The Most Mysterious Thing About Edgar Allan Poe Might Be How He Died

Hulton Archive, Stringer, Getty Images
Hulton Archive, Stringer, Getty Images

If it had been the ending of one of his stories, critics might have said it was unbelievable. But Edgar Allan Poe’s death, which came suddenly and without a definitive cause, was very real—and it's just as mysterious today as it was when it happened.

On October 3, 1849—Congressional election day in Baltimore—a typesetter for the Baltimore Sun named Joseph W. Walker spotted Poe near a tavern that was being used as a polling place. The writer was disheveled, barely awake, and dressed in clothes that weren’t his own. Poe struggled to speak or move, but was coherent long enough to mention the name of Joseph E. Snodgrass, an editor and physician friend. Walker reached out to Snodgrass in a note: “There is a gentleman, rather the worse for wear, at Ryan’s 4th ward polls, who goes under the cognomen of Edgar A. Poe and who appears in great distress,” Walker wrote, “and he says he is acquainted with you, and I assure you, he is in need of immediate assistance.”

The situation hadn’t improved by the time Snodgrass arrived a little while later, accompanied by one of Poe's uncles. Poe was delirious and couldn’t provide any clues as to what had landed him wandering the streets in a shabby outfit that clearly didn’t belong to him. The people close to him also weren’t any help: Poe had been missing for six days before his sudden reappearance, so how he ended up near the tavern, let alone in Baltimore, was a mystery.

The last anyone had seen of him was September 27. He had been staying in Richmond, Virginia, where his new fiancee lived. He told her he was heading to Philadelphia to edit a collection of poems, but there was no clear record of him ever arriving in the city. Instead, he next surfaced in Baltimore nearly a week later, clinging to life.

Poe died at Washington College Hospital on October 7. He spent the days leading up to his death tortured by hallucinations and fever dreams. At one point he called out the name “Reynolds” several times, though the identity of this person has never been discovered. His official cause of death, by some accounts, was listed as phrenitis, or swelling of the brain, but the medical records have disappeared, and some historians believe the full story is much darker—and more complicated.

The grave of Edgar Allan Poe.
Saul Loeb, Getty Images

Many experts at the time, including Snodgrass, held that Poe drank himself to death. It was well-known that Poe had a hard time holding his alcohol, and according to some sources, all it took was a glass of wine to make him sick. The alcohol theory remains popular today, but one crucial piece of evidence runs against it—lead was frequently added to wine in the 19th century, and as Chris Semtner, curator of the Poe House in Richmond, Virginia, explained to Smithsonian.com, lead analysis of Poe's postmortem hair samples suggests he'd been avoiding alcohol toward the end of his life. Other theorists also believe Poe was suffering from some kind of poisoning or sickness, but blame carbon monoxide, mercury, rabies, the flu, or a brain tumor for his demise.

Then there are the more colorful theories, which posit foul play was involved. In 1857, biographer E. Oakes Smith claimed that Poe was viciously beaten by a man defending a woman’s honor. A few years later, a different writer published a story of a drunken Poe being attacked by muggers in the days leading up to his death.

Another group of theorists think that Poe was the victim of a deadly voter fraud scheme. During 19th century elections, gangs would sometimes kidnap people and force them to vote for the same candidate multiple times, wearing a different disguise each time to hide their identity. This practice was known as cooping, and it was prevalent in Baltimore at the time of Poe’s death. Voters were usually given booze as a reward for performing their civic duty, so if lightweight Poe was forced to vote over and over again, that could explain the sloppy state in which he was found. The theory also provides the most solid explanation for why he was wearing a stranger’s outfit. The fact that Poe was discovered on Election Day not far from a polling spot that was a common cooping target makes this one of the more popular possibilities.

Of course, there’s also a school of thought that says Poe was murdered. According to this theory, which was formulated by writer John Evangelist for his 1998 book Midnight Dreary: The Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe, Poe did make it to Philadelphia after leaving Richmond. There he was confronted by his fiancee's brothers, who were dead-set against him marrying their sister. After the scuffle, Poe changed into new clothes to disguise himself, hid in Philadelphia for a week, and eventually retreated to Baltimore. But the brothers followed him there and further antagonized him by beating him and forcing him to drink whiskey, which they knew would have a terrible effect.

Though it’s not impossible, this theory is based more on conjecture than hard evidence and isn’t a favorite among experts. In a review for the journal Poe Studies, Poe scholar Benjamin F. Fischer had this to say about Walsh's book:

"Had Walsh stated forthrightly that he was presenting us with a novel, in the detection vein, about Poe’s demise—not a work of academic scholarship—I, for one, would find Midnight Dreary a far more palatable accomplishment […] As it is, Walsh gives us far too many conjectural sentences and phrasings, along with too much shuffling aside of any previous bit of work that does not offer direct support to his thesis."

Over 168 years later, the questions surrounding Poe’s death make it one of the literary world's greatest unsolved mysteries. Despite his macabre reputation, that’s a legacy the writer likely would have been happy to leave behind.

Additional source: Rest in Pieces: The Curious Fates of Famous Corpses

Hard Sell: A History of the Pet Rock

Amazon
Amazon

You may have heard the story of the Pet Rock, the Mexican beach stone that could be purchased in bulk for less than a penny, retailed for $3.95, and made inventor Gary Dahl a millionaire during a kind of novelty gift hysteria in late 1975. But Dahl didn’t really get rich off of the rock.

He got rich off of a cardboard box.

Dahl was working as a freelance advertising copywriter in California that year when, while having drinks at a bar with friends, the conversation turned to the destructive nature of pets. Dogs and cats ruined furniture. Worse, they required constant attention, from being walked to being fed to cleaning up after them. Dahl said that he didn’t have to worry about any of that because he had a “pet rock.”

It was, of course, a joke. And it got a laugh. But Dahl decided there could be more to it than that. He went home and began writing an owner’s manual for this hypothetical pet rock, which detailed how best to handle it, the tricks it could perform (“play dead” being the most popular), and how it could remain a faithful companion due to its “long life span.” The gag was not so much the rock itself but the way it was presented. In addition to the manual, Dahl conceived of a cardboard box with air holes that resembled the kind used by pet shops. It also bore a passing resemblance to a McDonald's Happy Meal container.

 

Dahl's motivation in making a serious effort to monetize his pet rock idea was due in large part to his precarious financial situation at the time—he was struggling to keep up with his bills. He recruited George Coakley and John Heagerty, two colleagues, to come on as investors. They both signed on, with Coakley investing $10,000—a not-inconsiderable sum in 1975, especially when the intention was to sell virtually worthless rocks.

The Pet Rock packaging is pictured
Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Dahl, however, knew what he was marketing. Like chattering teeth, the Hula Hoop, and other fads, the Pet Rock was the beneficiary of good timing. Vietnam had ended but Watergate was still fresh; the country’s mood was slightly downcast, and Dahl believed people would see the inane nature of the Pet Rock and recognize the humor of it. He boxed the rocks with the manual and packed them in excelsior, which may be best known as comic book legend Stan Lee’s catchphrase but also means a softwood shaving pile meant for protecting fragile items. The rocks were purchased from a local sand and gravel company, which sourced them from Mexico’s Rosarita Beach. Dahl debuted the rock at a gift show in San Francisco in August of 1975, then waited for a reaction.

He got one. People understood the appeal right away and he began taking orders. Neiman Marcus wanted 1000 rocks. Bloomingdale’s later signed on. Newsweek did a story with a picture, which spread the word. Dahl had retail and media credibility for what was superficially a nonsense product. His bar joke was turning into a national phenomenon.

When the holiday season arrived, Dahl estimated he was selling up to 100,000 Pet Rocks a day. Ultimately, he would sell between 1.3 and 1.5 million of them within a period of just a few months. Coakley made $200,000 back on his initial $10,000 investment. Dahl gifted both Coakley and Heagerty with Mercedes. Making 95 cents in profit on each Pet Rock sold, Dahl earned over $1 million. He launched his own firm, Rock Bottom Productions, which was itself another joke. “You’ve reached Rock Bottom” is how the receptionist answered their phone.

 

The fad did not last—by definition, they’re not designed to—but Dahl was satisfied. His two investors were not; they "claimed they had received too small a share of the profits" and later sued Dahl for more revenue. After a judgment in the investors' favor, Dahl wrote them a six-figure check.

The Pet Rock is pictured
Amazon

There were attempts to prolong the life of the rock by offering a Bicentennial version in 1976—it had the American flag painted on it—and mail-order college degrees for them. Dahl sold Pet Rock T-shirts and Pet Rock shampoo. There were also copycat gifts, since Dahl could not really patent a rock. (He might have been able to obtain a utility patent because of the rock’s particular purpose as a companion, but he did not.) The humor was transient, however, and people had moved on.

Dahl had other ideas. There was the Official Sand Breeding Kit, which claimed to provide guidance on growing sand, and Canned Earthquake, which consisted of a coffee can that had a wind-up mechanism that caused it to jump around on a table. Neither was particularly successful. Dahl’s real passion, though, was buying and renovating a bar in Los Gatos, which he named Carrie Nation’s Saloon.

This was not without its problems, as people who believed they had the next Pet Rock would often stop by the bar to try and secure an audience with Dahl for his insight. Many times, their idea consisted of packaging bull or elephant excrement. There were also proposals to market a pet stick. Dahl had no patience for these inventors, believing the Pet Rock could not be duplicated. Later, he went back to advertising after taking what he described as an “eight-year vacation” following the success of his project.

The Pet Rock can still be found online, though it’s no longer Dahl’s business. He died in 2015. Of the unsold rocks he had left over at the end of the fad, he was indifferent. If they didn’t sell, he said, he would just use them to repave his driveway.

Submarine Expedition Reveals Parts of the Titanic Have Fully Decayed

NOAA/Institute for Exploration/University of Rhode Island
NOAA/Institute for Exploration/University of Rhode Island

In 1985, oceanographers Robert Ballard, Jean-Louis Michel, and their crew located the wreck of the RMS Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Images of the shipwreck have since become as iconic as photographs of the ocean liner taken before the 1912 tragedy. But the ruin's time in the ocean is limited. As part of an upcoming documentary, a crew of scientists carried out the first manned expedition to the wreck in 14 years and discovered the Titanic is rapidly decaying, BBC reports.

After it sank, the Titanic settled in two parts on the seafloor about 370 miles off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada. Most of the wreck is still intact, but a lot has changed since 2005, when it was last visited by a human-occupied submersible.

While working on a film for Atlantic Productions London, an exploration team from Triton Submarines visited the wreck five times over eight days and discovered that entire sections of the ship have disappeared. The starboard side of the officer's quarters has deteriorated, and the captain's bathtub is totally gone. The deck house on the same side and the sloping lounge roof of the bow are also on the brink of collapse, according to the crew.

Unlike other artifacts and historic sites, there's no way to preserve the wreckage of the Titanic for future generations. Churning ocean currents, corrosive salt, and metal-eating bacteria will continue to break down the steel behemoth until it becomes part of the sea. Some experts estimate that by 2030, it's likely that no part of the wreck will remain.

Whether that projection is off by years or decades, these findings suggest that every new team that visits the Titanic may find something different than the team before them. On this most recent expedition, the Triton Submarines exploration team was able to film the wreck in 4K for the first time. That footage may end up being some of the last ever captured of many elements of the ship.

[h/t BBC]

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