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World War I Centennial: The Treaty of Berlin

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The First World War was an unprecedented catastrophe that killed millions and set the continent of Europe on the path to further calamity two decades later. But it didn’t come out of nowhere. With the centennial of the outbreak of hostilities coming up in 2014, mental_floss will be taking a look back at the lead-up to the war, when seemingly minor moments of friction accumulated until the situation was ready to explode. (See all entries here.)

November 4, 1911: The Treaty of Berlin

Ironically November 4, 1911, was supposed to ensure lasting peace, but actually set the stage for the conflict to come. This day saw the signing of the Treaty of Berlin, which was intended to resolve a series of diplomatic conflicts between Germany and France spanning not just Europe but the rest of the world, where their growing colonial empires increasingly ran afoul of each other.

Some of the main colonial strife took place in Africa, where European powers scrambled to take control of huge swathes of land (and their native populations) beginning in the 19th century. A young nation only unified by Otto von Bismarck in 1871, Germany was late to the party: by the first years of the twentieth century most of the continent had been carved up by Britain and France, leaving the ambitious newcomer hungrily picking over the scraps. This was the background to the Moroccan Crisis -- actually, two Crises -- which foreshadowed the coming of the First World War.

In 1905 Morocco was one of the few remaining independent kingdoms in Africa, but was falling more and more under French influence, raising the prospect of yet another chunk of Africa going to France. Angry about Germany getting the short end of the colonial stick yet again, Kaiser Wilhelm II decided to stick a spoke in France’s wheels with typical diplomatic finesse: he went to Morocco and gave a speech supporting Moroccan independence, immediately causing an international incident.

Only instead of driving Britain and France apart, as hoped, the Kaiser’s provocative action managed to push them closer together, as their colonial rivalries now took a back seat to shared fear of their increasingly powerful and aggressive neighbor in Europe.

U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt organized an international conference at Algeciras, Spain, where Germany was firmly rebuffed; it turned out the British and the French weren’t the only ones feeling nervous about the pushy, grabby Teutons. The conflict was finally sort of resolved (but not really) in April 1906 when Spain -- a weak European power that was less threatening to everyone -- stepped forward to take over police duties in Morocco.

Furious about being humiliated in the First Moroccan Crisis (and seemingly oblivious to the fact that it had been mostly his own doing), Kaiser Wilhelm II was determined not to lose face again … which led directly to the Second Moroccan Crisis. When a rebellion threatened Morocco’s weak puppet ruler in 1911, France rushed reinforcements to shore up the sultan’s government and protect their interests in North Africa. Not to be outdone, the Kaiser decided to flex Germany’s new naval muscle by sending the gunship Panther to Morocco, ostensibly for the same purpose. The move was provocative, to say the least: for one thing Germany didn’t really have any interests in Morocco, and the gunship looked a lot more threatening to French forces on the coast than rebels fighting in the interior.

It wasn’t long before the situation escalated: fearing that Germany planned to establish a naval base in the Mediterranean, Britain sent the Royal Navy to keep an eye on the Panther, and Europe seemed to be heading towards an all-out war pitting Britain and France against Germany (and possibly its weak sidekick Austria-Hungary).

Germany's Lovely Parting Gifts

But just as the situation was reaching the boiling point, fears of war (perhaps combined with machinations by French finance officials) helped precipitate a financial crisis in Germany, including a stock market collapse and bank runs. Suddenly weakening on the home front, Kaiser Wilhelm II was forced to throw in the towel in Morocco, which now fell under total French domination. The Treaty of Berlin, signed on November 4, 1911, was supposed to provide a fig leaf for this second humiliating retreat by “compensating” Germany with a swathe of malarial marshland in central Africa -- but nothing could paper over the fact that the real prize, Morocco, went to France.

Perhaps even more important, the Treaty of Berlin left Germany nursing even bigger grievances against France and Britain, which the German right-wing military accused of conspiring to isolate and surround Germany (a policy denounced as “encirclement” by German nationalists). And there was a lot of truth in this accusation. Of course hyper-nationalist German officers, like their Kaiser, failed to appreciate that the encirclement policy was mostly a reaction to Germany’s own belligerent moves on the world stage. The countdown to the First World War had begun.

For the next few years, Erik Sass will be serializing the lead-up to World War I, covering events 100 years after they happened. See next installment or all entries.

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Civilian Researchers Discover Wreckage of the USS Indianapolis
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Wikipedia/Public Domain

On July 30, 1945, the cruiser USS Indianapolis sank in the Pacific Ocean after it was torpedoed by the Imperial Japanese Navy submarine I-58. More than 70 years after the historic naval tragedy— which claimed the lives of nearly 900 crew—The New York Times reports that the ship’s mysterious final resting place has been found.

The discovery came courtesy of a team of civilian researchers, led by Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen. His state-of-the-art research vessel, Petrel, located the wreck 18,000 feet below the Pacific’s surface, the team announced on Saturday, August 19.

"To be able to honor the brave men of the USS Indianapolis and their families through the discovery of a ship that played such a significant role in ending World War II is truly humbling,” Allen said in a statement. “As Americans, we all owe a debt of gratitude to the crew for their courage, persistence, and sacrifice in the face of horrendous circumstances."

Before it sank, the USS Indianapolis had just completed a top-secret mission to a naval base on the Northern Mariana island of Tinian. After delivering enriched uranium and components for Little Boy— the atomic bomb that the U.S. would drop on the Japanese city of Hiroshima about a week later—the cruiser forged ahead to Guam, and then to the Philippines. It was supposed to meet the battleship USS Idaho at Leyte Gulf in the Philippines to prepare to attack Japan.

The USS Indianapolis never made it to Leyte Gulf. Shortly after midnight on July 30, the Japanese submarine I-58 spotted the cruiser and fired six torpedoes. The USS Indianapolis—which was hit twice—sank within 12 minutes. Around 300 to 400 sailors and Marines were killed in the attack; the rest were stranded in the Pacific Ocean for several days.

Many of these survivors would ultimately lose their lives to sharks, a grisly scene that would be famously (albeit semi-accurately) recounted in the 1975 movie Jaws. Others died from drowning, heat stroke, thirst, burns and injuries, swallowing salt water or fuel oil, and suicide. More than 300 crew members were rescued after a bomber pilot accidently sighted the imperiled men while on a routine antisubmarine patrol.

The mass tragedy—which wouldn’t be announced to the public until August 15, 1945—sparked controversy: Charles B. McVay III, captain of the USS Indianapolis, was found guilty in a court martial of failing to steer the ship on a “zigzag” course to elude Japanese submarines. A Japanese submarine captain testified that this precautionary measure wouldn’t have thwarted the enemy, but McVay was charged nonetheless. The captain died by suicide in 1968, and wouldn’t be officially exonerated by the Navy until 2001.

For decades, the remains of the USS Indianapolis were lost to the ravages of time and nature. But in 2016, naval historian Richard Hulver found a historic ship log that mentioned a sighting of the USS Indianapolis. Allen’s search team used this information to locate the ship, which was west of where experts assumed it had gone down.

Allen’s crew took pictures of the wreckage, including a piece of its hull, and will search for more of the ship. They plan to keep the exact location of the USS Indianapolis a secret, however, to honor the sunken ship as a war grave.

"While our search for the rest of the wreckage will continue, I hope everyone connected to this historic ship will feel some measure of closure at this discovery so long in coming,” Allen said.

[h/t The New York Times]

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The Time That Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis Opened Competing Restaurants on the Sunset Strip
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From 1946 to 1956, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were show business supernovas. With an act that combined singing, slapstick, and spontaneous hijinks, the duo sold out nightclubs coast to coast, then went on to conquer radio, television, and film. Long before Elvis and The Beatles came along, Dean and Jerry  were rock stars of comedy.

Offstage, there was a cordial but cool friendship between the laidback Martin and the more neurotic Lewis. But as the pressures of their success increased, so did the tensions between them. Martin grew tired of playing the bland romantic straight man to Lewis’s manic monkey boy. And when Lewis started to grab more headlines and write himself bigger parts in their movies, Martin decided to quit the act. In an angry moment, he told Lewis that he was “nothing to me but a f**king dollar sign.”

After the split, both men went on with their individual careers, though it took Martin a few years before he regained his footing. One of his ventures during that transitional period was a Hollywood eatery called Dino’s Lodge.

DINO'S LODGE

In the summer of 1958, Martin and his business partner, Maury Samuels, bought a controlling interest in a restaurant called The Alpine Lodge, at 8524 Sunset Boulevard. They hired Dean’s brother Bill to manage the place, and renamed it Dino’s Lodge.

Outside they put up a large neon sign, a likeness of Dean’s face. The sign turned into a national symbol of hip and cool, thanks to appearances on TV shows like Dragnet, The Andy Griffith Show, and most prominently, in the opening credits of 77 Sunset Strip.

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Dino’s Lodge was popular from the get-go, serving home-style Italian food and steaks in an intimate, candlelit, wood-paneled room meant to replicate Martin’s own den. In the first year, Dean himself frequented the place, signing autographs and posing for photos with starstruck diners. He also occasionally brought along famous friends like Frank Sinatra and Shirley MacLaine. To promote the idea of the swingin’ lifestyle that Martin often sang about, Dino’s served “an early morning breakfast from 1 to 5 a.m.” The restaurant also had a lounge that featured singers, though only females. Dean apparently didn’t want any male vocalists encroaching on his turf.

But as with many a celebrity venture into the food business, this one soon turned sour. And most of that was due to the jealousy of Jerry Lewis.

JERRY'S

In late 1961, Lewis wooed Martin’s business partner Maury Samuels away, ponied up some $350,000, and opened his own copycat restaurant three blocks down Sunset. It was called Jerry’s. To make it clear he was out for top billing, Lewis had his own likeness rendered in neon, then mounted it on a revolving pole 100 feet above his restaurant. In contrast to Dino’s Italian-based menu, Jerry’s would serve “American and Hebrew viands.” Lewis didn’t stop there. Within a few months, he’d hired away Dino’s top two chefs, his maître d', and half his waitstaff.

Wire Photo, eBay, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

When Lewis was in Los Angeles, he made of point of table-hopping and schmoozing with his guests at his restaurant, and he occasionally brought in a few of his celebrity friends, like Peggy Lee and Steve McQueen.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

By the following year, a disgusted Dean Martin was fed up with the restaurant business and cut ties with Dino’s Lodge. Much to his aggravation, he lost a motion in court to have his likeness and name removed from the sign. So the new owners carried on as Dino’s Lodge, with the big neon head staring down on Sunset for another decade before the place finally went bust.

Jerry’s lost steam long before that, folding in the mid-1960s.

For the rest of the 1960s and the early 1970s, Martin and Lewis avoided each other. “Jerry’s trying hard to be a director,” Dean once told a reporter. “He couldn’t even direct traffic.”

In 1976, Frank Sinatra famously engineered an onstage reunion of the pair during The Jerry Lewis Telethon. While the audience roared their approval, Sinatra said, “I think it’s about time, don’t you?” And to Sinatra, Lewis said under his breath, “You son of a bitch.”

What followed was an awkward few moments of shtick between the former partners. Reportedly, Martin was drunk and Lewis was doped up on painkillers. There was a quick embrace, Martin sang with Sinatra, then blew Lewis a kiss and disappeared from his life for good. Martin died in 1995. Lewis passed away today, at the age of 91.

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