1838, “The Times of India,” the most popular English daily newspaper, was founded. The paper was first printed while the British controlled India and was originally called “The Bombay Times and Journal of Commerce.” A lower-middle-class Brit, Robert Knight, pioneered the publication and set his paper apart from the pack. In 1857, Indians revolted against the British, and most papers ran pro-British stories — except for Knight. He criticized the East India Company’s leadership, drawing Anglo ire, but Indian favor. By 1861, he had merged the paper with his “Bombay Standard,” gotten connected with the Reuters news service and renamed the paper “The Times of India.” He used his paper to continue to criticize the British raj. Covering more than just Bollywood gossip, “The Times” today boasts the largest English readership in the world. Its sister website is the most visited newspaper website, even ahead of “The New York Times.” (Though, admittedly, that website is mostly Bollywood gossip.) Unlike many English-language newspapers, including the London “Times,” “The Times of India” is not owned by Rupert Murdoch … yet.
1933, British composer John Barry was born. Barry scored “The Lion in Winter,” “Howard the Duck” and “Dances with Wolves,” but he was best known for his soundtracks to the James Bond movies. Some people, including John Barry, say he wrote the “James Bond Theme.” But I’m not saying that, because Monty Norman has sued people who say that for libel and has won. But John Barry did write the scores for 11 Bond movies. He helped write classics like “Goldfinger,” “Diamonds are Forever” and “A View to a Kill.” That classic, brassy James Bond sound comes from Barry’s roots in jazz and big band music and has been sampled by everyone from Dr. Dre and the Wu-Tang Clan to Fatboy Slim and Kanye West. Barry died of a heart attack in January, and the Royal College of Music held a memorial concert for him in the Royal Albert Hall in June. You can go on YouTube for videos of that concert, including one of a performance of the “James Bond Theme.” But I don’t know why they performed that, because Monty Norman wrote it.
1957, Russian dog Laika orbited Earth. Now, Laika means “Barker.” This stray dog’s other names weren’t much better though. She was called Kudryavka (“Little Curly”), Zhuchka (“Little Bug”), and Limonchik (“Little Lemon”). And, since she was launched with Sputnik 2, Americans called her Muttnik. Laika, or whatever you want to call her, was trained with two other dogs, but ultimately chosen by the Soviets to be the first rocket dog, burning out (her) fuse out their alone. She went up in Sputnik 2 to see if animals could survive space flight. And even though she didn’t survive — in fact, the Soviets expected her to die — she paved the way for human spaceflight. The Soviets claimed her oxygen ran out, but she really died from overheating. The Americans and Soviets didn’t really care at the time, but the British, who like animals more than people, did. British animal groups called for a moment of silence and protests at Soviet embassies. In the end, the Russians made up for killing Laika by building her a little rocket dog monument.
1969, President Richard Nixon spoke to the “silent majority” in an address about the Vietnam War. Now, Nixon did many wonderful things for this country, but he did not coin this phrase. In the 19th century, the silent majority referred to the many dead who, despite claims to the contrary, usually can’t speak. Other writers invoked the term, too, but referred instead to the non-politically active living. John F. Kennedy wrote about the silent majority in his 1955 book “Profiles in Courage,” and a few months before Nixon gave his silent majority speech, Vice President Spiro T. Agnew used the phrase. When Nixon used it, he was referring to the many Americans who weren’t actively protesting the Vietnam War. He wanted “peace with honor” in Vietnam and not immediate withdrawal. Appealing to the silent majority boosted his approval ratings and allowed him the illusion of peace with honor. The Nixon Presidential Library in Yorba Linda has a wall dedicated to the silent majority speech and praises it as a deft rhetorical tool and political move. But the silent majority of people weren’t so silent during Watergate.
1979, Nazis and Klansmen killed Communists — in North Carolina. No, this wasn’t some pirates v. ninjas Internet battle. This was real life. The Communists had been trying to organize workers in the area, but had crossed paths with the Klan. The Communists had disrupted a showing of the KKK klassic “Birth of a Nation” and then organized a “Death to the Klan March” in a Greensboro housing project. They didn’t exactly have the permission of the mostly black residents, and they challenged the Klan to show themselves. Courageously, the Klan teamed up with some American Nazis and gained information from the police to disrupt the protest. When the Communists began attacking the Nazi and Klan cars, the whities opened fire, killing five and injuring 11 more. Local news cameras recorded most of this conflict — you can find it on YouTube — and criminal and civil suits followed. The Klansmen and Nazis were acquitted by all-white juries in the former, but they lost the latter. And that’s good, because a hefty fine is a just punishment for murder.
