 Tiny babies detect a meteorological disturbance. $20,000 worth of radium is kicked around in New York City. It's a long way to Tipperary. It was not written as a war song. Yes, can you imagine that? Those statements should tell you that this is Lindsay McCarrie back with you on your favorite station with another session of odd facts, news stories, and out-of-the-way information with which to regale you. We'll be back in a minute and a half with the proofs of what we said a moment ago. Until then, wait around, won't you? Bees detect a meteorological disturbance. That was the amazing scene. That was the amazing statement that opened this session. Can you imagine that? And here's the proof. The scene is a baby clinic at Lyon, France. The time a few minutes before 9.30 o'clock on the evening of April 6, 1936. Two physicians are talking together. Says Dr. Morrican to Dr. Charpentier. I cannot understand this. All the babies seem so frightful tonight. Yes, I have noticed that too. It is though the weather were extremely warm. That is not true, Charpentier. It is a beautiful spring evening. Oh, well, there is nothing we can do about it. I've examined the babies. There is nothing wrong with them. Nothing physically wrong, perhaps. Oh, dear. What is it now? They are all crying. They all started crying at once. What is this? Come, come. We must do something about it. Yes, yes. Yes, all the infants from one to 18 months of age began crying at exactly the same instant. Subsequently, Drs. Morrican and Charpentier attending the 23rd session of the Hygiene Congress at the Pasteur Institute reported... Dr. Charpentier and I discovered that at precisely 9.30 p.m. on that date a huge mass of air from the North Pole came in direct contact with another large mass of air from the Sahara Desert, directly over Lyon. It is probable that because these two great masses of air originated in different parts of the world, they were electrified differently, thus producing a strange electromagnetic condition which affected the babies both physically and mentally. Yes, those two French doctors decided that an atmospheric condition unnoticed by adults had caused all the babies in their Lyon clinic to cry at the same moment. Can you imagine that? Have you ever heard of Jenny Muir? No, she's not a famous woman who did something heroic for her country. Neither is she a woman. She was just the monkey mascot of the New York Hook & Ladder Company, number 22. And from a newspaper of January 4, 1910, comes a story that I'm sure will endear Jenny to everyone. It was on that day that the men of Hook & Ladder Company, number 22, came back from a three-alarm fire. Oh, boy, I'm excited. That last fire was a good one. Yeah, I'm gonna hit the H. About three hours of sleep will feel pretty good, Jenny. But they didn't count on Jenny, who watched their return with bright, interested eyes. Soon the firemen were in bed, all was quiet. That is, all except Jenny, who had the run of the firehouse. Suddenly, the dosing firemen were startled to hear... Uh-huh. Hey, hey, that's the alarm, boys. Come on, let's get going. That's the alarm. Let's go. No fire? Look! Well, I'll be. Jenny, you pesky monk, I'll break your neck turning in an alarm when we're about dead. I'll kill you. Hey, you better get. Now, come on. Wait! Holy smoke! Look! Fire! Where? Oh, there's a fire in the night. In our own backyard. Jenny was right. Come on, grab those extinguishers. Get going! Yes, sir. Jenny Muir turned in an alarm, and rightly so, for a pile of rubbish in the backyard of the firemen's own headquarters had caught fire and was well on its way to bring being a pretty good blaze when bright-eyed, alert little Jenny Muir, the monkey mascot turned in an alarm and routed her human friends out of bed and out of danger. Can you imagine that? It was on May 9th in the year of 1929 that potential death rode the streets in a taxi cab, went into a café, was kicked around, and finally ended up in the hands of those who could turn its power to the correct usage. It was on that day that Dr. Joseph J. Eller, a skin specialist, and his two companions alighted from a taxi cab when they reached their destination, the postgraduate hospital in New York. Well, uh, say, have you got the satchel? Satchel? Why? Why, no, I thought you had it. It's still in that cab, with $20,000 worth of radium. Holy smoke. Hey, hey, come back! No, no, he can't hear you. Our best bet is to telephone the police. Come on. A frantic search was started for the radium. Then, around midnight, in a restaurant on 27th Street. Say, boss, I just picked up this satchel. Must have been kicking around here all evening. Oh, somebody just walked out with that. I wonder what's in it. Well, better take a look just in case somebody tries to claim it or don't own it. Yeah. Oh, that's a mind. No one's gonna come in here tonight anymore. I'll just put it under the cashier's desk. I'll get here in early morning and then take a look at it. Well, come on. For one split second, the proprietor of that restaurant was close to tragedy. Who can say what caused him to put the bag aside until morning? And who can say what led his eyes to a certain article in a newspaper, an article that he read? This satchel contains $20,000 worth of radium. Do not touch radium. Do not open bag because... Hey, that's the bag that was left in my restaurant. I've got to go down there and get this to the police. And he did. Gingerly, the bag was returned to the hospital where a physician explained... If only one of those needles containing radium had been placed in a man's pocket and carried around for only a couple of hours, it would produce a radium ulcer, which, if not cut out cleanly, would result in cancer. Thus, on that May 9th, 1929, death rode the streets in a taxicab. Went into a restaurant, was kicked around, put aside by the restaurant owner, only after a debate as whether or not to open it, and then returned unopened to the police. I wonder what guardian angels and kindly fates must have stayed the hand of the persons in whose possession the satchel had been during that long day. Now we're going to play a bit of a game, a slight mental diversion of this, can you imagine that? I'm going to name four famous songs, songs which I'm sure you've all heard and probably sung many times. Then I'm going to call on the members of my cast in the studio here to name the war for which each of the songs was written. And you might test the knowledge of these actors deciding for yourself whether or not they named the right war for each of the songs. Are you ready? Here we go. The first song, Yankee Doodle. Well, that came from the American Revolution in 1776. Well, we'll see about that later. The second song is the French national anthem, La Masseuse. Oh, that's easy. La Masseuse was written for the French Revolution in 1789. Well, here's the third war song. There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight. Oh, that's easy, Lindsay. That song was composed for the boys during the Spanish-American War. Very well. Here's the fourth and last song. It's a long, long way to Tipperary. Well, that's a cinch. Tipperary was written in England for the English Tommies during the World War. And now let's see how right you are. Or rather, how right you are not, because you're all wrong. All wrong? What do you mean? None of the five songs I named were written for the wars you named. For instance, as we told our audience a little while ago in this series, it was written 25, 20 years before the Battle of Lexington. It did become most popular during the Revolution, but the song preceded that war by two decades. Another, the member of my cast, said La Masseuse was written for the French Revolution. That also is untrue. It was written during the French Revolutionary Times on April 24, 1792, to be exact. But its writing was not inspired by the Revolution. On the contrary, it was written and composed by a young captain of engineers at the request of the mayor of Strasbourg to incite the young men of the city to enlist in the army of Louis XVI's futile war against Austria. Dileil himself was a strong royalist, and when in hiding in Paris two months after he penned his patriotic hymn, he heard the howling mob of revolutionists from Marseille singing his song. Can you imagine that? But what about there'll be a hot time in the old town tonight? Oh, I realize, of course, that you associate that song with the Spanish-American War. It was written for Cuba in 1998. As a matter of fact, in the original title, the article V does not appear. The original name was There'll be a Hot Time in Old Town Tonight. This was written in 1896, two years before the Spanish-American War by Joseph Hayden, a featured entertainer with the famous McIntyre and Heath Minstrels, and dedicated to a small town on the Mississippi River Old Town, Arkansas when the Minstrels played there. Well, you can't fool me about Tipperary. That certainly was written for the English wrong, too. Yes, sir, it's a long, long way to Tipperary. It was written by another Irishman, an entertainer in the Music Halls of England, Jack Judge, and a friend, Harry Williams. They wrote this famous marching song in 1911, three years before the first declaration of war on July 29, 1914. Judge carried this song from one publisher to another, receiving little encouragement until, in 1912, the publishing house of B. Feldman and Company accepted it and put it out in sheet music form. But even after its publication, Judge was bitterly disappointed because of the extremely few sales and the discouragingly scanty income he received. Then, in the fall of 1914, some British soldier, marching through France toward the western front, struck up the little known tune. Others picked it up and, well, of course, we know how Tipperary spread like the proverbial wildfire throughout the ranks of not only the British army, but the French forces, too, and then jumped the Atlantic to stir the hearts of Americans. Thus, this thrilling song, remember it now as a marching song of the Great War, was really composed as so many of its predecessors several years before the conflict which gave it lasting popularity. Can you imagine that? There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, another session of Can You Imagine That? Before I leave you in the good care of your own announcer, and until we meet again, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying, goodbye now.