CLOSE
Original image
Getty Images

Jim Thorpe: The Man, The Myth, the Small Pennsylvania Town

Original image
Getty Images

If I say the name Jim Thorpe, most of you will probably think of the Native American baseball player/football player/Olympian. Some of you, though, will think of the Carbon County, Pennsylvania borough known as “Switzerland of America” and the “Gateway to the Poconos.”

I think of both, and what concerns us here today is how the latter got named after the former. The story starts in another small town in neighboring Ohio.

Jim Thorpe, the man


At the turn of the 20th century, LaRue, Ohio was not exciting place. There were some 1200 people, a few grocery stores, garages, churches and a car dealership or two. The only action in LaRue was to be found at the train tracks in the middle of town. On a busy day, close to 30 trains passed through.

At the time, though, something interesting was starting to brew in the world of sports. In Ohio and western Pennsylvania, the seeds of professional football were being planted, and two men were about to put the game and the town of LaRue in the national spotlight.

One of those men was Jacobus Franciscus “Jim” Thorpe (also known by his tribal name Wa-Tho-Huk), a Native American athlete who had represented the Sac and Fox Nation and the United States at the Olympic Games in Stockholm and, when he took gold medals in the pentathlon and the decathlon, was called “the greatest athlete in the world” by King Gustav V of Sweden.

After the Olympics, Thorpe signed with the New York Giants baseball team and played sporadically with them as an outfielder for three seasons. In 1915, he joined an early pro football team, the Canton Bulldogs, as a player and coach for $250 a game. Under his leadership, the Bulldogs claimed unofficial championships in 1916, 1917, and 1919, and the country began to take notice of pro football.

In LaRue, a man named Walter Lingo also took notice. Lingo owned a general store, a tire factory and a famed dog breeding kennel. At its peak, Lingo’s Oorang Kennels bred and sold a few thousand Airedale terriers a year. Movie star Gary Cooper, baseball players Ty Cobb and Tris Speaker, heavyweight champion boxer Jack Dempsey and President Warren G. Harding all kept Oorang Airedales as pets. Lingo often liked to bring these celebrity owners in to visit LaRue so they could hunt with his dogs and be seen with him in front of newsreel crews and newspaper gossip columnists.

As football took off, Lingo thought that the game would be a great way to promote his kennel and dogs. He decided to organize a pro team, and he knew just who to ask for help in getting it off the ground. Lingo and Thorpe had first met when Thorpe came to Lingo's defense after a group of farmers accused the Oorang Kennels of raising a nation of sheep killers. Thorpe brushed the critics off and said that he once knew an Oorang Airedale that had saved a 6-year-old girl from being trampled by a bull. From then on Lingo and Thorpe had been good friends and hunting buddies.

In 1920, the National Football League was organized and the charter members named Thorpe league president. The next year, Lingo bought an NFL franchise for $100 and brought Thorpe and Pete Calac—a friend and teammate of Thorpe's from his school days—out to LaRue to hunt possum and hammer out a deal. They agreed that the team would play away games almost exclusively, touring the country and advertising the Airedales. Thorpe would play and coach and would field an all-Native American team, the Oorang Indians, whose players would help run the kennels when they weren't practicing or traveling for games. Lingo’s other kennel employees pulled double duty on the team, too. The same dieticians and trainers who looked after the Airedales also tended to the players.

Thorpe and the other players soon figured out that Lingo was not all that interested in the team or football. They were not given dedicated practice space and often had to share a field with the local high school’s team. The pre-game and halftime activities at their games were emphasized over the games themselves, and the players were made to change into traditional Indian clothes and perform tricks alongside Lingo’s terriers. They did Indian dances, performed tomahawk and knife-throwing demonstrations, shot fake ducks for the dogs to retrieve and, strangely, re-enacted battles from World War I. On occasion, a player known as Long Time Sleep even wrestled a bear in the middle of the field.

Despite Thorpe’s best efforts, the Indians turned out not to be a very good team, going one 2-year stretch with only three wins. Once the novelty of the halftime show wore off and attendance began to fall, Lingo stopped renewing the franchise in 1924. Some of the players stayed in and around LaRue, working on farms, opening shops and joining the local police force. Thorpe had a hard time holding down a job after leaving professional sports, and worked shorts stints as an extra in cowboy movies, a construction worker, a bouncer, a security guard and a laborer. He died in March 1953 at the age of 64.

Jim Thorpe, the town

After Thorpe’s death, his wife Patricia lobbied officials in Oklahoma, Jim’s home state, to erect a memorial in his honor. When they refused, an angry Patricia decided she would make sure that Jim was honored elsewhere. She heard that the Pennsylvania towns of Mauch Chunk and East Mauch Chunk were looking for ways to attract businesses and tourists, and got an idea. She struck a deal with town officials, and the two towns merged, renamed the new town after Thorpe, purchased his remains, and built a monument to him that includes his tomb (he rests in soil from his native Oklahoma and the Swedish stadium where he won his Olympic medals), two statues of him, and plaques telling his life story.

Thorpe’s memorial didn’t draw too many tourists, but the town has made a name for itself as a destination for outdoor activities like hiking, paintball, and whitewater rafting.

In June 2010, Thorpe's son, Jack, filed a lawsuit against the town in federal court in order to have his father’s remains returned to Oklahoma and re-interred near other family members. Jack claimed the agreement between his stepmother and Jim Thorpe officials was made against the wishes of Thorpe’s other family members, who wanted him buried on Native American land. So far, the suit is unsettled.

Original image
iStock // Ekaterina Minaeva
technology
arrow
Man Buys Two Metric Tons of LEGO Bricks; Sorts Them Via Machine Learning
May 21, 2017
Original image
iStock // Ekaterina Minaeva

Jacques Mattheij made a small, but awesome, mistake. He went on eBay one evening and bid on a bunch of bulk LEGO brick auctions, then went to sleep. Upon waking, he discovered that he was the high bidder on many, and was now the proud owner of two tons of LEGO bricks. (This is about 4400 pounds.) He wrote, "[L]esson 1: if you win almost all bids you are bidding too high."

Mattheij had noticed that bulk, unsorted bricks sell for something like €10/kilogram, whereas sets are roughly €40/kg and rare parts go for up to €100/kg. Much of the value of the bricks is in their sorting. If he could reduce the entropy of these bins of unsorted bricks, he could make a tidy profit. While many people do this work by hand, the problem is enormous—just the kind of challenge for a computer. Mattheij writes:

There are 38000+ shapes and there are 100+ possible shades of color (you can roughly tell how old someone is by asking them what lego colors they remember from their youth).

In the following months, Mattheij built a proof-of-concept sorting system using, of course, LEGO. He broke the problem down into a series of sub-problems (including "feeding LEGO reliably from a hopper is surprisingly hard," one of those facts of nature that will stymie even the best system design). After tinkering with the prototype at length, he expanded the system to a surprisingly complex system of conveyer belts (powered by a home treadmill), various pieces of cabinetry, and "copious quantities of crazy glue."

Here's a video showing the current system running at low speed:

The key part of the system was running the bricks past a camera paired with a computer running a neural net-based image classifier. That allows the computer (when sufficiently trained on brick images) to recognize bricks and thus categorize them by color, shape, or other parameters. Remember that as bricks pass by, they can be in any orientation, can be dirty, can even be stuck to other pieces. So having a flexible software system is key to recognizing—in a fraction of a second—what a given brick is, in order to sort it out. When a match is found, a jet of compressed air pops the piece off the conveyer belt and into a waiting bin.

After much experimentation, Mattheij rewrote the software (several times in fact) to accomplish a variety of basic tasks. At its core, the system takes images from a webcam and feeds them to a neural network to do the classification. Of course, the neural net needs to be "trained" by showing it lots of images, and telling it what those images represent. Mattheij's breakthrough was allowing the machine to effectively train itself, with guidance: Running pieces through allows the system to take its own photos, make a guess, and build on that guess. As long as Mattheij corrects the incorrect guesses, he ends up with a decent (and self-reinforcing) corpus of training data. As the machine continues running, it can rack up more training, allowing it to recognize a broad variety of pieces on the fly.

Here's another video, focusing on how the pieces move on conveyer belts (running at slow speed so puny humans can follow). You can also see the air jets in action:

In an email interview, Mattheij told Mental Floss that the system currently sorts LEGO bricks into more than 50 categories. It can also be run in a color-sorting mode to bin the parts across 12 color groups. (Thus at present you'd likely do a two-pass sort on the bricks: once for shape, then a separate pass for color.) He continues to refine the system, with a focus on making its recognition abilities faster. At some point down the line, he plans to make the software portion open source. You're on your own as far as building conveyer belts, bins, and so forth.

Check out Mattheij's writeup in two parts for more information. It starts with an overview of the story, followed up with a deep dive on the software. He's also tweeting about the project (among other things). And if you look around a bit, you'll find bulk LEGO brick auctions online—it's definitely a thing!

Original image
Opening Ceremony
fun
arrow
These $425 Jeans Can Turn Into Jorts
May 19, 2017
Original image
Opening Ceremony

Modular clothing used to consist of something simple, like a reversible jacket. Today, it’s a $425 pair of detachable jeans.

Apparel retailer Opening Ceremony recently debuted a pair of “2 in 1 Y/Project” trousers that look fairly peculiar. The legs are held to the crotch by a pair of loops, creating a disjointed C-3PO effect. Undo the loops and you can now remove the legs entirely, leaving a pair of jean shorts in their wake. The result goes from this:

501069-OpeningCeremony2.jpg

Opening Ceremony

To this:

501069-OpeningCeremony3.jpg

Opening Ceremony

The company also offers a slightly different cut with button tabs in black for $460. If these aren’t audacious enough for you, the Y/Project line includes jumpsuits with removable legs and garter-equipped jeans.

[h/t Mashable]

SECTIONS
BIG QUESTIONS
BIG QUESTIONS
JOB SECRETS
QUIZZES
WORLD WAR 1
SMART SHOPPING
STONES, BONES, & WRECKS
#TBT
THE PRESIDENTS
WORDS
RETROBITUARIES