Ripley Entertainment Inc.'s Blog, page 198
June 12, 2020
June 11, 2020
George Washington’s Cherry Tree Tale Debunked
Featured in Ripley's Believe It or Not!
On August 10, 1835, Joice Heth—a so-called 161-year-old African American slave—regaled sideshow audiences with stories of life as George Washington’s childhood nurse. Heth’s story wreaked of a hoax. Yet, her deeply wrinkled visage, talon-like long nails, and toothless grin suggested great age. Of course, it was Heth’s tales of “little George” that cemented audience belief in her identity. One of her favorites? The time George copped to assaulting the family’s cherry trees with a hatchet.
During a seven-month-long tour, Heth raked in an estimated $1,500 per week for her owner, P.T. Barnum, launching the showman’s stardom. Why did the cherry tree story resonate with audiences? They were already familiar with the “I cannot tell a lie” story because of one of George Washington’s first 19th-century biographers.
Ironically, the story about never telling a lie is, in fact, a lie. Here’s what we know about its invention.
“Little George” and the Cherry Tree
The cherry tree story remains one of the oldest and most famous tales about George Washington’s childhood. As the legend goes, when Washington was six years old, he received a hatchet as a gift. (Apparently, George’s parents weren’t much into helicoptering.) Of course, before the Washingtons knew it, their son was wreaking havoc on the family’s Virginia plantation with his miniature ax.
Augustine confronted his son after noticing that one of the cherry trees had not avoided an attack from the small boy. To his astonishment, the child proclaimed, “I cannot tell a lie… I did cut it with my hatchet.” Augustine hugged his young son, telling him that honesty was worth more than a thousand cherry trees.
Voilà, an American myth was born. One that would fortify generations of schoolchildren against the sin of lying. One that would also, ironically, give weight to P.T. Barnum’s greatest lie, the “Heth hoax.” (Upon Heth’s death on February 19, 1836, a public autopsy, which Barnum charged admission for, revealed she was no more than 80 years old at the time of her passing.)
Barnum never took to heart the moral behind the cherry tree story, though we can only imagine how many times he heard Heth retell it during her brief sideshow career. Or, perhaps he did, considering the tale itself was fabricated to sell copies of Washington’s biography.
The Life of Washington, an Instant Bestseller
Who invented the cherry tree story? Mason Locke Weems, an itinerant minister, bookseller, and author of The Life of Washington. The former American president had died in 1799, and Americans were hungry to learn more about their first commander-in-chief.
Painting depicting Weems and his famous story of George Washington and the Cherry Tree.
In January 1800, Weems told his publisher, “Washington you know is gone! Millions are gaping to read something about him… My plan! I give his history, sufficiently minute… I then go on to show that his unparalleled rise and elevation were due to his Great Virtues.” Weems’s resultant autobiography saw its first publication in 1800, becoming an instant bestseller. With the creation of the book’s fifth edition in 1806, the cherry myth first appeared, and Americans consumed the fable with relish.
Decades later, a Presbyterian minister and college professor named William Holmes McGuffey latched onto the tale anew. Passionate about teaching morality and religion to children, he incorporated the legend into his instructional textbooks, referred to as McGuffey’s Readers. His readers sold more than 120 million copies upon publication in 1836.
Weems and Popular History
Why did Weems invent the iconic cherry tree story about the value of honesty? Like P.T. Barnum a few decades later, money remained an essential motivator. Weems knew he had a hit on his hands—if he could uncover enough unknown details about Washington’s life (or invent them) to satiate his audience.
But the vested Federalist, who prized self-discipline and order just about as much as money, had a moral and political stake in the story, too. He wanted to correct the early American tendency to deify Washington. By focusing on Washington’s private virtues instead of his public accomplishments, Weems moved away from the nation’s temptation to venerate their first president.
In other words, he made George look good without rendering him a god. Weems wished to provide the perfect role model for young Americans, one made of flesh and blood. If it came at the cost of historical accuracy, so be it.
Early Americans and the Popularity of Weems’s Work
Why were the American people so willing to soak up Weems’s lies? Because he knew how to give the American people exactly what they wanted, a homespun origin story for arguably the nation’s greatest hero. While other myths abounded in the book, the cherry tree fable became Weems’s most significant contribution to the Washington legend. As the biographer had rightly assumed, people longed for a popular history of Washington.
They thirsted for a link to their recently deceased leader. After all, America faced plenty of uncertainty moving forward as a new nation amongst a host of powerful Old World adversaries. (Just eight years after the publication of the fifth edition of The Life of Washington, the British burned the White House to the ground on August 24, 1814).
The ability to celebrate one of their favorite heroes provided a balm for these growing pains. Especially when it involved a hero that children could emulate through small acts of virtue. Perhaps this also explains why so many mid-19th-century Americans proved gullible when it came to the “Heth hoax.” Apart from the sensationalism and peculiarity surrounding Barnum’s claims, people longed for a connection to Washington. Heth appeared to provide it, ironically enough, by embodying the cherry tree story.
By Engrid Barnett, contributor for Ripleys.com
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June 10, 2020
The Mystery Of Ambrose J. Small, The Missing Millionaire
Featured in Ripley's Believe It or Not!
From the outside looking in, the glamorous lives of the rich and famous seem like a whole new world. It’s easy to become entangled with their everyday drama, scandals, and outlandish purchases. Sometimes, though, millionaires make the headlines for other curious reasons.
Ambrose J. Small, an Ontario theater magnate, made millions and owned some of the most stunning theaters in the country. A giant in his field with the world at his feet, he disappeared without a trace over a century ago!
Making His Millions
Small was born in Canada West in February 1866. The family later moved to Toronto, where his father, Daniel Small, went on to manage the magnificent Grand Hotel. The building is right next door to the equally decadent Grand Opera House—where Ambrose J. Small began as an usher in the mid-1880s.
At the close of the decade, a dispute between Small and the Grand Opera House’s manager, Oliver B. Shepard, ended with Small’s parting ways from the establishment to take up a new job at the Toronto Opera House. His time working at the popular venue paid dividends, and he rose through the ranks, eventually becoming manager. In short order, incredibly, he made enough money to pay the Grand Opera House’s mortgage and gave Shepard his marching orders.
In the years that followed, Small became the face of theater in the city. Profiting from an alliance with Detroit theater powerhouse, Clark J. Whitney, plus his own knowledge of the business and ruthless acumen, he soon controlled over thirty theaters both inside and outside of Ontario. His rise was astonishing and made him a force to be reckoned with, but his ‘fall’ would be so inexplicable that it baffles researchers over a century later.
On December 1, 1919, Small completed the greatest business deal of his remarkable career. All his theatrical holdings went to Trans-Canada Theatres Ltd., for the princely sum of $1,700,000. One million dollars were paid by check, there and then. However, this extraordinary deal would prove to be the last Small is ever known to have made. The very next day, he vanished without a trace.
Small’s Mysterious Disappearance
On December 2, Small and his wife made arrangements to meet with Small’s attorney, E.W.M. Flock, to complete the deal. They left their home in Rosedale, Toronto separately, rendezvousing, along with Flock, at the Grand Opera House early in the afternoon. Shortly thereafter, Small took his wife to a nearby orphanage where she volunteered, before returning to the opera house to continue dealings with Flock. The attorney would be the last known person to see the millionaire, as Small didn’t return home after he left their meeting at 5:30 in the evening.
The Grand Opera House in Toronto, where Small was last seen
As Ambrose J. Small was frequently absent from home on various business dealings, it wasn’t until two weeks later that he was officially labeled as missing. Leads and ‘evidence’ of all sorts began to reach the police,—particularly after a reward of $50,000 for finding Small alive was issued by his wife, Theresa Small—but nothing concrete came out of the speculation and theories. Everywhere from the basement of his mansion to Toronto Bay was searched for his remains, but nothing ever emerged.
Was there a reason to suspect foul play? Well, Small wasn’t exactly a model citizen or husband. A ruthless businessman, he was known for gambling away large sums, gallivanting with women and a string of mistresses—a fact of which Theresa Small was well aware, and was rumored for partaking in a fixed high-profile horse race. He was also known to be very cold towards his wife, whose wealth, via her family’s brewery, had helped him reach the top of his career in the first place.
Known by some as a scoundrel, gambling addict, and cheat who cared nothing for the less fortunate, Small was no figure of virtue in the community. In fact, journalist Hector Charlesworth, who knew Small, wrote in his More Candid Chronicles, “If I heard once, I heard a score of times the ominous words: ‘Somebody will get Amby some day.’” If somebody did indeed ‘get Amby,’ they were never found, and nor was he.
Ambrose J. Small
There were promising leads. The police intercepted a message stating “Hold Small until tomorrow morning. Don’t let him go under any circumstances,” which was sent to a New York shopkeeper. The message was sent by a person known only by “S.H.,” and an investigation in New York led nowhere—as did theories that Small had been abducted by a very early flying saucer.
The finger of blame was pointed at several people: Theresa Small, perhaps enraged with her husband’s gaudy antics and infidelity. Small’s maiden sisters, Florence and Gertrude, who Small had been financially supporting after their father’s latest marriage and were now passed over for that money, in favor of Theresa. And the most practical suspect—John Doughty, Small’s secretary, who had disappeared himself along with $105,000 in bonds from the theater tycoon’s safe!
In yet another intriguing twist to the story, Doughty was found almost a year later in Oregon—presenting the police the bonds, which had been stashed in Toronto, on his return—and collared for theft and an alleged kidnapping bid. He claimed at his trial that he had been doing business on Small’s behalf with the bonds, giving them to his sister Jean for safekeeping after Small’s disappearance scuppered his work. This was why he had fled himself, he stated. The fact remained, though, that Doughty had always complained about the low pay he received from Small. At the trial, the claim emerged that he had approached a number of fellow employees with a kidnapping plot.
More And More Loose Ends
In the end, Doughty was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment. Theresa Small was awarded $800,000 of her husband’s estate and an allowance of $30,000, against which Florence and Gertrude made claims of their own. The $800,000 ruling was quickly overturned, with a demand that Mrs. Small pay back the money until she can prove she has a true legal right to it. Trials followed, which demanded Theresa swear via affidavit that Small was deceased.
It wasn’t until April 24, 1924, that a legal agreement was reached between Theresa, Florence, and Gertrude. Theresa came away with a $2,000,000 fortune and the befuddling case still haunting her. In 1936, the year after his wife’s death, another investigation into Ambrose J. Small’s disappearance arose, along with a letter in which Theresa supposedly confessed to her husband’s murder. It was dubbed a forgery and thrown out of court within five minutes!
And while In October 1940, Gertrude Small drowned on her wedding night, along with her new husband, in an accident at Wasaga Beach. Florence is reported to have claimed, “I don’t care who likes it. My sister was doped and murdered,” but the tragedy was indeed deemed an accident by the coroner.
A string of wild claims, rumors, likely theories, and fantastical ones continue to swirl around Ambrose J. Small and his disappearance. The declaration of his death was officially made in 1924 and the case closed in 1960, with all kinds of unsubstantiated evidence found in between and since. In the end, we may never truly know what happened to Small that snowy day, but his memory lives on in one of the most infamous, iconic, and unbelievable cases in Canada’s history.
By Chris Littlechild, contributor for Ripleys.com
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Source: The Mystery Of Ambrose J. Small, The Missing Millionaire
June 9, 2020
Forrest Fenn’s Treasure: The Search Is Over
Featured in Ripley's Believe It or Not!
EDITORS NOTE: This article is a point-of-view story written by Ripley’s contributor and Believe It or Notcast host, Ryan Clark. From vampires in New Orleans to Skunk Apes in South Florida, Ryan has seen it all on his many Notcast adventures.
“If gold and gems are what you seek, we have a quest for you:
Off well-worn trails in Rocky mounts, a chest awaits one true
Of heart and mind, both resolute, in purpose and in goal,
Who knows no gold outshines the hues that
Sparkle in one’s soul.” – Forrest Fenn
I still remember the first time we walked into Forrest Fenn’s house. I always will.
It was October 2019, and along with a Ripley’s Believe it or Not! producer, we’d traveled all the way across the country to Santa Fe, New Mexico, just to step through Fenn’s front door and interview the eclectic, treasure-hunting octogenarian.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it was going to happen. Up until the point that we made contact that day, just a few hours before our meeting was supposed to take place, I’d only spoken to the man through emails and friends. I assumed his email was accurate, and that his offer to come for a visit was genuine. Still, there was always the chance that all of it could have been a game.
After all, Forrest Fenn, an art and antiquities collector, is the man who created his own personal treasure hunt. About 10 years ago, Fenn said he stashed $1 million in jewels—including rubies, emeralds, and diamonds—in a small chest somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. He then published a memoir, which included a poem of clues to where the treasure was buried. It soon became a bestseller, and people all over the world came to the area to search for the fortune. Some doubted its existence. At least five people gave their lives searching for it.
Fenn said he came up with the idea to help inspire people during the Great Recession to get out and explore nature.
This weekend, Fenn, 89, confirmed on his website (www.oldsantafetradingco.com) that the treasure has been found.
“It was under a canopy of stars in the lush, forested vegetation of the Rocky Mountains and had not moved from the spot where I hid it more than 10 years ago,” Fenn wrote on his site. “I do not know the person who found it, but the poem in my book led him to the precise spot. I congratulate the thousands of people who participated in the search and hope they will continue to be drawn by the promise of other discoveries. So the search is over. Look for more information and photos in the coming days.”
When I heard the news it made me think back to eight months ago, when we first walked nervously into his home. The façade was unassuming, partially hidden off of a gray, dusty road. We pulled up and wondered if we were in the right spot. And of course, I was worried if we would be let in at all.
I shouldn’t have been. The man himself was there waiting for us, as was a caretaker, and they greeted us immediately. We were let into an entryway with high, spacious ceilings—it was a much bigger house than we could have imagined from the outside. We were led to Fenn’s study, which was something straight out of Indiana Jones, or possibly, Ripley’s Believe It or Not!
African masks and other exotic collectibles hung from the walls, and hundreds of books lined his shelves. I was fascinated by what hung in one corner; Fenn told me was a Rhino Shield, something natives would use to hide behind, protecting themselves from charging rhinos. In a vault in another part of the room, he showed us a peace pipe that belonged to Sitting Bull.
It was memorable, to say the least. Surreal is another way to describe it. And that was before we even heard his story. Fenn’s life could easily be made into a movie—and probably will be someday. He sat to talk to us and immediately owned the room. He was comfortable, bright, and energetic, looking much younger than his age. And his memory was extraordinary.
Example one. This is how he described the treasure chest he left somewhere in the Rockies:
“And so I have this wonderful little treasure chest, bronze. A couple hundred years old, and I started filling it with wonderful things: Two hundred and sixty-five gold coins, American eagles, and double eagles. Hundreds of gold nuggets—two of them as big as a chicken leg. There are two little antique Chinese jade carvings that are absolutely wonderful. Some precious stones. And then there’s a Jaguar claw.”
It sounded too good to be true. But that was just the beginning. Fenn told us of his humble beginnings in Texas, and how he escaped to see the world in the Air Force, where he would go on to fly 328 combat missions in Vietnam. Once, he was shot down and had to wait in the dangerous Laotian jungle for rescue. But he survived, and he came back to the U.S. with a Purple Heart and a determination to become a financial success.
That led to him opening an art and antiquities store in Santa Fe, which led to fortune and fame, as celebrities like Jackie Kennedy, Michael Douglas, and Gerald Ford either purchased from him or perused his merchandise. He made lots of friends and acquired many valuable things.
But in 1988, Fenn was diagnosed with kidney cancer and was given a 20 percent chance of living three more years. He began to contemplate what his legacy would be.
“When your doctor tells you you’re going to die — I mean, one in five chance is not very good,” he said. And he got an idea: perhaps he could leave some of his belongings behind as part of a treasure hunt. That could be his legacy. He started putting a few beloved items into a small bronze chest.
But he’d hired the best doctors, and gradually, he grew better. He beat the death sentence and went on working, enjoying life. Still, he always thought about the chest, and every now and then he would add another item. Finally around 2010, he thought the small collection may be complete.
He packed up, drove out somewhere into the Rockies, and left the chest for someone to find.
After his book and poem were discovered, he became the subject of hundreds of interviews, and people swarmed to hunt for his treasure. One of the most dedicated of those hunters is Sacha Johnston, who estimates she’s gone out on more than 300 hunting trips into the Rockies, searching for the treasure.
Johnston, a 39-year-old media relations coordinator from Topeka, Kansas, hosts a YouTube show about treasure hunting, and eventually became friends with Fenn. She’s actually the person who introduced me to him.
When I found out the news this weekend, I had to text her. “Well,” I wrote. “I suppose you’ve heard.”
“Of course I have heard,” she replied.
“How do you feel?” I wrote back. “I assume there’s always more to find, right?”
“Crushed. I was a day late and a dollar short,” she typed. “But, I am working on other treasure hunts.”
Johnston mentioned a hunt known as The Secret—in 1982, writer and publisher Byron Preiss hid ceramic keys in 12 parks in America and Canada. Find a key, and you win a jewel. But hunters must first decipher a verse and match it to a painting, which can be found in a book he published called The Secret. That information then gives you the location in the park. Preiss died in a car accident in 2004, taking the knowledge of the locations with him, but his family continues to honor the deal. So far, only three have been found.
And Johnston continues to search. Still, she misses what could have been.
“I am happy for whomever found it,” she wrote. “I hope he is happy and lives out all the dreams he ever had.”
Fenn said he received a photograph of his bronze chest as proof and he was able to confirm the location and the discovery. He also said the discoverer—a man from “back East”—wishes to remain anonymous.
There are still those who think none of this is true, that it’s all a story, and that the ending is purposefully vague. Linda Bilyeu, whose ex-husband disappeared into the New Mexico wilderness in 2016 while looking for the treasure (his deceased body was found six months later), says it was all done for publicity. Fenn will counter that he needed no publicity, that he made no money from the sales of his book (proceeds went to the local bookstore that sells it) and that his life would have actually been a lot quieter if he hadn’t told anyone he’d hid any treasure.
Unless the mystery person ever comes forward, we may never know the real truth. I called and emailed Fenn for a comment for this story and a spokesperson for the family declined, saying the statement on his website is all he wanted to say. “I think he’s just ready to have some peace in his life,” Johnston wrote to me.
In two months, Fenn will be 90 years old. When he sat down to do our interview last October, he was warm and cheerful. He seemed to enjoy talking about this part of his life. He believed in the power of getting out into nature to search for something, that even the act itself could be a treasure. And what did he seem to cherish the most? He told us of emails and letters that had been sent to him, describing how his treasure search had changed peoples’ lives for the better.
One little girl and her father wanted to go search—she said if they found the treasure, she guessed she would share it with her younger brother. Another man said he was thinking of taking his own life until he heard about the hunt. The search gave him something to live for.
“[The search] has accomplished what I wanted,” Fenn told us. “I got a wonderful e-mail. There was a man that had not spoken to his brother for 17 years. He read about this treasure story and called his brother and now they’re looking for the treasure chest. Wow.”
He smiled.
“How powerful is that?”
By Ryan Clark, contributor for Ripleys.com and host of Ripley’s Believe It or Notcast
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