Hello!

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

Or events that some people have never heard of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was curious…

Subscribe now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Milli Vanilli

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

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

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

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

But then the cracks started to appear.

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

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

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

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

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

Then singer Charles Shaw reappeared on the scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Different lawsuits followed.

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

It flopped.

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

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

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

And Frank Farian made millions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lost to the Dalai Lama.

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

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

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

One more thing

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

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

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

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry — boudoir cheesecake?!

Who is Dr. Crane and what is boudoir cheesecake?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

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

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

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

He even wrote speeches for President Calvin Coolidge.

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

To say Crane was conservative feels like a gross understatement. 

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

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

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

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

The man who belched without apology, left dresser drawers open, or snored would lose points. 

And the man who gave his wife an ample allowance, was courteous to her friends, and remembered her birthday would earn points.

And Crane doled out plenty of relationship advice in The Worry Clinic.

The column ran six days a week, and was, as the name implied, devoted to readers’ worries. 

Crane focused two days each week to worries about love and marriage, and the other four days to worries about business, childcare, personality development, and what he called “mental hygiene.”

The Worry Clinic was published for decades, and at its peak was carried by 250 newspapers across the US. 

And perhaps no term appeared in The Worry Clinic more than Crane’s creation – “boudoir cheesecake.”

In his column, Crane wrote that most marital conflicts were due to a lack of what he called “boudoir cheesecake.”

“Men crave boudoir cheesecake!” he exclaimed in a 1973 column.

Crane’s boudoir cheesecake had “no calories” and was the “ideal insurance against straying husbands and divorce.”

One reader in 1976 was eager to obtain Crane’s “famous recipe” for boudoir cheesecake, not realizing that the term was a euphemism for sex.

Crane told the reader that despite rape cases appearing on Page 1 of a newspaper, the word “sex” was often blue-pencilled by editors as being “salacious and too frank!”

Crane’s “recipe” for boudoir cheesecake called for “a little wifely pornography”, as it was “a woman’s role to excite the man until he can function.”

Even if women were tired, Crane urged them to “turn on a seductive ‘act’ for 10 minutes.” 

After all, he told his readers, “most divorces start in the bedroom!” and 10 million husbandless women are “eagerly waiting to steal your mates!”

But how could a married woman ensure her boudoir cheesecake would keep her husband away from the “tempting sirens” Crane referred to?  

Crane advised wives to adopt an “amorous type” of perfume, be seductively kittenish, and “wear a diaphanous nightie and shun hair curlers!” 

Oh, and don’t forget to “slenderize, for a fat woman suggests a good old motherly soul but not an exciting paramour!”

And for those wives who needed to lose weight to serve more “enticing boudoir cheesecake,” Crane offered his famous “dehydration drugless diet.” 

In a 1974 column, a woman named Dora wrote how she followed Crane’s liquids-only diet and lost 10 pounds in 10 days.

“I’m now more interested in ice water than food!” she wrote, adding that Crane’s diet helped her lose weight AND get her husband’s attention.

“Now he often stays at the kitchen table to read the paper instead of going back to the living room,” she added.

Success!

When a reader asked Dr. Crane why he blamed women for their cheating husbands, he replied that a straying husband was a sign of “a wife’s failure to satisfy her mate’s hunger for erotic calories.”

Boudoir cheesecake skills were even more important than skills in the kitchen, Crane wrote, as some of the “sirens” pulling men away from their wives weren’t “even able to perk coffee!”

But clearly, they used a “far more enticing recipe for boudoir cheesecake than those dutiful wives!”

Crane had his critics, acknowledging that “many fat stodgy wives” would rather write an “irate letter to the editor” than “acknowledge their blubber” and “lose 25 to 50 pounds via dieting!”

He also claimed some “prudish editors” canceled his column because of his assertion that most divorces started in the bedroom.

Even in the 1980s, Crane was still writing that “God made men to be 200-400% more hungry for boudoir cheesecake than their wives,” and that women who “feign ardor” for boudoir cheesecake “seldom worry about divorce!”

Though little is written about Dr. Crane’s own marriage, he did pass his conservative views on to his children, and his sons Phil and Daniel served as Republican congressmen from Illinois.

While Phil Crane served in Congress for more than 30 years, Daniel’s political career was short-lived.

Father of six Daniel had campaigned as a “family man,” but his affair with a 17-year-old Congressional aide was later revealed as part of the Congressional sex scandal in 1983.1

Despite apologizing publicly with wife Judy and young daughter by his side, Daniel Crane was still censured by Congress, and failed to get re-elected in 1985.

Interestingly, one of the Congressmen throwing stones at Crane was Newt Gingrich, who would later have his own boudoir cheesecake scandals.

Dr. Crane defended his son during the scandal, and blamed Washington, the “Sodom and Gomorrah of today.” 

And after that, Dr. Crane continued giving readers things to worry about —up until his death in 1995. 

*Sadly, I found no information on Dr. Crane’s view of actual cheesecake.

*Though I found much of Dr. Crane’s writing shocking, the exclamation marks in today’s columns are Dr. Crane’s, not mine. The man loved to talk about boudoir cheesecake — and end a sentence with an exclamation point!  

Thank you, Mom and Aunt Sally for your help!

One more thing…

Dr Crane also doled out advice for twenty cents in various mail order pamphlets, including Sex Differences Between Men and Women & Nagging Wives and Sex Problems in Marriage.

While I could not obtain a physical copy of this guide, you can read some of its gems here.

Who knew an alkaline douche of a teaspoonful of ordinary baking soda to a quart of warm water, before each intercourse, could help produce pregnancy?

Another gem I found in my research was Crane’s advice for avoiding rape.

“Girls, if you can keep your escort talking, you can ward off assault, even by a vicious rapist! So ply him with questions! Keep him talking! Praise some of his good points but always fade out of your part of the dialogue with a question mark!”

“A man cannot engage in gay conversation and meanwhile be sexually passionate! For these are opposing actions!” Crane explained.

To keep the “gay conversation” going, a woman should follow the H-E-L-P formula, and quiz a potential assailant about their Hobbies, Entertainment, Literature, and Politics, in that order.

1

Spare a thought for Daniel Crane’s wife Judy. Imagine your father-in-law lecturing you about boudoir cheesecake — and blaming your husband’s affair on you for not serving him enough “erotic calories”!

---

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

Last year, a client invited me to run a workshop at their company retreat in Rhodes, Greece.

I knew nothing about Rhodes, but I liked the challenge of building a session that wove communication lessons with Greek history and influences.

Most attendees would be first-time visitors, so I wanted to share something about the island they wouldn’t find in a guidebook.

So I started researching.

Ancient history, modern history, the Colossus of Rhodes, philosophers, shifting empires.

Then I looked at a map of the island.

Greek town names were dotted along the coastline.

I wondered how to pronounce them.

And then I saw something that stopped me — the name “Anthony Quinn.”

Why was there a place named Anthony Quinn in Rhodes?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

The “Anthony Quinn” that map referred to was the Hollywood actor who was born in Mexico in 1915.

Though Quinn was of Mexican and Irish descent, he portrayed characters representing an extraordinary range of nationalities during his career, including Italian, Arab and Greek.

As Variety reporter Tim Gray wrote in 2018, “Decades before Hollywood got serious about the need for diversity, Anthony Quinn was diversity.”

After filming The Guns of Navarone in Rhodes, Quinn’s connection with Greece was solidified when he played the title role in the 1964 film Zorba the Greek — a film so iconic that it was even spoofed on The Simpsons.

And it was during the filming of Navarone that Quinn fell in love with Rhodes.

The Dance Begins

When production wrapped, the cast were invited to a dinner hosted by King Constantine and Queen Federica of Greece.

Quinn’s widow, Katherine, explained:

“Anthony was seated next to Queen Federica, and told her how much he was in love with the country. She said, ‘Why don’t you build a home here?’

“He pointed to the hilltop where they filmed the battle scene in the movie and said if he ever did, it would be up there.

“Queen Federica told him that the property was owned by the government and that she would help arrange for him to buy it.”

The government drew up the paperwork for Quinn to purchase 30 acres in Rhodes.

“There were witnesses and lawyers and government officials present at the signing,” Katherine told me.

The land Anthony was interested in was undeveloped — and inaccessible.

Anthony’s agreement with the Greek government stipulated that he would pay the full appraised value, as well as build (and fund) the entire road system required to access the property.

Property in Rhodes was inexpensive by U.S. standards, but the investment was significant in the local economy. The amount Anthony paid for those rocks and shrubs represented nearly two years’ salary for an average Greek family at the time.

But the purchase price of the land was only the beginning.

Anthony had a grand vision for the site: he would build an international cultural center for artists and musicians from around the world.

It was a mutual investment: Anthony was buying a home for his dream; the Greek government was buying a global ambassador who would help turn this quiet island 7,000 miles away from Los Angeles into a world-class destination.

The arrangement also aligned with Greece’s growing tourism ambitions. Anthony’s star power could help draw global attention to the island — an asset far more valuable than the land itself.

It was challenging for foreigners to buy Greek land in 1960, but the contract cited a law that permitted it.

And to solidify the bond, they went beyond the contract.

“For safe measure, the officials in Greece — in a very public ceremony — made Anthony an honorary citizen of Greece,” Katherine explained.

Anthony’s citizenship was bestowed upon him by Greece’s then-Prime Minister, Konstantinos Karamanlis.

The Dream

With ownership secured, Anthony got to work.

He wasn’t a distant landlord; he was a builder and an artist hoping to create a dream destination for artists of all kinds.

He hired a team to help: surveyors, lawyers, gardeners and caretakers. He even hired a property manager who moved to Rhodes for two years just to oversee the progress.

The area he had purchased did not have access to water, electricity, or telephone service. To avoid future conflicts, he was advised to purchase two neighboring properties to clear the path for pipelines and cables that needed to be installed.

“That was no simple feat,” Katherine said. “One of the properties had been inherited by the five children of the previous owner, which required them to execute five separate contracts of sale.”

The physical transformation was immense. The caretaker built stone retaining walls and a small house, and over time, planted 3,000 trees, still visible on the hillside today.

Anthony funded the road as agreed in the contract, a project that required excavating rock and installing complex drainage systems.

To open up the bay for his vision of a cultural center, he even brought in dynamite to clear the underwater rocks.

But the constant hurdle throughout the 1960s was the water supply.

Anthony hired hydrological engineers to find a solution, eventually securing a permit from the Ministry of Agriculture to drill a well and install a network of pipes to bring water down to the property.

The cost of that single well was more than three times the amount Anthony had paid for the property.

At the same time Anthony was investing in his Rhodes property, he was also promoting the country to the world as a tourist destination.

“When Zorba the Greek was released [in 1964], Anthony talked about Greece in every press conference and interview he did,” Katherine said.

Though he was not Greek by birth or blood, many assumed he was — and the roles he played in the 1960s cemented his association with the country.

But just like a Hollywood movie, the second act brought conflict…

The Catastrophe

On April 21, 1967, a military coup overthrew the Greek government, and the King and Queen were exiled.

Prominent figures and ordinary citizens who belonged to Greece’s left wing were arrested. This included Zorba the Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis, who was imprisoned for five months. His music was also banned in Greece.

This was followed by years of political turmoil — and trouble for Anthony’s land in Rhodes.

“There was talk in the new government of his property being expropriated,” Katherine explained.

“But he was assured that it was just a rumor, and a legal technicality, and that everything would be resolved.”

A 1968 letter from the Secretary General of Greece confirmed the rumors were “completely unfounded” and reaffirmed support for Quinn’s plan to build a cultural center.

The letter said:

“We have no objection whatsoever, in principle, to your plan for founding a tourist and philosophical centre on your own property or on any other property State-owned or private.

“Our consent to such a project was communicated to you in the past as well.”

Soon after, Anthony was told the law that enabled the sale of land to a foreign citizen had never been ratified by Parliament.

“Now began an era of lawyers and politicians getting involved in the process,” Katherine said.

Solutions were proposed, including formally passing the law.

“After years of conversations, the vote finally reached Parliament, where it was blocked by the communist faction.”

The resistance seemed to be less about Anthony, and more about the precedent.

“Their argument was that if they ratified the law, not only would Anthony Quinn be legally entitled to his property, but there were many others in the same situation — including many Greek citizens who had left in the time of political turmoil and who had their properties taken away,” Katherine explained.

“Much of the land that was owned by private citizens and then expropriated was now government property — and they wanted to keep it that way.”

For years the problem was “passed around like a hot potato,” drifting through ministries, elections and changing administrations.

Presidents, prime ministers and ambassadors assured Quinn his property was safe and that he should not be concerned.

“It was always, ‘Wait for the next election’,” Katherine said.

By the early 1980s, the legal uncertainty had hardened into stalemate.

Anthony wasn’t just fighting for a piece of land; he was funding a small industry of bureaucracy. He retained lawyers in Athens, Rhodes, the United States, and Italy.

No one solved the issue — but they all sent invoices.

One Greek lawyer, Alexandros Lykourezos, turned out to be the most unscrupulous and unethical.1

“Lykourezos offered to help Anthony for a piece of the property in exchange for his legal services,” Katherine said.

“Years later, it was discovered that he was also a member of Parliament at the time and was double dealing.”

And the years went by — marked by court filings, appeals, judges’ strikes, and a revolving door of changing government officials.

But still no resolution.

“There was always a sense of assurance that it was just a technicality — but getting it straightened out was becoming a nightmare.”

Anthony continued making movies, painting, sculpting and raising a family.

He returned to Greece several times, and each visit seemed to bring a new complication.

The smaller land parcels he had purchased were constantly being squatted on, and reclaimed by heirs of the former owners.

Then the caretaker Anthony had hired (and paid for 30 years) died — and his children began putting claims on the property as well.

In perhaps the most painful irony, the caretaker’s daughter and her husband built a small shack on the property to run as a cantina.

Far from the artists’ colony Anthony had envisioned, his land was being used to sell coffee and sandwiches to the summer tourists.

Anthony’s lawyer in Rhodes was constantly appearing in court, filing motions and appeals —while Anthony continued footing the bill.

And the issues with the larger property that Anthony originally purchased had stalled.

In 1997, at age 82, Anthony returned to Greece to receive an arts and culture award.

It would be his final trip to the country.

“He was given a tremendous welcome and treated like a national hero,” Katherine said.

There were press conferences, dinners and lunches — and Anthony met with six government ministers during the trip.

“They all assured him that once and for all, he would get his property back.”

Anthony returned to the United States confident and reassured.

And then he didn’t hear anything for a year.

“He tried to contact them, but they would not return his phone calls.”

For years, friends had been encouraging Anthony to expose the corruption and tell his story, but he was always hopeful the situation would get resolved without going down a negative path.

“He always said, ‘I love the Greek people — they are warm and beautiful people, but the government is hopeless,’” Katherine said.

“He didn’t want to do anything to disparage the Greek people.”

Eventually, after four decades of struggle, he decided it was time to tell his story — and began to write an op-ed for The New York Times.

But he passed away in June 2001 before he could complete it.

The Dance Continues

After his death, Katherine focused on settling his estate in the United States.

A year later, she turned her attention back to the problem in Greece.

“I had witnessed Anthony’s frustration and tremendous disappointment [over the matter], and was doubtful I would be able to move anything forward,” she said.

A Greek friend urged her not to give up.

And she didn’t.

For more than two decades, Katherine has pursued the case.

“It used to make me angry to think about the way he was treated by the government,” she said.

“He was a wonderful artist and actor, and although he often played the tough guy in his films, he was not a savvy businessman. He relied on lawyers, agents, business managers to handle transactions — and he was often taken advantage of.

“With the situation in Greece, this was next level style cheating, by so many.”

“I felt that after all he had gone through, it was important to make it right in whatever way I was able,” she said.

Over the years, she traveled to Greece several times and met with politicians, ambassadors, and business leaders who she said were “full of promises, but no actions.”

On one trip, Katherine secured an appointment with Petros Doukas2, then Greece’s Deputy Minister of Finance. She waited outside his office for two hours before being told he was suddenly “unavailable.”

During the same visit, she met with Mr. Lykourezos, who kept her and her local attorney waiting more than an hour.

“When I was finally shown into his office — its walls covered with photos of himself alongside celebrities from around the world — he was condescending and arrogant,” Katherine said.

“He said, ‘Who do you think you are? You would be crazy to think you could win this case against the government.’”

That meeting only strengthened her resolve.

“The general consensus is that the situation was never properly dealt with by the Government and that ‘something’ must be done to rectify it, but no one has been willing to take the first step,” she said.

“I’m not angry anymore, but still determined.

“I do feel like we’re on a good track now, but the wheels of justice move very slowly.”

When I asked Katherine what outcome she’s hoping for, she paused.

“I really don’t know at this point,” she said.

“I am hoping that our current efforts to remove the squatters are successful, and then I would like to work with the local attorney to make the property worthy of having Anthony’s name connected to it.”

When she last visited, nearly 10 years ago, the property was run down and dirty. Trash barrels spray-painted with Anthony’s name sat in the open. The stone structure that Anthony had built for the caretaker was being used as a public toilet.

“It was shameful and embarrassing,” Katherine said.

“The owner of the cantina actually came out when she heard I was there and, through a translator, said, ‘Please don’t take away our livelihood.’

“I told her she had no right to be there. She responded that they were paying the mayor to rent the land being used for the cantina.”

Katherine shook her head.

“Another crooked politician.”

And all the while, Rhodes — and Greece — have continued to profit from the Quinn name.

The Myth

When I visited Rhodes last year, tourist brochures were overflowing with excursions to Anthony Quinn Bay.

When I drove there myself, I found a busy restaurant overlooking the bay, and a beach below that was packed — with both locals and tourists.

But no one I met could explain the history — or why the bay bore Anthony’s name.

Some knew he had been an actor who filmed movies in Greece, and that he had bought land around the bay, but they had different understandings of the land’s current ownership.

“He bought the land, but then he didn’t have the papers, so it went back to the government,” a hotel employee told me.

At Kounna, the restaurant overlooking Anthony Quinn Bay, a young waitress told me that it had been a private beach, but that ‘Anthony Quinn didn’t come back for a long time, so the Greek municipal took it over.’

Perhaps the most amusing version of the story came from an older taxi driver I met, who had lived in Rhodes nearly 60 years.

He told me about Anthony filming a movie on the island, buying land, and even knew there was confusion over the land ownership in the 1970s.

But then he told me the bay was named after Anthony Quinn in 2000, and that in 2007, Anthony Quinn and his family came to Rhodes for an official ceremony at the bay.

“Anthony and his family were very happy about it,” he told me.

He delivered the story with such confidence that I did not tell him that Anthony Quinn’s last visit to Greece was in 1997. Or that he died in 2001.

I did not tell him that there was no naming ceremony at the bay — or that the Quinn family had never been asked for permission to use Anthony Quinn’s name.

In an attempt to find a straight answer, I reached out to the Rhodes Tourism office and the mayor’s office to ask a simple question:

“When – and how – did this bay come to be named after Anthony Quinn?”

Surely the official sources would have answers.

I didn’t hear back from the mayor’s office, but received an email on behalf of the Appointed Advisor of Tourism and Director of the Department of Tourism that said:

“Quinn bought the land during the filming of The Guns of Navarone (1961) in Rhodes, but it was reclaimed by the Greek government in 1984 due to a change in property law.”

I searched for this 1984 law.

The closest I could find was legislation from 1990 restricting foreign ownership in Greece.

Close — but not quite right.

Everyone seems to agree the bay is named after Anthony Quinn.

But when, how, or who named it?

That all remains unclear.

On my last day in Rhodes, I drove back to the bay.

Cars were still wedged wherever they could fit along the road, and the restaurant still had customers overflowing outside, queuing for a table.

I joined them and cracked open Anthony’s memoir, One Man Tango, while I waited.

I thought about the life he had lived: a boy born in Mexico who grew up in poverty; a man who faced deep prejudice in Hollywood, whose surname tied him to Ireland and whose face tied him to Mexico.

And the roles he played attached him to many parts of the world — but most famously, to Greece.

And to one role in particular: Zorba.

At the end of Zorba the Greek, everything has collapsed.

Zorba and his friend Basil stand on an empty beach.

Their business venture has failed. The dream is gone.

“Teach me to dance,” Basil asks.

Zorba leaps to his feet, snaps his fingers, and puts his arm around his friend, pulling him close.

“Let’s go!” he says.

The music begins and they dance on the beach.

Though their dream has been shattered, they find a defiant joy in the wreckage.

Like Basil and Zorba, Anthony Quinn came to Greece with a dream.

What followed were four decades of contracts, courts, shifting governments and broken promises.

Instead of the international artists’ colony he envisioned, Anthony’s name is now painted in yellow letters on a wooden board, nailed to a tree, pointing toward land he paid for but never truly possessed.

Zorba got his dance.

Anthony got a myth.

And on a beach in Rhodes, the myth continues to draw a crowd.

One more thing…

Researching and following my curiosity to learn this story has brought me such joy. I never knew about Anthony Quinn, but loved learning about his life and his talents beyond the screen.

His legacy lives on through the Anthony Quinn Foundation, which provides scholarships to support young adults seeking to further their talents in the arts.

“I started the foundation because Tony spent his life immersed in the arts — the arts as a part of life, not just entertainment, and I wanted something not only to remember his legacy but to promote the importance of the arts,” Katherine said.

You can see more of Anthony Quinn’s art here.

A Note About This Story

Katherine Quinn made this story possible.

When I first tried to find out why the bay was named after Anthony Quinn, I was surprised by how little information existed. The few articles I came across raised more questions than they answered.

But my search led me to the Anthony Quinn Foundation — and that led me to Katherine. I had no connection to her, but I reached out anyway, hoping that curiosity and sincerity might lead to an answer.

I was so delighted when I received a response, and I am grateful for the generosity, strength, and kindness she has shown me throughout the year I have worked on this story. She answered every question, shared documents and photos, and even put me in touch with a contact in Rhodes who could add a Greek perspective to this story.

I feel honored that she trusted me with this story, and do not take that lightly.

I also want to thank Richard Roth, my News Writing & Editing professor at DePauw University. At one point when I was writing this story, I needed an editor to review my draft, and I nervously emailed Professor Roth asking for help. He was swift and generous in his response — and just like he did when I was a 19-year-old in his class, gave me the guidance I needed to make the story better.

And finally, thank you to the wonderful team at Maple Health Group for being such an engaged audience when I shared this story in our session in 2025.

When I spoke with you that day, I talked about communication as a powerful skill — one that helps you connect with people and build relationships.

Katherine Quinn and Richard Roth are my proof.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

In case you haven’t noticed, I enjoy an obscure celebration in a small town.

Earlier this year, I ventured to Olney, England to watch their annual pancake race — for the second time!

And while I was planning my first trip there in 2024, I came across another small town celebration in England — where thousands of people gather to watch competitors chase a wheel of cheese down a hill.

Chasing cheese down a hill?

What!?

Of course I was curious!

Subscribe now

Each year on the spring bank holiday in May, residents from the nearby village of Brockworth (and many from further afield) gather to celebrate — and compete for a wheel of cheese.

A Master of Ceremonies stands at the top of Cooper’s Hill, wearing a top hat decorated with coloured ribbons, and signals the start of each race by saying:

One to be ready

Two to be steady

Three to prepare 

Four to be off!

When the MC says “three”, an 8-pound Double Gloucester cheese is sent rolling down the hill.

After the MC says “four”, around two dozen competitors are off —running 200 yards down the steep hill chasing after it.

But why do they do this — and where did this tradition begin?

Looking for answers, (and to impress bore my family with trivia), I read Jean Jeffries book, Cheese Rolling in Gloucestershire.

Jeffries notes that a lack of written records makes it difficult to pin down the details, and there are various theories that speculate on the origins of the event. 

Some suggest cheese rolling dates back to pre-Roman times, and was a fertility rite heralding the return of spring, while others believe it can be traced back to pagan rituals and ceremonies connected to worshipping the sun.

The first written evidence of Cheese Rolling in Gloucestershire was found in 1826, in a message sent to the Gloucester town crier:

“Cooper’s Hill Weke to commence on Wits Monday per sicily at 3 o’clock

2 cheese to be ron for.”

However, Jeffries suggests that a cheese rolling event (known as the Cooper’s Hill Wake) was happening, at the latest, by the mid-1700s.

And the Wake celebrations had more than just cheese rolling. 

Records indicate the Cooper’s Hill Wake also included tug of war between men and women, “dipping in a tub for oranges and apples” and “bobbing for penny loves smeared with treacle.” 

There were also children’s sports and “scrambling for buns” — followed by the grand climax of “young fellows willing to risk the danger” of running down the “frightful declivity of a hill after a cheese.”

And Jeffries details how the event has changed over the last century.

“They used to roll as many as nine or ten cheeses,” said local Bert Gregory in a 1937 interview.

Gregory was 57 years old at the time, and had competed in the race for 25 years, winning more than anyone in the district.

“I never broke any bones at it…It jolly well shakes you up coming down here.”

Gregory’s victories were before World War I, when the event was much different.

“Farmers round the district used to give jars of cider and there was free beer, too. 

“Things were much more lively up top here then, I can tell you.”

Bill Brooks, another local who served as the Master of Ceremonies between 1884-1934, echoed Gregory’s sentiments.

“Today the cheese is rolled, and ther’ll be a tug-o’-war an’ such, an’ there be an end. 

“But in my young days, every brewery for miles about sent us a barrelfull FREE! 

“After the cheese had been rolled, there were donkey races and dancing and gallivanting; and the boys and girls never thought about going home until it were breakfast time in the morning after. 

“Happy days!”

For his book Gloucestershire, author Kenneth Hare wondered if cheese rolling could survive World War II.

“Of course,” a local told him. 

“Us were Cheese Rolling bevore newfangled vootball an’ cricket were thought on!”

And that local was right.

The Cheese Roll may have changed, but it did survive World War II — even though rationing meant that they had to use a wooden “cheese” instead of the real thing for the events between 1939 and 1945.

Though the war could not stop the event, injuries nearly did.

After the 1997 event, there were 33 competitors treated for injuries, including broken bones, which led to pressure to cancel the event.

Six days before the 1998 race, the Cheese Roll Committee reluctantly concluded that due to safety concerns (and bureaucratic constraints), the event had to be cancelled.

But at 6:30 am on the bank holiday, a small group of people gathered at the hill to roll a cheese (that was ‘chased’ by a ‘handful of people’).

The event was to be banned after that, but the village of Brockworth (and cheese rolling fans) wouldn’t stand for that. 

Organizers were determined to bring the event back, and implemented new safety measures before the 1999 race. 

They put up orange fencing along the hillside, hired a private medical team, and brought in stewards for crowd control.

But perhaps the smartest thing they changed was the timing of the event, moving it from 6 pm to 12 pm. 

Alcohol and the race were not a recent problem, as ‘fighting and ruffianism’ were reported as far back as 1890, but the change in time cut down on the amount of alcohol consumed before the races.

But even with those changes, the event has still been at risk.

As its popularity has grown, the event has attracted more spectators than the area can safely accommodate.

About 15,000 people turned up for the 2009 race — three times the amount the venue is suitable for.

This led to the cancellation of the event in 2010, and organizers scrambled to figure out how to keep the tradition alive — and keep people safe.

In 2011, a new plan was announced: The Cheese Roll would move to June, and become a ticketed two-day event.

Locals were outraged at the idea, and there was so much backlash that the event was scrapped. 

But the Cheese didn’t stand alone that year — and the event continued (unofficially) with about 200 people attending.

Former winner Helen Thorpe said: 

“No one’s going to stop us doing it.

“They say it’s not official, but we are all Brockworth people and we’re running the cheese today so it is official. 

“We strongly believe in it.”

But cheese rolling was forced to halt when Covid hit in 2020. 

Both the 2020 and 2021 events were cancelled, though a ceremonial cheese was still rolled to maintain the tradition.1

But the event was successfully held again in 2022 and 2023.

And that brings us to 2024…

In 2024, I gathered my family and we drove 100 miles from London to check this out.

The competition wasn’t due to start until 12 noon, but we began our hike to the hill at 9:30 that morning.

On the way, we met two people who were competing that day, and two others who had travelled in — like us — just to see what this spectacle was all about. 

I thought we might be among the earliest arrivals, until the path we were on met up with another path (which turned out to be the main path).

My umbrella was no match for the rain that was falling, but as the crowd around me grew, I sensed I was getting closer to the action. 

I turned a corner and then I realized the uphill climb I had just finished had only brought me to the base of Cooper’s Hill.

I had seen pictures of the hill online, but standing at the base of it now I couldn’t believe how big — and how steep — it looked in person. 

Hay bales and a metal fence were lined up at the bottom of the hill, ready to catch the cheese (and the competitors) after they made their 200-yard dash down the hill.

It was only 10:15 am, but hundreds of cheese fans were already huddled alongside the mesh orange barrier fencing that ran down both sides of the hill.  

I dredged through the mud as quickly as I could and made my way to the left side of the hill and began climbing up, bypassing the chance to get a coffee from the small stand by the hillside. 

I stopped near a section of metal fence to survey my viewing options.

Should I climb uphill to seek shelter under the trees, or stay closer to the finish line, knowing I would likely get drenched?

The choice was easy. 

I hadn’t traveled all this way not to see the action.

Across the hill I clocked a warning sign: 

“WARNING: All spectators and participants are here at your own risk.”

The area where I was standing was one of the few sections that benefited from the protection of a taller section of metal gate.

It wasn’t ideal for taking photos, but it was the best protection I could have from an 8-pound Double Gloucester cheese flying down the hill at 80 mph.

I was muddy. I was soaked.

But I was ready.

(To watch, that is).

With the sound system blaring 1980s hits from a-ha and Wham!, there was only one thing left to do — Wait.

As the spectators continued to fill the hillsides, members of the local rugby team huddled by the base of the hill, ready to catch and assist any flying competitors.

“Cheese! Cheese! CHEESE! CHEESE! CHEESE!”

The chants grew louder from the crowd of thousands gathered around me.

At 11:55 am, a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing the first event — a men’s downhill race — would start in five minutes.

I did not hear the MC call the first race, but I saw a white wheel of cheese hurl down the hill — and then two dozen men chase after it.

Some ran, some rolled, and some tumbled down violently — but in mere seconds, it was over.

A competitor named Tom Kopke claimed victory — and promised he’d be back to race again.

The first race may have been over, but now it was the medical team’s time to shine, as they immediately tended to injured competitors. 

Injuries continue to be part of the tradition —and while most competitors escape with scrapes and bruises, some leave with more serious injuries.

The downhill race was followed by an uphill race for children under 11, who were aided up (and back down) the hill by the rugby players.

The program then alternated between downhill and uphill races, each run 15 minutes apart.

The seven races that day included three downhill races for men, one downhill race for women2, two uphill races for children, and one uphill race for men and women.

Though the event is clearly strong in the hearts of the people of Brockworth, it now has international appeal — and international competition.

Brockworth local Chris Anderson still holds the record for winning 23 cheeses, but now competitors from New Zealand, the US, and Australia have also taken home the cheese.3

The international appeal of the Cheese Roll was evident, as the first three downhill races at the 2024 event had victors from Germany, Australia, and the US.

Then, just before 1:30pm, the final men’s downhill race was about to begin.

The chants of “CHEESE! CHEESE! CHEESE!” grew louder and louder — and then the cheese was off — followed quickly by the last round of competitors.

The crowd erupted when local resident Joshua Shepherd took home the final cheese for Brockworth – his second career win.  

And just when I thought it was over, a sea of people charged down the hill for one last run.

In 2025, Kopke “risked his life” to claim his second consecutive win one of the men’s races.

The women’s race was won by Ava Sender Logan, a 20-year-old London university student.

“It felt quite long coming down, and then I hit my head,” she told the BBC. “I’m down — that’s what matters.”

The final men’s race was won by 33-year-old New Zealander Byron Smith.

“I did it last year and came second in my heat and I thought I could do it this year and I did.”

Will Kopke take the home the cheese again in 2026?

Who will be victorious?

I will be in London for this year’s race, but in case you fancy a trip to Brockworth, here’s the agenda for the 2026 festivities:

One more thing…

You can find out more about the Cheese Roll in the Netflix series, We Are The Champions.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

It’s graduation season, and I love this time of year because of the graduation speeches!

Sadly, I have to dig to find them, as US university speeches don’t tend to make headlines in UK papers.1

But already, one came on to my radar — when a speaker got booed by the audience at the University of Central Florida last week.

Take a look…

It’s a great example of how important it is to know your audience when you’re communicating!

But seeing this reminded me of my favorite graduation speech of all time — which I first read when I was a student!

Here’s a clue…

“Wear Sunscreen.”

Some may be familiar with the speech referred to as “Wear Sunscreen” — or maybe you’ve never heard it.2

But what’s the story behind that speech — and who wrote it?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

The ‘Wear Sunscreen’ speech has been credited to both author Kurt Vonnegut and director Baz Luhrmann.

Excerpts of it have also been attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt.

But none of them wrote it.

‘Wear Sunscreen’ was written by Mary Schmich, a columnist for the Chicago Tribune.

And it’s not really a speech at all — well, not one that was given formally to a class of graduating students.

Schmich, who worked for the Tribune from 1985 until 2021, penned the speech for a newspaper column in 1997, saying that:

“Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who'd rather be Rollerblading.”

In the early days of the internet, Mary’s speech became a viral email.

Except her words were falsely attributed to Kurt Vonnegut, and a speech he gave at MIT’s commencement ceremony.

Even Vonnegut’s wife believed her husband had given the speech, and congratulated him for his wise words.

But Vonnegut was never MIT’s commencement speaker, and the words were all Mary’s, even if the style felt like it could have been written by the author of Slaughterhouse-Five.

Film director Baz Luhrmann was credited for the speech after he took the words and put them to music.

The song ‘Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)’ contains Mary’s advice, and was popular from the US to Europe.

But despite all the confusion over the credit, Mary’s been a good sport for decades.

“It has never for a minute bothered me that people think Kurt Vonnegut wrote it,” she said.

“It’s never bothered me that people think Baz Luhrmann wrote it, because he’s never claimed he did.

“He gave it a life that I never could’ve dreamed of.”

Mary’s words have stayed in my mind since I read them in 1997 (even if I briefly forgot her valuable advice a few weeks ago).

I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I do.

Here they are:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.3

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

One more thing…

Mary was even a clue on Jeopardy! in 2019.

OK, two more things…

In a profile by Rolling Stone in 2023, comedian Julia Louis-Dreyfus was asked what advice she would give young women who are breaking into comedy.

Her response:

“Wear sunscreen.”

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

You might have seen it written different ways, but I’ve always known it to be the singular possessive “Mother’s Day.”

But why isn’t it plural?

It’s a day for all mothers, right?

This grammatical question had me puzzled.

And while I was double checking my apostrophe placement, I started reading about the history of the day when we celebrate our mothers.

Because naturally, I was curious…

Subscribe now

The story of Mother’s Day goes back to 1858.

And it began with a problem.

A West Virginia community had a terrible infant mortality rate, and a woman named Ann Reeves Jarvis wanted to do something about it.

She organized “Mothers’ Day Work Clubs” in West Virginia to help mothers learn about hygiene and sanitation – and how to care for their children.

Jarvis understood a mother’s loss, as she had 13 children of her own, but only four lived into adulthood. 

In addition to helping educate mothers in the area, she also worked to bring reconciliation after the American Civil War ended.

She had lost five of her children during the Civil War, and in 1868, coordinated a “Mothers’ Friendship Day” in West Virginia to bring former foes together.

Veterans from both the North and South wept and shook hands for the first time in years.

Jarvis knew the powerful role mothers played, and wanted to see mothers celebrated for the work they did to improve the lives of others.

“I hope and pray that someone, sometime, will found a memorial mothers’ day commemorating her for the matchless service she renders to humanity in every field of life.

“She is entitled to it,” Mrs. Jarvis said.

When Ann Reeves Jarvis died in 1905, her daughter Anna was determined to fulfil her mother’s dream to celebrate mothers.

But Anna took a different approach. 

She wanted to celebrate her mother – from the position of a devoted daughter.

Her motto for Mother’s Day was:

“For the Best Mother who Ever Lived – Your Mother.”

This was why the apostrophe went after the r in “Mother” – it was meant to be singular, not plural.

According to historian Katharine Antolini:

“Anna envisioned the holiday as a homecoming, a day to honor your mother, the one woman who dedicated her life to you.”

The idea of celebrating the sacrifices a mother made was supported by others – and Anna’s decision to celebrate on a Sunday made it appeal to churches as well.

The first Mother’s Day was celebrated in the Andrews Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia in 1908 – three years after Anna Jarvis’s mother died. 

Anna handed out hundreds of white carnations (her mother’s favorite flower) to the mothers who attended.

The date she had chosen was intentional.

Anna wanted Mother’s Day to be celebrated on the second Sunday in May, because it would always be close to May 9, the day her mother had died. 

And Anna was determined to see Mother’s Day spread. 

She began a massive letter writing campaign to newspapers and prominent politicians, arguing that American holidays were biased toward male achievements, and urged them to adopt a special day honoring motherhood.  

She also created a Mother’s Day International Association and trademarked the phrases “Mother’s Day” and “second Sunday in May.”

Her efforts were working, and in 1910, West Virginia made Mother’s Day a state holiday. 

And her idea quickly spread beyond West Virginia.

In 1914, US President Woodrow Wilson designated Mother’s Day as a national holiday. 

Wilson had agreed to Anna’s preferred placement of the apostrophe in “Mother’s Day” – making it singular possessive, not plural possessive, so each family would honor its one and only mother.

Anna’s Mother’s Day idea was embraced across the United States, and also by Canada, where it became a national holiday in 1915.

But Anna’s joy was short-lived.

She had envisioned Mother’s Day as a private acknowledgement for all the mother does for her family – but the commercial appeal of Mother’s Day quickly took over.

“Even though Anna never wanted the day to become commercialized, it did very early,” said Antolini.

“So the floral industry, greeting card industry and candy industry deserve some of the credit for the day’s promotion.”

When the price of carnations skyrocketed at Mother’s Day, Anna issued a press release condemning florists.

By 1920, she was urging people not to buy flowers at all.

Anna was frustrated when she saw businesses and charities using Mother’s Day for their own purposes – and when it was dragged into the debate over women’s votes.

She even accused First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt of “crafty plotting” when Roosevelt used Mother’s Day in fundraising material for charities addressing high maternal and infant mortality rates.

And while many saw Mother’s Day as an opportunity to make money, Anna never profited from Mother’s Day – even though she could easily have done so.

Instead, she used the money she had to fight the commercialization of Mother’s Day. 

She also sued people who infringed on her copyright.

In 1944 Newsweek claimed she had 33 pending lawsuits.

Some groups or industries would purposely use the possessive plural spelling “Mothers’ Day” to get around Anna’s copyright.

Anna spent nine years campaigning to make Mother’s Day a national holiday – and then decades of her life trying to have the holiday rescinded. 

One of Anna’s first cousins, Jane Unkefer, said Anna became obsessed with her anti-commercialization crusade.

“I don’t think they were very wealthy,” Jane said, “but she totally ran through whatever money she had.”

Anna never married or had children.

In 1944, at age 80, the reclusive Anna was nearly blind, deaf and destitute, and was placed in a mental asylum in Philadelphia.

She died four years later, and her obituary described her as a ‘lonely spinster.’

Though Anna never became a mother, her relatives celebrated her in another way – by not celebrating Mother’s Day.

“We didn’t really like Mother’s Day,” Jane said.

“And the reason we didn’t is that my mother, as a child, had heard a lot of negative things said about Mother’s Day.

“We acknowledged it as a nice sentiment, but we didn’t go in for the fancy dinner or the bouquets of flowers.”

One more thing…

Do you associate any particular food with Mother’s Day?

Apparently UK Mothering Sunday (the UK version of Mother’s Day) used to be associated with Simnel cake1, a type of fruitcake with almond paste.

Though I live in the UK, my family and I celebrate US Mother’s Day, so there will be no fruitcake for me this weekend!

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

And that makes me think of summer…and that makes me think about baseball.

I didn’t grow up in a state with a professional baseball team1, so most of my baseball knowledge is attached to the baseball movies I watched in the 1980s and 1990s.

But when I saw a headline that said, ‘‘The Greatest Play in Baseball History” I was instantly curious what it was about.

Was it Babe Ruth?

Joe DiMaggio?

Hank Aaron?

I clicked on the link and saw the name: Rick Monday.

I’d never heard of him.

Who was he — and what play did he make that was so great?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

The story goes back to Sunday, April 25, 1976.

That’s when baseball player Rick Monday’s life — and legacy — changed forever.

Monday had been playing in the major leagues since September 1966, when he joined the A’s during their last year in Kansas City.

He then moved with the team to Oakland, California, and was traded to the Chicago Cubs in 1971.

He was playing center field for the Cubs against the Dodgers in Los Angeles on April 25, 1976.

That was the game that would be associated with him for the rest of his career.

During the 4th inning, two people —a father and his 11-year-old son— ran into left center field.

Baseball players like Monday had seen streakers, drunks, and other intruders on the field before, but Monday knew this was different.

Sportscaster Vin Scully cried out from the broadcast booth:

“Wait a minute, there’s an animal loose . . . two of them . . . all right . . . I’m not sure what he’s doing out there…”

“It looks like he’s going to burn a flag…”

The father and son had laid out an American flag on the field, doused it in lighter fluid, and struck a match.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” said Monday.

“But I knew what they were doing was wrong.”

Monday, who had served six years in the U.S. Marine Corps Forces Reserves, ran toward the two of them as the wind blew out their first match.

As they were attempting to light the second match, Monday came up from behind them — and snatched the flag.

He continued running through the outfield as thunderous applause from more than 25,000 spectators filled the stadium.

Then, as the cheering died down, the crowd began to sing God Bless America.

“I was stunned,” Monday said, “I stood there and got chills.”

The protesters who were attempting to burn the flag were escorted out by security, and the game continued.

As Monday came up to bat in the top half of the 5th inning, the crowd at Dodger Stadium gave him a standing ovation, while the scoreboard flashed the message:

“Rick Monday... You Made A Great Play...”

Though the Cubs lost the game 5-4 in 10 innings, Monday returned to Chicago a national hero.

The Los Angeles Times called the photo of Monday running off with the flag “the most famous picture of its kind since the flag-raising at Iwo Jima.”

Sporting News described the moment as “Francis Scott Key, Betsy Ross, Verdun and Iwo Jima—all wrapped up in one fleeting instant of patriotism.”

May 4, 1976 was declared “Rick Monday Day” in Illinois, and Dodgers’ executive Al Campanis presented the flag to Monday during a pre-game ceremony at Chicago’s Wrigley Field.

Monday was also awarded a Bicentennial Commendation by President Ford, and was named the grand marshal of Chicago’s ‘Salute to the American Flag’ parade by Chicago Mayor Richard Daley.

Asked later about the incident on the field that day, Monday said:

“It angered me for a lot of reasons.

“First of all, you’re interrupting the game. Secondly, now you’re bringing out a flag, and I was only about three or four years removed from being in the Marine Reserves.

“It wasn’t about having some military background. It was about appreciating your freedom.

“It’s a good thing I did get it, because I did not want any of my former drill instructors from the Marine Corps to come and say, ‘Hey Marine! Why did you stand there and watch when they ignited the American flag?’”

A year after that famous game, Monday returned to LA — when he was traded to the Dodgers.

Monday played eight seasons with the Dodgers, and helped them win the World Series championship in 1981.

He retired as a player in 1984, and became a member of the Dodgers’ broadcast team in 1993.

Despite being a two-time All Star outfielder and having a 19-year career as a major league baseball player, Monday is perhaps still best known for his actions during the 4th inning on April 25, 1976.

“I’ve gotten a thousand questions wondering if I’m disappointed being best known for something that had nothing to do with baseball,” Monday told the Los Angeles Times.

“My answer is, absolutely not.”

See Rick Monday’s moment captured here:

I’m still curious…

Although I tried, I couldn’t find much information about the man who was arrested for attempting to burn the flag that day.

He was identified as 36-year-old William Errol Thomas, and was convicted of trespassing.

He opted to serve three days in jail instead of paying a $60 fine.

Conflicting reports were made about his motivation. One report said it was in protest over the treatment of American Indians, and another said Thomas claimed it was to draw attention to his wife being put in a Missouri mental institution against her will.

Few details are known about Thomas, though in 2015 a reporter did track him down, along with his son, but both refused to be interviewed.

One more thing…

On April 25, 2026, the Dodgers honored Rick Monday and the 50th anniversary of his historic play.

“I had no idea they were going to be here or present me with an honor. Very humbled,” Monday said later on the radio broadcast of the game.

Monday has preserved the flag he captured in 1976, and is loaning it to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York beginning Memorial Day weekend.

“What’s very nice is that flag they were trying to desecrate still has a life,” Monday said.

What else is on my mind

Speaking of sports, there was a lovely story from hockey fans in Buffalo, New York this week…

Before an NHL playoff game on Tuesday, singer Cami Clune’s microphone cut out as she began to sing the Canadian national anthem.

But the fans in the crowd didn’t miss a beat, filling the stadium with song.

You can see a video of the heartwarming moment below:

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

I mean one whose lyrics have you scratching your head wondering, “How did someone come up with this?”

I believe the late 1990s/early 2000s offer strong contenders.1 I’m not talking about the music or the arrangements — I’m talking about lyrics that are so dumb you’d think AI wrote them.

Here are three that come to mind:

1. Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega

A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side, a little bit of Rita’s all I need...

You may remember the laundry list of girls’ names in this song. Lou loved the ladies.

2. Who Let The Dogs Out by the Baha Men

We never found out who let those dogs out, though I do love the story behind this song, which I shared in Curious Minds previously.

3. Summer Girls by LFO

   New Kids on the Block had a lotta hits.

   Chinese food makes me sick.

   Pure poetry.

   And don’t forget that it sounded like it was sponsored by Abercrombie & Fitch.

   

These are all worthy contenders, but when I was in Florida recently, I was reminded of Spring Break, when MTV used to broadcast their beach parties back in the day.

And that reminded me of a song from the year 2000.

The Thong Song by Sisqo.

An entire song about women’s underwear.

Pretty dumb, right?

But how – and why – did Sisqo come up with this song?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

The first time I heard The Thong Song, I had no idea who Sisqo was.

But I recognized his voice.

I remembered it from a song that played in the end credits in the 1998 film Rush Hour.2

That song – How Deep is Your Love – was by the R&B group Dru Hill, and Sisqo (real name: Mark Andrews) was the group’s frontman.

Sisqo’s lyrics may never be mistaken for poetry, but the man has pipes.

After the success of the group’s second album in 1998, Sisqo decided it was time to release a solo album.

At the same time, music producers Tim & Bob (Tim Kelley and Bob Robinson) were putting together new tracks.

The duo had worked with many R&B artists, including Usher, Joe, and Boyz II Men, but were trying new things in the hopes of courting one particular artist.

But it wasn’t Sisqo.

“We were in a creative space thinking about Michael Jackson a lot,” Bob told Vice in 2019.

“We knew we eventually wanted to get on Mike’s album, so we were doing a lot of ideas that were out of the box from the normal things people had heard us do.

“At the time, Tim was sampling a lot of Wes Montgomery, which is where the original sample of Thong Song came from.”

Tim started with the opening of Montgomery’s version of the Beatles’ Eleanor Rigby and kept looping it, then added the percussion and high hat.

“Before you knew it, I had the beat,” Tim said.

The duo knew they were on to something – and planned to share the track with Michael Jackson.

But before that happened, they got a call. Sisqo wanted to meet with them.

The producers put together a compilation of tracks for Sisqo – mostly ballads – but then accidentally included the track with the Eleanor Rigby sample that was meant for the King of Pop.

“When we met with Sisqo, I rewound the DAT3, and as soon as I pressed play I realized, ‘This is that track.’ It was the first one on the DAT, and I did it for Mike,” Tim said.

But Sisqo was immediately intrigued.

Tim tried to skip over and focus on other tracks, but Sisqo loved the track he wasn’t meant to hear.

Tim decided to come clean, and admitted the track had been made for Jackson, and wasn’t available.

Sisqo seemed to understand and moved on … but was still thinking about the track when he left LA to return home to Baltimore.

He called Tim from the plane, saying he had to have the track, and asked how much Tim wanted for it.

“He said, ‘If you say I can have it, when I land, I’m gonna jump on another plane and come back,’” Tim recalled.

Even though the track had been meant for Michael Jackson, Tim was persuaded by Sisqo’s enthusiasm.

“If an artist likes a song or track that much, we gotta give it to them,” he said.

And the next day, Sisqo was back in LA, and went to work on the track.

They had music, but now needed lyrics.

And then, inspiration struck…

Sisqo was on a date when he saw something he had never seen before: a woman wearing a thong.

Thong underwear had been around since the 1970s, it wasn’t mainstream until the popularity of low-rise jeans in the late ‘90s/early 2000s began showcasing ‘the whale tail.’

Sisqo may not have known what a thong was, but in his words, “It was glorious.”

And when he “told his boys” about his encounter, they were equally intrigued.

“All my boys was like, literally on a pilgrimage, like Lord of the Rings or whatever, to go find a thong,” Sisqo said.

“This is really what happened.”

It didn’t take long before one of Sisqo’s friends succeeded on the quest.

Sisqo was in the studio with a group of friends when one recounted a date he’d been on the previous night.

“And guess what this girl gave me?” the friend asked Sisqo.

“That thong- th- thong- thong- thong!”

The group laughed, but Sisqo liked the way that sounded.

“We were laughing at first like it was a joke,” Sisqo told Billboard in 2017, “but then later we laughed all the way to the bank.”

Sisqo’s friend also shared that his date had “dumps like a truck,” a description that Sisqo added to his lyrics.

Sisqo now had the first verse and the chorus written.

But what about a second verse?

“Words just wouldn’t come for a second verse,” Sisqo said.

So instead, Sisqo repeated the first verse – two more times.

Then Sisqo now moved on to the song’s arrangement.

Using the Eleanor Rigby sample would require clearance – and cost money – so Sisqo reached out to Bruce Dukov, an accomplished violinist and concertmaster who had worked on hundreds of films and TV scores4.

Dukov didn’t know who Sisqo was, but he instantly had ideas on how to add the violin to the track and change the introduction.

“A lot of people think that those strings on the song is the sample,” Sisqo said, “but it’s live.”

“I wrote it enough that it’s nowhere near Eleanor Rigby. If you try to play Thong Song and Eleanor Rigby together, you can’t even hear the similarities.”

Along with the orchestral strings, Sisqo decided to add a key change in the song – a move that elevates the song musically.

The song was finished, but Tim and Bob had some reservations about their track becoming a single called The Thong Song.

“Thong Song? Really?” Bob asked.

“How can I show my mom I’m talking about some thongs?” Tim added.

But even though the final song was a departure from the snippet Tim & Bob started with, the producers admitted the final song worked.

The Thong Song was released on February 15, 2000 as the second single from Sisqo’s solo album Unleash the Dragon.

And once The Thong Song hit the radio, that was it.

The Thong Song was a smash, climbing to #3 on the US Billboard charts and reaching the top ten in several European countries, as well as New Zealand.

Propelled by an energetic music video featuring Sisqo doing cartwheels and backflips on the beach in Miami (surrounded by a group of scantily-clad women), The Thong Song was all over the radio and MTV.

The Thong Song even went to the Grammys, after Sisqo received four Grammy nominations5, including Best Male R&B Vocal Performance and Best R&B Song in 2001.6

He did not win any Grammys, but did pick up six Billboard awards in 2000, including Male Artist of the Year and New Artist of the Year.

And the video for The Thong Song also nabbed the Best Hip-Hop Video at the 2000 VMAs.

But not everyone was celebrating…

Critics panned the song – and others labelled it as sexist and misogynistic.

And then, the producers got a call from their lawyer.

Though the Eleanor Rigby sample Tim & Bob started with was changed enough to avoid clearance issues, one lawsuit did follow the success of The Thong Song.

Sisqo’s hit may only have one verse (repeated three times) – but it also includes an interpolation of the Ricky Martin hit Livin’ La Vida Loca.

And Desmond Child, the songwriter behind Livin’ La Vida Loca, had not given permission for its use.

Negotiations for rights, permission, and royalties dragged on for months – until an agreement was reached.

“Desmond Child now has more ownership of the song than anyone,” Bob said.

But despite the criticism and legal drama, The Thong Song was a global hit, and changed the careers of those involved.

“I don’t include everything in my bio,” the Juilliard-trained Dukov said.

“But along with Sinatra and Streisand, with whom I worked, The Thong Song is included in my bio.”

And though Tim & Bob’s track didn’t get used by Michael Jackson, it did get his attention.

After the success of Thong Song, Tim & Bob got a call from music executive John McClain, delivering a message from the King of Pop.

“[He said] ‘If you can give me something hotter than Thong Song, meet me at this address,’” Bob recalled.

It was the address of Jackson’s recording studio.

“We got the call from Michael Jackson because he loved The Thong Song,” Bob said.

“That’s the beauty when you’re on a path. You don’t know where you’re going to end up.”

And The Thong Song lives on.

In a 2021 interview, Sisqo said people “still go nuts” over The Thong Song when he sings it live.

But does he ever get tired of singing it?

Sisqo replied:

“Nah dude, it’s The Thong Song!”

You know you’re curious:

One more thing…

Cynthia Erivo Has Some Thoughts…

In 2025, Wicked star Cynthia Erivo was asked for her all-time favorite vocal performances.

Along with Whitney Houston and Luther Vandross, Erivo called out Sisqo’s performance in The Thong Song as one of her favorites.

More Writing This Week

Show Me Who You Are, Reese

I was also curious about Reese Witherspoon’s “Wanna learn AI with me?” post that got her into hot water last week — plus her follow-up post this week.

So I did some research — and wrote this.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

I’ve just returned to London after two weeks in the US — and a news story that was making the rounds recently inspired me to revisit this story I wrote for Curious Minds in 2023.

It’s about Barbra Streisand.

As a fan of pop culture and music, I obviously know who Barbra Streisand is, but I wasn’t raised on the musicals and films she starred in from the 1960s-1980s.1

But aside from her achievements in theatre, music and film, she is also known (at least to me) for something else:

The Streisand Effect.

But what exactly is it — and how did it come to be?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

We begin our story in 2002, when a married couple named Ken and Gabrielle Adelman began an ambitious project.

The Adelmans, retired dot-com millionaires, wanted to capture and document images of the California coast to track erosion.

They self-funded the project, using their personal helicopter to fly around the California coast.

Gabrielle piloted the helicopter, while Ken leant out the side, snapping images roughly every three seconds.

They compiled thousands of aerial images as part of their California Coastal Records Project, and made them available on their website, www.californiacoastline.org

The Adelmans did not profit from the project. They were environmentalists who wanted to advance the cause of coastal protection.  

“Our goal is to create a complete record of the California coastline,” they said.

Their website and images were used by numerous federal, state, and local agencies and scientists, free of charge — long before google images were ubiquitous.

But then on May 20, 2003, the Adelmans found out they were being sued – over one image they had published on their website.

At that point they had more than 12,000 images on their website – but Image 3850 had landed them in hot water.

The owner of the house in Image 3850 was angry that her property was being shared online, and she was suing the Adelmans for $50 million. 

And the owner of the property was Barbra Streisand.

In the lawsuit, Streisand alleged that by sharing Image 3850 online, the Adelmans invaded her privacy, violated the “anti paparazzi” statute, sought to profit from her name, and threatened her security.

The Adelmans argued that their website included just one aerial shot that contained Streisand’s blufftop estate. 

And her estate was actually a small part of Image 3850.

They had not included her address, driving directions to her home, or any interior shots of the home on their site. 

In fact, they hadn’t even included Streisand’s name.

They also argued that the address of Streisand’s Malibu residence was easy to obtain online, and that images of the interiors had also been featured publicly.

“Mr. Adelman is not a paparazzo,” argued his lawyer Richard Kendall.

“He’s not doing this for profit, or stalking anyone. He is engaged in a public-interest effort to document the entire coast to preserve it from degradation.

“He’s not about to carve out exceptions for celebrities who don’t want to be identified as owning coastal land.”

But Streisand and her lawyers argued that her privacy had been violated.

“There is no telling how many people have downloaded the photograph of Plaintiff’s property and residence,” Streisand’s lawsuit alleged.

Except that there was.

When the Adelmans looked at their website’s activity before Streisand filed her lawsuit, they discovered that between February 14, 2003 and May 30, 2003, there were 14,418 downloads from the California Coastal Record Project website.

And Image 3850 – one of more than 12,000 available online – had been downloaded a total of six times.

Two of these were by Streisand’s lawyers. 

The rest appeared to be by Streisand herself and some neighbors.

But – Streisand’s lawyers argued – the Adelmans were also selling the image, so anyone could purchase the image of Ms. Streisand’s property.

That was true.

Anyone could purchase the image.

But prior to the lawsuit, a whopping three reprints of Image 3850 had been ordered. 

One purchase was from Streisand’s neighbors – with whom she was disputing her planned construction. 

The other two reprints were ordered by Streisand.

So, no one really cared about the image of Streisand’s house – until she sued.

That’s when the lawsuit became public and the story hit the news.

Suddenly the public was very interested in the image that Streisand didn’t want people to see.

Image 3850 then became very popular, receiving nearly half a million views.

And on December 31, 2003, Streisand’s lawsuit was dismissed, and she was forced to pay the Adelmans’ legal bill and court costs to the tune of $177,107.54.

Then something similar happened in 2005.

A website that posted pictures of urinals (yes, really) found itself in a similar legal drama when the Marco Beach Ocean Resort objected to one of the resort’s urinals appearing on the website urinal.net. 

This wasn’t the first time someone had taken legal action against the urinals website (yes, really!), as the Toronto Airport Authority had objected to their name appearing on the website in 2004.

The team behind urinal.net responded by posting the pictures from “the airborne vessel take-off and landing facility located near Canada’s largest city,” noting that it was “located on the outskirts of said city and is named after a person whose name starts with a ‘P’ and ends with an ‘earson.’”

“The three-letter code for this facility includes the letters Y, Y and Z, necessarily in that order.”

But the scandal of urinal images at the Toronto Airport and Marco Beach Ocean Resort suffered the same effect as the image of Streisand’s home.

Something that few would ordinarily care about suddenly became very interesting to the public.

And Mike Masnick, founder of the technology news website Techdirt, wrote:

“How long is it going to take before lawyers realize that the simple act of trying to repress something they don’t like online is likely to make it so that something that most people never, ever see (like a photo of a urinal in some random beach resort) is now seen by many more people? 

“Let’s call it the Streisand Effect.”

It took a few years for the term to take off, but now Merriam-Webster defines The Streisand Effect as “a phenomenon whereby the attempt to suppress something only brings more attention or notoriety to it.”

And Streisand isn’t the only star it’s happened to.

Beyoncé also experienced the Streisand Effect after “unflattering” photos of her Super Bowl performance appeared online in 2013.

Her publicist wrote to Buzzfeed asking that the photos be taken down, identifying which images were “the worst ones.”

Buzzfeed responded by sharing the publicist’s email – and the photos – in an article, “The Unflattering Photos Beyonce’s Publicist Doesn’t Want You to See.”

“Unflattering Beyoncé” became one of the biggest memes of 2013, as the images of Queen B were photoshopped into other scenarios.

And there are plenty of examples of the Streisand Effect in action, from Uber and Ralph Lauren to a nine-year-old girl’s website about school lunches.

And some even seek out opportunities to capitalize on the Streisand Effect.

PETA has been known to submit provocative ads for the Super Bowl, knowing that they can get more publicity (for free) when the ads are rejected.

So, take this note from Streisand: 

When you try to hide something on the internet, everyone sees it.

Also, whatever you do, please do not visit or share this website with anyone!

One more thing…

There’s another (lesser known) Streisand Effect, too.

Director of horticulture Marco Polo Stufano was known for his “imaginative design concepts and startling plant combinations.”

In November 1992, The Vancouver Sun reported that Stufano put orange dahlias and pink asters together to create what he called ‘The Barbra Streisand effect’ – defined as “a jarring combination of plants that initially sets your teeth on edge but that you learn to appreciate for its strength of character, its gutsiness.”

But Stufano’s Streisand Effect didn’t catch on.

And here’s what pink asters and orange dahlias look like together, in case you’re curious…

(I was)

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

One of mine was Titanic.

I must have been about 9 or 10 years old when I first started learning about the Titanic — back when research required going to the public library.

I can remember going to the library with my mom and reading articles about the Titanic on both microfilm and *microfiche.*

I don’t know why I found the story about the Titanic so interesting, but I was fascinated.

And when the film Titanic came out (years later), I was the nerd sharing fun facts after the credits rolled.

But there is one story that didn’t make it into James Cameron’s film that I was still wondering about.

In one of the deleted scenes, we see a wireless operator on the Titanic ignore another ship’s warning about the ice — rudely responding on the wire for them to ‘shut up.’

But did this really happen?

If you do a google search, you can find several sources that repeat this story, and criticize Titanic’s wireless operator, Jack Phillips, and his ‘rudeness’ on the wire that night.

But who was Jack Phillips, and what really happened?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

I began researching, and my curiosity had me fall down a rabbit hole of Titanic articles, old maritime books, and detailed testimony from inquiries in the US and Britain from 1912.

And a different story emerged than the one I was expecting…

It starts with George ‘Jack’ Phillips, who was born in Farncombe, UK in 1887, and learned telegraphy at the nearby Godalming Post Office.

He then went to work for the Marconi Company, graduating as a wireless operator in August 1906.

He was assigned to the White Star Line and worked aboard more than a half-dozen ships before becoming Chief Telegraphist on their new luxury ship, RMS Titanic, in 1912.

Titanic was equipped with the most up-to-date wireless of the time.

It was guaranteed to reach 350 miles, and could exceed that distance at night.

The Marconi technology was something of a novelty at that time, and the job of a telegraphist was to communicate with other ships and relay passenger messages.

Most passenger ships had one telegraphist onboard, but Titanic had two.

Jack Phillips was joined by a junior operator, 22-year-old Harold Bride, who had been with the Marconi Company since July 1911.

The two men kept busy sending and receiving messages for the hundreds of well-to-do passengers, as well as with routine ship traffic, news and weather bulletins.

But as Titanic sailed across the Atlantic on April 13, 1912, Phillips and Bride had a problem.

Their wireless machine wasn’t working.

The Marconi manual (and company policy) stated that telegraphists were not to attempt repairs at sea.

Rather, they were to wait until reaching port, where a Marconi engineer could be called to repair the machine.

But the two young men ignored those rules.

Instead, they spent six hours trying to fix the machine, eventually managing to resolve the problem by binding the leads of the transformer with rubber tape.

With the machine now back in perfect working order, Phillips and Bride began working on the backlog of messages they had to send.

The wireless was fully functioning the next day, Sunday April 14, and the two men carried on sending and receiving messages that day, including ones of ice warnings.

Cyril Evans, the wireless operator aboard the ship Californian, testified that he had sent an ice report to the ship Antillian Sunday afternoon.

Hearing the correspondence, the Titanic called up the Californian, and they exchanged signals.

The Californian shared the ice report, and the Titanic replied,

“It’s all right, Old Man. I heard you send to the Antillian.”

These warnings were shared with Titanic’s captain, Edward Smith.

Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line, who was onboard Titanic, testified to the US Senate Inquiry that Captain Smith had shared the ice warnings with him as well.

But as Sunday evening wore on, Jack Phillips was exhausted.

He had sacrificed his rest time the day before to fix Titanic’s wireless machine.

And he had a large number of passenger messages to send.

Bride was resting late that evening while Phillips was sending messages to the shore station of Cape Race in Newfoundland.

The signal from Cape Race was faint, and required even more concentration and effort from Phillips to interpret their messages.

It was then that a loud signal came shouting through his headset.

It was the Californian.

Their Captain had decided to stop because of the ice.

“Better advise him [Titanic] we are surrounded by ice and stopped,” the Captain reportedly told Evans.

Evans returned to his cabin and called up Titanic.

“Say, Old Man, we are stopped and surrounded by ice,” he wrote to Titanic.

“Shut up, shut up I am busy; I am working Cape Race,” Titanic replied.

This is the story that has been shared for a century – and often where it stops.

But there is more to the story.

To understand what really happened, you have to understand who these young telegraphists (also referred to as ‘Marconi Men’) were — and what the job of a telegraphist involved.

Think of them as the ‘tech bros’ of the early 1900s.

A fraternity of young men who were inclined to use shorthand language like OM (for Old Man) and the incredibly saucy GTH (Get to Hell — an expression considered so rude that a Titanic crew member wrote it on paper rather than say it aloud during the US Senate Inquiry).

Many of the Marconi Men trained together, and were friends (or at least colleagues) who would communicate while at sea.

And their job wasn’t easy.

The channels were open to everyone at the same time, so Titanic’s operators were transmitting over the same frequency as other ships.

And – here’s where it gets really interesting…

Evans was not annoyed by the message Phillips sent him.

As he would later testify in a British Inquiry on May 15, 1912, he understood what Phillips said — and what he meant.

“Well, Sir, he was working to Cape Race at the time,” Evans testified.

“Cape Race was sending messages to him, and when I started to send, he could not hear what Cape Race was sending.”

Evans understood that he was interfering with Phillips doing his work, and the message to ‘shut up’ (or ‘keep out’) was not considered curt or rude at all.

“In ordinary Marconi practice, is that a common thing to be asked?” the British Solicitor-General asked Evans.

“Yes,” he replied.

“And you do not take it as an insult or anything like that,” Evans replied.

Evans understood — and testified — that a Marconi operator could only clearly hear one thing at a time, and that his message had jammed Phillips, interfering with the messages Phillips was receiving from Cape Race.

So it’s impossible to know if Phillips even heard the message Evans sent.

It’s also clear that Phillips wasn’t being rude — or seen to be rude by Evans.

And regardless, Titanic had received — and already relayed — the ice warnings to their captain earlier in the day.

Phillips could easily have interpreted Evans message as idle chit-chat, as Evans did not use the prefix ‘MSG’ to indicate it was a message for the bridge.

Evans testified that after receiving the message from Phillips, he kept the phones on for another 10 minutes or so, and heard Phillips continuing to send messages to Cape Race.

After working a 16-hour shift, at 11:35 pm, Evans ‘put the phones down and turned in.’

The Titanic hit the iceberg at 11:40 pm.

Thirty-five minutes after Titanic struck the ice, Captain Smith advised Phillips and Bride to send the distress call.

Phillips, the senior operator, was on the phones.

For nearly two hours, he sent messages of CQD and SOS (the new distress call) across the wire.

The Carpathia, nearly 60 miles away, immediately changed course and headed toward the danger to rescue Titanic.

Other ships, including the Baltic and Olympic also came to help — though they were much farther away.

Phillips continued sending messages in the hopes of reaching a ship that might be closer.

Even after Captain Smith dismissed him and Bride at 2 am, Jack Phillips continued sending messages for 15 minutes more, even as the power was dying and water was filling the decks.

Phillips was not a villain in the Titanic story.

He was a hero.

His skills and sacrifice saved more than 700 people aboard Titanic.

And had he not ignored the rules and fixed the Marconi on April 13, no one would have been saved.

Phillips did not survive the Titanic disaster, but junior operator Harold Bride did.

Bride would recount to the New York Times on April 19, 1912:

“He (Phillips) was a brave man.

“I learned to love him that night and I suddenly felt for him a great reverence to see him standing there sticking to his work while everybody else was raging about.”

“I will never live to forget the work of Phillips for the last awful fifteen minutes.”

Jack Phillips may have told another ship to ‘shut up.’

But he was also the man who stayed at his post while the ship went down, sending message after message into the dark — long enough to help save hundreds of lives.

One more thing…

You can see a log of the messages that RMS Titanic (and other ships) sent on the wireless in the early morning of April 15, 1912 (as Titanic was sinking).

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

On the platform of the London Underground was a vending machine full of candy bars — Cadbury candy bars.

I had no idea Cadbury made chocolate bars, because growing up in the United States, I had only ever seen Cadbury item:

The Cadbury Creme Egg

It appeared a month or so before Easter and then…poof!

It was gone. 

Like those marshmallow Peeps, if you missed out during the early spring, you’d have to wait until next year.

But now all kinds of Cadbury products are available in the US, and it’s not just their Creme Eggs filling kids’ Easter baskets.

But where did those Creme Eggs come from?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

Our story begins in England in 1875, when Cadbury first began selling chocolate eggs.

The earliest Cadbury eggs had a smooth, plain surface and were made with dark chocolate.

They were filled with sugar-coated chocolate drops known as ‘dragees’ and later decorated with chocolate piping and marzipan flowers.

Cadbury introduced a “Fancy” egg in 1906 – a cardboard egg filled with assorted chocolates – and later added decorated chocolate eggs and foiled eggs.

But it wouldn’t be until 1923 – when Cadbury merged with chocolate competitor J.S. Fry & Sons – that they would create the first chocolate eggs filled with creme.

The milk chocolate shells filled with soft, fondant (and yellow food coloring) were sold as “Fry’s Creme Eggs” in 1963, but changed to “Cadbury Creme Eggs” in 1971 following the merger of Schweppes and Cadbury.

Sales took off after Cadbury launched a television advertising campaign in 1975.

Many Americans (like me) might remember the Cadbury Bunny ads, featuring the Cadbury Bunny who brought the Creme Eggs.

Advertising helped Cadbury Creme Eggs continue to grow over the next decade, and the UK launched a popular campaign in 1985 where they asked: “How do you eat yours?”

Cadbury was soon selling more than 200 million Creme Eggs every year in the UK alone.

And their sales continued to grow.

Cadbury was selling 500 million Creme Eggs each year when they became part of Kraft Foods in 2010.

The future looked bright for Cadbury, but in 2015, they decided to make a few changes.

First, they reduced the number of eggs included in every package from six to five.

That was bad news for egg lovers (as this change also increased the price of Creme Eggs) — but then Cadbury announced something more shocking.

They changed their recipe.

Instead of using Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate, Cadbury revealed they were now making Cadbury Creme Eggs from “standard cocoa mix chocolate.”

But not all Creme Eggs follow the traditional British Cadbury Creme Eggs recipe.

Due to various laws and agreements, Cadbury Creme Eggs differ in various parts of the world.

For example, the Cadbury Creme Eggs for sale in the US are distinctly different from the ones sold in the UK.

The UK Creme Eggs are made with Cadbury’s chocolate, but the chocolate in US eggs comes from Kraft (Mondelez).

As the New York Times reported: 

“The first ingredient listed on a British Cadbury’s Dairy Milk (plain milk chocolate) is milk. 

“In an American-made Cadbury’s bar, the first ingredient is sugar.”

And if you ask the Brits, their Creme Eggs are much better. 

Journalist Adam Gabbatt detailed his disdain for the American version of the beloved British Creme Egg in the UK newspaper, The Guardian: 

“There are two differing Creme Eggs. There is the UK-manufactured flagship, a full 40g of chocolatey egg glory. 

“Then there is its American, dear-god-hide-it-in-the-attic sibling, a wretched creature offering a mere 34g of satisfaction.”

But is that really true?

Well, here at Curious Minds HQ, we go extra mile to get to the truth.

And, as a family visit brought me to the US, I was able to conduct rigorous testing with both UK and US Cadbury Creme Eggs, ably assisted by two junior scientists (i.e. my young children who will do anything for science — or extra candy).

The box I purchased in the US contained four 34 gram Creme Eggs (indeed, smaller than the 40 gram Creme Eggs I brought over from the UK).

After comparing the size, we cut the eggs open to have a look.

And instantly I thought of the phrase I heard a thousand times in Thailand:

“Same Same, But Different.”

The UK eggs looked creamier with a soft fondant that started to pour out – whereas the creme in the US egg was more firm.

Then we went in for the taste test.

After trying them both, I was reminded why I was never a fan of Creme Eggs growing up in US.

The three of us agreed that the UK Creme Eggs definitely tasted better.

But for those who can’t get Creme Eggs from the UK (or who don’t like the traditional Cadbury’s Creme Egg), there are other options to try.

Forbes reported that “at least” 25 different Creme Eggs were available, including the Marble Egg (a mix of Dairy Milk and Dream chocolates), the Jaffa egg (dark chocolate with an orange filling), and the Oreo Cream egg.

But the traditional Creme Eggs continue to dominate sales.

During “Creme Egg Season” (i.e. New Year’s Day to Easter) Cadbury’s Creme Egg is the UK’s top selling confectionary item.

The Bournville, England factory makes 1.5 million Creme Eggs every day to keep up with demand.

So if you enjoy any type of Creme Egg, stock up now – before they disappear until next year!

One more thing…

So, how do you eat yours?

After the “How do you eat yours?” campaign, Cadbury conduct a survey to find out how people actually ate their Creme Eggs.

Here’s what they discovered:

• 53% bite the top and lick out the cream before eating the rest of the chocolate

• 20% bite straight through

• 6% scoop out the filling with their finger

What’s up with the Creme Egg Thieves in England?

In February 2023, British Creme Egg fans had a fright when a thief stole 200,000 Creme Eggs from a Telford, UK industrial facility.

Thankfully, police “cracked” the case quickly, and the Creme Eggs were returned unharmed.

And in March 2025, a shoplifter was caught stealing 325 Cadbury Creme Eggs from a petrol (gas) station in Peterborough, England.

Police quickly caught the egg thief who had stuffed boxes into his jacket and duffel bag.

Seriously good?

In 2019, someone thought merging Heinz mayonnaise with Creme Eggs was a good idea…

I question if this was “seriously good.”

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

Last year my daughter and I took a trip to Amsterdam.

We did the things one does in Amsterdam — well, the G-rated things — like walking along the canals, learning about Anne Frank, and eating stroopwafels.

We also spent a lovely morning at the city’s Van Gogh Museum, learning more about the artist and his work.

When Vincent van Gogh died in 1890, he was not a wealthy or well-known artist.

He had sold almost nothing in his lifetime.

So how did his works become some of the most famous — and valuable — in the world?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

Vincent van Gogh became famous thanks to one woman.

And most people have never heard of her.

It’s not unusual for an artist to find fame posthumously — but Van Gogh’s rise is unique because of the person behind it:

His sister-in-law, Jo Bonger.

Johanna (Jo) Bonger was born in the Netherlands in 1862, and married Vincent’s older brother, Theo van Gogh, in Amsterdam in 1889.

Theo, an art dealer working in Paris, was very close to his brother Vincent, and had encouraged him to pursue art as a career.

But Vincent struggled — and Theo supported his brother financially for years, telling their mother:

“I regard the money I give him as payment for his work and as such he earns it.”

After marrying Theo, Jo joined him in Paris, and in January 1890, gave birth to a son they named Vincent Willem, after his uncle.

In July that same year, the 37-year-old Vincent died from a gunshot wound. (Note: Some historians now debate whether this was self-inflicted).

At the time of his death, Vincent’s name and works were barely known outside of a small circle of avant garde artists.

But he left behind more than 400 paintings — and even more drawings — to Theo.

Theo had always believed in his brother’s artistic talents — and was determined that the world would one day see and appreciate Vincent’s art.

The brothers were incredibly close, and Vincent’s death hit Theo hard. Shortly after Vincent’s death, Theo suffered a severe nervous breakdown.

And he never had the chance to see the world recognize his brother — as just six months after Vincent’s death, Theo died.

Though Theo is believed to have had syphilis, his death certificate listed the cause of death as: “heredity, chronic disease, overwork, sadness.1”

Jo was left a 28-year-old widow with an infant son — and a large collection of her brother-in-law’s paintings. In addition to the hundreds Vincent left behind, she also had a collection of paintings Vincent had sent to Theo over the years.

But how would she survive?

When Theo died, Jo was left with “considerable investments,” according to biographer Hans Luijten. The fact that she did not immediately sell Vincent’s paintings to survive suggests that she was not desperate for cash.

She wrote in her diary, matter-of-factly, that Theo had given her two responsibilities:

“As well as the child, he has left me another task — Vincent’s work — getting it seen and appreciated as much as possible.”

She was driven by the belief that art could elevate people — and she wanted to fulfill her husband’s wish.

But her work was cut out for her.

She was a young woman who didn’t understand the inner workings of the art world.

And in 1890, the art world didn’t particularly want to understand her — galleries, dealers, and critics were almost exclusively male spaces.

Her husband — who sold paintings by Monet, Pissarro, Degas, and Sisley — was the one with the connections and reputation.

And even he couldn’t sell Vincent’s art.

Despite these obstacles, Jo set out to fulfill Theo’s goal, and establish Vincent’s importance as an artist.

She moved from Paris to Bussum, in the Netherlands, where she opened a guest house that she decorated with Vincent’s paintings.

Jo called Bussum “the center of civilization” and she became acquainted with many of the writers and artists in the town, who helped her navigate the art world.

One of the art critics she approached was Jan Veth, who initially dismissed Van Gogh’s art, finding the paintings “nearly vulgar.”

But Jo did not accept his verdict, writing in her diary, “I won’t rest until he likes them.”

Eventually, he did.

She also persuaded Richard Roland Holst, an influential artist, to help her stage one of the first solo exhibitions of Vincent’s art in Amsterdam in 1892.

She hustled — writing letters, and attracting interest from galleries and museums in Berlin, Paris and Copenhagen.

She began lending pictures to exhibitions and organizing sales to raise awareness of Van Gogh’s art, and boost his profile.

“At the time, van Gogh’s work was often considered way too modern in the eyes of collectors and art-buyers,” wrote Luijten.

Jo may have lacked experience, but she was smart — and she made strategic sales that ensured Vincent’s art would be seen in public collections around the world.

She learned to include the best paintings “on loan” and hang them next to works available for purchase to increase sales.

By 1900, she had coordinated around 20 successful shows around Holland, and the 1901 Bernheim-Jeune retrospective in Paris recognized Van Gogh as a truly important painter.

Jo’s smarts (or shrewdness) extended beyond promoting Vincent’s work.

When she remarried in 1901, she signed a prenuptial agreement that protected her assets, including Vincent’s paintings. Even Vincent’s art that she had given her son was protected, in case the marriage did not last.2

Then, in 1905, she organized a massive Van Gogh retrospective at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam — with 484 of the artist’s works on display.

She rented the galleries, organized the space, decided what works would be on display and where they would be hung, printed posters and made lists of important people to invite. Her son, young Vincent Willem, wrote the invitations by hand.

The event drew critics throughout Europe, and it cemented Vincent van Gogh’s reputation as a crucial talent in the modern era.

The retrospective raised the profile of Vincent’s artworks – and the prices.3

And Jo continued to grow Vincent’s profile in Europe when she contributed important loans to Roger Fry’s Post-Impressionist Exhibition in London in 1910.

Two years later, Van Gogh was introduced as “the father to us all” at the major Sonderbund exhibition in Cologne.

Jo was achieving what Theo had dreamt: Vincent’s work was finally being seen — and appreciated.

But she wasn’t finished.

Now that Vincent’s talents as an artist were being recognized, Jo set out to establish his legacy.

Because Vincent’s canvasses weren’t the only valuable asset Jo inherited.

Jo was sitting on a treasure trove of correspondence Vincent had written to his brother over the years.

His letters weren’t just banal updates on his day.

They laid bare his dreams, his thoughts on art, and his struggles. They offered a raw, revealing look at Vincent the artist —and Vincent the man.

Jo recognized that the letters brought new meaning to the art and the artist behind them, and meticulously edited the collection.

But she was strategic about the timing.

She waited to release the letters until Vincent’s art had already gained traction — understanding that once people knew the art, the letters would deepen their emotional connection to it.

As she later explained, it would have been unfair to create interest in his persona before his work was recognised and valued.

She made an agreement for the letters to be published in Dutch, and also wrote the biographical introduction that accompanied them. The first volume was published in 1914 — and for years, her introduction remained the primary source about the artist.

Jo didn’t just publish the letters. She controlled the narrative around them.

But she knew a Dutch publication wasn’t enough.

She shifted her focus to a much larger stage: the United States.

Jo believed that Vincent’s letters brought his art to life — and would secure his legacy.

So in 1916, she moved to New York City.

For three years, Jo worked on translating Vincent’s letters into English, and promoting Vincent’s art and profile to a reluctant American audience.

She returned to Amsterdam in 1919, and continued working — selling art and translating letters.

Then in 1924, she made an agreement that would further her goal of cementing Vincent’s legacy.

She agreed to part with one of her favorite Van Gogh paintings: Sunflowers.

Today it’s one of the most recognizable paintings in the world, but at the time, it was simply one of the works Jo had lived with for decades.

The London National Gallery felt Van Gogh should be represented in London by a signature work, and noted that Sunflowers was “inextricably associated with his fame.”

Though Jo was reluctant to part with Sunflowers, she agreed to the sale in the hopes that it would stimulate interest for an English translation of Van Gogh’s letters.

“It is a sacrifice for the sake of Vincent’s glory,” she wrote to the director of the National Gallery.4

In September 1925, at just age 63, Jo died.

And although she did not live to see Vincent’s letters published in English, she did live long enough to carry out Theo’s dream — and saw Vincent’s art celebrated and exhibited around the world.

A month after her death, a contract to publish Vincent’s letters in English arrived. The first English version was published in 1927.

Translating the letters had been a monumental task. Jo had worked on them for a decade and completed 526 — still unfinished at her death, but more than enough to secure the legacy she had spent her life building.

But the work she had started would not stop with her.

Although Jo sold nearly 200 of Vincent’s artworks after Theo’s death, she was also clear about the works she did not want sold. Some held “emotional value” to the family —or others, like The Harvest, were personal favorites.

These works were to stay in the family.

Her son Vincent Willem became an engineer, and when Jo died, he inherited his uncle’s work — which was now well-known.

He decided that no more artworks would be sold, and the (now famous) works Almond Blossom and one of Vincent’s Sunflowers hung on the walls of his home.

When the Germans invaded in 1940, most of Vincent’s art was moved into a bunker to protect it from Nazi confiscation.

After the war, Vincent Willem (often referred to as “The Engineer” to avoid confusion with his famous uncle) realised that in the event of his death, the collection would be broken up among his three children, who would likely need to sell pieces to pay inheritance tax.

To avoid this, he established The Vincent van Gogh Foundation in 1949, and transferred the entire collection to it: over 200 of Vincent’s paintings, 500 drawings and 900 letters.

Vincent the Engineer wanted to keep the collection together — and for his uncle’s works to be available for people to see.

In an 1882 letter to Theo, Vincent van Gogh had written he would draw working men “from the people for the people” and decided that the price of the prints should not exceed 10 — or at most 15 — cents. Vincent van Gogh wanted to make art for working people — not wealthy collectors.

More than 70 years after his death, Vincent’s nephew could have sold the collection for millions.

Instead, he made an agreement with the Dutch state in 1962 that meant his uncle’s art would be available for everyone to see, with the creation of the Van Gogh Museum.5

And Vincent the Engineer was alive to see this dream realized.

The Van Gogh Museum opened in Amsterdam on June 2, 1973 — when Vincent Willem was 83 years old.

The museum hoped to attract 60,000 visitors in 1973, though skeptics wondered if there was sufficient interest in a museum dedicated to just one artist.

But less than two months after opening, 100,000 people had visited the Van Gogh Museum.

Today, around 2 million people visit each year.

Van Gogh family members are still involved with both the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and Vincent Van Gogh Foundation, but as Jo’s great-grandson told The New York Times in 2021:

“There’s not a single painting or drawing by Vincent in the family anymore.

“Thanks to Jo, and to her son, it’s no longer ours.

“It’s for everyone.”

One more thing…

Vincent the Engineer’s 1962 agreement with the Dutch state was that he would provide the family’s collection of his uncle’s artwork in exchange for the state funding the construction and maintenance of a museum that would house the collection.

In 2025, the museum filed a legal complaint alleging the state had breached this agreement.

The Van Gogh Museum receives a subsidy of €8.5 million per year for building care, but is seeking an increase to €11 million to cover escalating maintenance costs, and a massive renovation project that is slated to begin in 2028.

As of press time, no funding agreement between the Dutch state and the Museum has been made public.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

Hello!

A few years ago, a client hired me to run a communication workshop in Ireland for their global team.

I wanted to bring an Irish slant to some of my material, so began researching stories about Ireland that I could weave into the workshop.

Although there is plenty of communication inspiration from familiar politicians and business leaders, I’m always on the lookout for stories of “ordinary” people — the ones who aren’t necessarily known as public speakers, but who illustrate the power that comes with effective communication.

And when I read that a Dublin housewife led the call for peace in Ireland in 1993, I had to know more.

That’s right, I was curious…

In 1993, Susan McHugh was a 37-year-old mother of two living in Dublin, Ireland.

But her life changed on March 20, when she heard the news of an IRA attack in Warrington, England.

It was a Saturday —the day before Mothering Sunday (Mother’s Day) in the UK. 

The streets of Warrington were crowded with families and shoppers when two bombs exploded about 100 yards apart on Bridge Street, one of the main thoroughfares.

Three-year-old Johnathan Ball was in town with his babysitter, shopping for a Mother’s Day card. 

He died on the scene. 

Another child, 12-year-old Tim Parry, was seriously injured, and died five days later.

Fifty-four other people were injured that day — including one mother who had to have a leg amputated.

The Provisional IRA issued a statement the day after the bombing, acknowledging its involvement, but placing the blame elsewhere:

“Responsibility for the tragic and deeply regrettable death and injuries caused in Warrington yesterday lies squarely at the door of those in the British authorities who deliberately failed to act on precise and adequate warnings.”

Although the IRA claimed that “two precise warnings” had been given “in adequate time”, Cheshire’s assistant chief constable Brian Baister disputed their claim:

“Yes, a warning was given half-an-hour before, but no mention was made of Warrington. If the IRA think they can pass on their responsibility for this terrible act by issuing such a nonsensical statement, they have sadly underestimated the understanding of the British public.”

When Susan McHugh saw what had happened in Warrington, she decided to do something about it. 

“I had just dropped my kids at playschool when I heard,” she said. 

“It was the day before Mother’s Day. I tried to imagine how I’d feel.”

She picked up the phone and called Trinity College, and begged them to let her have a meeting room for free. 

Then she decided to call the radio phone-in Liveline, where she expressed her anger about what had been committed “in her name” as an Irish citizen, and asked people to join her at a public meeting on March 24 and share ideas for what they could do.

“I made up my mind to call the show and said, ‘I’ve had enough and I can’t be the only one.’

After her radio chat, Sue’s neighbors and friends offered to help, and she expected a handful would turn up to meet her four days later.

Instead, when she walked into Trinity College, she found her meeting room had been upgraded to a theatre, with 200 people sitting — and another 200 standing.

“So when I stood up to do a little speech, again, I just said what was in my head: We would have another rally in the middle of the city at the weekend.”

Though Sue received support, she also received criticism – and threats. 

Some criticized her for responding so passionately to a bombing in England rather than the tragedies that were happening in Ireland.

“I didn’t think of Tim and Johnathan as English,” Sue said. 

“To me they were just children, but I could understand why bereaved parents might feel upset, so I went up to Northern Ireland to meet with them and express my sorrow for their terrible losses, too. 

“There is no hierarchy in the death of children.”

Sue didn’t consider herself an activist, but her passion moved others to take action.

“I'm only saying what the majority of people in the country say,” Sue told The New York Times before the rally. 

“Enough is enough. We don't want any more deaths. We want a cease-fire.”

On March 28, an estimated 20,000 people joined her at a peace rally in Dublin’s City Center. 

They came to grieve — and to express their anger at the IRA and the politicians who had failed to peacefully resolve the Protestant-Roman Catholic conflict that had already killed more than 3000 people.

“The IRA did not kill Johnathan Ball in my name or in your name,” Sue told the crowd.

“I want to tell the world tonight they did not kill him in the name of Ireland. 

“There's nothing wrong with being emotional about a little baby’s death.

“I feel horror, revulsion and sadness. But that’s not enough. Tonight I feel anger.

“I feel angry and frustrated because the political will is not there to end the violence. We’ve listened too long to rhetoric with no results.”

Thousands of people at the rally signed condolence books and left gifts in memory of the two boys to be taken to their funerals. 

Though McHugh insisted she was “an ordinary mum, a housewife” what she did was no ordinary thing.

“I just stood up and spoke my truth,” Sue said. 

“That week I’d met so many people, heard so many stories, I’d had a crash course in bereavement, sorrow, and the aftermath of atrocities.

“I carried all those people inside as I stood up to the mic. If I sounded impassioned, it’s because I was. 

“But I wasn’t motivating people – they were motivating themselves.” 

The action Sue took was a vocal call for peace, and demonstrated how so many people in Ireland were feeling.

“Looking back, maybe I was fragile because the previous year I’d lost both parents in six months.

“The thought of more people feeling bereavement so suddenly, so horribly.

“Especially the loss of children.”

Sue was in constant demand from media outlets around the world, and took the Peace ‘93 campaign for non-violence to Belfast and then London. 

She was also encouraged to tour the United States to share her message, but ultimately declined.

What pulled her into the peace rally is ultimately what led her to step away after five months — her children. 

“Everybody wanted a piece of me — and then one day when yet again I had no time to make food, my son Charlie turned round to me and groaned, ‘Please Mummy, no more McDonald’s’ and I realized that my own children needed me back, so I stepped away.”

The IRA declared a ceasefire on September 1, 1994, followed by the Good Friday Agreement in 1998.

Colin Parry, who lost his son Tim in the bombing gives Sue a lot of credit for what she did.

“The shift of public opinion in Ireland was huge: 20,000 people stood on O’Connell Street. Ten times that many were outraged. Thousands wrote to us,” he said.

“I have no doubt that fed into Irish government policy and there was a new impetus to start things moving.”

“I would like to think that what we instigated was part of the whole process that eventually led to the Good Friday Agreement,” Sue said.

But she downplays her role in the peace process.

“I just happened to be the person who spoke up and articulated the national mood.”

One more thing…

In March 2000, Colin and Wendy Parry set up the Tim Parry Johnathan Ball Peace Foundation, to promote peace and non-violent conflict resolution.

The charity supports victims of terrorism, young people, and communities whose lives have been affected by extremism.

And one more…

When the cranberries’ lead singer Dolores O’Riordan heard of the Warrington bombing, she poured her frustration and anger into writing a song — Zombie. Have a listen below, and find out the story behind the hit song in this issue of Curious Minds.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

Can you believe it’s March already?

I’ve always loved March (and not just because it’s the month when I was born).

March signals that spring is around the corner, and it also brings that wonderful phenomenon we know as…

March Madness! 

Ask any basketball fan (and most Americans) and they can tell you why this time of year is so special. 

I grew up in Indiana, where you can’t graduate from high school unless you can nail a three-pointer.1

Even James Naismith, who invented basketball in Massachusetts said:

“Basketball really had its origin in Indiana, which remains the center of the sport.”

Take that, Kentucky and Kansas!

But, how did March Madness become a billion dollar industry?

I was curious…

Subscribe now

Before we begin, a quick intro for those who aren’t familiar with the Madness...

What is “March Madness”?

“March Madness” refers to a magical three week period, starting in mid-March, when 68 college basketball teams compete in seven rounds to become the national champions of the NCAA Tournament. 

Why is it called “March Madness”?

“March Madness” was first used in reference to basketball by an Illinois high school official, Henry V. Porter in 1939.

It didn’t become associated with the NCAA until broadcaster Brent Musburger used it during the 1982 NCAA Tournament.

The “madness” of the tournament comes from the incredible drama and upsets it gives us each year.

Small schools beat big schools — and schools with huge basketball programs can be defeated by schools you’ve never heard of (looking at you, Oral Roberts!).

While top teams tend to make it to the Final Four, there are Cinderella stories every year (like Butler in 2010) where teams greatly exceed expectations and contribute to the madness.

It’s a single elimination tournament, so you never know what’s going to happen and who will make it to the next round. 

That’s what makes March Madness so exciting – and so fun!

But how did it get started? 

Meet Harold Olsen – The Man Behind the Madness.

In 1938, the National Invitation Tournament (NIT) held their first college men’s basketball competition in New York City.

It was sponsored by the Metropolitan Basketball Writers Association, and the games were played at the city’s famous Madison Square Garden.

But they only invited six teams to compete – and two of those teams were from New York.

Harold Olsen, the coach of Ohio State men’s basketball team and chairman of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) Basketball Committee, wanted to create a true national tournament that could compete with the NIT.

So in March 1939, Olsen worked with others to hold the first NCAA men’s basketball tournament.

It included eight teams from across the nation, with regional games held in Philadelphia (for eastern teams), and San Francisco (for western teams).

The Final Four and championship were played at Northwestern University’s gym in Evanston, Illinois – a significantly smaller (and less glamorous) setting than New York City’s Madison Square Garden.

Interestingly, Olsen’s Ohio State Buckeyes made it to the championship, but were defeated by the Oregon Webfoots (colloquially referred to as the ‘Tall Firs’), 46-33. 

The NCAA Tournament is a bit of a Cinderella story itself. 

Although the tournament would grow to become a huge moneymaker, in 1939, it lost money.

Organizers gave away tickets to get fans to go to the games and the tournament ended $2,600 in the red. 

They also struggled to compete with the NIT for media coverage and attention (perhaps challenging since the NIT was sponsored by the Basketball Writers Association!).

When the tournament began, there was limited national media coverage of college basketball, and playing in New York City gave the NIT and its teams more exposure.

The NIT was seen as the most glamorous of the post-season tournaments, and many teams wanted to compete in it rather than the NCAA Tournament.

But that changed.

The NCAA Tournament grew, and by 1951, they had 16 teams competing.

By 1975, they had 32 teams.

NBC then moved televised coverage of the NCAA championship from Saturday afternoon to Monday evening, providing the NCAA Tournament with prime-time television exposure the NIT could not match.

By 1985, 64 teams were competing in the NCAA Tournament — and the exposure and interest has grown significantly over the years.

In 2011, the men’s tournament expanded to invite 68 teams, and the women’s tournament has also had 68 teams in the competition since 2022.2

Olsen’s dream of a national championship tournament came true.

The three-week celebration of March Madness has become one of the most famous annual sporting events in the United States – where even non-basketball fans get involved filling out brackets and competing in office pools.

And the once-prestigious NIT is now operated by the NCAA, and regarded as a secondary tournament for teams that did not make the NCAA grade. 3

One more thing…

One Shining Moment was introduced as the March Madness anthem in 1987 — when the INDIANA HOOSIERS were the champs!

If you’re not convinced why March Madness is so special, then check out this video of One Shining Moment and let it (and the smooth vocals of Luther Vandross) convince you.

And here’s the video from the tournament I remember as a kid watching my Hoosiers win (who else remembers the UNLV coach chewing on a towel?)

Get Into the Madness!

Games are now broadcast on several television networks, and can also be streamed on the NCAA March Madness app and other streaming services.

And this week, Disney+ gave me the best birthday present4 when they announced they would be streaming the men’s and women’s games live on Disney+ across Europe, South Africa, the Philippines, Australia and New Zealand.

Selection Sunday is March 15, so make sure you fill out your brackets for both the women’s and men’s tournaments this year!

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

The internet (and a lot of New Yorkers) didn’t exactly love it.

But, it got me thinking of another logo that wasn’t exactly loved when it was first created.

And most people around the world would recognize the logo, but probably can’t name the designer who created it.

But when I first heard a snippet of this story, I had to go diving for more, because I was curious…

Meet Carolyn Davidson.

In 1969, Carolyn had a problem.

She was a graphics design student at Portland State University and wanted to take an oil painting class.

But she couldn’t afford it.

Fortunately for her, an assistant professor named Phil Knight heard that she wanted to make some extra money – and he was looking for a designer to help him with a side project.

Knight was working with a Japanese footwear company, and needed someone to produce nice-looking charts and graphs to show the Japanese executives.

He offered to pay Davidson $2 an hour to help.

The success of that first freelance gig led to others, mostly charts and graphs, until one day, Knight gave her a new assignment.

He was working on a new athletic shoe, and asked her to design a ‘stripe’ – the industry term for a logo that could go on the side of the shoe.

He told her it needed to ‘look like speed.’

Davidson knew Knight loved the Adidas logo – but she had to design something original.

It needed to be clean and classic, and stand apart from the competition.

A few weeks later, she unveiled her design to Knight and two of his colleagues.

“What else you got?” was Knight’s response.

She showed them a handful of other sketches, but they came back to the checkmark, her favorite.

“Well, I don’t love it,” Phil Knight said.

“But maybe it will grow on me.”

Carolyn asked for more time to refine her work, but Knight told her it wasn’t possible. She invoiced him for 17.5 hours of work for her design – a total of $35.

And you can guess what happened next…

The US Patent Office recorded Davidson’s curvy checkmark logo on June 18, 1971 for Knight’s new company, Nike.

That same year, Carolyn graduated with a bachelor’s degree in graphic design. She continued to work with Nike until 1975.

Her design may not have been lauded by Knight at the start, but it did grow on him – and it became one of the most recognizable logos on the planet.

Although her initial payday was small, in 1983 she was given a generous amount of Nike stock, and a diamond and gold ring featuring her Swoosh design.

Despite creating the famous logo, Davidson told NPR in 2011:

“I've pretty much stayed under the radar, and nobody knows who I am.”

One more thing…

Speaking of Phil Knight…

When LeBron James made NBA history by breaking Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s all-time scoring record back in in February 2023, Phil Knight was there.

Look at all the phones capturing the moment.

The man in the courtside seat soaking up the moment (without a phone in his hand) is Phil Knight.

Curious About Working Together?

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

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

Until next time, Stay Curious!

-Beth

WEBSITE

CONTACT

SERVICES

WRITING

Hello!

Did you grow up listening to the radio — or watching the local news — during the winter hoping to hear those magical words:

“School is Closed ”

Ah, Snow Days…

I have vivid memories of playing with my sister and the other kids in the neighborhood on a snow day.1

We’d drag our red sleds to Millie’s Hill and fly down, then climb back up and do it again.

We made snow angels, and hot chocolate with Hershey’s cocoa powder and Kraft marshmallows, and ate tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches.

We guessed the prices of home goods as we watched The Price is Right on TV (when Bob Barker still had dark hair).

What a time to be alive!

But then some legislator realized that only two states in the U.S. did not have to make up snow days later in the year — Indiana (where I lived) and Hawaii.

That was the end of our carefree snow days, as after that we had to make up the days in May when it was (usually) sunny and nice outside.

But living in London, my kids will probably never know the joy of a snow days.

Kids in Arizona probably don’t get many snow days either — but they do get a different kind of break.

A “Rodeo Break.”

But where did Rodeo Break come from? 

I was curious…

Subscribe now

Like so many ideas, the Rodeo Break was created to solve a problem…

Though Tucson, Arizona has over a million residents today, back in 1924 it was a frontier town, with around 30,000 residents. 

And the days of the Wild West weren’t that far behind it.

Arizona had only been a state since 1912.

The Grand Canyon had only become a national park (the country’s 17th) in 1919. And Route 66 wasn’t even completed yet.

It was at this time that Frederick Leighton Kramer, President of the Arizona Polo Association, gathered a group of local businessmen to discuss a way of celebrating Tucson’s heritage — and attracting visitors to the area during the winter.

He suggested they have a three-day festival — with a rodeo and a parade. 

At that time, many ranches and private schools in the area had rodeos, so some of the residents thought Kramer’s festival was unnecessary. 

But he convinced enough people that there was merit to his idea, and plans were made for the inaugural ‘La Fiesta de los Vaqueros2’ (The Party of the Cowboys) in February 1925.

City leaders and The University of Arizona agreed the festival would be treated as a holiday, closing schools and many local businesses, so residents could take part in the events. 

This was the first ‘Rodeo Break.’

The inaugural Fiesta de los Vaqueros was held during the time of prohibition — so in the weeks leading up to the event, federal officials began cleaning up the city. 

The Arizona Daily Star reported that ‘25 stills were captured’ and an ‘estimated 3000 gallons of moonshine were destroyed.’

The headline in the Arizona Daily Star promoting the Festival read:

“Cowboys are asked not to shoot up the town” 

The Festival’s Rodeo featured four events — steer wrestling, steer typing, calf roping, and saddle bronc riding.

They also had special events, including a wild horse race, and the chance to see a ‘lady bronc rider’ named Tad Lucas (a future ProRodeo Hall of Fame member, who was still riding in her 60s). 

In addition to the Rodeo, the Festival included an evening Rodeo Dance (attended by ‘tourists, cowboys, cowgirls, local society members, and Navajo Indians’) and a Rodeo Parade the following morning.

The first Rodeo Parade showcased 300 people, including ranchers or horseback, mounted polo players in uniform, and the 10th Cavalry and 25th Infantry bands. Thousands of spectators filled the streets to watch the parade.

While the Rodeo participants competed for a purse of $6650, the parade also had prizes.

There were merchandise and cash prizes, including $15 for the ‘most typical’ cowboy and cowgirl costume, and a 100-pound sack of potatoes for the ‘most comical costume.’ 

The oldest man on horseback won a box of cigars, while the fattest horse in the parade received a ‘big cactus’ ham.3

And Tucson’s inaugural Fiesta de los Vaqueros was a success.

The Festival attracted visitors to Tucson in 1925 as Kramer had hoped, and the visitor numbers (and the Festival) grew over the following years. 

Seven years after the first Festival, the Rodeo moved to a bigger location with 3000 seats, and later to an arena at the Tucson Rodeo Grounds that could seat 11,000 spectators. 

And 101 years later, the Fiesta de los Vaqueros and the Rodeo Break continue…

The Tucson Rodeo now includes cowboys and cowgirls testing their ranching skills in events ranging from barrel racing and bull riding to steer wrestling and team roping.

More than 650 contestants from all over the United States and Canada compete for more than $460,000 in prize money.

The eight-day event is one of the top 25 professional rodeo events in North America, and the first major outdoor event on the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association schedule.

The Rodeo Parade, with its horse-drawn coaches, outfitted riders, folk dancers and marching bands, is now ranked as the world’s longest non-motorized parade.

In recent years, the parade has included 200 floats and been watched by an estimated 200,000 spectators.4

But what is the Tucson Rodeo really like?

To find out, I spoke to Martta Eicher Rabago, a former Tucson resident who shared her fond memories of the Tucson Rodeo (and the school break that came with it) from the late 1970s to the early 1990s.

Martta told me that while there were other small rodeos and events at the county and state level, the Fiesta de Los Vaqueros (or Tucson Rodeo) was a significant event — and a significant part of their springtime activities.

“Many school bands marched in it. I marched in it, too. Generations of families would ride on hay wagons, in horse-drawn buggies or stagecoaches, or on horseback. There were also brightly decorated floats and Folklorico dancers with Mariachis performing,” she said.

“My favorite was watching the vaqueros, Mexican cowboys dressed in their finest bolero jackets and sashes, with silver conchos on their pants and belts. Oh, and silver spurs on their boots.”

“My childhood and teen years are filled with memories of the rodeo.”

Sally Bland Boice, who grew up in Tucson in the 1950s and 60s, echoed Martta’s sentiments.