This Date in History - February 18

 

Happy birthday, John Travolta.  I love your outfit.

1229:  FREDERICK II, HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR, SIGNS A TEN YEAR TRUCE WITH AL-KAMIL, REGAINING JERUSALEM, NAZARETH, AND BETHLEHEM.

I'd walk a mile for Al-Kamil.

1268:  THE LIVONIAN BROTHERS OF THE SWORDS ARE DEFEATED IN THE BATTLE OF RAKVERE.  

Which means you get February 18 off if you're a Livonian or a Rakverian.

1478:  GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, IS CONVICTED OF TREASON AND EXECUTED IN PRIVATE AT THE TOWER OF LONDON.

Today it would be a sweeps special on Fox.

1546:  MARTIN LUTHER DIES.

Thanks to him, I have a church to go to.

1564:  PAINTER MICHELANGELO DIES.

Come on down, we've decided to wallpaper.

1766:  A MUTINY BY CAPTIVE MALAGASY BEGINS AT SEA ON THE SLAVE SHIP MEERMIN.  

Mutiny on the Meermin.   Doesn't roll off your tongue like the Clark Gable movie.

1781:  CAPTAIN THOMAS SHIRLEY OPENS HIS EXPEDITION AGAINST DUTCH COLONIAL OUTPOSTS ON THE GOLD COAST OF AFRICA.

Don't call him Shirley.

1797:  SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY AND A FLEET OF 18 BRITISH WARSHIPS INVADE TRINIDAD.

Any word from Fitch?

1861:  IN ALABAMA, JEFFERSON DAVIS IS INAUGURATED AS THE PROVISIONAL PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATE STATE.

So who will be the president of Texas when they secede from the union?

1865:  UNION FORCES UNDER GENERAL WILLIAM SHERMAN SET THE SOUTH CAROLINA STATE HOUSE ON FIRE DURING THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA.

Well, there goes the housing market in Columbia.

1885:  THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN BY MARK TWAIN IS PUBLISHED.  

Cliff Notes are out when?

1890:  ACTOR ADOLPHE MENJOU IS BORN.

He was in every movie made in the 1930s.

1892:  POLITICIAN WENDELL WILLKIE IS BORN.

Nobody Won With Willkie.

1913:  PEDRO LASCURAIN BECOMES PRESIDENT OF MEXICO FOR 45 MINUTES---THE SHORTEST TERM OF ANY PRESIDENT OF ANY COUNTRY.

He was double parked.

1919:  ACTOR JACK PALANCE IS BORN.

And immediately did ten push-ups.

1920:  TV GAME SHOW HOST BILL CULLEN IS BORN.

I'll freeze, Bill.

1925:  ACTOR GEORGE KENNEDY IS BORN.

Lord, he's old.

1930:  WHILE STUDYING PHOTOGRAPHS, CLYDE TOMBAUGH DISCOVERS PLUTO.

I thought that was Walt Disney.

1930:  ELM FARM OLLIE BECOMES THE FIRST COW TO FLY AND BE MILKED IN AN AIRCRAFT.

Talk about your Stupid Pet Tricks.

1933:  SINGER (?) YOKO ONO IS BORN.

She killed more Beatles than a can of Raid.

1943:  THE NAZIS ARREST THE MEMBERS OF THE WHITE ROSE MOVEMENT.

White Rose?   Did they used to make ginger ale?

1943:  JOSEPH GOEBBELS DELIVERS HIS SPORTPALAST SPEECH.

And he goebbeled all the way through it.

1954:  THE FIRST CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY IS ESTABLISHED IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

Ironically, this occurs on the same day as...

1954:  ACTOR JOHN TRAVOLTA IS BORN.

Who knew???

1957:  WALTER JAMES BOLTON BECOMES THE LAST PERSON LEGALLY EXECUTED IN NEW ZEALAND.

I guess the key word here is "legally."

1957:  TV STAR VANNA WHITE IS BORN.

H_PP_ _I__HD_Y!

1970:  THE CHICAGO SEVEN ARE FOUND NOT GUILTY OF CONSPIRING TO INCITE RIOTS AT THE 1968 DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION.

Yeah, sure.

1977:  ACTOR ANDY DEVINE DIES.

Daughter Loretta must be distraught.

1979:  SNOW FALLS IN THE SAHARA DESERT FOR THE ONLY TIME IN HISTORY.

Put some snow chains on those camels.

1991:  THE IRA EXPLODES BOMBS IN THE EARLY MORNING AT PADDINGTON STATION IN LONDON.

Hope the teddy bear wasn't hurt.

1998:  SPORTSCASTER HARRY CARAY DIES.

No formaldehyde needed to preserve him.

2001:  SEVEN-TIME NASCAR CHAMPION DALE EARNHARDT DIES IN AN ACCIDENT DURING THE DAYTONA 500.

What color flag do they wave for that?

2006:  SINGER BILL COWSILL DIES.

The Rain, The Park, and Death.

2025:  ACTOR GENE HACKMAN DIES.

At least, we think that's the date.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

The Claire Danes School of Acting

 

If such a school existed, there would be a limited curriculum.

Anguish 101.

Advanced Anguish.

Master Class in Anguish.

Don't get me wrong.  I think she's a fine actress.  But she does have a habit of taking roles that are...well...anguished.   I mean she had the same look for five seasons of "Homeland."  In this recent Netflix limited season, she does take it one step further and plays...wait for it...an anguished lesbian.  I would love to see her branch out and do a screwball comedy with Will Farrell.

That said, "The Beast in Me" is another dark series from Netflix and, on the recommendation of friends, I gave it a shot.   Yes, it is dark but the plot is compelling and sucked me in.  Sadly, I must report that I watched all eight episodes over four days.

I hate when that happens.

Danes plays an....ANGUISHED...author with a new neighbor out on Long Island.  The new dude next door is a creepy and sinister urban developer played by Matthew Rhys and he has some skeletons in his closet.   One just might be the real skeleton of his first wife who "disappeared" several years ago.   Meanwhile, Danes has her own brand of anguish dealing with the local kid who accidentally killed her son in a car crash several years ago.

Somehow, Nil Jarvis the businessman and Danes' author character connect and she is contracted to write his bio.   Of course, to do that, she must learn the story behind the first wife's disappearance.   So, everybody has a nasty angle here and the story peels back slowly like an onion.  Even though it is dark, there is something about the story that sucks you in like a Dyson floor cleaner.  And the good news is that the tale does end definitely after eight episodes which means you won't get trapped with several sequels over the next five years.

Check it out.  He said in anguish.

Dinner last night:  Leftover beef with Chinese noodles.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 16, 2026

 The February weather videos continue with this snapshot of bad drivers in Canada.

Dinner last night:  Roast chicken dinner at the home of Amir and Kevin.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - My Birthday with George's Aunt

 

My birthday was last Wednesday and regardless of how I celebrate, it will never top a birthday I enjoyed about 30 or so years ago.   And it involves none other than the lady in the photo above.

Rosemary Clooney is one of the things I inherited from my parents, other than the maddening mix of personality flaws (stoicism from Dad, impulsiveness from Mom) I got from both. Her music was always playing in our house on those monaural long playing records that were stacked up five-at-a-time on the "Hi Fi." Vikki Carr, for some bizarre reason, was always being piped in throughout the house, and this made no sense to me, as half of her songs were always in Spanish. But, I digress...

I developed an affinity for Rosemary Clooney at an early age, and I continued it as her musical stylings changed over time. Indeed, when she got to that small cabaret stage in the early 90s, this was a fastball over the plate for me. I ate it up. So, you can imagine my absolute glee when I heard that she would be appearing at the old Rainbow and Stars supper club on top of Rockefeller Center on a Saturday evening in February about two plus decades ago. And it was my birthday! Touchdown. Score the goal. Touch 'em all. I would be there.

I made a pact with God not to louse up this amazing quirk of timing. The only thing that could stop me would be one of those crippling blizzards that renders New York City as useful as power brakes on a turtle. I enlisted two cohorts to share in my glory. And then I called for three reservations to the show. And here comes what might have been a fatal mistake.

Supper Club: "Will you be dining with us or just coming for the show?"

Me: (knowing fully well how pricey their menu was) "No, just the show, please."

An oops moment. Except I did not know it at the time.

When the evening arrived, it was cold and blustery. But nary a winter cloud in the sky. The only flakes were the usual tourists that hover around like Rock Center like ants on picnic blanket crumbs. We ate dinner, but at a venue certainly a little more downscale than the 75 buck burgers the supper club was hawking.

An hour before the 11PM show, we made our way up the elevator to that wonderful room that overlooks the entire city. I walked up to the hostess and announced our arrival.

There was no reservation in my name.

WTF!

I stressed there must be some mistake. I recited the day, date, and appropriate time that I called.

Still nothing. Sorry.

And, of course, the show is sold out, so there was no chance of getting another table.

WTF!!

I asked to speak to the manager. He was not available. But we were more than welcome to have a cocktail in the bar and enjoy the view.

Happy birthday to me. And a glorious Fuck You from the Rainbow Room.

My friends did their best over drinks to make me feel better. It didn't work. As I sat there staring at the Empire State Building with that red heart of lights all ready for Valentine's Day, I got more and more agitated. And then I kicked into what I call Murphy Brown mode. Or something akin to that scene in "Terms of Endearment" when Shirley McLaine screams at the nurses' station to get her daughter more medication.

I got ugly.

Leaving my friends with their adult beverages, I went Rainbow Room manager hunting. And I didn't care who I asked. Or interrupted. I finally tracked the guy down in the main part of the Rainbow Room, where he was coordinating somebody's wedding reception.

Yeah, I didn't care.

At first blush, he tried to blow me off. But, then I explained it was my birthday that was now ruined. Of course, I added, other people in the same situation may use that "faux birthday" excuse. I assured him my birthday story was true. I whipped out my driver's license and shoved the date in his face. There was a small glimmer of hope in his face. He told me to go back to the bar and that he would send somebody for us just before the show was scheduled to start.

And he was good to his word. Just before 11PM, the same snarly hostess, who was now off my Christmas card list, came to get us. She explained that the reason for the mix-up was due to a late reservation request from.....Harry Crosby. Okay, if I'm going to get upended by a Crosby kid, make it Mary Crosby. At least, she's the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question. Nevertheless, they were creating an extra table for us. The only caveat was that we couldn't enter the show until the very last minute and we had to do so from a side door. Perhaps, there was surveillance set up by the Fire Department? Who knows?

Anyway, the skank ushered us to said side door. Which was not really a side door. It was actually the wings to the stage.

And we were standing there alongside Rosemary Clooney!

It took me about five seconds to realize that this was the ultimate birthday present. I thought really fast about what to say to her. I know not to say "break a leg." Besides, I know she already had several years before.

Me: "Have a great show."

Rosemary: "I'm a little nervous."

Me: "Don't be. All friends in there."

And Harry Crosby is in my original seats.

Rosemary: (patting my arm) "You're sweet."

And off she went for an hour of musical nirvana.

Oddly enough, after the show, we ran into her again near the coat check. She was apparently using the area to mingle with her friends. I was standing about three feet away from her as she gabbed with Skitch Henderson. Another friend came over to take their picture. I realized I was positioned right in the center of the intended photo. They smiled. So did I. Flash.

I've always wondered if anybody questioned who the hell was this schmuck standing between Rosemary Clooney and Skitch Henderson.

Hey, I'm the one who was celebrating my birthday that night.

When Rosie died in 2002, I posted this story to a memorial website that her family had set up for fans. About three months later, I received a handwritten note from her brother, Nick Clooney (father of George). He mentioned that the family was touched by my story and they wanted to invite me to the Hollywood memorial concert being held later that year. Unfortunately, I couldn't be there. And I didn't need to be.

I still had my story. And I was sticking to it.

It really was my birthday!

Dinner last night:  Beef with noodles from Chin Chin.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - February 2026

 A slow news week 66 years ago.

Dinner last week:  Sandwich.

Len's Juke Box of the Month - February 2026

This was a big hit in 1960 despite that the only one who could understand the lyrics was my grandmother.

Dinner last night:  Spaghetti at the home of Connie and Leo.

Bad Bunny Who?

 

I stopped listening to pop music around 1995 and I'm kind of proud of that.  As a result, many of the current music stars and Grammy winners are a complete mystery to me.

And that includes this idiot named Bad Bunny who recently was the focus of the Super Bowl half time show.   Because I inexplicably got sucked into watching this coma of a game, I actually got exposed to post 1995 music courtesy of this jerk.

I would have been better off getting COVID.  This is what mainstream music is in 2026?   Bring back the Lennon Sisters.

Now I heard from a lot of apparently deaf friends who loved this guy's performance.   Not that they could understand him because his entire act was exclusively in Spanish.   But Mr. Bunny (clearly no relation to the grossly more talented Bugs) has been vocal about Trump and ICE and anything else on the Left, so his appearance was compared to something akin to Jesus walking on water.

What amused the hell out of me was the ultra-woke NFL's attempt to be all things to all people not American.   All of the pre-game singers did their songs with lyrics interpreted in sign language a nice touch.   But where was the translation when Buddy was performing exclusively in Spanish?   Maybe they could have gotten an ASL person who also spoke Spanish.

America.   Increasingly laughable at every turn.

Dinner last night:  Chicken parm at Craig's in West Hollywood.