9 Facts About Frances Perkins, the First Female Cabinet Member

Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain
Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

A social worker who became the first woman to serve on a president’s cabinet, Frances Perkins was an uncompromising woman in a man’s world. She fought for safety regulations in New York factories, helped formulate the New Deal, and attempted to save German Jews fleeing the Nazi regime. A threat to the status quo, she was accused of being a Communist as well as a Russian Jew who fabricated her identity, and she faced both disparaging pamphlet campaigns and potential impeachment. Despite these challenges, Frances Perkins doggedly pursued the course she thought was right, helping transform American institutions in the process.

1. SHE SOUGHT EDUCATION—IN THE CLASSROOM AND IN THE WORLD.

Born in 1880, Frances Perkins grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts. Her father, who ran a stationery store, had not attended college, but he was a voracious reader who studied the law and read classical poetry in his spare time. When Fannie (as she was then known) was eight, he began teaching her Greek. She later attended Worcester Classical High School, a private college-preparatory academy that sent many of its male students to the Ivy League. With her father’s encouragement, Perkins enrolled in the all-women’s college Mt. Holyoke, where her classmates called her “Perk.”

Though she majored in chemistry with minors in physics and biology, Perkins discovered her calling during a course on the history of modern industrial economics. The professor required her students to visit factories, and Perkins was horrified by the dangerous environment faced by the workers, many of whom were women and children. Perkins’s parents—conservative middle-class New Englanders and devout members of the Congregational Church—had always told her that poverty resulted from alcohol and laziness, but visiting a factory caused Perkins to recognize “that there were some people much poorer than other people […] and that the lack of comfort and security in some people was not solely due to the fact that they drank.”

Perkins graduated from Mt. Holyoke in 1902—quite a feat considering that only 2.8 percent of American women attended college as of 1900 (the percentage of men was not much higher). She returned to Worcester to live with her family and became involved in a local girls’ club for teenage factory and store workers. When one of the girls had her hand amputated in an accident with a candy dipper, Perkins fought to secure $100 in compensation from her employer, only succeeding after a local clergyman intervened.

She moved to the north shore of Chicago to work as a science teacher at a women’s college, where she spent three years. But her mind was elsewhere—she had read Jacob Riis’s 1890 exposé on poverty in New York City, How the Other Half Lives, and was horrified and captivated. Perkins soon began volunteering at a settlement house in Chicago, where she encountered trade union advocates for the first time, and began to see them as necessary for workers’ rights rather than the “work of the devil,” as her parents had always said. She discovered that employers sometimes didn’t pay workers “just because [they] didn’t want to,” so she would go to collect wages on the workers’ behalf, wheedling and cajoling and even threatening. “A favorite device of mine was to threaten to tell [the employer’s] landlord that he didn’t pay wages,” she recalled in 1951.

Perkins soon quit teaching and entered social work full-time. In 1907, she moved to Philadelphia, where she worked for an organization that advocated for female workers (especially those who were immigrants), and attended the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School. Two years later, she moved to New York, where a mentor helped her secure a fellowship with the New York School of Philanthropy. Perkins spent her days conducting a survey on malnutrition among tenement children in Hell’s Kitchen for the School of Philanthropy and her nights attending classes at Columbia, graduating with her master’s in political science in 1910. That same year, she was introduced to Franklin Delano Roosevelt at a tea dance. Perkins later recalled, “There was nothing particularly interesting about the tall, thin young man with the high collar and pince-nez.” But that unimpressive young man would later change her life.

2. SHE WITNESSED THE TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST FACTORY FIRE—AND IT SPURRED HER TO DEMAND CHANGE.

Labor Secretary Frances Perkins onboard an ocean liner in 1938
London Express/Getty Images

After completing her master’s degree, Perkins became executive secretary of the New York City Consumers’ League, which conducted investigations into working conditions at factories and other facilities, like the bakeries located in the cellars of tenement buildings. She worked under Florence Kelly, a famous female reformer, who taught her the ropes of lobbying politicians and businesses for social reform. Perkins fought for legislation limiting women to a 54-hour work week, and a related bill passed in 1912 after two years of forceful advocacy from Perkins and other reformers. But one event in particular shaped the person—and the public figure—Perkins would become: the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire.

On March 25, 1911, Perkins was attending a Saturday afternoon tea in Greenwich Village, when she and her friends heard a commotion outside. Fire trucks were clanging through the streets, and the women followed the racket to Washington Square, where the 10-story Asch Building was ablaze. The Triangle Shirtwaist Company occupied the building’s top three stories, and the company’s management regularly locked the factory’s doors to keep workers inside during their shifts, supposedly to deter theft. The elevators soon malfunctioned and the building had only one fire escape, which led to a walled-in courtyard. New York’s firefighters lacked ladders tall enough to reach the factory’s upper floors. Hundreds of workers—almost all women—were trapped. While many died from smoke inhalation or burned to death, others threw themselves from the factory’s windows. “Never shall I forget,” Perkins later said. “I watched those girls clinging to life on the window ledges until, their clothing in flames, they leaped to their death.” One hundred forty-six people died as a result of the blaze, nearly all young women between the ages of 16 and 23.

The horror of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire galvanized public support for industrial oversight and reform. The fire also prompted the creation of the New York State Factory Investigating Commission, and Perkins worked as one of the Commission’s chief investigators from 1912 to 1915. She was tenacious and passionate. To ensure that the commission’s leaders understood the perilous (and sometimes illegal) working conditions at New York factories, she forced them into the field. One morning, she roused them at dawn for a surprise visit to a cannery that was employing very young children. On another occasion, she urged the Commission’s chairman, State Senator Robert Wagner, to crawl through a small hole onto an ice-covered ladder to test one factory’s “fire escape.” Perkins made an impression on Wagner, and on the Commission’s vice chair, Al Smith, then a New York Assemblyman.

The Factory Investigating Commission instigated real change. By the end of 1914, 36 of the Commission’s recommendations had been codified into law. “The extent to which this legislation in New York marked a change in American political attitudes and policies toward social responsibility can scarcely be overrated,” Perkins later wrote. “It was, I am convinced, a turning point.” It marked a turning point in her career as well. When Al Smith became New York’s governor, he appointed her to the state Industrial Commission—the first woman to serve.

3. SHE CHANGED HER NAME—AND THEN REFUSED TO CHANGE IT AGAIN WHEN SHE GOT MARRIED.

Born Fannie Coralie Perkins, she changed her name to Frances around 1904 while living in Chicago. Biographers have suggested that, in doing so, she was signaling her independence from her parents—she converted from Congregationalist to Episcopalian around the same time—or desiring a name that was more gender-neutral.

In another signal of independence, Perkins kept her maiden name when, in 1913 at age 33, she married Paul Caldwell Wilson, a Progressive Republican and the budget secretary to the mayor of New York City. “I wasn’t very anxious to get married, to tell the truth,” she recalled during the 1950s, but acquaintances were constantly badgering her about when she’d get hitched and trying to set her up. “I thought, ‘I just better marry. I know Paul Wilson well. I like him. I’ve known him for a considerable time. I enjoy his society and company and I might as well marry and get it off my mind.’” But Perkins made it clear to Wilson that she wasn’t going to be a traditional wife: She would continue working, and she would continue to go by Miss Frances Perkins. “I felt, and I still feel, that at that time it was a great advantage in social work, in professional life to be Miss,” she said. “Mrs. is understood to be awfully occupied in the house and children.”

Perkins had also acquired a reputation by this point amongst reformers and politicians, and she didn’t want to lose that name recognition—or her sense of identity. “I was very puffed up, I suppose, about the fact that I could sign a letter and my name meant something to the Labor Commissioner of California. If I were Mrs. Paul C. Wilson, I was just somebody’s wife.”

Perkins’s husband—whom she called “quite a feminist”—thought it was “a good idea” for her to keep her maiden name, but institutions felt otherwise. The couple had to hire a lawyer to fight their life insurance company, who refused to make out their policies under her maiden name, and when Governor Al Smith appointed her to the state Industrial Commission, the New York attorney general insisted that all official papers refer to her as Frances Perkins Wilson. After consulting with Perkins, Smith finally ruled that she could use just her maiden name.

Perkins did occasionally use the name Mrs. Paul C. Wilson when it was more practical in her personal life—like when registering for hotels and securing a passport. Her mother also introduced her as "Mrs. Wilson."

4. AL SMITH AND FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT HELPED HER MOVE UP IN THE WORLD.

Perkins spent two years on the state Industrial Commission, earning an annual salary of $8000—quite the step up from the $40 per month she earned at her first social work job in Philadelphia (which her father had still considered far too much for a woman). After Smith was defeated for reelection, Perkins resigned from the Commission and worked for an organization supporting education for immigrant populations. When Smith took back the governorship in 1923, he appointed Perkins to the new Industrial Board, where she gained attention for her vocal support for workers’ compensation. She became the board’s chair in 1926. After years of resistance to her reform agenda, New York industry was beginning to come around to (some) workplace regulations, like temperature controls in factories and safety devices on machinery. Companies recognized that, by protecting the health of employees, these regulations actually made their operations more efficient, and more profitable. Frances Perkins and the New York Industrial Board were setting precedents that were soon followed by states like California, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Illinois.

During 1928, Al Smith secured the Democratic nomination for the presidency, and Perkins traveled around the country campaigning for him. She also developed a relationship with New York gubernatorial candidate Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a Smith supporter who introduced him at the 1924 Democratic National Convention. Smith lost the presidency to Herbert Hoover, but Roosevelt found himself in the governor’s mansion. The new governor appointed Perkins New York’s industrial commissioner—the top administrator for the state’s Department of Labor and the beneficiary of a $12,000 annual salary. She was confirmed in January 1929. Four years later, Roosevelt would be president—and he would name Perkins his Secretary of Labor.

5. SHE BECAME THE FIRST FEMALE MEMBER OF A PRESIDENT’S CABINET.

Perkins was uncertain about whether she wanted to follow Roosevelt to Washington. During his years as governor of New York, the two had developed a close working relationship, and Perkins was overflowing with ideas about how to use government to protect workers and help the public. But Perkins hated media attention—she once said that having her picture in the paper “nearly kills me”—and was particularly worried that her personal life would become newspaper fodder. (Her husband struggled with what today might be diagnosed as bipolar disorder, and had been admitted to a sanitarium in White Plains, New York, in 1932; Perkins feared his condition would become public and also loathed being far away from him.) Perkins even wrote Roosevelt a letter in early February 1933 urging him to appoint a union official instead of her.

A few weeks later, at a meeting at his home, Roosevelt officially asked Perkins to become his secretary of labor. She responded by listing the policies she would pursue if appointed—including an end to child labor, a minimum wage, a 40-hour work week, unemployment insurance, old-age insurance, and universal health insurance—and told him that if he didn’t support these goals, she would not serve on his cabinet. According to Perkins, Roosevelt was surprised, asking her, “Well, do you think it can be done?” She responded that she didn’t know, but would do everything possible to make it happen. Roosevelt gave his consent to her agenda, and on March 4, 1933, Perkins was sworn in as the first female cabinet secretary.

6. SHE CULTIVATED A MATERNAL IMAGE.

Since entering the political arena, Perkins had kept a red folder of observations titled “Notes on the Male Mind.” She paid careful attention to male colleagues’ preferences and expectations so that, whenever possible, she could manipulate gender stereotypes to her advantage. In 1913, at the beginning of her career in New York politics, she encountered a Democratic state senator who burst out crying when he saw her, confessing that he felt guilty for helping impeach the governor, who was also a Democrat. Though Perkins was not involved in the impeachment, seeing her triggered the senator’s guilt at betraying a colleague. “Every man’s got a mother, you know,” he said to Perkins.

This senator made a profound impression, inspiring Perkins to cultivate a maternal—even matronly—image. By dressing and behaving in a way that reminded powerful men of their mothers, she could shame them into supporting her causes, and by retaining a stereotypical womanly manner, she threatened them less than if she’d imitated their bullish ways. On the day FDR’s cabinet first met, Perkins later recalled, “I wanted to give the impression of being a quiet, orderly woman who didn’t buzz-buzz all the time. […] I knew that a lady interposing an idea into men’s conversation is very unwelcome. I just proceeded on the theory that this was a gentleman’s conversation on the porch of a golf club perhaps. You didn’t butt in with bright ideas.”

With her subtle ways and matronly outfits—complete with tricorne hat—Perkins was able to convince her male colleagues to champion many of her “bright ideas.” However, even this tactic did not always work. Charles E. Wyzanski, Jr., a solicitor general at the Labor Department and ally of Perkins, once noted that congressmen did not like to receive lectures from a woman who seemed like “a combination of their mothers, teachers, and blue-stocking constituents.”

7. SHE HELPED FORMULATE THE NEW DEAL AND PASSED SOCIAL SECURITY.

President Roosevelt signing the Social Security Act
President Roosevelt signing the Social Security Act, with Perkins and other members of the government standing nearby.
Wikimedia // Public Domain

Perkins supported and helped shepherd New Deal programs like the Civilian Conservation Corps, the Federal Emergency Relief Administration, and the National Industrial Recovery Act. Labor historian C. E. Daniel stated, “It is hard to think of any [New Deal] accomplishments related to labor that don’t reflect the contributions of Frances Perkins.”

But perhaps Perkins’s biggest accomplishment was the passage of the Social Security Act. In 1934, Roosevelt named Perkins the chair of the Committee on Economic Security, which he had created by executive order. In that role, she helped craft a social security plan that included not just the old-age pensions we now associate with the name Social Security, but also workers’ compensation, unemployment insurance, maternal and child health-services, and direct aid to the poor and the disabled. The Social Security Act passed Congress by a wide margin and was signed into law by FDR on August 14, 1935. “The real roots of the Social Security Act were in the great depression of 1929,” Perkins remarked in 1962. “Nothing else would have bumped the American people into a social security system except something so shocking, so terrifying, as that depression.”

Perkins also helped draft the Fair Labor Standards Act, which outlawed most child labor and established a federal minimum wage, a system of overtime pay, an eight-hour work day, and, for most workers, a 40-hour work week. The FLSA became law in 1938.

8. SHE WAS ATTACKED AS A COMMUNIST AND A SECRET JEW.

Like President Barack Obama, Perkins faced her own “birther” controversy: She was accused of secretly being a Russian Jew. Anti-Semitic pamphleteer Robert Edward Edmondson—who believed the New Deal was directed by Jews who wished to turn America into a Communist country—identified Perkins as one of the six main “sinister forces” in the Roosevelt administration in a 1935 pamphlet, which speculated that she “may be of Russian-Jewess origin.”

The rumor that Perkins was secretly a Russian Jew spread like wildfire. A genealogist appeared at her sister’s New England home, asking questions about their ancestry. Reporters began demanding proof of her personal history and family lineage. Then, in 1936, the American Vigilante (sometimes spelled Vigilant) Intelligence Federation—an anti-union, anti-Jewish group that amassed records on people who might be “reds”—published a pamphlet trumpeting “the truth about the Secretary of Labor”: that she was secretly a Jew named Matilda Watski. The Pennsylvania Daughters of the American Revolution launched an investigation into her heritage. In response, Perkins published a detailed account of her family background and even got the doctor who delivered her to make a statement that she was who she said she was, but the rumors continued to spread. Perkins received a flood of inquisitive and angry letters. She found the situation stressful, saying later, “You could deny it […] but you couldn’t make a public denunciation of the charge because that would appear that there was something very wrong about being a Jew.” Instead, Perkins made a public statement in 1936 saying, “If I were a Jew, […] I would be proud to acknowledge it.”

In the 1930s, many people feared a conspiracy between communists and Jews to undermine the United States, so rumors that Perkins was Jewish compounded reports that she was a red sympathizer, or a Communist herself. The controversy over her identity and loyalties eventually reached Congress. Republican Congressman Clare Hoffman attacked Perkins as “the wife of someone, though God alone knows what her true name may be, and no man yet has published the place of her birth.” In 1938, the new House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) targeted several members of Roosevelt’s administration, including Perkins, accusing them of communism.

The attack on Perkins came to a head in January 1939, when a Republican congressman from New Jersey and member of HUAC, J. Parnell Thomas, introduced impeachment proceedings against Perkins to the House of Representatives. Her alleged offense was failing to enforce deportation laws against an Australian immigrant named Harry Bridges who had led a longshoremen’s strike in San Francisco in 1934 and was rumored to be a communist. (At the time, the Immigration and Naturalization Service was part of the Department of Labor, so deportation decisions fell under Perkins’s purview.) She found no concrete evidence that Bridges was a member of the Communist Party and so did not deport him, but her opponents used the incident as an excuse to drag her name through the mud.

In private Roosevelt told Perkins not to worry, and in public he made light of the impeachment proceedings. In reality, he could not stop them, though Congress was dominated by Democrats. Perkins later wrote, with some understatement, “I didn’t like the idea of being impeached and was considerably disturbed by the episode.” She suffered through hearings and newspaper coverage, but the Judiciary Committee eventually vindicated her, ruling unanimously not to recommend impeachment.

9. SHE TRIED TO SAVE JEWISH REFUGEES FLEEING THE NAZIS.

After coming to power in January 1933, Adolf Hitler quickly began stripping German Jews of their civil rights. Denied passports by the German government and visas by the U.S. State Department, Jews who wished to escape the Nazi regime had almost no chance of reaching the United States. Perkins considered the situation a humanitarian crisis, and began urging Roosevelt to liberalize immigration policies to accept vast numbers of Jewish refugees.

While the State Department controlled visas, Perkins’s Department of Labor had jurisdiction over immigration and naturalization. One major difficulty lay in existing immigration policy, which held that the United States should bar any would-be immigrant “likely to become a public charge.” The Nazi regime systematically stripped German Jews of their possessions, meaning they would arrive in the United States destitute and so were inadmissible under current policy. Perkins found a way around this problem: Existing immigration law allowed the Secretary of Labor to accept a bond—a sum of money—in order to guarantee that a specific immigrant would not become a public charge. Perkins and Labor Department Solicitor Charles Wyzanski, Jr., argued that such bonds, guaranteed by the friends and relatives of refugees, could be used to admit large numbers of German Jews. In December 1933, Attorney General Homer Cummings affirmed Perkins’s legal right to accept bonds from American citizens to sponsor the admission of German refugees.

However, the State Department was strongly opposed to admitting Jewish refugees, as was public opinion, and Perkins’s own deputies worried about accepting vast numbers of displaced Jews. Ultimately, Perkins’s bond proposal never came to fruition, but over the next few years she instituted a plan to receive Jewish refugee children, resettling about 400 with American foster families, thanks to the financial backing of an American relief organization called the German Jewish Children’s Aid, Inc.

She also worked to extend the visas of German Jews already in the U.S. on temporary visas. As early as 1933, Perkins had suggested granting visitors’ visas to refugees as a means of getting them into the country quickly, before considering permanent asylum, but Roosevelt and the State Department had rejected that proposal. After Kristallnacht (the violent anti-Jewish riots of November 1938 in Germany, Austria, and the Sudetenland), President Roosevelt agreed to another proposal from Perkins. On November 18, 1938, he announced that he was extending the visitors’ visas of 12,000 to 15,000 German Jews already in the country, as “it would be a cruel and inhuman thing to compel them to leave here.” While the State Department continued to limit the granting of visas to people still in Europe, Perkins’s Labor Department also continued to grant extensions to refugees who managed to enter the U.S. on visitors’ visas. Historian Bat-Ami Zucker estimates that from 1933 to 1940, between 20,000 and 30,000 Jewish refugees entered the country on visitors’ visas and then sought permanent residence.

Perkins had wished to accept many more. “From 1933 to early 1938, Frances had stood almost alone in highlighting the plight of German refugees and in urging U.S. government action,” Perkins biographer Kirstin Downey writes. Though she was unsuccessful in promoting a number of schemes for changing or getting around existing immigration laws, she continued to advocate for Jewish refugees through her position as secretary of labor. Her term lasted until 1945, when she resigned soon after Roosevelt’s death.

Additional Sources:

Frances Perkins and the German-Jewish Refugees, 1933-1940,” American Jewish History, Vol. 89, No. 1; “The Ghost in the Machine: Frances Perkins’ Refusal to Accept Marginalization,” Master’s Thesis, University of Missouri, Kansas City, 2014 [PDF]; “The Libel Trial of Robert Edward Edmondson: 1936–1938,” American Jewish History, Vol. 71, No. 1; “The Pre-New Deal Career of Frances Perkins, 1880–1932,” Master’s Thesis, Florida Atlantic University, 1975; “Yankee Reformer in a Man’s World: Frances Perkins as Secretary of Labor,” Dissertation, Michigan State University, 1978.

16 Soothing Facts About Muzak

Keith Brofsky/iStock via Getty Images
Keith Brofsky/iStock via Getty Images

Whether you know it as background music, elevator music, or, as Ted Nugent once called it, an “evil force causing people to collapse into uncontrollable fits of blandness,” Muzak has ruled speakers for the better part of a century. Press play on your favorite easy-listening album and scroll on for some unforgettable facts about the most forgettable genre of music.

1. Muzak is a brand name.

Much like Chapstick, Popsicle, and a certain type of vacuum-sealing plastic food container, Muzak is a registered trademark. It began as the name of the company that first produced the easy-listening instrumental tunes that played in factories, elevators, and department stores. As its popularity grew, people started to use Muzak as a generic term for all background music.

2. Muzak was invented by a U.S. army general.

Major General George Owen Squier
Library of Congress // Public Domain

During World War I, Major General George Owen Squier used electrical power lines to transmit phonograph music over long distances without interference. He patented this invention in 1922 and founded Wired Radio, Inc. to profit from the technology. The company first devised a subscription service that included three channels of music and news and marketed it to Cleveland residents for $1.50 per month. When Squier and his associates realized their product was a little too close to regular (free) radio, they started pitching it to hotel and restaurant owners, who were more willing to pay for a steady broadcast of background music without interruptions from radio hosts or advertisements.

3. The name is a portmanteau of music and Kodak.

In 1934, Squier changed the name of his business from Wired Radio to Muzak, combining the first syllable of music with the last syllable of Kodak, which had already proven to be an extremely catchy, successful name for a company.

4. Muzak has been releasing instrumental covers of pop songs since its inception.

The first-ever original Muzak recording was an instrumental medley of three songs performed by the Sam Lanin Orchestra: “Whispering,” by John and Malvin Shonberger, “Do You Ever Think of Me?” which was covered by Bing Crosby, and “Here in My Arms,” by Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers from the 1925 Broadway musical Dearest Enemy.

5. Muzak was briefly owned by Warner Bros.

The sound of Muzak was wafting across the country by the end of the 1930s, which caught the ears of Warner Bros. The company bought Muzak in 1938, fostered it for about a year, and then sold it to three businessmen: Waddill Catchings, Allen Miller, and William Benton (Benton would later publish the Encyclopaedia Britannica and serve as a U.S. senator for Connecticut).

6. Muzak was designed to make factory workers more productive.

Muzak manufactured soundtracks, based on a theory called “stimulus progression,” that consisted of 15-minute segments of background music that gradually ascended in peppiness. The method was meant to tacitly encourage workers to increase their pace, especially during the productivity lulls that often occurred during the late morning and mid-afternoon.

7. Muzak helped calm anxious elevator passengers.

Since more advanced electric elevators diminished the need for elevator operators in the mid-20th century, passengers were often left alone with an unsettling silence that made them all too aware that they were hurtling upward or downward in a steel box. Soft, calming Muzak played through speakers offered the perfect distraction.

8. There’s a reason Muzak's tempo is slower in supermarkets.

Just like factory workers might move faster while listening to fast-paced tracks, you might slow down while shopping to slower-tempo Muzak—which is exactly what supermarket owners want you to do. The more time you spend in a store, the more likely you are to toss a few extra snacks in your cart. (It's unclear whether the slower music might inhibit the productivity of supermarket workers.)

9. More than one U.S. president endorsed Muzak.

Muzak was installed in the White House during Dwight D. Eisenhower’s administration, but he was arguably only the second biggest presidential fan of the genre. Lyndon B. Johnson actually owned Muzak franchises in Austin while serving as a U.S. Senator from Texas.

10. Andy Warhol was also a fan of Muzak.

Andy Warhol
Graham Wood/Evening Standard/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Pop culture aficionado Andy Warhol supposedly said, “I like anything on Muzak—it’s so listenable. They should have it on MTV.”

11. Ted Nugent offered to buy Muzak for $10 million to “shelve it for good.”

In 1986, the Whackmaster put in a bid to purchase Muzak from parent company Westinghouse just to shut it down. According to the Ottawa Citizen, he called it an “evil force” that was “responsible for ruining some of the best minds of our generation.” Westinghouse rejected the bid.

12. Muzak didn’t formally introduce vocals until 1987.

As part of a rebranding campaign to modernize Muzak, the company started adding voice-accompanied tunes in 1987. Before that, Muzak broadcasts had only featured voices twice. The first was an announcement that Iran had freed American hostages in 1981, and the second was as part of a worldwide radio broadcast of “We Are the World” in 1985.

13. 7-Elevens blared Muzak in parking lots to chase off loiterers.

7-Eleven storefront at night
Mike841125, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

In 1991, 7-Eleven parking lots in Southern California became well-trafficked watering holes for youth who evidently had no place else to go. To deter them from loitering with skateboards, beer, and lots of teen angst, the stores blared Muzak—and it worked. “It will keep us away,” one young loafer told the Los Angeles Times. “But they’re torturing themselves more than us because they have to sit inside and listen to it.”

14. Seattle is the capital of Muzak.

Though it's well known as the birthplace of grunge, Seattle also had a thriving elevator music scene. Muzak based its corporate headquarters there in the 1980s, and three other leading background (and foreground) music corporations opened in the city over the years: Yesco Foreground Music, Audio Environments Inc., and Environmental Music Service Inc.

15. Kurt Cobain wanted Muzak to cover Nirvana songs.

When an interviewer told the Seattle-based rock star that Muzak didn’t recreate Nirvana tracks because it found them too aggressive for its purposes, an amused Cobain said, “Oh, well, we have some pretty songs, too. God, that’s really a bummer. That upsets me.”

16. It’s no longer called Muzak.

In 2013, an Ontario-based sensory marketing company called Mood Media acquired Muzak. The company, which provides music, smells, signs, lights, and interactive displays to businesses to achieve a certain mood, consolidated all of its services under the Mood brand, effectively killing the Muzak name (at least officially).

The History Behind 7 New York City Street Names

deberarr/istock via getty images
deberarr/istock via getty images

Modern life means constantly rushing to get places, especially in New York. Whether it’s the daily grind to get to work or the rush to hit happy hour, residents are probably concentrating more on getting somewhere than carefully considering the details of their surroundings.

But next time you're in New York—or if you're a resident already—try looking up from your phone to take a peek at the street names above you. Along with your more common numbered designations and things like "Park Avenue," you’ll notice the city has some pretty strange denominations. Here are seven of the more eye-catching, and the brief history behind their names.

1. Asser Levy Place

Tucked between the generically named 23rd and 25th streets, Asser Levy Place stands out like a sore thumb. Located not far from Stuyvesant Town, this unassuming street bears the name for a pretty prominent historical figure.

Said to have been born in what is now Poland and Lithuania, Asser Levy was one of the first Jewish settlers to land in the predominantly Dutch New Amsterdam. The governor at the time, Peter Stuyvesant, was “violently opposed” to the freshly emigrated Jewish community, unhappy at the fact that they were now allowed to trade and reside within the area [PDF]. Levy was not only the first kosher butcher in the land but also the first Jew to gain rights of citizenship in the country. Additionally, Levy donated funds to help New York fight the British Crown, and eventually took up arms against the British himself.

2. Maiden Lane

The history behind Maiden Lane’s designation is just as picturesque as it sounds. Known to Dutch settlers as Maagde Paatje (or “maiden path”), this portion of land once ran alongside a brook where women and girls would wash clothing. There are darker associations with the area too, though: Maiden Lane also saw a brutal slave revolt in 1712.

Today the street is one of many centers of commerce for the city, although the concrete still holds remnants of the city’s more ornate past. Passersby can take a look at the Barthman Clock, a 19th-century timepiece embedded into the intersection of Maiden Lane and Broadway.

3. Mott Street

Located primarily in the heart of Chinatown, Mott Street’s modern associations aren’t the most flattering. Once the site of multiple crime scenes and illegal activities, the street has garnered a somewhat seedy reputation over time.

But before it became affiliated with the seedy underbelly, Mott Street had patriotic associations. Joseph Mott, the street’s namesake, owned a tavern used as headquarters for General George Washington in 1775. His descendants proved dedicated to equally worthy causes, with Dr. Valentine Mott rising to prominence as one of America’s most influential surgeons.

4. Pearl Street

Before the concrete jungle fully took over, the streets of New York were dominated by oysters. Due to their bountiful number, the shells of shucked clams would pile up into what archaeologists call middens—large piles of domestic waste that have survived the centuries. One particularly large heap was located on the modern-day Pearl Street, giving rise to the mollusk-related moniker. Oddly, however, these oysters were not the pearl-producing kind—although they dominated a good portion of the New York market for quite some time.

5. Minetta Lane

Speaking of water-related items, did you know a once-babbling creek was paved over by one of the city’s more famous streets? That’s right: Known to the Dutch as Mintje Kill or “small stream,” Minetta Brook was “[a] brisk little brook full of trout,” according to one 19th century source, that was covered by the city’s expansion around the 1820s. It was also where a community of “half free” African Americans resided in the 17th century—former enslaved people that were allowed to live on the land by paying annual fees.

6. MacDougal Street

MacDougal Street is known for its vibrant nightlife and for hosting the early days of Bob Dylan’s career. But it also holds claim to a not-so-well-known spelling error.

The street was named for one Alexander Mcdougall, a Scotsman who emigrated to what would become the United States as a child in 1740 and settled in New York. Mcdougall made a name for himself in the mercantile trade and shipping business and was an early defender of American independence. He openly voiced his opinions against British rule, and was even imprisoned for passing out revolutionary pamphlets. His colorful life saw him commissioned as a colonel in the First New York Infantry during the Revolutionary War, become a member of the Continental Congress, and rise as the first president of the Bank of New York. However, how or why the second L in his name was dropped in the naming of the street remains a mystery.

7. Margaret Corbin Drive

Located at the city’s far northern tip, Margaret Corbin Drive is named for a young Pennsylvanian woman whose tough life molded her into a tougher lady. Her childhood saw the death of her father by Native Americans and her mother’s capture soon after; years later, the British killed her husband during the Battle of Fort Washington. Margaret, who was standing by his side at the time, quickly took his place in the conflict by handling his cannon—receiving several bullets as a result.

The U.S. government recognized her bravery by providing her disability compensation (as well as rum and whiskey rations) for many years. Although sometimes remembered as a “haughty and disagreeable eccentric,” the affectionately called “Captain Molly” is forever memorialized by the street running along the site where her brave acts took place.

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