 A Russian immigrant rides continuously for two days on streetcars. Two kings bet on a wrestling match. A ballad retracted from intended obscurity makes an operetta internationally famous. Can you imagine that? These completely true facts and others, ladies and gentlemen, are going to be paraded before you in just a few minutes by your narrator, Lindsey McCarrie, and his co-workers on this session of this broadcast series. We'll return in just a minute and a half with the first one. Number one on our parade of amazing facts and news stories. In these days, the bewildered traveler the world over receives every possible assistance in his journeys from many kinds of agencies. Not so with Rosy Kamoninsky, however. It was on the last day of November in the year 1999 that Rosy, a recent arrival from Russia just three weeks previously, left the home of friends on 3rd Avenue in Brooklyn to return to the home of Mrs. Mary Uelman on 59th Street where she was employed. But Rosy didn't return. Mrs. Uelman waited patiently and then anxiously, but Rosy was apparently swallowed in the maw of metropolitan civilization. Rosy failed to return to the Uelman home for two days. Then a fellow countrywoman, Mrs. Mary Lapitska, discovered Rosy Kamoninsky on a streetcar and the thoroughly frightened young Russian girl was able at last to make herself understood. Up to that time, knowing virtually no English, unable to convince anyone of her plight, poor Rosy had been riding around Brooklyn on streetcars for 46 hours. Can you imagine that? You know, some of our customs of today have their origins so far back in time and antiquity that it's pretty hard to trace them. But I think that here's one you'll enjoy hearing about because so many of you might have experienced it. It's the origin of the bridal shower. You see, quite some time ago, a young Dutch girl, we'll call her Katje because her real name doesn't matter, fell in love with a poor young Dutch miller whom we'll call Jan. And one day Katje had a talk with her father who said, No, no, no, you'll not marry Jan van der Poorn. I love him. Love. Katje, either you marry the young Kershanen or you'll not get one gilder for a dowry. Tell young van der Poorn that and see how he'll like marrying a girl who'll have no dowry. And I guess you'll soon change your tune when you see his face fall. But father was wrong for Jan really loved Katje, not the dowry. So Katje and Jan were married. And true to his word, the father gave no dowry. Soon after, the penniless young couple were seated in their bare little house talking it over. Oh, Jan, I'm so sorry. You had hardly enough for yourself, much less for two of us. No, you're much too pretty to worry your head about that. Why, soon the crops will be in at someone at the door. Father. You stay here. If he's come to gloat over us, I'll... Now look here. Oh. Where is Jan? Does an old woman have to wait for hours before you'll open the door and let me see the pretty bride? I know, Frau Balmer. I... Katje, it's Frau Balmer. Why the tears boiling that pretty little face? Oh, Frau Balmer, it's... Yes, yes, I have eyes. No kettles, no dishes, no curtains. Hold on, Frau Balmer, please. Now, now, Jan, you didn't think I came here to poke fun, did you? Open the door. Open it. Don't stand there gaping. Open it. What? It's working. It's working. I got you. Oh, your friend. We don't forget the miller who ground our grain and gave us bread and flour when we needed it. And from each, a little gift. See? A kettle of copper. Katje. Jan. Pottery, everything a Jan copper needs. Oh, Katje. And so Katje and Jan were started off with gifts that represented no great outlay of money, but gifts that meant much because there were necessary articles around the house. Well, the idea soon took popular hold, and now all over the world we have bridal showers, thanks to a little Dutch girl and her husband. Can you imagine that? Well, now let's see what pops out of the bag next. In these days, when the gentle sex is invading all forms of business activity, we're pretty apt to sigh and say, well, woman's place is no longer in the home. Why, they're even letting the ladies deal some of the laurels in sports. They're girl baseball teams, girl basketball squads, lady high jumpers, long distance runners, automobile racers, and whatnot. You may say, of course, well, there's one sport that women can't take away from us men, prize fighting. Uh-huh, but you're wrong there, you massive muscle and sinew. Yep, as far back as 1722, get that, 1722, more than 200 years ago, this advertisement appeared in a London newspaper. Challenge. Hi, Elizabeth Wilkinson of Crockinville. Evan had some words with Anna Ifield and requiring satisfaction. Do he invite her to meet me upon the sides into box for three guineas? Each woman owed an offer crown at each end, and the first woman that drops the money will use the battle. A few days later, this answer appeared. I and Ifield of Nugent Market, Aaron of the resolution of Elizabeth Wilkinson, will not file to give her more blows than words. I asked for my no fiver and she may expect a good something. And there you are, men. What are you going to do about a situation like that? Well, the men of that day did something about it because when the London Barbies read the two ads, they promptly notified the contestants that if they attempted to so defy the accepted rules of decency, they'd both land in old bilay and the fight never came off. But you will admit, Elizabeth and Hannah made a good stab at trying to be the first lady prize fighters. Closely allied in the public mind with boxing, of course, is the sport of wrestling. Here's an historic incident, absolutely true, in which, well, first let me remind you that today we call champions in various sports kings of their particular field. We call the heavyweight wrestling champion the king of the heavies. But never was the title king more appropriately applied than in the days of Henry VIII of England and Francis I of France. It seems that a team of wrestlers from Henry's court were meeting those from the court of Francis I. The arena, we may well imagine, was packed for the presence of the two monarchs made it a gala occasion. The French wrestlers weren't doing any too well and in the royal box were sat big husky Henry VIII with smaller vindictive acid-tempered Francis I. Wager, King Francis? I said, will you wager on this bout? Don't you have faith in your wrestlers? Of course I have. Of course I have. A hundred Louis that my wrestler beats yours. Done. Your men haven't won a bout all afternoon. That hundred Louis will line my purse. You think so, eh? Yes, sire. Or bon bon to take the ring. Yes, your majesty. And, Joudon, tell him this time that you have a great hulking body with more skill. Or I stand to lose a hundred Louis and he stands to lose his hide. It shall be done, sir. Ha ha ha ha! Eh, bon bon, an ox both in clemsiness and brains. Is he the best you have in France? Better than those pigs you have. Two hundred more Louis that my pig beats your ox. Done. They're entering the ring now. Watch. Bon bon! Bon bon! Either you throw the English men out or I'll flay you alive. Your reward, Joudon, the butcher will kill your men. See, they come to grips. Throw him, butcher! Throw him! Ha ha ha! Ox! Oh, his neck! His neck! That is neck, you idiot! How can he grab a man's neck when his hands are pinned to his sides? Oh, well done, butcher! Well done! And it's done, Francis. The fool! The idiot! Suckling! No! Oh, Englishmen are better than Frenchmen, Francis. Ha ha ha! Oh, you think so, eh? You think so? Then guard yourself. What? Oh, dear! The king's on wrestling! Oh! I'll strangle you! Blow you, you little one! I'll squeeze the breath of life out of you! Oh, man, dear! It is war! Separate them! Get them apart! Oh, man, dear! And Francis I of France and Henry VIII of England had a royal match right then and there, truly kings of their divisions. Ha ha, can you imagine that? Well, I wonder how many of you remember, or at least have heard, of that noted operatic company of the early 90s, which was known as the Bostonians. That company was responsible for the introduction of one of the world's most permanent ballads, but most inadvertently. It was on the occasion of the premiere performance of Robin Hood in Chicago on June 9th, 1890, that the two young writers, Harry B. Smith and LeBrettist and Reginald de Coven, rushed elatedly backstage, receiving the plaudits of the members of the company of the stagehands, musicians, friends. At last they met the young singer who was portraying the role of Alan O'Dale, Jesse Bartlett Davis. Hello, Mr. Smith, Mr. de Coven. Oh, congratulations, Miss Davis. You were most charming. Why, what's the matter, Jesse? You don't sound very enthusiastic. Come into my dressing room a moment, gentlemen. I have something to say to you. Oh, yes, sir. It may take a little time. Now then, Jesse, what's the trouble? The trouble is with that song you've given me to sing in the second act. The number to Annabelle, you mean? Yes, and I don't like it. Don't like it? Why, you're fooling, Jesse. Oh, didn't you hear the applause you got tonight? That doesn't mean a thing to me. I'm not going to sing it again. What did you say? I'm not going to sing that song again. You'll have to write me another. Oh, but we can't. We can't sing that song once more. Well, Miss Davis remained adamant, and the two writers left the theater that night heartsick over what they believed to be unfounded temperament. At last, Reginald DeCoven dug into his trunk and retrieved an almost forgotten ballad. He played it over for Jesse Davis. She liked it and agreed to sing it at the performance that night. As she stepped out upon the stage in her enticing costume as Alan O'Dayle, a hush fell over the audience, and a pall of deep premonition of failure and Smith. Then Miss Davis began to sing. Yes, it's true, the song which Reginald DeCoven dug from possible oblivion and which later proved to be the hit number of Robin Hood was the never-to-be-forgotten, oh, promise me. Can you imagine that? Well, friends, it's time once more to close another session of these broadcasts, but we invite you to be listening for the next one over the same station soon. Until then, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying goodbye now.