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ABC News

5 Fast Facts About Abraham Zapruder

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ABC News

Abraham Zapruder’s amateur footage of the John F. Kennedy assassination is one of the world’s most instantly recognizable clips. Zapruder himself doesn’t get quite as much press, so let’s take a look at five things you might not know about the cameraman and the odd journey his film has taken.

1. He Wasn’t a Professional Cameraman

Most of us remember Zapruder as the man behind the most famous home movie of all time, but he wasn't a professional filmmaker. His real work was in the dress game.

Zapruder, who had immigrated to New York from the Ukrainian city of Kovel as a teenager, found work in the garment industry and eventually opened Jennifer Juniors in Dallas. His offices were in the Dal-Tex building located across the street from the Texas School Book Depository from which Lee Harvey Oswald fired the fatal shots at the presidential motorcade.

2. He Didn’t Even Want to Take His Camera

The famous film might not even exist if not for the persistence of Zapruder’s secretary.

Zapruder had originally planned on bringing his camera, a Bell & Howell Director Series Model 414 Zoomatic, to work with him to film the motorcade. When he woke up on the morning of the assassination, though, he thought it was too gloomy outside to get decent footage, so he left the camera at home.

By midday the weather had brightened up, and Zapruder’s secretary convinced him that it was worth the trouble to go home and retrieve the camera. Zapruder eventually relented. He then headed out to Dealey Plaza to find a good place to film.

Tourist Stands Where Zapruder Filmed. © Barbara Davidson/Dallas Morning News/Corbis

3. The Film Earned Him a Lot of Money

Zapruder quickly contacted authorities and let them know that he had footage of the assassination. Since Oswald had been taken into custody relatively quickly, it didn’t seem that the film would have all that much value to any investigation. The Secret Service and FBI asked Zapruder for copies, but they told him the original was his. Whether he kept the film or sold it was up to him.

Zapruder was open to selling the footage, but he wanted to make sure it ended up in the hands of a group that would treat it with dignity. (Zapruder later revealed having nightmares about exploitation theaters showing the film for a quick buck.) Life magazine swooped in and bought the print rights of the film for $50,000. The magazine then realized that it would be smart to buy all of the rights, so it renegotiated a deal in which Zapruder would receive six annual payments of $25,000 in exchange for the print and motion picture rights.

Zapruder didn’t hoard the money, though. His lawyer worried that the story of a Jewish man cashing in on the assassination might incite anti-Semitic sentiment around Dallas, so Zapruder gave the first $25,000 payment to the widow of policeman J.D. Tippit, one of Oswald’s other victims.

4. His Family Got the Film Back…

The American public got its first look at the full film when ABC’s Good Night America (with Geraldo Rivera) ran it as part of a March 1975 broadcast. The next month Time Inc. sold the copyright and the original film back to the Zapruder family for $1. (Abraham Zapruder had died of stomach cancer in 1970.)

Zapruder’s family really capitalized on the film after reacquiring the copyright. His son rented the film out for one-time viewings, and although estimates of the exact fee vary, Oliver Stone allegedly paid at least $40,000 to use the footage in his film JFK.

5. …and Then Lost It Again

A 1997 decision by the Assassination Records Review Board took the original copy out of the Zapruder family’s hands. As an important artifact of the assassination, the film itself became a permanent part of the National Archives’ Kennedy Collection. (According to a New York Times story that ran when the film changed hands, it had become so fragile after years of viewings and copying that the original could no longer be projected for fear of damaging it.) The National Archives had already had physical possession of the film for nearly 20 years; the family had given it to the Archives in 1978 for safekeeping.

The Justice Department actually had the task of acquiring the film and compensating the Zapruder family for its loss, and that’s where things got interesting. The government offered $1 million. The Zapruder family countered that since it was a one-of-a-kind relic, it should be valued more like a Van Gogh painting. Their counteroffer: $30 million. After a couple of years of haggling, a federal arbitration panel awarded the Zapruders a $16 million payment for the film in 1999.

That fee only paid for the physical copy of the film, though. The Zapruder family maintained ownership of the copyright. Not for long, though. On December 30, 1999, the family donated the copyright, along with its collection of films and photographs, to the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza.

This post originally appeared in 2011.

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Getty Images (Johnson) / iStock (ghosts)
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History
When Lexicographer Samuel Johnson Became a Ghostbuster
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Getty Images (Johnson) / iStock (ghosts)

Dr. Samuel Johnson is today best known for his Dictionary of the English Language (1755), which remained the foremost authority on the English language until the Oxford English Dictionary appeared more than a century later. The dictionary took Johnson nine years to complete, for which he was paid the princely sum of 1500 guineas—equivalent to $300,000 (or £210,000) today. Although it wasn’t quite the commercial success its publishers hoped it would be, it allowed Johnson the freedom to explore his own interests and endeavors: He spent several years editing and annotating his own editions of all of Shakespeare’s plays, and traveled extensively around Britain with his friend (and eventual biographer) James Boswell—and, in 1762, helped to investigate a haunted house.

Johnson—who was born on this day in 1709 and is the subject of today's Google Doodle—had a lifelong interest in the paranormal, once commenting that he thought it was “wonderful” that it was still “undecided whether or not there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it, but all belief is for it.” According to Boswell, however, he was more of a skeptic than an out-and-out believer, and refused to accept anything without seeing the evidence for himself. So when the news broke of an apparently haunted house just a few streets away from his own home in central London, Johnson jumped at the chance to perhaps see a ghost with his own eyes.

The haunting began in the early 1760s, when a young couple, William and Fanny Kent, began renting a room from a local landlord, Richard (or William—sources disagree, but for clarity, we'll use Richard) Parsons, at 25 Cock Lane in Smithfield, London. Soon after the Kents moved in, Richard’s daughter, Betty, began to hear strange knocking and scratching sounds all around the house, and eventually claimed to have seen a ghost in her bedroom.

Richard soon discovered that William was a widower and that Fanny was in fact his deceased wife's sister; under canon law, the pair couldn't be married, and Richard became convinced that the ghost must be that of William's deceased first wife, Elizabeth, blaming William’s presence in the house for all of the strange occurrences. He promptly evicted the Kents and the noises soon subsided—but when Fanny also died just a few weeks later, they immediately resumed and again seemed to center around Betty. In desperation, a series of séances were held at the Cock Lane house, and finally Fanny’s ghost supposedly confirmed her presence by knocking on the table. When questioned, Fanny claimed that William had killed her by poisoning her food with arsenic—an accusation William understandably denied.

By now, news of the Cock Lane Ghost had spread all across the city, and when the story broke in the press, dozens of curious Londoners began turning up at the house, queuing for hours outside in the street hoping to see any sign of supernatural activity. According to some accounts, Parsons even charged visitors to come in and “talk” to the ghost, who would communicate with knocks and other disembodied noises.

But with the suspicion of murder now in the air, the Cock Lane haunting changed from a local curiosity into a full-blown criminal investigation. A committee was formed to examine the case, and Johnson was brought in to record their findings and investigate the case for himself.

On February 1, 1762, one final séance was held with all members of the committee—Johnson included—in attendance. He recorded that:

About 10 at night the gentlemen met in the chamber in which the girl [Betty] supposed to be disturbed by a spirit had, with proper caution, been put to bed by several ladies. They sat rather more than an hour, and hearing nothing, went down stairs, when they interrogated the father of the girl, who denied, in the strongest terms, any knowledge or belief of fraud … While they were enquiring and deliberating, they were summoned into the girl’s chamber by some ladies who were near her bed, and who had heard knocks and scratches. When the gentlemen entered, the girl declared that she felt the spirit like a mouse upon her back.

But the committee were suspicious. Betty was asked to hold out her hands in front of her, in sight of everyone in the room:

From that time—though the spirit was very solemnly required to manifest its existence by appearance, by impression on the hand or body of any present, by scratches, knocks, or any other agency—no evidence of any preternatural power was exhibited.

Johnson ultimately concluded that it was “the opinion of the whole assembly that the child has some art of making or counterfeiting a particular noise, and that there is no agency of any higher cause.” And he was right.

As the investigation continued, it was eventually discovered that Richard Parsons had earlier borrowed a considerable amount of money from William Kent that he had no means (nor apparently any intention) of repaying. The two men had a falling out, and Parsons set about elaborately framing Kent for both Fanny and Elizabeth's deaths. The ghostly scratching and knocking noises had all been Betty’s work; she hidden a small wooden board into the hem of her clothing with which to tap or scratch on the walls or furniture when prompted.

The Parsons—along with a servant and a preacher, who were also in on the scam—were all prosecuted, and Richard was sentenced to two years in prison.

Although the Cock Lane haunting turned out to be a hoax, Johnson remained open minded about the supernatural. “If a form should appear,” he later told Boswell, “and a voice tell me that a particular man had died at a particular place, and a particular hour, a fact which I had no apprehension of, nor any means of knowing, and this fact, with all its circumstances, should afterwards be unquestionably proved, I should, in that case, be persuaded that I had supernatural intelligence imparted to me.”

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The King of Kong © Jim Naughten. Courtesy of Michael Hoppen Gallery
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geography
The Mountains of Kong: The Majestic West African Range That Never Existed
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The King of Kong © Jim Naughten. Courtesy of Michael Hoppen Gallery

If you look closely at a 19th century map of Africa, you’ll notice one major way that it differs from contemporary maps, one that has nothing to do with changing political or cartographical styles. More likely than not, it features a mountain range that no longer appears on modern maps, as WIRED explains. Because it never existed in the first place.

A 19th century map of West Africa
From Milner's Descriptive Atlas, 1850

The “Mountains of Kong” appeared on almost every major commercial map of Africa in the 1800s, stretching across the western part of the continent between the Gulf of Guinea and the Niger River. This mythical east-west mountain range is now the subject of an art exhibition at London’s Michael Hoppen Gallery.

In "Mountains of Kong," stereoscopic images by artist Jim Naughten—the same format that allowed Victorians with wanderlust to feel like they’d seen the world—reveal his view of the world of wildlife that might have existed inside the imagined mountains. As the gallery describes it, “he imagines a fictitious record made for posterity and scientific purposes during an expedition of the mountain range.” We’ve reproduced the images here, but to get the full effect, you’ll have to go to the gallery in person, where you can view them in 3D with a stereoscope (like the ones you no doubt played with as a kid).

Toucans fight a snake in two almost-identical side-by-side images.
The Toucans © Jim Naughten. Courtesy of Michael Hoppen Gallery

Naughten created the images by taking two photographs for each, and moving the camera over some 3 inches for the second photo to make a stereoscopic scene. The landscapes were created by shooting images of Scottish and Welsh mountains and dioramas in natural history museums, using Photoshop to change the hues of the images to make them seem more otherworldly. His blue-and-pink-hued images depict fearsome apes, toucans sparring with snakes, jagged peaks, and other scenes that seem both plausible and fantastical at the same time.

The Mountains of Kong appeared in several hundred maps up until the 20th century. The first, in 1798, was created by the prominent geographer James Rennell to accompany a book by Scottish explorer Mungo Park about his first journey to West Africa. In it, Park recounts gazing on a distant range, and “people informed me, that these mountains were situated in a large and powerful kingdom called Kong.” Rennell, in turn, took this brief observation and, based on his own theories about the course of the Niger River, drew a map showing the mountain range that he thought was the source of the river. Even explorers who later spent time in the area believed the mountains existed—with some even claiming that they crossed them.

Two colobuses stand in a tree on a mountaintop.
The Colobus © Jim Naughten. Courtesy of Michael Hoppen Gallery

The authority of the maps wasn’t questioned, even by those who had been to the actual territory where they were depicted as standing. Writers began to describe them as “lofty,” “barren,” and “snow-covered.” Some said they were rugged granite peaks; others described them as limestone terraces. In almost all cases, they were described as “blue.” Their elevation ranged from 2500 feet to 14,000 feet, depending on the source. Over the course of the 19th century, “there was a general southward ‘drift’ in the location,” as one pair of scholars put it.

Though geographers cast some doubt on the range’s existence as time went on, the Mountains of Kong continued to appear on maps until French explorer Louis-Gustave Binger’s Niger River expedition between 1887 and 1889, after which Binger definitively declared their nonexistence.

By 1891, the Mountains of Kong began dropping off of maps, though the name Kong still appeared as the name of the region. By the early 20th century, the mountains were gone for good, fading into the forgotten annals of cartographic history.

[h/t WIRED]

All images courtesy Michael Hoppen Gallery.

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