The ancient Greeks never used napkins.
A man loses a job through mistaken identity.
The man who broke the bank in Monte Carlo really lived.
Can you imagine that?
This is Lindsay McCarrie, ladies and gentlemen, and my gang and I are with you once more to
delve into the dusty tomes of ancient animals and the yellowing pages of newspapers to bring
you another series of amazing facts.
We'll be on the air with the first one in just a minute and a half, so stick around.
And now we're ready to present our first item on this session of Can You Imagine That?
Let's see what pops up first.
Well, here's a juicy little item from the etiquette books of antiquity.
If you had been invited to dine at the home of any of the better class of people of ancient
Greece, you wouldn't have found a napkin by your place.
No, no napkin.
But you would have found small pieces of bread with which you could wipe up a drop or two
from a dripping pomegranate or overripe olive.
The old Greeks used these little bits of bread exactly the way we use napkins today.
The only difference was that in those days they didn't save them nor put them into napkin
rings for the next meal.
Instead they just dropped them onto the floor where some of the household pets would pick
them up and eat them.
Maybe the Greeks had a word for that too.
Beware the ides of March.
Beware the ides of March.
That's what the soothayer said to Julius Caesar.
But Can You Imagine That says to you.
Beware of mistaken identity.
Must you have a reason?
All right, here it is.
This little incident happened in 1881 in Burlington, Iowa.
On the previous day in January, the legislature had just convened and the town was rapidly
filling with office holders and office seekers.
Up in front of one of the leading hotels drove an imposing carriage.
Here you are, sir.
Very well.
Here's a dime for your trouble.
Just put my trunk on the veranda.
I'll carry my portmanteau.
Yes, sir.
A room, please.
With bath.
Yes, sir.
Register, please.
Thank you.
Now, shall I have a porter bring your trunk up, sir?
No, I'll find a porter myself.
Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir.
Your valise will be in your room.
You there.
Yes?
Sir, if you please.
Yes, sir.
My trunk is right here on the veranda.
Bring it up to my room.
Right away, sir.
Of course right away.
Room 36.
Yes, sir.
Come.
All right.
What do you charge for your services?
25 cents, please.
Very well.
Thank you, sir.
Now, do you know Governor Grimes when you see him?
Oh, very well, sir.
Good.
Give him my card and tell him I want an interview at his earliest convenience.
Why are you staring at that card?
Is this your name?
Of course it's my name.
Permit me.
I am Governor Grimes.
At your service, sir.
You are Governor Grimes?
Oh, my dear sir, I beg of you.
Please, excuse me.
A thousand...
Perfectly all right, young man.
You may have your interview right this minute.
Oh, thank you, sir.
Yes.
I received your letter of application and I was much impressed by it.
I thought you would be well suited to the position you applied for, but, sir, you have
just given me a marked quarter worth just 20 cents and not 25 cents.
Any man who would cheat a working man out of a measly five cents would cheat the public
treasury out of much more if he had the chance.
Oh, but, Your Excellency...
That is all.
Good evening.
Remember that passage from the 16th chapter of Proverbs?
Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall.
In these days when hundreds of thousands of persons are carried at tremendous speed every
year throughout the entire world in airplanes, we may forget the intrepid spirits who first
took flight in the air.
More than 160 years ago, on October 15th, 1778, Jean-Farsois Pialtre climbed into a
small basket to which he had attached a smoke-filled bag.
He had with him a small smoking stove which kept the bag above him inflated.
At last everything was ready and Pialtre gave the signal to cut the ropes holding his strange
contraption to the ground.
As the last line was severed, this true pioneer of aviation arose and floated in his little
basket over his native city of Metz, France.
A salute then to Jean-Farsois Pialtre, the first human to take flight in a balloon.
Fifteen years later, on September 19th, 1783, Joseph Montgomery was a bit more cautious.
Instead of going up himself in his balloon, he sent aloft three passengers who, when the
balloon had descended, were discovered to be alive and well.
No record is available of their emotional reactions for those three passengers were
a sheep, a duck, and a rooster.
Can you imagine that?
Well, most of you, of course, have heard at one time or another the famous old song,
The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.
But did you ever know that the inspiration of that song was not at all the figment of
the imagination of Fred Gilbert who wrote it?
No, sir, it's an actual fact.
There was a man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.
It was in 1891 in the tiny Principality of Monaco that one day the son of the founder
of Monte Carlo, now operating in the casino, Camille Blanc, called one of his oldest and
most expert group yales into the Des Mo basement office.
Sedan Castaigne.
Oui, Monsieur Blanc.
Well, he is coming at last.
Really?
Who?
This Englishman, Charles H. Wells.
Ah, so he has been fortunate in England.
But well, no one is forever lucky in Monte Carlo.
You remember what your revealed father used to say?
Red wins sometimes.
Black wins sometimes.
But Blanc always.
Ah, tiens, yes, I know.
But I am fearful, Castaigne.
This Monsieur Wells has been too fortunate.
He has won too much in several financial ventures.
Now he may do the same here.
I appoint you Grand Chef de Partie.
You will stand by him wherever he is while in the casino.
Watch him carefully.
Report to me if you notice the slightest indication of trickery.
You understand?
Oui, Monsieur.
I will watch him.
A few days later, Charles H. Wells arrived in Monte Carlo, registered in one of the luxurious
hotels and subsequently made his nonchalantly confident way to the spacious casino.
But they were ready for him, or so they thought.
Bonjour Monsieur Wells and welcome to the Casino Monte Carlo.
Yes, thank you.
Thank you so much.
Will you take me to a roulette table, please?
At once, Monsieur.
This way, please.
Thank you so much.
Ah, here's an excellent table, Monsieur.
Emile is one of our most expert coupiers.
Good.
Place your wagers, please.
I put 750 francs on the double.
Number three in black, please.
The maximum on number five.
The maximum, Monsieur?
Emile, Monsieur has said the maximum.
Go on.
Thank you.
Thank you so much.
Number five.
Number five.
Thank you.
Thank you so much.
Now, if you will, please.
I will take you to the casino.
I will take you to the casino.
I will take you to the casino.
I will take you to the casino.
I will take you to the casino.
No, er, the same.
Well, on and on went the luck of the amazing Mr. Wells.
Around and around spun Dame Fortune's Wheel, and always did Mr. Wells win.
Whenever he appeared, the coupiers fell into a fit of consternation.
His fame spread around the casino until the number of betters, placing wagers on the same
number Wells selected, had to be limited, greatly to the obvious annoyance of those
eliminated.
Camille Blanc was so certain that the Englishman's winnings must be the result of some sort of
fraud that he set ten of his best spies to watch Wells night and day, but never could
they discover any evidence of collusion. Wells' astounding good fortune was sheer luck. He
had no system and played numbers all over the felt-covered table. At last, a few months
later, he left Monaco to return to England. But the notoriety that his visit had brought
to the casino sent thousands of avid gamblers to the tables, thousands from all over the
world who were bent upon emulating the success of the famed man who broke the bank at Monte
Carlo. If Wells had broken the bank 50 times, the advertising would have been worth the
cost. At length, Wells returned, repeated his former success for a time, and then...
Number nine on the red.
I will too. Number nine on the red.
I'll wait you in. I'll wait you in. Wage is closed.
Number six, black.
I'll still play nine on the red.
Number nine. I will stay with number nine too.
Number ten, black.
Well, no matter. I shall still play number nine.
For the last time, I will play number nine. I do it.
Number five, black.
And Charles H. Wells kept on losing. His luck had changed. He turned to his old favorite,
number five, lost again and again and again. And one day, as the grand chef du parti reported
to Camille Blanc that the Englishman had suddenly disappeared, the casino's owner laughed softly
as he seemed to hear the spirit of his father, old Francois Blanc, founder of the resort,
whisper to him...
He who breaks the bank today will be broken by the bank tomorrow.
I've just got here through Paris from the sunny southern shore.
I to Monte Carlo went just to raise my widow's rent.
Dame Fortune smiled upon me as she'd never done before.
And I've now such lots of money, I'm a gent.
As I walked along a bar, along with an independent pair,
you can hear the girls declare, she must be a millionaire.
You can hear them sigh and wish to die. You can see them with the other eye,
at the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.
I stay indoors till after lunch and then my daily walk to the great triumphal arch
is one grand triumphal march, observed by each observer with the keenness of a hawk.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
As I walked along a bar, along with an independent pair,
you can hear the girls declare, she must be a millionaire.
You can hear them sigh and wish to die. You can see them with the other eye,
at the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.
As I walked along a bar, along with an independent pair,
you can hear the girls declare, she must be a millionaire.
You can hear them sigh and wish to die. You can see them with the other eye,
at the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.
And there you have it, another session of Can You Imagine That?
This is Lindsay McHarry reminding you that we'll be back again on this same station very soon
with another batch of odd facts and hidden human interest news stories.
Until then, it's goodbye now.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
As I walked along a bar, along with an independent pair,
you can hear the girls declare, she must be a millionaire.
You can hear them sigh and wish to die.
You can hear them sigh and wish to die.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
I'm a mass of money, linen, silk and starch.
I represent YES!
I'm aWEAH!
You can hear them sigh and wish to die.
I'mknbnn
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