Revolutionary France had a habit of crashing into places like an uninvited guest at a royal dinner party. By 1798, they had already steamrolled much of Europe in the name of "liberty, equality, fraternity," which, in practice, often meant "surrender, reorganize, pay taxes to Paris." So, naturally, Rome—a city steeped in papal power and not exactly on board with the whole republican thing—became the next target. The French, under General Louis Alexandre Berthier, marched in and declared Rome a republic. Because nothing screams “self-governance” like an army from another country setting up your new government.

Pope Pius VI, an 80-year-old man who had already seen enough drama in his lifetime, was understandably displeased. He resisted, but resisting the French military in the late 18th century was like arguing with a cannon—loud, messy, and ultimately pointless. The French abolished papal rule, renamed Rome the "Roman Republic," and forced Pius VI into exile. He was sent packing to Tuscany and eventually taken all the way to France, where he died in captivity. Not exactly the dignified papal retirement he had in mind.

The occupation wasn’t just about humiliating the Pope; it was part of France’s grand experiment in exporting revolution. They wanted to turn Rome into a little Paris, complete with republican ideals and significantly less papal influence. But the locals weren’t exactly lining up to sing "La Marseillaise." The new Roman Republic was weak, chaotic, and heavily dependent on French military support—like a puppet show where the audience could see the strings.

In 1799, the whole experiment collapsed like a poorly constructed soufflé. Napoleon got distracted with other European conquests, and as soon as the French troops left, Austrian and Neapolitan forces waltzed in, restoring papal authority. Rome was back under the Pope, and everyone pretended like the whole occupation thing had been a weird fever dream. It was a classic case of revolution not quite sticking—at least, not yet.

The Space Race was the Cold War’s least destructive but most expensive game of one-upmanship. In 1962, the Soviet Union had already sent Yuri Gagarin into orbit, making America feel like the kid who forgot to study for the big test. Enter John Glenn, a Marine pilot-turned-astronaut with nerves of steel and a face straight out of a recruitment poster. NASA strapped him into the Mercury-Atlas 6 rocket and told him, “Try not to die.” With the eyes of the world—and the anxieties of the U.S. government—on him, Glenn blasted off aboard Friendship 7 on February 20, 1962.

The launch was flawless, and Glenn did what astronauts do best: floating, staring out the window, and making history. He orbited Earth three times, proving that Americans could, in fact, do more than just build rockets that exploded on the launch pad. His reports of seeing "fireflies" outside the capsule (which turned out to be frost particles reflecting sunlight) momentarily made people think he had discovered space bugs, but alas, it was just science being weird. For nearly five hours, he zipped around the planet at 17,500 mph, becoming a Cold War hero in real time.

But of course, no historic mission is complete without a life-or-death crisis. NASA detected a possible loose heat shield, which, if true, meant Glenn would be making a fiery, unplanned return as America’s first astronaut-barbecue. To be safe, he was told to keep a retro-pack attached to help hold the shield in place, a maneuver about as reassuring as duct-taping your car bumper and hoping for the best. Against all odds (and bad engineering), Friendship 7 re-entered Earth's atmosphere without burning up, though Glenn endured an intense, silent descent when communications cut out.

Splashdown in the Atlantic made Glenn an instant legend. America had its space hero, and the Soviets had some competition. He was paraded around as a national treasure, eventually becoming a senator and even returning to space at age 77—because being a history-making astronaut once wasn’t enough. The mission wasn’t just about Glenn; it was about America proving it could keep up in space. And it did, setting the stage for a little thing called the Moon landing.

Lizard Brooches🦎
Forget pearls and feathers—some women in the 1920s took fashion to a whole new level by wearing live chameleons as brooches. Marketed as “novelty pets,” these tiny lizards were pinned to coats or dresses and left to wander around the fabric, changing colors as they moved. It was supposed to be glamorous and exotic—but in reality, the poor chameleons often didn’t survive long outside their natural environment

Ban On A/C🥶
In 1907, some U.S. government officials were convinced that air conditioning was making workers lazy. They argued that cooler offices led to slower productivity, as employees got too comfortable to be efficient. At the time, A/C was still a new luxury, mostly found in wealthy businesses and government buildings. But critics feared it was turning workplaces into chill zones—literally. There were even discussions about banning it altogether to keep workers from “slacking off.” Luckily, logic (and sweat) prevailed, and A/C stayed put.

A Drunk Hieroglyph🍺
The Ancient Egyptians loved their beer, so much so that they even had a hieroglyph for "drunk." And what did it look like? A wobbly person, mid-stumble. Beer was a staple of daily life, used for religious offerings, wages, and, of course, partying. Pharaohs, priests, and workers alike enjoyed a good brew, and festivals dedicated to gods like Hathor often turned into massive drinking celebrations. So next time you see someone wobbling out of a bar, just remember—the Egyptians had a hieroglyph for that

Medieval Headache🤕
Back in the Middle Ages, if you had a severe headache, doctors didn’t recommend rest or hydration—they suggested drilling a hole in your skull. This procedure, called trepanation, was meant to release "evil spirits" or "bad humors" believed to be causing the pain. Shockingly, some patients actually survived—archaeologists have found skulls with healed holes, meaning people walked around post-drilling (hopefully with fewer headaches).

If you enjoy this edition of Today In History be sure to send it to a friend and force them to sign up because that’s what good friends do. Until next time, stay curious, question everything, and keep uncovering the mysteries of the past. - Zach⛺️