feel tension, it can also make them feel sick, dizzy, or even faint.

Though composer Hans Zimmer brought the Shepard Tone to The Dark Knight, Inception, and Dunkirk, Academy-Award winning Swedish composer Ludwig Göransson has carried on the use of the Shepard Tone in Nolan’s more recent films.

So what about The Odyssey?

In May 2026, Time reported that Nolan had instructed Göransson not to use an orchestra in the score for The Odyssey.

Instead, the score features 35 bronze gongs of different sizes, along with some modern day synths.

But given the tension of the story, I’ll be listening for the Shepard Tone!

One more thing…

Shepard’s interest in illusions can also be seen in the Shepard Elephant (also known as “L’egs-istential Quandry” or “the impossible elephant”) as shown below.

The drawing was made by Shepard in 1974 and published in his 1990 book Mind Sights.

“The elephant…belongs to a class of objects that are truly impossible in that the object itself cannot be globally segregated from the non-object or background,” Shepard said.

“Part of the object (in this case, the elephant’s legs) become the background, and vice versa.”

The Shepard Tables are another optical illusion Shepard includes in Mind Sights.

Your eyes might tell you these parallelograms are radically different…but they aren’t!

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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I hadn’t until my daughter was researching it for a school project.

I wondered what pasta had to do with a penguin.

But – as I learned – “macaroni” in this case is not referring to pasta.

“Macaroni” was a pejorative term used in the 18th century to describe someone who “exceeded the ordinary bounds of fashion.”

Specifically, wealthy British men who had completed “The Grand Tour” across Europe – and returned to England not only with a taste for Italy’s culinary delights, but also with its fashion.

Macaronis adopted the European fashions they had seen abroad, including exaggerated tailoring, fancy shoes and extreme wigs, sometimes with a tiny hat on the top.

So when British sailors saw a group of penguins with vibrant spiky yellow-orange head plumes, it reminded them of the wigs and hats of the “macaronis” back home.

Thus, the “macaroni penguin” was born.

But that talk of macaroni had me thinking of a song I’ve known since childhood that included the verse:

“Stuck a feather in his cap and called it ‘macaroni’”

The song is Yankee Doodle.

But where did Yankee Doodle come from?

I was curious…

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If you’re looking for the origin story of Yankee Doodle, you’re in luck.

There are many to be found.

Too many!

Some of the initial sources I found reported that Yankee Doodle dates back to the Revolutionary War, while other sources claim it can actually be traced back to a 15th century Dutch harvest song.

Or maybe it was written later somewhere else in Europe.

I found sources that said the melody was well known across parts of England, France, the Netherlands, Hungary and Spain – so it’s hard to say anything with certainty.

Even the lyrics themselves are debated – as sources report anywhere from 120 to 190 verses, with “15 or 16” published during the American Revolution.

But here is the Yankee Doodle verse I remember from my childhood:

Yankee Doodle went to town,

Riding on a pony.

He stuck a feather in his cap.

And called it macaroni.

Singing this as a child, I thought the last line of this song was just silliness.

It was a fun song to sing, similar to the contradictory lyrics of Oh! Susanna1, another folk song that was popular with the nursery school set in my day.

But after learning about the macaroni penguin, I could now see this last stanza as something else – an insult.

Yankee Doodle puts a feather in his cap and thinks he’s fashionable.

But a feather in the cap is a far cry from wearing pointy shoes and a powdered wig.

And Yankee is the term that was associated with American colonists. Even today it is used to describe Americans, and not always favorably.

Then there’s that word “doodle” – a fun word to sing as a kid, but it can mean a fool or a country hick.

Oh, and the “dandy” of the Yankee Doodle chorus means a conceited jerk.

And why is he riding a pony?

A grown man riding a small pony is hardly the image of a distinguished soldier.

Suddenly this song seems to feel less fun and patriotic than I remember.

And it seems to support the theory that Yankee Doodle was written specifically to mock the American colonists.

One man in particular is named as the author: Richard Shuckburgh.

Schuckburgh was a British army physician who may have penned the lyrics to the well-known tune in the 1750s.

I found sources that ranged from 1755 to 1758 – but one historian believes that Schuckburgh was inspired in 1758 after “witnessing the sloppy drill and appearance of Connecticut troops” at Fort Crailo, across the Hudson River from Albany.

The British soldiers were smartly dressed, while the American colonists were scruffily dressed in buckskins and coonskin caps.

Interestingly, the British were mocking their allies – as they were fighting on the same side as the American colonists during the French and Indian War.

But Yankee Doodle featured again in the Revolutionary War when the British would play the tune to mock the Americans they were fighting against.

But here’s where the story takes a turn.

The Continental Army may not have been as experienced or as well-dressed, but the British underestimated them.

And instead of accepting the song as an insult, the Americans embraced it.

The British fifers and drummers were reported to have teased the colonists with Yankee Doodle, but the Americans began taunting the British, singing Yankee Doodle as British soldiers retreated.

What started as an insult became an unofficial anthem for the Continental Army.

The decisive battle in Yorktown, Virginia in 1781 ended with the British surrendering.

And, the story goes, when the British refused to acknowledge the Americans they fought against, the Marquis de Lafayette (commander of the Light Infantry brigade) was outraged – and ordered the Continental fife and drum corps to play Yankee Doodle.

Now that’s a good story.

But like many good stories, it may not be entirely true.

In 1909, Oscar George Theodore Sonneck, Chief of the Division of Music at the Library of Congress, published a comprehensive report on Yankee Doodle and other patriotic songs.

In his prefatory note he wrote that he was instructed to “bring together the various versions both of text and of music with notes as to the historical evolution” of The Star Spangled Banner, Hail Columbia, America and Yankee Doodle.

“The report was to be brief and light of touch, but accurate enough for practical purposes,” he wrote.

“This task would have been comparatively easy had the literature on the subject been reliable. Unfortunately it crumbled under the slightest critical pressure, and it became imperative to devote more research and more analytical and synthetic thought to the report than had seemed advisable at first.”

Sonneck devoted 75 pages to investigating the various theories behind Yankee Doodle, including the Shuckburgh story.

He suggests that Shuckburgh may have written a new verse, but that the tune was already popular in America by 1767.

He wrote that the Dutch harvest song theory was interesting, but unverifiable – but notes it’s “not impossible” that Yankee Doodle is from Holland.

After examining 16 theories in his report (including one that the song was written to mock England’s lord protector Oliver Cromwell in the 1650s), Sonneck concluded that the origin of Yankee Doodle “remains as mysterious as ever.”

“Yankee Doodle does not direct itself to our sense of majesty, solemnity, dignity,” he wrote in the introduction.

“It frankly appeals to our sense of humor.”

It is a genuine folk song of unknown origin, possibly with roots in various European cultures.

And regardless of which story you believe, the song that was used to mock the American colonists endured – through the War of 1812, the Civil War, and into 4th of July parades (and elementary schools) across the United States.

The Columbian Songster may have summed up Yankee Doodle best in 1799:

“Sing Yankee Doodle, that fine tune

Americans delight in.

It suits for peace, it suits for fun,

It suits as well for fighting.”

One more thing…

Though you’re likely to hear Yankee Doodle anywhere in the United States, you might hear it even more in Connecticut, where Yankee Doodle is the official state song.

Do you know these verses?

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

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As a teenager on summer vacation in the US, my introduction to Wimbledon was that it replaced Days of Our Lives on the NBC broadcast for two weeks. 

But as an adult in London, it means a trip to Wimbledon Village to see purple and green decorations and window displays, and soak up the atmosphere (and maybe even run into Martina Navritilova shopping in the local grocer, as I did one year).

And today’s story is inspired by an article my brother sent me from an Australian media outlet that said Sir David Attenborough was the reason tennis balls are yellow.

I had never heard this before, but of course, I was curious…

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Despite being a tennis player, I can’t say I’ve ever given a lot of thought to why tennis balls are yellow, but I hope you find this story as interesting as I did.

And the answer does involve Sir David Attenborough – but there’s a lot more to it.

Our story begins in the late 1960s.

Before he was Sir David Attenborough, the broadcaster famously known for nature documentaries, David Attenborough was controller of BBC Two.

And at that time, the BBC broadcast their programming in black and white.

But Attenborough was pushing to introduce color programing, something the Americans and Japanese already had.

“We had been asking the government over and over again and they wouldn’t allow us, until suddenly they said, ‘Yes, OK, you can have it, and what’s more you’re going to have it in nine months’ time,’ or whatever it was,” he told The Radio Times in 2017.

“I mean, a ridiculously short period. 

“They had no idea of the complexity involved. Even then, the cameras were changing. The engineers didn’t want to buy a complete set of studio cameras that would be significantly outdated within a year. 

“So I had to predict when we would start – and, in a childish sort of way, I wanted to be first.

“True, the Americans and the Japanese had both got colour, but Europe hadn’t. 

“I heard the West Germans were doing it, and I discovered that they were planning to launch it very close to when we were.

“But what I couldn’t do was to start a complete kind of service. The best that I could do would be to have what I called a piebald service, so there was some colour every night, but the whole service wasn’t in colour.

“And it suddenly dawned on me that the one thing we did have was outside broadcast units. I thought, ‘Blimey, couldn’t we deploy them?’ 

“And then I thought of Wimbledon.”

“I mean, it is a wonderful plot: you’ve got drama, you’ve got everything. 

“And it’s a national event, it’s got everything going for it.”

So on July 1, 1967, four hours of BBC television was broadcast from Wimbledon in full color.

Attenborough succeeded in having the first color television broadcast not just in the UK – but in Europe.

“I was proud as a peacock,” he said. “It was absolutely terrific!”

But while the color broadcast of the Wimbledon Championships was a success, it created a new problem that needed to be solved…

The Wimbledon dress code required players to wear white tennis attire, and white attire was synonymous with tennis at that time.

But something else on the court was white back then, too — the tennis balls.

And the white tennis ball was hard to see on a color broadcast.

This was a problem that required a (self-described) “tennis rebel” – Welshman Mike Davies.

Davies had been Great Britain’s top ranked player in the 1950s and early 1960s, even making it to the men’s doubles final at Wimbledon in 19601.

But in the days Davies was playing, international tennis was an amateur sport.

And when he sought to maximize his earnings by turning pro, he was kicked off the British Davis Cup Team, and excluded from amateur tournaments, including Wimbledon.

But in 1968, a new era of tennis was dawning.

Wimbledon was open to professional players for the first time, and 32-year-old Davies was asked to serve (no pun intended) as Executive Director of the World Championship Tennis (WCT), a tour for professional male tennis players. 

Davies’ role was to change the public’s perception of tennis as a game of “pomp and privilege” – and grow the sport globally.

And he did.

The WCT started by promoting the eight players they contracted as “The Handsome Eight” – and by 1970, they had 32 players under contract.

Davies staged tournaments and took professional tennis to large stadiums and major cities around the world.

He also made changes to the game to make it more appealing to both fans and broadcasters.

“People were saying they had a lot of trouble following the white ball,” Davies told the BBC.

“We were the first to get rid of the white ball because we were trying to get on television.

“Because we were playing on a blue indoor court, they said we should try orange, but it evolved into a yellow tennis ball.”

And the color of the tennis ball wasn’t the only change Davies introduced to the game.

“The American public wanted to tell the difference between players, so we said we were going to bring in coloured clothing,” Davies said.

“It was the first time coloured clothing was used, because it was all traditional white then.”

Davies recognized that if tennis was to become a major sport in the world, it had to be on television.

To make tennis more appealing for television, he introduced the tiebreaker, the 30-second maximum time between points, and the 90-second changeover every two games (necessary for television commercial breaks).

And his changes worked – and helped him secure the first television deal with a major network (NBC).

The WCT grew – and so did the popularity of tennis.

The 1972 WCT final in Dallas between Ken Rosewall and Rod Laver attracted a whopping 21.3 million viewers.

It finished with Rosewall’s victory in the fifth set tiebreaker, and is considered “the match that made tennis in America.”

And that brings us back to yellow tennis balls…

That same year millions of Americans were getting excited about tennis, the International Tennis Federation introduced yellow tennis balls into the rules of tennis, saying:

“The ball shall have a uniform outer surface consisting of a fabric cover and shall be white or yellow in color.”

The US Open was the first of the Grand Slams to adopt this new color of tennis ball —technically called “optic yellow” —in 1973.

The French Open and Australian Open followed the US Open’s lead, but Wimbledon carried on using white tennis balls for more than a decade.

ESPN’s Jamie Reynolds, who first worked at Wimbledon in 1980, recalled the challenges of broadcasting back in the days of white tennis balls.

“[The white tennis balls] always turned green from grass stains,” he said.

“They blended so much with the grass, the visuals were compromised. Remember, there was no HD then!”

Wimbledon – ever the traditionalist – finally made the switch to yellow tennis balls in 1986.

So does Sir David Attenborough deserve credit for yellow tennis balls?

Though several articles (like this one) credit Attenborough with introducing the yellow tennis ball, they all cite the same source: 2,024 QI Facts to Stop You In Your Tracks. 

I ordered a copy of the book to verify what it actually says, but it simply gives Attenborough credit, with no explanation.

But I did find several articles (like this one) that try to support the claim with Attenborough’s words from the Radio Times interview, but neglect to note that he did not mention the color of the tennis balls in that interview.2

There was only one way to solve this Curious Minds mystery.

Write Sir David Attenborough a letter.

So that’s what I did.

And guess what?

He wrote me back!

His letter confirmed he was responsible for the first colour TV broadcast from Wimbledon, and that there were discussions about ensuring the tennis balls “moving at speed” were as “easily seen as possible.”

Those discussions concluded that yellow balls would be more visible than white — but he does not say he personally decided to change the colour.

He also referred me to his memoir, Life On Air, which I purchased, but again, Attenborough does not claim credit for introducing yellow tennis balls to the game.

So after all of this, what’s the verdict?

Based on the research I did, I believe Attenborough certainly deserves credit for bringing Wimbledon to us in full color (and implementing color programming at the BBC).

But Mike Davies3 deserves credit for introducing the optic yellow tennis ball – and changing the game of tennis forever.

One more thing…

In case you’re still curious about tennis balls…4

The tennis balls used in Wimbledon are replaced at the end of the first seven games, and then after every ninth game.

Used balls are sold at the Southern Village store. (Bonus points to any Curious Minds reader who picks up a used ball for me).

Slazenger has been providing tennis balls to Wimbledon since 1902, making them the “oldest partner of any Grand Slam tournament.”

Wilson tennis balls are used for the US Open and French Open, and Dunlop balls are used in the Australian Open.

Who knew there was so much to learn about tennis balls?

I have written about tennis before…

Here’s another Curious Minds piece I wrote, inspired by Wimbledon (and Venus Williams).

The Greatest Wimbledon Victory of 2007

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies—helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

Stay Curious!

-Beth

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Hello!

I am now old enough to remember living through events that some people only read about.

Or events that some people have never heard of.

Like when Milli Vanilli was announced as a performer at the “Freedom 250 Concert” I had an immediate reaction.1

With a line-up that originally included Vanilla Ice and C+C Music Factory, Freedom 250 was just one Tone Loc or Gerardo appearance away from reliving the Club MTV Tour of 1989.

But some people did not grow up with the constant airplay of Funky Cold Medina, Rico Suave or Girl, You Know It’s True…

But that’s OK — my memory of the music from the 1980s-90s is deep, and today, we’re diving into the story and the scandal of Milli Vanilli.

Back in the summer of 1989, the group Milli Vanilli was huge.

Until something happened on July 21, 1989 that changed everything.

But who were Milli Vanilli — and what’s their story?

I was curious…

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In 1988, German record producer and songwriter Frank Farian had a problem.

He recorded a song called Girl You Know it’s True with studio performers in Germany, including a US Army veteran named Charles Shaw.

As an experienced record producer, Farian knew the power of a visual image in selling records.

And he didn’t like the image of the studio performers.

Then he met two young dancers — Rob Pilatus and Fab Morvan. 

Their English skills weren’t great —and Farian wasn’t impressed with their singing ability either, but they were desperate to be stars. 

So Farian got creative – and came up with an idea to solve his problem.

He signed a contract with Rob and Fab to record 10 songs, and created an image — putting Rob and Fab in spandex shorts, thigh-high boots and cornrow hair extensions.

When it came time to release the song, Farian decided to use the studio track that Charles Shaw and others had recorded, and introduced the world to his new creation: 

Milli Vanilli

The first single —Girl You Know it’s True — was a hit, and Rob and Fab were soon touring Spain, France, and Italy — lip-syncing to the pre-recorded tracks and thrilling crowds with their distinct style.

The album was repackaged for the US and released in March 1989.

It became a major success, producing five singles, and entering the top five of the Billboard Hot 100.

Three songs — Girl You Know It’s True, Blame It on the Rain, and Baby Don’t Forget My Number — reached #1.

But then the cracks started to appear.

During interviews, the duo’s English language skills stirred doubts as to whether they had sung on their records. 

And on July 21, 1989, Milli Vanilli had a ‘live’ show on the Club MTV Tour.

As they performed, a hard drive issue caused the recording of Girl You Know It’s True to jam and skip, repeatedly playing the partial line “Girl, you know it’s” through the speakers. 

“I knew right then and there, it was the beginning of the end for Milli Vanilli,” said Rob.

But despite this hiccup, Rob and Fab were onstage at the Grammys months later, accepting the award for Best New Artist.

Then singer Charles Shaw reappeared on the scene.

Shaw revealed that he was one of the three actual vocalists on the album — and that Rob and Fab were imposters.

The growing questions from the public — as well as Rob and Fab’s demands to sing on the next album — were making it difficult for Frank Farian.

So on November 14, 1990, Farian announced that he had fired Rob and Fab, and admitted they did not sing on the Milli Vanilli records. 

Though groups had been fabricated in the past (e.g. The Monkees), Milli Vanilli were the first fabricated group to win a Grammy, and the credit on their album read: “Vocals: Fab and Rob.”

The National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences revoked Milli Vanilli’s 1990 Grammy.

Rob and Fab gave a press conference in front of more than 100 journalists where they said they had “made a deal with the devil.”

Different lawsuits followed.

Rob and Fab later recorded an album titled Rob & Fab.

It flopped.

And they were never able to recreate the fame they once had.

Rob struggled with substance abuse and died of an accidental overdose in 1998. Fab reinvented himself as a singer-songwriter, DJ, and was even a product spokesman in the Netherlands for KFC’s national “KFC Value Campaign.”

Meanwhile, Frank Farian, the man Arista Records called a “creative genius” (even after the Milli Vanilli fraud) went on to develop similar Eurodance groups La Bouche and Le Click.

And Frank Farian made millions.

But interest in Milli Vanilli resurfaced in 2023, with the release of the documentary film Milli Vanilli.

Then in 2025, Fab shared his story with the release of his memoir, You Know It’s True: The Real Story of Milli Vanilli.

“They say the truth will set you free,” Fab said, when discussing the book with the Los Angeles Times in 2026.

“The truth takes the stairs while the lies take the elevators.

“So finally, after 35 years, my truth comes to the surface.

“And people, they get it, they understand that.”

Sharing his story led Fab somewhere unexpected, too — the 2026 Grammys.

His story of trauma and redemption was nominated for best audiobook, narration, and storytelling recording.

He lost to the Dalai Lama.

But it feels like he has found peace all these years later.

“No matter what the outcome in life, you have to just be, be in the moment,” he said in 2026.

“Enjoy the moment. Whatever happens will lead you to something else.”

One more thing

Here’s a video of Charles Shaw singing Girl You Know It’s True.

If you ever listened to Milli Vanilli (come on, admit it!) you’ll know that voice.

And here’s Fab Morvan singing Girl You Know It’s True from 2018 (This is not the voice you know from the song, but you might recognize the face – and the moves!)

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Earlier this week, Michelle Obama spoke at SXSW London and the topic of “Imposter Syndrome” came up.

“Imposter Syndrome” is a topic I have a lot of opinions on…

Years ago, my curiosity took me to research the origins of “Imposter Syndrome” — the label that is used to describe the “self-doubt of intellect, skills or accomplishment in high-achieving individuals.”

The term bugs me (for a lot of reasons), and I wanted to find out the history of the concept for a workshop I was creating:

The concept of “Imposter Syndrome” originated with two psychologists who interviewed a group of smart young women in the Midwest US in the 1970s.

As part of my research, I wanted to find out what life was like for a smart woman living in the Midwest US at that time.

Luckily, I’m related to two of them — so I reached out to my mom and Aunt Sally who were generous sharing their experiences with me.

After one of these conversations, my mom sent me an email with an anecdote that REALLY got my attention:

“The Indy Star had a column by Dr. Crane called the ‘Worry Clinic,” she wrote.

“He used to advise women to use ‘boudoir cheesecake’ to entice their husbands to be more responsive.”

I’m sorry — boudoir cheesecake?!

Who is Dr. Crane and what is boudoir cheesecake?

I was curious…

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Hearing “Dr. Crane” instantly made my pop culture mind think of Frasier, but this Dr. Crane was George Crane, a trained psychologist from Chicago, who was born in 1901.

He earned a Ph.D. in psychology and a medical degree from Northwestern University, where he also taught.

In addition to teaching, he lectured extensively, and regularly appeared on both radio and television.

He even wrote speeches for President Calvin Coolidge.

But most of his writing energy focused on his syndicated newspaper columns – Horse Sense and The Worry Clinic.

To say Crane was conservative feels like a gross understatement. 

He once wrote an article titled, “Why Men are Superior to Women” and supported his position by noting there weren’t any “women shepherds.”

But relationships between husbands and wives were clearly an area of great interest for Crane, as he developed “Tests for Husbands and Wives” in 1939, where men and women could score their partners on various qualities, assigning merits and demerits.

She who dresses for breakfast, has meals on time, and lets her husband sleep late on Sundays would score points. 

She who puts her cold feet on husband at night to warm them, fails to sew on buttons or darn socks regularly, or WEARS RED NAIL POLISH would lose points. 

The man who belched without apology, left dresser drawers open, or snored would lose points. 

And the man who gave his wife an ample allowance, was courteous to her friends, and remembered her birthday would earn points.

And Crane doled out plenty of relationship advice in The Worry Clinic.

The column ran six days a week, and was, as the name implied, devoted to readers’ worries. 

Crane focused two days each week to worries about love and marriage, and the other four days to worries about business, childcare, personality development, and what he called “mental hygiene.”

The Worry Clinic was published for decades, and at its peak was carried by 250 newspapers across the US. 

And perhaps no term appeared in The Worry Clinic more than Crane’s creation – “boudoir cheesecake.”

In his column, Crane wrote that most marital conflicts were due to a lack of what he called “boudoir cheesecake.”

“Men crave boudoir cheesecake!” he exclaimed in a 1973 column.

Crane’s boudoir cheesecake had “no calories” and was the “ideal insurance against straying husbands and divorce.”

One reader in 1976 was eager to obtain Crane’s “famous recipe” for boudoir cheesecake, not realizing that the term was a euphemism for sex.

Crane told the reader that despite rape cases appearing on Page 1 of a newspaper, the word “sex” was often blue-pencilled by editors as being “salacious and too frank!”

Crane’s “recipe” for boudoir cheesecake called for “a little wifely pornography”, as it was “a woman’s role to excite the man until he can function.”

Even if women were tired, Crane urged them to “turn on a seductive ‘act’ for 10 minutes.” 

After all, he told his readers, “most divorces start in the bedroom!” and 10 million husbandless women are “eagerly waiting to steal your mates!”

But how could a married woman ensure her boudoir cheesecake would keep her husband away from the “tempting sirens” Crane referred to?  

Crane advised wives to adopt an “amorous type” of perfume, be seductively kittenish, and “wear a diaphanous nightie and shun hair curlers!” 

Oh, and don’t forget to “slenderize, for a fat woman suggests a good old motherly soul but not an exciting paramour!”

And for those wives who needed to lose weight to serve more “enticing boudoir cheesecake,” Crane offered his famous “dehydration drugless diet.” 

In a 1974 column, a woman named Dora wrote how she followed Crane’s liquids-only diet and lost 10 pounds in 10 days.

“I’m now more interested in ice water than food!” she wrote, adding that Crane’s diet helped her lose weight AND get her husband’s attention.

“Now he often stays at the kitchen table to read the paper instead of going back to the living room,” she added.

Success!

When a reader asked Dr. Crane why he blamed women for their cheating husbands, he replied that a straying husband was a sign of “a wife’s failure to satisfy her mate’s hunger for erotic calories.”

Boudoir cheesecake skills were even more important than skills in the kitchen, Crane wrote, as some of the “sirens” pulling men away from their wives weren’t “even able to perk coffee!”

But clearly, they used a “far more enticing recipe for boudoir cheesecake than those dutiful wives!”

Crane had his critics, acknowledging that “many fat stodgy wives” would rather write an “irate letter to the editor” than “acknowledge their blubber” and “lose 25 to 50 pounds via dieting!”

He also claimed some “prudish editors” canceled his column because of his assertion that most divorces started in the bedroom.

Even in the 1980s, Crane was still writing that “God made men to be 200-400% more hungry for boudoir cheesecake than their wives,” and that women who “feign ardor” for boudoir cheesecake “seldom worry about divorce!”

Though little is written about Dr. Crane’s own marriage, he did pass his conservative views on to his children, and his sons Phil and Daniel served as Republican congressmen from Illinois.

While Phil Crane served in Congress for more than 30 years, Daniel’s political career was short-lived.

Father of six Daniel had campaigned as a “family man,” but his affair with a 17-year-old Congressional aide was later revealed as part of the Congressional sex scandal in 1983.1

Despite apologizing publicly with wife Judy and young daughter by his side, Daniel Crane was still censured by Congress, and failed to get re-elected in 1985.

Interestingly, one of the Congressmen throwing stones at Crane was Newt Gingrich, who would later have his own boudoir cheesecake scandals.

Dr. Crane defended his son during the scandal, and blamed Washington, the “Sodom and Gomorrah of today.” 

And after that, Dr. Crane continued giving readers things to worry about —up until his death in 1995. 

*Sadly, I found no information on Dr. Crane’s view of actual cheesecake.

*Though I found much of Dr. Crane’s writing shocking, the exclamation marks in today’s columns are Dr. Crane’s, not mine. The man loved to talk about boudoir cheesecake — and end a sentence with an exclamation point!  

Thank you, Mom and Aunt Sally for your help!

One more thing…

Dr Crane also doled out advice for twenty cents in various mail order pamphlets, including Sex Differences Between Men and Women & Nagging Wives and Sex Problems in Marriage.

While I could not obtain a physical copy of this guide, you can read some of its gems here.

Who knew an alkaline douche of a teaspoonful of ordinary baking soda to a quart of warm water, before each intercourse, could help produce pregnancy?

Another gem I found in my research was Crane’s advice for avoiding rape.

“Girls, if you can keep your escort talking, you can ward off assault, even by a vicious rapist! So ply him with questions! Keep him talking! Praise some of his good points but always fade out of your part of the dialogue with a question mark!”

“A man cannot engage in gay conversation and meanwhile be sexually passionate! For these are opposing actions!” Crane explained.

To keep the “gay conversation” going, a woman should follow the H-E-L-P formula, and quiz a potential assailant about their Hobbies, Entertainment, Literature, and Politics, in that order.

1

Spare a thought for Daniel Crane’s wife Judy. Imagine your father-in-law lecturing you about boudoir cheesecake — and blaming your husband’s affair on you for not serving him enough “erotic calories”!

---

Curious About Working Together?

The same curiosity that drives this newsletter is what I bring to my work with leaders, teams, and companies — helping them communicate clearly, think creatively, and lead with confidence.

Curious? Check out beth-collier.com, and see my Top 10 list of what I can (and definitely can’t) do for you.

Stay Curious!

-Beth

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Last year, a client invited me to run a workshop at their company retreat in Rhodes, Greece.

I knew nothing about Rhodes, but I liked the challenge of building a session that wove communication lessons with Greek history and influences.

Most attendees would be first-time visitors, so I wanted to share something about the island they wouldn’t find in a guidebook.

So I started researching.

Ancient history, modern history, the Colossus of Rhodes, philosophers, shifting empires.

Then I looked at a map of the island.

Greek town names were dotted along the coastline.

I wondered how to pronounce them.

And then I saw something that stopped me — the name “Anthony Quinn.”

Why was there a place named Anthony Quinn in Rhodes?

I was curious…

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The “Anthony Quinn” that map referred to was the Hollywood actor who was born in Mexico in 1915.

Though Quinn was of Mexican and Irish descent, he portrayed characters representing an extraordinary range of nationalities during his career, including Italian, Arab and Greek.

As Variety reporter Tim Gray wrote in 2018, “Decades before Hollywood got serious about the need for diversity, Anthony Quinn was diversity.”

After filming The Guns of Navarone in Rhodes, Quinn’s connection with Greece was solidified when he played the title role in the 1964 film Zorba the Greek — a film so iconic that it was even spoofed on The Simpsons.

And it was during the filming of Navarone that Quinn fell in love with Rhodes.

The Dance Begins

When production wrapped, the cast were invited to a dinner hosted by King Constantine and Queen Federica of Greece.

Quinn’s widow, Katherine, explained:

“Anthony was seated next to Queen Federica, and told her how much he was in love with the country. She said, ‘Why don’t you build a home here?’

“He pointed to the hilltop where they filmed the battle scene in the movie and said if he ever did, it would be up there.

“Queen Federica told him that the property was owned by the government and that she would help arrange for him to buy it.”

The government drew up the paperwork for Quinn to purchase 30 acres in Rhodes.

“There were witnesses and lawyers and government officials present at the signing,” Katherine told me.

The land Anthony was interested in was undeveloped — and inaccessible.

Anthony’s agreement with the Greek government stipulated that he would pay the full appraised value, as well as build (and fund) the entire road system required to access the property.

Property in Rhodes was inexpensive by U.S. standards, but the investment was significant in the local economy. The amount Anthony paid for those rocks and shrubs represented nearly two years’ salary for an average Greek family at the time.

But the purchase price of the land was only the beginning.

Anthony had a grand vision for the site: he would build an international cultural center for artists and musicians from around the world.

It was a mutual investment: Anthony was buying a home for his dream; the Greek government was buying a global ambassador who would help turn this quiet island 7,000 miles away from Los Angeles into a world-class destination.

The arrangement also aligned with Greece’s growing tourism ambitions. Anthony’s star power could help draw global attention to the island — an asset far more valuable than the land itself.

It was challenging for foreigners to buy Greek land in 1960, but the contract cited a law that permitted it.

And to solidify the bond, they went beyond the contract.

“For safe measure, the officials in Greece — in a very public ceremony — made Anthony an honorary citizen of Greece,” Katherine explained.

Anthony’s citizenship was bestowed upon him by Greece’s then-Prime Minister, Konstantinos Karamanlis.

The Dream

With ownership secured, Anthony got to work.

He wasn’t a distant landlord; he was a builder and an artist hoping to create a dream destination for artists of all kinds.

He hired a team to help: surveyors, lawyers, gardeners and caretakers. He even hired a property manager who moved to Rhodes for two years just to oversee the progress.

The area he had purchased did not have access to water, electricity, or telephone service. To avoid future conflicts, he was advised to purchase two neighboring properties to clear the path for pipelines and cables that needed to be installed.

“That was no simple feat,” Katherine said. “One of the properties had been inherited by the five children of the previous owner, which required them to execute five separate contracts of sale.”

The physical transformation was immense. The caretaker built stone retaining walls and a small house, and over time, planted 3,000 trees, still visible on the hillside today.

Anthony funded the road as agreed in the contract, a project that required excavating rock and installing complex drainage systems.

To open up the bay for his vision of a cultural center, he even brought in dynamite to clear the underwater rocks.

But the constant hurdle throughout the 1960s was the water supply.

Anthony hired hydrological engineers to find a solution, eventually securing a permit from the Ministry of Agriculture to drill a well and install a network of pipes to bring water down to the property.

The cost of that single well was more than three times the amount Anthony had paid for the property.

At the same time Anthony was investing in his Rhodes property, he was also promoting the country to the world as a tourist destination.

“When Zorba the Greek was released [in 1964], Anthony talked about Greece in every press conference and interview he did,” Katherine said.

Though he was not Greek by birth or blood, many assumed he was — and the roles he played in the 1960s cemented his association with the country.

But just like a Hollywood movie, the second act brought conflict…

The Catastrophe

On April 21, 1967, a military coup overthrew the Greek government, and the King and Queen were exiled.

Prominent figures and ordinary citizens who belonged to Greece’s left wing were arrested. This included Zorba the Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis, who was imprisoned for five months. His music was also banned in Greece.

This was followed by years of political turmoil — and trouble for Anthony’s land in Rhodes.

“There was talk in the new government of his property being expropriated,” Katherine explained.

“But he was assured that it was just a rumor, and a legal technicality, and that everything would be resolved.”

A 1968 letter from the Secretary General of Greece confirmed the rumors were “completely unfounded” and reaffirmed support for Quinn’s plan to build a cultural center.

The letter said:

“We have no objection whatsoever, in principle, to your plan for founding a tourist and philosophical centre on your own property or on any other property State-owned or private.

“Our consent to such a project was communicated to you in the past as well.”

Soon after, Anthony was told the law that enabled the sale of land to a foreign citizen had never been ratified by Parliament.

“Now began an era of lawyers and politicians getting involved in the process,” Katherine said.

Solutions were proposed, including formally passing the law.

“After years of conversations, the vote finally reached Parliament, where it was blocked by the communist faction.”

The resistance seemed to be less about Anthony, and more about the precedent.

“Their argument was that if they ratified the law, not only would Anthony Quinn be legally entitled to his property, but there were many others in the same situation — including many Greek citizens who had left in the time of political turmoil and who had their properties taken away,” Katherine explained.

“Much of the land that was owned by private citizens and then expropriated was now government property — and they wanted to keep it that way.”

For years the problem was “passed around like a hot potato,” drifting through ministries, elections and changing administrations.

Presidents, prime ministers and ambassadors assured Quinn his property was safe and that he should not be concerned.

“It was always, ‘Wait for the next election’,” Katherine said.

By the early 1980s, the legal uncertainty had hardened into stalemate.

Anthony wasn’t just fighting for a piece of land; he was funding a small industry of bureaucracy. He retained lawyers in Athens, Rhodes, the United States, and Italy.

No one solved the issue — but they all sent invoices.

One Greek lawyer, Alexandros Lykourezos, turned out to be the most unscrupulous and unethical.1

“Lykourezos offered to help Anthony for a piece of the property in exchange for his legal services,” Katherine said.

“Years later, it was discovered that he was also a member of Parliament at the time and was double dealing.”

And the years went by — marked by court filings, appeals, judges’ strikes, and a revolving door of changing government officials.

But still no resolution.

“There was always a sense of assurance that it was just a technicality — but getting it straightened out was becoming a nightmare.”

Anthony continued making movies, painting, sculpting and raising a family.

He returned to Greece several times, and each visit seemed to bring a new complication.

The smaller land parcels he had purchased were constantly being squatted on, and reclaimed by heirs of the former owners.

Then the caretaker Anthony had hired (and paid for 30 years) died — and his children began putting claims on the property as well.

In perhaps the most painful irony, the caretaker’s daughter and her husband built a small shack on the property to run as a cantina.

Far from the artists’ colony Anthony had envisioned, his land was being used to sell coffee and sandwiches to the summer tourists.

Anthony’s lawyer in Rhodes was constantly appearing in court, filing motions and appeals —while Anthony continued footing the bill.

And the issues with the larger property that Anthony originally purchased had stalled.

In 1997, at age 82, Anthony returned to Greece to receive an arts and culture award.

It would be his final trip to the country.

“He was given a tremendous welcome and treated like a national hero,” Katherine said.

There were press conferences, dinners and lunches — and Anthony met with six government ministers during the trip.

“They all assured him that once and for all, he would get his property back.”

Anthony returned to the United States confident and reassured.

And then he didn’t hear anything for a year.

“He tried to contact them, but they would not return his phone calls.”

For years, friends had been encouraging Anthony to expose the corruption and tell his story, but he was always hopeful the situation would get resolved without going down a negative path.

“He always said, ‘I love the Greek people — they are warm and beautiful people, but the government is hopeless,’” Katherine said.

“He didn’t want to do anything to disparage the Greek people.”

Eventually, after four decades of struggle, he decided it was time to tell his story — and began to write an op-ed for The New York Times.

But he passed away in June 2001 before he could complete it.

The Dance Continues

After his death, Katherine focused on settling his estate in the United States.

A year later, she turned her attention back to the problem in Greece.

“I had witnessed Anthony’s frustration and tremendous disappointment [over the matter], and was doubtful I would be able to move anything forward,” she said.

A Greek friend urged her not to give up.

And she didn’t.

For more than two decades, Katherine has pursued the case.

“It used to make me angry to think about the way he was treated by the government,” she said.

“He was a wonderful artist and actor, and although he often played the tough guy in his films, he was not a savvy businessman. He relied on lawyers, agents, business managers to handle transactions — and he was often taken advantage of.

“With the situation in Greece, this was next level style cheating, by so many.”

“I felt that after all he had gone through, it was important to make it right in whatever way I was able,” she said.

Over the years, she traveled to Greece several times and met with politicians, ambassadors, and business leaders who she said were “full of promises, but no actions.”

On one trip, Katherine secured an appointment with Petros Doukas2, then Greece’s Deputy Minister of Finance. She waited outside his office for two hours before being told he was suddenly “unavailable.”

During the same visit, she met with Mr. Lykourezos, who kept her and her local attorney waiting more than an hour.

“When I was finally shown into his office — its walls covered with photos of himself alongside celebrities from around the world — he was condescending and arrogant,” Katherine said.

“He said, ‘Who do you think you are? You would be crazy to think you could win this case against the government.’”

That meeting only strengthened her resolve.

“The general consensus is that the situation was never properly dealt with by the Government and that ‘something’ must be done to rectify it, but no one has been willing to take the first step,” she said.

“I’m not angry anymore, but still determined.

“I do feel like we’re on a good track now, but the wheels of justice move very slowly.”

When I asked Katherine what outcome she’s hoping for, she paused.

“I really don’t know at this point,” she said.

“I am hoping that our current efforts to remove the squatters are successful, and then I would like to work with the local attorney to make the property worthy of having Anthony’s name connected to it.”

When she last visited, nearly 10 years ago, the property was run down and dirty. Trash barrels spray-painted with Anthony’s name sat in the open. The stone structure that Anthony had built for the caretaker was being used as a public toilet.

“It was shameful and embarrassing,” Katherine said.

“The owner of the cantina actually came out when she heard I was there and, through a translator, said, ‘Please don’t take away our livelihood.’

“I told her she had no right to be there. She responded that they were paying the mayor to rent the land being used for the cantina.”

Katherine shook her head.

“Another crooked politician.”

And all the while, Rhodes — and Greece — have continued to profit from the Quinn name.

The Myth

When I visited Rhodes last year, tourist brochures were overflowing with excursions to Anthony Quinn Bay.

When I drove there myself, I found a busy restaurant overlooking the bay, and a beach below that was packed — with both locals and tourists.

But no one I met could explain the history — or why the bay bore Anthony’s name.

Some knew he had been an actor who filmed movies in Greece, and that he had bought land around the bay, but they had different understandings of the land’s current ownership.

“He bought the land, but then he didn’t have the papers, so it went back to the government,” a hotel employee told me.

At Kounna, the restaurant overlooking Anthony Quinn Bay, a young waitress told me that it had been a private beach, but that ‘Anthony Quinn didn’t come back for a long time, so the Greek municipal took it over.’

Perhaps the most amusing version of the story came from an older taxi driver I met, who had lived in Rhodes nearly 60 years.

He told me about Anthony filming a movie on the island, buying land, and even knew there was confusion over the land ownership in the 1970s.

But then he told me the bay was named after Anthony Quinn in 2000, and that in 2007, Anthony Quinn and his family came to Rhodes for an official ceremony at the bay.

“Anthony and his family were very happy about it,” he told me.

He delivered the story with such confidence that I did not tell him that Anthony Quinn’s last visit to Greece was in 1997. Or that he died in 2001.

I did not tell him that there was no naming ceremony at the bay — or that the Quinn family had never been asked for permission to use Anthony Quinn’s name.

In an attempt to find a straight answer, I reached out to the Rhodes Tourism office and the mayor’s office to ask a simple question:

“When – and how – did this bay come to be named after Anthony Quinn?”

Surely the official sources would have answers.

I didn’t hear back from the mayor’s office, but received an email on behalf of the Appointed Advisor of Tourism and Director of the Department of Tourism that said:

“Quinn bought the land during the filming of The Guns of Navarone (1961) in Rhodes, but it was reclaimed by the Greek government in 1984 due to a change in property law.”

I searched for this 1984 law.

The closest I could find was legislation from 1990 restricting foreign ownership in Greece.

Close — but not quite right.

Everyone seems to agree the bay is named after Anthony Quinn.

But when, how, or who named it?

That all remains unclear.

On my last day in Rhodes, I drove back to the bay.

Cars were still wedged wherever they could fit along the road, and the restaurant still had customers overflowing outside, queuing for a table.

I joined them and cracked open Anthony’s memoir, One Man Tango, while I waited.

I thought about the life he had lived: a boy born in Mexico who grew up in poverty; a man who faced deep prejudice in Hollywood, whose surname tied him to Ireland and whose face tied him to Mexico.

And the roles he played attached him to many parts of the world — but most famously, to Greece.

And to one role in particular: Zorba.

At the end of Zorba the Greek, everything has collapsed.

Zorba and his friend Basil stand on an empty beach.

Their business venture has failed. The dream is gone.

“Teach me to dance,” Basil asks.

Zorba leaps to his feet, snaps his fingers, and puts his arm around his friend, pulling him close.

“Let’s go!” he says.

The music begins and they dance on the beach.

Though their dream has been shattered, they find a defiant joy in the wreckage.

Like Basil and Zorba, Anthony Quinn came to Greece with a dream.

What followed were four decades of contracts, courts, shifting governments and broken promises.

Instead of the international artists’ colony he envisioned, Anthony’s name is now painted in yellow letters on a wooden board, nailed to a tree, pointing toward land he paid for but never truly possessed.