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WWI Centennial: The Conference of London Convenes

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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, Erik Sass will be looking back at the lead-up to the war, when seemingly minor moments of friction accumulated until the situation was ready to explode. He’ll be covering those events 100 years after they occurred. This is the 50th installment in the series. (See all entries here.)

Bulgarian delegates leaving London's Ritz Hotel, for the Peace conference at St James Palace. Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

December 17, 1912: The Conference of London Convenes

In mid-December 1912, as Europe seemed to teeter on the edge of war, diplomats representing the Great Powers, the Balkan League and the Ottoman Empire hurried to an international conference in London organized by British foreign secretary Edward Grey with the goal of settling the situation in the Balkans and keeping the peace.

The Conference of London was actually two parallel conferences. The first consisted of peace negotiations between the Balkan League—Bulgaria, Serbia, Greece, and Montenegro—and the Ottoman Empire. Following a rapid series of victories over the Turks, the armies of the Balkan League had occupied almost all of the Ottoman Empire’s Balkan territories, and it was clear that the Turks would have to give up most of these, including a large part of Thrace, Macedonia, and Albania. But there were still a number of unresolved issues, including the fate of the ancient city of Adrianople (Edirne) – a key Turkish possession under siege by the Bulgarians, but still holding out, at least for now. The Turks also wanted to keep a buffer zone in Thrace along the straits, which the Bulgarians were also occupying. The Bulgarians, by contrast, wanted the Turks to give up all their territory west of the defensive lines at Chataldzha.

In the second conference, Europe’s Great Powers came together to decide on the new shape of the western Balkans—focusing on the central issue of Serbia’s long-term ambition to gain access to the Adriatic Sea, now a real possibility following the Serbian conquest of Ottoman Albania, including the ancient port city of Durazzo (Durrës). Fearing the effect that this enhancement of Serbian prestige would have on Austria-Hungary’s own restive Slavic population, Austria-Hungary’s foreign minister, Count Berchtold, was determined to prevent Serbia from keeping Albania. He hoped to accomplish this by creating a new, independent Albanian state, free from Serbian occupiers. Of course, this put Austria-Hungary at odds with the Serbs and, through them, their Russian backers.

The first task of the Conference of London, therefore, was to gain international recognition for Albanian independence—especially from Russia. This goal was achieved almost immediately: On December 17, 1912, the representatives of the Great Powers agreed in principle to recognize an independent Albanian state. However, a number of important issues remained unresolved, including Albania’s precise boundaries in the north, south, and east.

In the north, would the new Albanian state include the important city of Scutari, currently under siege by the Montenegrins? To the south, would it include territory currently occupied by the Greeks, who were still fighting the Turks despite the armistice? (On December 20, 1912, the Greeks occupied Koritsa, triggering further alarm in Austria-Hungary.) And to the east, just how far would Albania’s borders extend into territory claimed—and occupied—by Serbia, including Kosovo?

While these territorial negotiations might sound trivial, they were taking place in the context of growing tension between the two main European alliances, with Austria-Hungary supported by Germany on one side, and Russia supported by France on the other. And the threat of military action wasn’t just hypothetical: Austria-Hungary had mobilized eight army corps near the Russian and Serbian borders, and although Tsar Nicholas II’s attempt to mobilize four military districts was countermanded by his own ministers, the Russians were secretly keeping recruits from that year’s military class in service, rather than discharging them (similar to the U.S. military’s “stop loss” policies).

Fortunately, there were also a lot of factors at work for peace. With Grey in the forefront, the British and Italians were doing their best to get everyone to agree to a peaceful resolution. Meanwhile, beneath all the posturing for the benefit of allies and domestic public opinion, the leaders of the other Great Powers were more ambivalent than they let on.

In St. Petersburg, Russian foreign minister Sazonov was advised by Russian generals that the Russian military wasn’t ready for a war, and on November 8, he secretly informed Russia’s French allies that Russia wouldn’t go to war for a Serbian port. In Berlin, Kaiser Wilhelm II and his military advisors were belligerent as usual—but as early as November 9, the mercurial German monarch also expressed the opinion, in a telegraph to German foreign minister Kiderlen-Wächter, that the issue of Serbian access to the sea wasn’t worth a war. In Vienna, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austrian and Hungarian thrones, also privately voiced doubts that it was worth going to war to prevent Serbian access to the sea (there was also pressure from Austro-Hungarian finance officials to end the hugely expensive mobilization, which cost 200 million crowns by the end of 1912). Finally, for their part, the Serbs knew better than to defy a consensus among the larger European powers: On December 20, 1912, the Serbian general and diplomat Sava Gruji? assured Grey that Serbia would accept whatever decision the Great Powers rendered on the issue.

In the end, although it took several months and 63 meetings to resolve the situation (including a period of renewed fighting in the Balkans in early 1913), eventually all these factors contributed to a peaceful outcome. Thus, the Conference of London seemed to provide a promising model for international diplomacy—and reason to believe that rational human beings, united by mutual good will and a sense of collegial responsibility, could hold back the darkness. But the situation in the Balkans remained unstable to say the least, promising fresh crises in the near future. In 1912 and 1913, European diplomats succeeded in keeping the peace; in 1914, they failed.

See all installments of the World War I Centennial series here.

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Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD
Inside the Never-Before-Seen Scrapbook of the Rubber Skin Lady, a 1930s-era Sideshow Star
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Agnes the Rubber Skin Lady and other performers, including Frieda Pushnik, Major Small, and John Williams the Alligator-Skin Boy.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

As a young girl growing up in Milwaukee, Dr. Dori Ann Bischmann loved exploring her parents' attic. One day in the early 1970s, she discovered a mysterious trunk that piqued her curiosity.

Inside, there was some children's china, an antique baby doll, a beaded hat and bag from the 1920s, and an old scrapbook. The book had a picture of two puppies on the cover.

But the images between the covers weren't as cuddly as advertised.

Dori had found the scrapbook of her great aunt, Agnes Schwarzenbacher, also known as Agnes Higginbotham and Agnes Schmidt—but more famously as Agnes the Rubber Skin Lady. On the inside cover of the book a title marked in pen read, "Scrapbook of Show Life."

The newspaper clippings, photos, and signed pitch cards (promotional postcards featuring individual performers) that filled nearly 90 pages gave Dori a glimpse into the life of one of the sideshow's biggest stars of the 1930s. It also unlocked a family secret.

Close-up of a 1932 group photo of sideshow performers, with Agnes the Rubber Skin Lady featured in the center.
Close-up of a 1932 group photo of sideshow performers, with Agnes the Rubber Skin Lady featured in the center.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

Dori had never met her aunt, who passed away in 1962. Nor had she ever heard about how Agnes drew crowds to watch her exhibit the excessive, elastic skin that covered her legs. Agnes could stretch the rubbery flesh anywhere from 15 to 30 inches, although from the waist up she looked completely normal. There are no reports of a diagnosis, but she may have had a condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

Agnes, who was born in 1902 in Germany and came to America three years later, had shared her unusual skin on stages across the continent. In Toronto, she even performed before royalty. In one of the scrapbook's clippings, she spoke of the event as being one of the greatest thrills of her life on the road: "The audience was a very distinguished one and most famous of all was the Crown Prince of England, now the Duke of Windsor. I was most thrilled when he applauded vigorously."

With each turn of the book's pages, Dori encountered many of the extraordinary people Agnes performed with, particularly at the Ripley's Odditorium at the 1933 World's Fair in Chicago. At the time, Robert Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!" cartoon was extremely popular, and the Odditorium was the first public exhibition of unique performers and curiosities Ripley had gathered during his travels around the world. More than 2 million people visited his collection at the World's Fair and witnessed live acts like Agnes.

Clippings and pictures from Agnes Schwarzenbacher's circus scrapbook
Top: Crowd gathered at an oddity show capitalizing off Ripley’s success at the World’s Fair. Bottom: Agnes is featured in a newspaper clipping, between two photos of unknown performers.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

Dori was enthralled with her discovery. "I have always been fascinated with people who are unique," she tells Mental Floss. Today, she works as a psychologist and often counsels people who have genetic disorders.

"I see a lot of amazing people overcoming many hurdles," she says. "At the same time I see people who are depressed. I wonder how all of the circus freaks felt on the inside. Were they hurting and depressed and putting on a show outwardly? Or did they find contentment in giving something of themselves to help others?"

While it's hard to know exactly how Agnes felt, there are glimpses in some of the scrapbook's clippings.

"I would like very much to be normal in every respect," Agnes says in one newspaper article. "Don't misunderstand me. I said I would like to, but simply because my skin is rubber doesn't mean that I have become morbid. Far from it. I am, perhaps, one of the most pleasant persons you ever met. And why shouldn't I be? I don't consider myself seriously handicapped. I realize that my skin when stretched isn't exactly normal, but I don't allow the presence of such skin on my body to make me self-conscious."

A page of promotional images from Agnes Schwarzenbacher's circus scrapbook
A collection of performers from the 1933 World’s Fair, and a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not cartoon.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

Indeed, Agnes's skin ailment proved to be quite profitable—several articles in the scrapbook claimed that "The salary paid her is the highest ever paid a freak." No numbers are given, and like many sideshow claims, this may have been an exaggeration. But many sideshow performers were paid well, especially for the Great Depression.

"She used a circumstance she was born into to become an independent woman with a high-paying career (for the day)," Dori says. "She traveled and experienced many things other women might not have been able to experience."

Photos of Agnes Schwarzenbacher and her family
Top: A photo featuring Agnes Schwarzenbacher with her father and siblings: Mary, John, Rose, and Carl. Below: A portrait of Agnes dated 1926.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

The Schwarzenbachers, however, weren't as self-confident as Agnes. Her family would have preferred that she covered her legs with long dresses and kept her anomaly to herself. They wanted nothing to do with her performances.

"The family was embarrassed that she was in the circus," Dori says. "I was also told that Agnes went to doctors to see if the tissue could be cut off. Apparently they couldn't in those days because it was too vascularized." (In other words, the tissue was too filled with blood vessels.)

The family's shame lasted well after Agnes's death. The scrapbook had originally been stored in Dori's grandparents' attic. When her grandmother passed away, no one in the family wanted the book except for Dori's mother, who had married Agnes's nephew.

"My mother was a person who was accepting of all people," Dori said. "She wasn't embarrassed about Agnes. She thought it was a shame that Agnes's flesh and blood did not want her scrapbook. The scrapbook is the story of Agnes's circus years, but also of her family."

Of course, it wasn't unusual for people born with anomalies to be treated in such ways. The sideshow, which had its heyday from the mid-1800s to the 1940s, offered them a rare chance to escape a life of seclusion, earn a living, see the world, and—perhaps most importantly—to enjoy a sense of camaraderie.

In a 1959 article from the New York World-Telegram and Sun, longtime showman Dick Best expanded on this thought more colorfully: "For the past thirty years I have been able to give employment to scores of [sideshow performers], give them financial independence, and companionship. You realize this when you see a mule-faced girl, a guy with three legs, and a girl weighing 500 pounds playing poker with a guy who shuffles and deals with his toes. In a crowd like that nobody sits around feeling sorry for himself or anybody else. You could be accepted there if you had nine arms and ten heads."

The "mule-faced girl" that Best referred to was Grace McDaniels, who Agnes worked with and featured in her album. McDaniels was afflicted with a condition that caused tumors to grow on her lips and mouth. In addition to being called "mule-faced," she was also billed as the Ugliest Woman in the World. Agnes's photos show her with McDaniel's teenage son, Elmer, who traveled with her.

The "guy with three legs," as Best called him, also appears in the scrapbook. His name was Francesco Lentini, billed as the Three-Legged Wonder. He also had four feet, and two sets of genitalia.

Agnes's friend Frieda Pushnik, the Armless, Legless Girl Wonder, is featured more prominently. Born in Pennsylvania in 1923, Pushnik had only small stumps at her shoulders and thighs, with which she learned to sew, crochet, write, and type. At the age of 10 she joined the Rubber Skin Lady at the Chicago Odditorium during the World's Fair. In addition to having collected several of Frieda's pitch cards, Agnes also had personal photos. One of these captures another companion, a dwarf named Lillie McGregor, holding little Frieda. Without legs, Frieda is about half the size of Lillie.

Lillie appears in other photographs with her husband, Harry. They are each seen pulling a person in a wagon with their eyelids. Agnes even saved the Ripley's cartoon that illustrated the stunt.

Clippings and pictures from Agnes Schwarzenbacher's circus scrapbook
Spread of newspaper clippings, including articles about Agnes and a Believe It Or Not cartoon starring her friends Lillie and Harry McGregor, who could pull each other in a wagon with their eyelids.
Dori Ann Bischmann PhD

Lillie McGregor pulls an unidentified man in a wagon with hooks attached to her eyelids at the 1933 World’s Fair.
Lillie McGregor, a friend of Agnes, pulls an unidentified man in a wagon with hooks attached to her eyelids at the 1933 World’s Fair.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

While Agnes's adventures in show life surrounded her with many kinds of unique people, one photo is of a man who shared a similar ailment. Arthur Loos, the Rubber-Skinned Man, had skin that hung loose beneath his chin, much like a basset hound's. He could stretch the flesh 8 inches. If they bonded over their sagging skin, Agnes made no mention of it in the scrapbook.

The man she did bond with was not a performer in the sideshow at all. He was a foreman who operated rides at a fair, a man named Jack Higginbotham. Their marriage is mentioned in one of the book's clippings, which states they were wed in Rockford, Illinois. However, the Rubber Skin Lady's love story was a mere subhead to another sideshow romance that earned the paper's headline: "Bearded Lady and ‘Elephant Man' on Midway are Newlyweds."

Agnes Schwarzenbacher and her husband
Agnes with her husband, Jack Higginbotham.
Dori Ann Bischmann, PhD

Although her family may have stayed far away from the sideshow stage, Agnes kept them all close. Photos of her with her father, brothers, sisters, and other family members populate numerous pages of the scrapbook.

Had Dori only seen these particular family photos, with her aunt's dresses covering her legs, she would have never known Agnes was different in any way—or what an amazing story she had to tell.

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Michael Fountaine
12 Amazing Items From the World’s Largest McDonald’s Memorabilia Collection
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Michael Fountaine

Since 1969, Michael Fountaine has been obsessively collecting every piece of McDonald’s memorabilia he can get his hands on. His collection, which he says is valued “in the millions of dollars,” features 75,000 pieces in total.


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