The answer to your question? It’s all relative. Relative motion that is!
During a spacewalk, it’s true the International Space Station (ISS) is moving at 17,500 mph about the earth. But the spacewalker, who crawls from within the ISS is also traveling at 17,500 mph. Relative to one another, they are –for all practical purposes– not moving (much).
The author, emerging from the ISS airlock hatch, during a spacewalk in 2007. In this photo, earth is to the left.
In your question you ask if it would be the same as jumping from a car on the freeway. If a spacewalking astronaut jumped from the ISS (and was not tethered to it as is the normal protocol), they too would be moving relative to the ISS and their separation distance would increase (i.e., sorta like “…getting left behind immediately.”) in whatever direction they jumped. But the physics of outer space (we call it orbital mechanics) is a bit different than on earth. It’s possible that, if left alone, the leaping-from-ISS-spacewalker would return to nearly the same point from which they departed one orbit later! That’s orbital mechanics for ya!
The author, re-entering the airlock at the completion of a spacewalk during STS-131. Note atomic oxygen damage on the airlock thermal cover (in my right hand).
But our friend who leapt from the car will experience wind resistance, gravity, and other variables which contribute to the resultant motion for him/her relative to the car speeding down the highway. In space, gravity’s effect is much less, there is no wind resistance, etc. It’s a slightly different problem. If our friend crawls from the car window… and slowly moves around the car, then our situation is more akin to that of a spacewalking astronaut. Confused? Me too!
The official term for these forays into the abyss of outer space is Extra-Vehicular Activity –activity outside a vehicle. Why it morphed into spacewalk I’m not sure, but while on the moon, the astronauts did walk, as they will one day on Mars.
I’m no genius, and there are those out there on Quora much smarter than I (that’s your cue Robert Frost!) who can perhaps provide a much more technical answer to this wonderful question. But for now, all I can add is “…keep lookin’ up!” (And make sure you’re tethered to something!)
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In 1183 the son and heir of King Henry II of England died of dysentery. There was no strict rule of succession at that time, and it was up to Henry to choose a new successor from among his three remaining legitimate sons. (He had a lot of other illegitimate children too.) The trouble was, none of them loved him much, and besides, they had joined their older and now deceased brother in two different revolts against their father’s rule. The oldest of the three, Richard the Lionheart, was a brilliant soldier and probably gay. The middle one was a schemer whom nobody much liked, and the youngest was John, who turned out to be such a psychopath that no subsequent king in Britain has ever been named John from that day to this. Henry wanted John to be his heir, but his incredibly talented and wealthy queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, wanted Richard. Eleanor had led the revolts against her husband, so Henry was keeping her locked in a castle, but let her out periodically to travel with him and help him run things.
Henry eventually chose Richard, but after he died and Richard was king, John tried to usurp the throne while Richard was away on crusade. Richard got captured; his mother (now freed) ransomed him; he resumed the throne, and was killed by a crossbow bolt in a siege. He died without any children, so John became king anyway and was so bad his barons revolted and forced him to sign the Magna Carta, which is the foundation of the freedoms we enjoy today.
History is about people.
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This is the legend about the rise and fall of the Mapogo Coalition.
A few years ago, a coalition of lions prowled around South Africa basically annihilating everything in its path.
That’s not an exaggeration.
They allegedly killed over 100 lions (I’m talking the whole lot—males, females, and cubs) in a mission to dominate the whole of Sabi Sands.
The Six Players
Makhulu (the leader)
Dreadlocks
Pretty Boy
Rasta
Kinky Tail
Mr T. (also nicknamed Satan, for reasons which will become clear)
Humble Beginnings
In their early days, the group was kicked out of the Sparta pride and forced to fend for themselves.
So the six became their own group and began to develop their hunting skills.
This got to the point where they were able to take down rhinos, hippos, and even giraffes, and buffalo.[1]
The First Clash—Cannibals
In the clan’s early days of 2006, they encountered four dominant males upon entering the north of Sabi Sands, which formed part of the Ottawa pride.
The clan killed off one of them and the remaining three were fended off. They now had to deal with the rest of the Ottowas.
So they killed all of the eleven Ottowa cubs.
Mr T. was probably the most violent of the group (hence his nickname Satan). Some reports stated he actually began to eat the cubs.
With a hell of a lot of slaughtering and a bit of cannibalism along the way, it was safe to safe that the Mapogo lion coalition now dominated the entirety of Sabi Sands.
The Second Clash—A Dysfunctional Family
Even though the clan had successfully gone on a huge killing spree, things weren’t going so well back home.
The leader, Makhulu, was constantly fighting with Mr. T. (Satan). In one clash, Makhulu managed to severely injure him.
So the defeated Mr T. went off to sulk and took his brother Kinky Tail with him.
The two broke off from the clan and went north.
The Third Clash—Kinky Tail’s Demise
The lonesome brothers encountered a new clan in June 2010—the Majingilanes. They managed to isolate its leader and killed him in a pretty gruesome way:
Mr. T bit down on the male’s neck, Kinky Tail ripped apart the male’s groin area inflicting tears and bleeding.[2]
They then broke his spine and left him to die.
But disaster struck.
Kinky Tail attacked four of the clan’s male lions. Bad idea. They pinned him down, wounded him, and feasted on him—alive.
Mr T. was too late. When he reached Kinky Tail, there were too many lions and he couldn’t fight them. Unable to save his brother, he had to flee.[3]
The End of Their Reign
Makhulu was last seen (alone) in January 2013, entering Kruger National Park, at the (old) age of 16.
The mighty Mapogo lions have certainly had their rise and fall, and after over a hundred deaths because of them, it’s safe to say that the war is, more or less, over.
Because the ‘standards of our time’ are, as a rule, a serving of steaming manure. They are reflective of nothing, least of all our society or behaviour; a hotchpotch of shiny symbols and airy pretensions taught us by our parents, which the literate do-nothings of any age could have thrown together with equal ease.
I don’t feel the need to look very far at all; in his 1959 book Arabian Sands, the British explorer Wilfred Thesiger (1910–2003) describes his solitary, five-year sojourn in the Empty Quarter of Arabia in the 1940s (himself being only the 3rd Westerner to set foot there). Although he could easily have laid claim to one of the most renowned heritages of progress and arrogance in human history, Thesiger is adamant that the time-warped society he encounters is to be considered on its own terms. For instance, concerning the government traditions of Arabia [this was written before the name Arab was extended to non-Arabians]:
It was obvious that, although [a tribe was situated only miles from the provincial capital], the Sultan of Muscat had little control over them. Arabs rule but do not administer. Their government is intensely individualistic, and is successful or unsuccessful according to the degree of fear and respect which the ruler commands, and his skill in dealing with individual men. Founded on an individual life, their government is impermanent and liable to end in chaos at any moment. To Arab tribesmen this system is comprehensible and acceptable, and its success or failure should not be measured in terms of efficiency and justice as judged by Western standards. To these tribesmen security can be bought too dearly by loss of individual freedom.
Such sentiments are easy to dismiss—much like everything can be, really, with the comfort of an engorged distance. Here is some more of his account, that may shed some light on his opinion:
On previous journeys I had commanded respect as an Englishman, and in the Sudan I had the prestige of being a government official. [The Arabs] at first glance seemed to to be little better than savages… but I was soon disconcerted to discover that, while they were prepared to tolerate me as a source of very welcome revenue, they never doubted my inferiority. They were Muslims and Bedu and I was neither. They had never heard of the English, for all Europeans were known to them simply as Christians, or more probably infidels, and nationality had no meaning for them. They had heard vaguely of [WWII] as a war between the Christians, and of the Aden [colonial] government as a Christian government. Their world was the desert and they had little if any interest in events that happened outside it. They identified me with the Christians from Aden, but had no idea of any power greater than that of Ibn Saud. One day they spoke of a sheikh in the Hadhramaut who had recently defied the government and against whom the Aden levies had carried out some rather inconclusive operations. I realized that they thought that this force was all that my tribe could muster. They judged power by the number and effectiveness of fighting men, not by machines which they could not understand. […]
This did not stop them from asking questions about ‘The Christians’. ‘Did they know God? Did they fast and pray? Were they circumcised? Did they marry like Muslims or just take a woman when they wanted one? How much bride-price did they pay? Did they own camels? Were they tribesmen? How did they bury their dead?’ It was always questions such as these that they asked me. None of them had any interest in the cars and aeroplanes which they had seen in the RAF camp. The rifles with which they fought were all that they had accepted from the outside world, the only modern invention which interested them.
[…] Bedu notice everything and forget nothing. Garrulous by nature, they reminisce endlessly, whiling away with the chatter the long marching hours, and talking late into the night round their camp fires. Their life is at all times desperately hard, and they are merciless critics of those who fall short in patience, good humour, generosity, loyalty, or courage. They make no allowance for the stranger. Whoever lives with the Bedu must accept Bedu conventions, and conform to Bedu standards. Only those who have journeyed with them can appreciate the strain of such a life. These tribesmen are accustomed since birth to the physical hardships of the desert, to drink the scanty bitter water of the Sands, to eat gritty unleavened bread, to endure the maddening irritation of driven sand, intense cold, heat, and blinding glare in a land without shade or cloud. But more wearing still is the nervous tension. I was to learn how hard it is to live crowded together with people of another faith, speech, and culture in the solitude of the desert, how easy to be provoked to senseless wrath by the importunities and improvidence.
With such people he would travel for the next five years in the Rub al’Khali, 650,000 square kilometres (250,000 sq mi, or 120% of France) of scorching sand that would have killed a less prepared group in a matter of hours. The following incident occured after a full month of non-stop march in the desert, by which time they had been reduced to minimal rations and balanced on the brink of starvation—but were so fortunate as to catch a hare.
^ A hare.
Anticipation mounted, for it was more than a month since we had eaten meat… [we threw all our remaining flour in the pot with the hare]. We sampled the soup and decided to let it stew just a little longer. Then bin Kabina looked up and groaned, ‘God! Guests!’
Coming across the sands towards us were three Arabs. [My companions said to one another] ‘They are Bakhit, and Umbarak, and Salim, the children of Mia’, and to me, ‘They are Rashid [our tribe’s people]’ We greeted them, asked the news, made coffee for them, and then Musallim and bin Kabina dished up the hare and the bread and set it before them, saying with every appearance of sincerity that they were our guests, that God had brought them, that today was a blessed day, and a number of similar remarks. They asked us to join them but we refused, repeating that they were our guests.
I hoped that I did not look as murderous as I felt while I joined the others in assuring them that God had brought them on this auspicious occasion. When they had finished, bin Kabina put a sticky lump of dates in a dish and called us [the ‘host’ group] over to feed.
Hospitality is indeed an ‘outmoded’ virtue in modern society, but I hope the point still gets across. The modern student of history, by and large, has never had to live with the practical threat of starvation, inescapable illiteracy, has never had to make a life or death decision for himself or others, and likely has no conception or responsibility for a ‘tribe’ larger than himself and, hopefully, his 2–5 person family. The greatest threat to his well-being is, in all likelihood, the sheer stress imposed by living in the pampered lap of luxury, or the neuroses of a desolate modernity.
Setting this paragon of Humanitas as judge and jury over untold millions whose joys and sufferings he cannot (or will not) fathom has all the grace of an ox in tights. Nothing stops him, of course: indeed, the shelves of any good library groan with the accumulated judgemental drivel of three millenia, and can easily shoulder more. But it sells the human spirit short: when our student of history could, easily, step outside his little box and behold, however momentarily, a greater reality, refusing to do so is tragic.
Incidentally, the author of the previous extracts – Thesiger – used to affect the full manner of a ‘gentleman of the empire’ when, in the last years of his life, he sometimes spoke to roomfuls of university students. This was of course more fiction than fact: that particular ruling class was already a vanishing thing of the past in his youth, and he had never truly been part of it. But the gesture was quite telling when directed to a mass of liberal university students—”I don’t fit in this little room. So do go ahead and judge me – make my day.”
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Yes. And you kindly do the exam. You do it professionally and politely; compassionately and unflinchingly. And you pay close attention because people don’t normally smell that bad without a reason. Typically a serious infection of some sort. Different disease processes/infections do have different smells. Just by one whiff across a hallway I can tell the difference between a lower GI Bleed poop, and C-diff poop. It will never win me anything on Jeopardy, but smell is a skill set.
If you are asking for my go-to “hack” from years of being an ER nurse: I carry a bottle of citrus essential oil in my work bag. Two drops on a mask will help me keep my composure during difficult exams. If I see you approaching my patient’s room and offer you this divine gift: take it. I’m not offering for my benefit. This is just one perk of not being an ass to the nurses.
If you’re asking for a smell I’ll never forget, I have a top 5:
5: There was a gentleman who — due to mobility issues and lack of assistance at home — did not move from his couch for over a month before calling 911. They had to bring him in with the couch cushions still in place because he was so attached that they would have removed most of his skin if they had tried to separate him on the scene.
4: a gentleman who took shelter from a thunderstorm in a port-a-potty and decided that this was now an ideal location to use his drugs. He had a seizure and the port-a-potty tipped over on him before being brought into the ER by EMS.
3: a terribly unfortunate gentleman who had a rare kind of neck cancer where the tumor was growing externally from the side of his neck like a second head. The tumor was being used by maggots like rodents would use plastic tube tunnels to play in. Side note: in order to remove maggots efficiently, take the yankauer off of the end of the suction tubing and crank up the vacuum pressure. Then just slurp up the maggots with the end of the suction tubing. They will all end up neatly in the canister for disposal.
2. Abscessed necrotic brain matter pouring out of this poor lady’s ear.
1.Necrotic tunneling Labial gangrene.
All of these patients were incredibly ill, and several died. None of them needed to feel any worse because of an unprofessional nurse or doctor. Compassionate unflinching care is what they deserved and got. And if I smelled slightly of citrus, no one mentioned it being off putting.
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“With all due respect, you’re not paying us $5,000 so I can carry out quick revenge.”
I’ll never forget that line, spoken by a fully armed contractor hired for my personal protection on the strangest day of my career.
The year was 2014 and Dan is falling apart again.
Dan (not his actual name) shows up in many companies. Dan is intelligent, capable of spectacular results but is incredibly inconsistent. Our Dan once led the entire company in our sales rankings and had four President’s Club plaques in his office.
The only thing Dan was consistent at was being a nice guy. Everyone loved him. He gave his time freely to everyone in the office. Whether you were an intern or a manager, he raised his hand if you needed help.
Dan was in his early 50s and was a family man. Married with two kids in high school, he lived a simple life.
Dan drove us crazy. He could be running along with incredible results for the first six months of the year and then look like a completely different person in the second half. He was either sensational or a complete disaster. There was no in-between with Dan.
Most of the time, it just took a stern conversation. He had four different direct managers in his time with the company. I was several levels above him but saw the same three-step process play out every time.
New manager loves him. Dan is helpful, hustles, delivers great results and is a great team player.
Manager is concerned. Dan is missing deadlines, seems overwhelmed and we’ve had some customers complaints.
Manager is done. The entire office is distracted in putting out Dan’s fires and he just lashed out at a teammate (or some similar incident).
Throughout this process, Dan’s manager talks with him about his performance and encourages him to get his mojo back. Dan agrees and commits to improvement while performance keeps getting worse. Each time, a last straw is added to the figurative camel’s back when Dan erupts on a teammate or manager.
We then put Dan on a written performance plan with the direct language of “If Dan fails to achieve the results in this plan, he will be terminated.”
The performance plan always flips a switch in Dan. He would tell us how much he loves the company and needs the job. He would apologize, promise to improve and then deliver on that promise. Results would go from terrible to great.
I am talking about worst to first kind of turn-arounds. We would go from customer complaints to receiving love letters from his customers.
One year later, the process would start over again.
After this cycle happened too many times, I had a conversation with him.
“If it goes downhill again Dan, there won’t be another written performance plan. We can’t afford to keep disrupting the office. You have to get it together and keep it together. Is there something outside of this office that we can help you with?”
He paused for a long time and opened up. He suffered from depression. He drank too much. His family had confronted him. He was in a bad place.
Our company partnered with a counseling organization for just this type of situation. I offered him a leave of absence if he would enter the program, of which we would pay for 100%. He had to attend every session and stay in the program or we would terminate his employment.
He graciously agreed.
We gave him two months of paid leave and he entered the counseling program. He came back energized and we saw the best of Dan.
For a while.
Soon, the process started again as complaints started surfacing, both from his teammates and customers.
This time, it ended with Dan sending an explosive email to a customer at 2AM. This cringe-inducing email was four paragraphs long and all but called the customer an idiot. It was totally out of his normal character.
This happened on a Friday. The customer forwarded his email to me and several other managers the next morning with Dan copied on the email. This customer shared her plans to post it on her blog and social media accounts.
Dan left me with no choice but to fire him and he knew it.
On Sunday evening, I got a call from Dan’s manager. She was rattled.
Dan knew what was coming on Monday and confided in several people in the office, in the worst of ways.
He told one person that he expected to be fired. He went on to say he deserved it and probably didn’t deserve to be alive. Maybe, he should just end it all.
Startling, but it got worse. He called another employee who happened to be an avid hunter. Without talking business, he asked her questions about handguns and which caliber he should look into.
Damn.
This was the summer of 2014 and two school shootings had just taken place on the West Coast within a week of each other. Hints like this couldn’t be ignored.
My first responsibility as a leader is keeping employees safe. Was Dan likely crying out for help? Probably. Was he going to bring a gun to the office? Highly unlikely. Could we take that assumption to the bank? Absolutely not.
I told our manager to sit tight and I got on the phone with my boss. We were not going to take any chances. He had experience with a security firm and knew the owner.
He arranged for an “armed specialist” to be with me the next morning in the office. To this day, I appreciate how quickly my boss worked to arrange everything. I have fired many people but never in a situation like this.
For the first time in my life, I was headed to a business meeting with a loaded gun.
I talked with our manager in the office and asked her to arrange an office meeting at our satellite office across the street. In essence, I asked her to get everyone out of the main office to start the morning. If something happened, I would be the only employee in the office with Dan that morning.
Next, I called Dan and asked him to meet me the next morning at my office.
I didn’t sleep that night. My imagination kept taking me to dark scenarios. I wanted to tell my wife more of my fears but kept them to myself. I didn’t want her to start imagining all the crazy stuff I was dreaming up.
I met with my bodyguard two hours before I was scheduled to meet with Dan. He was an older gentleman, short and lean. He wore a dress shirt tucked into jeans with a leather bomber jacket on. He gave me his credentials. Twenty years in the military and another twenty years in private security, both overseas and domestic.
He wanted to know where all the entry points to the office were. We walked the perimeter of the building and did the same inside. We walked back to my office where I planned to meet with Dan.
“Too many doors to get here. Also, what if one of your employees comes back to the office and is back here with us? I like the offices in the lobby.”
“OK.”
We walk up front and sit down in one of the lobby offices. He asked me how I planned to conduct the conversation and what I am expecting.
“Well, I can meet with him in this office. I will leave the office door open since no one will be here yet. You can sit right outside the office on that couch.”
“With all due respect, you’re not paying us $5,000 so I can carry out quick revenge.”
It takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he is saying.
“Ian, I won’t do you any good on the couch if he brings a gun into that office with you. I’ll be sitting right next to you.”
“Of course.”
“I will have my gun covered by my jacket but trust that I can get to it quickly. I don’t want to show it and get him more nervous than he already is.”
We agree to announce him as an “HR specialist” hired to assist in the discussion. This sounds much more comforting than telling Dan that my bodyguard will shoot to kill should Dan pull out a gun.
Dan walks through the door on time. I am anything but calm. I am not sure if I am worked up because of potential danger or simply because I am sitting next to a trained killer.
Dan knows what the meeting is about. He sees the paperwork in front of me. I introduce the person on my right who smiles and shakes his hand. I immediately get to the point.
“Dan, today is your last day with the company. We tried to make this work but feel that we need to move on without you.”
“I understand.”
I walk him through the paperwork. All standard stuff. When his benefits end, who to call in HR to learn more about Cobra, severance details, etc. He signs everything quickly. Next, I pivot.
“Dan, you said some things to people in the office that concern me.”
“Oh, that. Is this why you have someone here with you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”
“Dan, we want to help you continue with the counseling if you are interested.”
“Thank you. I am interested. I’m sorry for scaring everybody.”
I took his computer and access keys to the office, shook his hand and he left without incident. We paid for additional counseling and an outplacement service that helped him find new employment.
Since Dan had already been enrolled and worked with the same counseling organization, we alerted them as to what had happened and they reached out to him immediately after our meeting. He started counseling again that day and they continued to work with him for several months.
Our security detail remained in the lobby the rest of the day, guarding the front door. We took it a step further and paid for him to show up every day for the rest of the week, watching the front entrance.
Excessive? Maybe, but it gave our local managers peace of mind. As an organization, we had the safety of 30 employees to worry about. Many were nervous as word got out about the calls he made over that weekend.
Count me as one of the nervous employees. Scared is a more honest word. Scared he might hurt himself, other employees or me.
It was an incredibly difficult situation as you want to do right by the employee while also protecting the people he works with.
I left work early that day. I went home and hugged my wife and kids for a long time.
Then I poured a tall glass of Scotch.
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Herb Gibson is probably not a name you have heard of.
He had nothing to do with Walmart or Kmart or Target. What this serial business owner did have was an idea:
“Buy it low, stack it high, sell it cheap.”
Sounds familiar? It might be a statement you’d associate with Walmart’s Sam Walton or Kmart’s S.S. Kresge, but Gibson is the man who voiced the concept in 1958—four years before the launch of the Big Three.
It seems a rather obvious philosophy for retail success, but the reason Gibson could not have executed before then was simple: Texas, where he operated 34 distribution warehouses, forbade selling merchandise to individual customers at wholesale prices.
As soon as Texas relaxed that law, he began converting his warehouses into large discount retail establishments. He did so well that the new Gibson’s Discount Centers were soon offering franchises, and by the following year had expanded beyond the state.
One of the towns Gibson’s Discount Center opened was in Fayetteville, Arkansas, where a certain Sam Walton had recently launched his first independent variety store. (He also owned 15 Ben Franklin five-and-dime franchises in other cities, the equivalent of today’s dollar stores).
“(Gibson)…branched out to the square in Fayetteville and started competing with our variety stores. We knew we had to act. He was the only one discounting out this way, and because I had made all those trips back East, I was probably one of the few out here who understood what he was up to. By then, I knew the discount idea was the future.
While that was the immediate trigger, there was a broader reason for large discount stores like Walmart and Kmart emerging around the same time.
Dig into the early history of these stores, you will discover that they grew out of the suburbs and Middle America, rather than in the large cities on the East or West Coasts. Why? That had to do with the fallout of the Second World War.
Up until then, the big cities were the magnet for people as it was where the jobs were. When the war ended, the U.S. government suddenly had a problem. Some 15 million G.I.s were headed back from Europe, Asia and the Pacific, and they needed somewhere to live.
Finding affordable housing in the cities had become almost impossible, and with these mostly young soldiers getting married and starting families, a crisis was developing.
Times of great adversity often lead to great opportunity, and large construction firms sensed theirs. Rather than build on expensive city lands, they bought acres upon acres of outlying farms and fields, and began mass-producing homes on them.
Aerial view of Levittown in Long Island, New York, showing hundreds of small, identical houses set along curved streets. Completed around 1950 on 4,000 acres of potato fields, it formed the template for scores of suburban towns across America. Image: Mark Mathosian
, via Flickr.
Crucially, too, for the returning soldiers, President Roosevelt had introduced the GI Bill
, which, among other things, gave them loan guarantees and made the low-cost 25-year (rather than five-year) mortgage the national standard. In many cases, veterans were able to move into their new homes for little or no money down.
It was the perfect recipe for a suburban boom, and by 1960, the percentage of people living in the suburbs had almost caught up to those living in the central cities.
The explosive growth outside of the cities brought with it opportunities for those willing to think big.
Enter Eugene Ferkauf, who despite his unfortunate-sounding last name, was a rather enterprising New Yorker.
He had started by selling appliances at large discounts from his upstairs loft in 1948. Discounters operated on the fringe of retail at the time, but with the rise of the suburbs, Ferkauf decided to gamble. In 1954, he opened a full-line department store, E.J. Korvette, selling everything from clothes to furniture at well below list prices in the heavily populated New York suburb of Westbury, Long Island.
It was massively successful, and over the next few years, numerous other retailers aped his model, launching 70,000–200,000 square foot discount stores in the suburbs of virtually every major city.
Among them were newcomers to the business like Fed-Mart, Bargain City, Spartan and Unimart, but also several large, respected retailers which launched discount subsidiaries including F.W. Woolworth, L.S. Ayres, and—as the Sixties rolled in—S.S. Kresge (then an 800-store variety chain) and Dayton Co.
You might better recognize those last two by their discount store names, Kmart and Target.
But let’s get back to Sam Walton.
The rise of discount stores wasn’t lost on him. Indeed, as he notes in his autobiography, he “stole as many ideas from Sol Price (of Fed-Mart) as from anybody else in the business.”
In 1960, as the owner of 15 Ben Franklins, he was already the largest independent variety store operator in the U.S.
And yet, he was deeply dissatisfied. Total combined revenues from all 15 stores was a mere $1.4 million—a pittance compared to the $2 million plus that he learnt a single large store could bring in.
But it was only when Herb Gibson opened his discount center in his backyard in 1959 that Walton knew he had to act.
He had already refined the art of discount retailing with his Ben Franklin franchises. Within three years, he used those lessons to launch the first Walmart in Rogers, near Fayetteville.
Crowds outside Walmart’s first store ahead of its grand opening in 1962. The launch ad, inset, notes “Plenty of Parking”—a definite plus with suburban and rural residents.
What then was so special about 1962 that Walmart, Kmart and Target (and Kohl’s for that matter) all launched in the same year?
Nothing more than a coincidence, for they were just a few among many that rushed to take advantage of the explosive suburban growth that began in the Fifties.
The discount retail store was, quite simply, an idea whose time had come.
I had to do a serious research due to my limited knowledge about this topic. The more I read, the more I am amazed by what the previous Vietnamese generations did during the war. In this answer, I would only analyze the Cu Chi tunnel system – the most famous tunnels in Vietnam War.
So if you think of Cu Chi tunnel as comfortable rooms where you can do whatever you want underground, you are wrong. We didn’t have that kind of luxury. Remember you are fighting Americans, the most powerful army in the world, with all kinds of aircrafts and technologies actively searching for you day and night. Imagine if you got caught, not only you are dead but also a part of the tunnel is found, which might cause greater dangers to other people in the whole tunnel system. To put it bluntly, you have to make use of the terrain, work super hard, be extremely resilient, and outsmart your enemy to survive. So what is the tunnel system like and how did they build it?
(No, that’s not how Cu Chi tunnel’s like. This is like a 5-star hotel already.)
(That’s how an entrance looks like.)
The Cu Chi tunnel system was originally built in late 1948 or early 1949 during Indochina War with the aim of maintaining communications between villages and evading French’s sweeps in the area. The Cu Chi tunnels gained its strategically important role in the wars because of its location which is only 40–50 km from the center of Saigon, the most important city in South Vietnam. In the beginning, almost every family had their own secret bunker to hide the Viet Minh soldiers. However, once a separate bunker is detected by the enemy, the soldier could be easily captured or killed as he had only one way out. Hence, there came the need of connecting these bunkers together so that the Vietnamese soldiers can have more chances to escape.
During the Vietnam War, the system was continuously expanded and upgraded to a 250 km system with three levels of tunnels: 6m, 8m, and 10m deep underground. During the day, the peasants farmed on the field but when the sun sets, they started excavating tunnels. In the beginning, for security reason, each village dug their own separate tunnels and nobody knew where the tunnels of other village were. Some of the tunnels are even under the river. The design of the tunnels is zigzag, which served as the link between villages and made it hard for the enemy to explore/travel inside the system. Dust and soil was spread out carefully by being dumped in bomb craters or the river.
Thanks to the tunnels, the Viet Cong guerrillas would ambush American soldiers in the jungles and then disappear without a trace. However, these secret tunnels were not only fortifications for them, but were also the center of their community life. Hidden beneath the destroyed villages, inside these tunnels were underground kitchens and Hoang Cam stoves
, water wells, rest areas (dorms), HQ centers, medical areas/hospitals, food and weapon supply storage, schools, and public spaces where couples could get married. In some parts of the network, there were even theaters where performers entertained people with songs, dance and traditional stories. The most vital part for any tunnels, the ventilation holes, were hidden at the foot of trees, thick grass or termite nests. In order to keep the tunnels from collapsing, the VCs used woods from the jungles and iron stolen from the U.S. Army bases to reinforce the tunnels.
Prior to the involvement of US troops, the South Vietnamese troops were proven to be ‘useless’ in the Cu Chi area by numerous VietCong’s victories. There was a time the VCs boldly held a victory parade right in the middle of Cu Chi town. This is one of the reasons Westmoreland needed US troops in Vietnam. However, in the beginning, little did the Americans know that they built their base right on top of an existing network. It took them couples of months to understand why many of their ammunitions, weapons, and food got stolen and they often got shot at night.
But that’s not the best part about the Cu Chi tunnel system. If so, the Americans would have found and destroyed it quickly. Once figuring out there were troops right under their nose, the American and Australian troops, of course, tried a wide range of methods to destroy the whole system and the enemies. The most popular ones include using poisonous chemical gases, “tunnel rats”, and German shepherd dogs.
First, aside with Napalms dropped on the ground, poisonous chemical gases were also pumped into the tunnels. However, the VCs used trap doors with water locks and air locks to stay safe and sound in the tunnels.
Second, the “tunnel rats” were the US soldiers sent down into the tunnels. Of course, they were well-trained and brave, some were Specorces, which VietCong fighters wanted to avoid the most. In order to do so, the tunnel was designed small enough for only Vietnamese people, but very narrow for Americans. The entrance holes in the ground are barely wide enough for Americans, following by a lot of U turns that lead to the surface, then twist again before heading off horizontally further. The tunnels were also very dark and there was no room to return around and retreat. Besides, booby traps were used as many as possible, not only inside the tunnels but also on the ground. Not to mention the intense heat with the lack of air underground (especially when the tunnels are too narrow for their movements) made their job more difficult. In the end, they suffered quite high casualty rates.
Third, the German dogs were undoubtedly dangerous because they could detect both humans and the tunnels. However, the VCs made use of stolen American soap so that the shepherd dogs would identify them as friendly. Captured, stolen US uniforms, belongings were put out to confuse the dogs as well. Most importantly, the dogs were only able to spot humans, not booby traps. Leaving the scent in booby traps could disable the dogs easily so that their handlers would be too horrified to continue the search and stop using the dogs.
Below are some boobytraps used in Cu Chi area, which caused tremendous casualties to the US troops.
Given all that information, you might have had an idea how difficult the life was in the tunnels. More precisely, it was extremely difficult. Air, food and water were scarce and the tunnels were infested with ants, poisonous centipedes, scorpions, spiders and vermin. Like Americans, Viet Cong guerrilla fighters were not super humans so they were scared of these poisonous insects and bugs, too. They were also under the constant threats of American both underground and on the ground. Along with continuous “search and destroy” operations, random artillery was fired into the area at night, and US pilots were told to drop all the unused bombs and napalms there before returning to base. According to some statistics, half a million tons of bombs were dropped on Cu Chi area during the war. I heard that there were times the guerrillas had to stay in the tunnels for weeks or months, laying down on the floor just to get enough air to breath, and many even lost their consciousness or suffocated. Worse, many had to eat stale rice, grass or drink urine to survive. Though only 6,000 out of 16,000 Viet Cong guerrillas serving in Cu Chi survived the war, they didn’t surrender and fought bravely until the end of the war. After 1975, the villages of Cu Chi have been presented with numerous honorific awards by the Vietnamese government, and many of them have been declared ‘heroic villages’.
In early 1970s, the US used B52s to carpet bomb the whole area and destroyed most of the tunnel system. But that was the time when the US troops were about to withdraw from Vietnam, it’s safe to say the tunnels had served their purpose. Today, a part of the existing tunnels was preserved and enlarged for the tourism purpose.
I also found a great documentary with more details and visualization about the Cu Chi tunnels. It was produced by Mickey Grant
and the interviewees are former Viet Cong fighters, so its quality and accuracy can be trusted.
I hope this long post has answered your question.
Image sources: various from the Internet.
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Oh boy. If no one has said TheAnimals of Farthing Wood, then prepare to be traumatised.
With a name like that, it sounds like a heartwarming tale about a bunch of forest pals, living happily together, doesn’t it?
Spot the animal who doesn’t suffer — trick question, they all do.
Well no. NO. *sobs* That’s not what it was.
It was a goddamn massacre.
There is literally an article listing the “Most Traumatic Deaths” of the show. Say what you like about Teletubbies, but at least you knew Po wasn’t going to get her foot mangled in a trap.
Another article takes it upon itself to list the “body count” of this children’s television series.[1] You really can’t make this shit up.
Here’s a quick synopsis of the early episodes. You know, just gingerly dipping a toe into the slaughter water:
Honey, I’m worried about Jonathan. He keeps saying things like “life is a cruel joke, and we are the punchline.” When I try and put on his favourite cartoon he just screams and grabs onto my leg.
Does the pace relent? Of course not; there are plenty more lighthearted high jinks:
How about some baby mice impaled on thorns by a shrike?
The small ones are more tender.
Do you think this team of husband-and-wife hedgehogs will make it across the road to a new park, where the animals are heading for a fresh start?
Do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands.
If you said “yes, I think they’ll get across” then you haven’t been paying attention. Mr and Mrs Hedgehog just freeze the fuck up, and they grab onto each other as they’re both pancaked by a truck.
It’s no picnic once the surviving animals have made it to their new home, either.
Mrs Vole is killed by Scarface the fox, Season 2’s main antagonist, early doors. At least Mr Vole got a happy ending, though — he died of hypothermia.
Things aren’t much better for the mice:
This bird wanker is the worst grief counsellor I’ve ever seen.
I’m wondering if that screenshot is legit, but, you know what, no I’m not. I can believe it. Getting married is just a death sentence in this universe, and the rest of the animals are too jaded to give a shit. Life is pain.
Scarface racks up quite the kill count in the series, murdering a fox cub, a hare, and a rabbit, while the victims’ families look on in horror, powerless to help.
No one is safe, though, because even Scarface gets his comeuppance, with his son and then himself both getting murdered by a venomous adder.
I mean… I guess it’s realistic, at least. Small animals like mice, voles and rabbits do get killed and eaten all the time. Maybe there’s a better way to break it to your young child, though.
If I had a farthing for every character that died, I’d have… well, a very small amount in obsolete coinage, but still a lot of farthings. Actually, though, some of them are collectable, so I might be sitting on a pretty tidy sum. But I digress.
Across the series, according to the article there are 24 deaths in 39 episodes — and that’s just main characters. Numerous more bit-part players bite the dust with little fanfare. There’s a six-and-a-half-minute-long video on YouTube of Season 1 deaths alone. Shit; maybe I am getting hypothetically rich with all those collectable old coins. *High fives self*
Badger is one of the few characters who comes out relatively unscathed.
Oh, I don’t mean he survives. Ha! You poor, optimistic child.
He has the mercy of a peaceful death.
It’s no wonder I grew up so cheerful.
This show makes Game of Thrones look like Peppa Pig.
8/10. Would recommend. Your child will be 60% more likely to quote Nietzsche.
No, I’m not talking about Mitch McConnell’s face. Let’s try another year.
See it? Not yet?
Okay, let’s keep going then.
Why are so many people wearing overcoats?
Because it’s cold. Why?
Because it’s January and people are outdoors.
Why?
Because it’s the tradition to hold the inauguration ceremony on the steps of the Capitol.
Why?
Because of the War of 1812.
During this war, American troops plundered and set fire to the buildings of the Legislative Assembly of Upper Canada in York (Modern-day Toronto).
In retaliation, in 1814, after defeating the US troops in the disastrous Battle of Bladensburg, the Brits set fire to Washington D.C.
The Presidential Mansion (it wasn’t known as the White House yet) was burned, and so was the Capitol.
When James Monroe was inaugurated in 1817, there weren’t any buildings left in D.C. that could host the inauguration. So, the decision was made to hold it on the steps of the Capitol.
And that became a tradition. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as cold then, because presidents used to be inaugurated in March. In 1937, people started holding the inauguration on January 20th, but they kept it outdoors, because… tradition.
And that, kids, is why you shouldn’t invade Canada and burn their buildings. It will lead to a cascade of events that will culminate in the absurd scenario where you have to freeze your ass off every 4 years when your president is being sworn in.
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