De-Coda

Published Oct 15, 2020, 9:00 AM

Real life can be a bit confusing, even leaving us scratching our heads. But the stories boud up in those mysteries are very fun to hear.

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Welcome to Aaron Menkey's Cabinet of Curiosity is a production of I Heart Radio and Grim and Mild. Our world is full of the unexplainable, and if history is an open book, all of these amazing tales are right there on display, just waiting for us to explore. Welcome to the Cabinet of Curiosities. What's in a name? Well, for Hans, his name meant everything. Hans was born in Vienna, Austria, in nineteen o nine, and he studied under physicist Philip Gross at the University of Vienna. After earning his degree in chemistry, Hans went on to join a group of German scientists working on a special project during World War Two. They had been tasked with developing an atomic weapon to be used against the Allies. In nineteen forty three, Allied forces managed to sabotage the hydroelectric power plant where those German scientists were processing heavy water. A series of bombing raids over the following months finished the job and Hans was forced to find new work. After spending some time on other projects in Europe, Hans moved to the United States and began studying the composition of meteorites. In a relatively new field called chemical cosmology or cosmo chemistry at the University of Chicago. His work there brought into the u S Geological Survey in the nineteen fifties, where he did some of his most famous research on how carbon traveled throughout the atmosphere. Hans analyzed trees by measuring the presence of carbon isotopes in their rings, those same rings that are used to calculated trees. H now, to be fair, he hadn't gone into his research with any goal of a big groundbreaking discovery. Aside from satisfying his own curiosity. He had hoped to maybe make the science of carbon dating a bit more accurate. Instead, Hans found something strange. While studying the carbon fourteen levels of a normal piece of wood in nineteen fifty five, he detected the presence of a carbon isotope not found in atmospheric c O two. What he'd found was the kind of isotope created by burning fossil fuels. Hans spun his discovery into a new avenue of research, investigating whether the oceans of the Earth has stored carbon within their waters. Hans teamed up with oceanographer Roger Ravel to conduct carbon fourteen studies in the planet's oceans. Their scientific paper, published in nineteen fifty seven, concluded that carbon dioxide created by fossil fuel combustion had not lingered in the upper atmosphere as other scientists had theorized. Instead, much of it was being absorbed by the oceans. However, if emissions continued to grow at their current rate, he said, then carbon dioxide would collect in the atmosphere and trap the Sun's heat, increasing the Earth's surface temperature. We call this phenomenon the greenhouse effect. An article in an Indiana newspaper dubbed the phenomenon global warming, the first time anyone had ever used the term. Hans and Revel had brought the concept of man made climate change to everyone's attention, academic and layman alike. Hans eventually moved to Lahoya, California, where he spent the remainder of his life. He'd frequently received letters from admirers, mostly children, who had read his books and wanted to tell him how much his work had meant to them. There's just one problem. Hans hadn't written any books, especially ones for children. You see, the United States Postal Service had been accidentally delivering some other person's mail to the scientist. That's because there was another doctor living in Lahoya with a surprisingly similar name. Hans's last name was spelled s U E S S. The other doctor's name was spelled s E U S S with the E and U flipped. Both though were pronounced the same way SEUs, and it seems that Dr hunts SEUs had been getting letters and bills meant for the other Dr SEUs, the pen name of children's author Theodore Geisel. Hans SEUs passed away in his personal research papers were sent to the University of California, San Diego, where they have been cataloged and stored ever since. However, if you go to the library to look up his work, make sure you spell his name correctly, otherwise you might end up poring over the artwork and drafts of such best sellers as Green Eggs and Ham and the Cats and the Hat. Dr Seus's collection of items, including sketches, notebooks, videos, and photos, are housed within the main library building at you See San Diego. It probably doesn't help that the building bears the name of the man who wrote a scathing critique of industry and its effects on the environment if we don't change our ways. And no, I'm not talking about Dr hunts SEUs. The library was named for the man who brought us the Lorax, one of the few manuscripts not present at the library of You see San Diego, a building otherwise known as the Geisel Library. At first, it didn't look like much. In the nineteen fifties, archaeologists digging among the ruins of the royal palace in the ancient city of Ugurt in Syria uncovered a collection of clay tablets, most of which had crumbled and deteriorated, leaving behind just a few fragments of text, but one remained intact. The tablet was cataloged while academics worked on deciphering the wedge shaped characters. Transcribing it proved difficult. The Hyrian language had long been extinct, so it wasn't until nineteen fifty eight that language experts Emmanuel Laroche made a shocking discovery. The tablet, dating back to the fourteenth century b c e. Contained a hymn, making it the oldest fully documented piece of music still in existence. While archaeologists had unearthed musical instruments made mostly of ivory, and bone that date back further than the tablet. They had never found a complete musical melody intact before, so the museum in Damascus was now home to the world's oldest recorded song, and no one knew what all the words were, much less how to play it. Interpretation was difficult, as the Herian language had long died out. What they could translate was that the hymn had been written to Nicoll, the ancient goddess of orchards and the daughter of the summer King. Once I have endeared the deity, the hymn starts out, she will love me in her heart. There are several lines to the verse and three interpretations, two of which came from Laroche. While a few lines mentioned fruit, the last line implies fertility. Even to the experts, it's unclear if the melody was meant to appeal to the goddess's blessing of a harvest or for children, or both. Now trans posing the hymn was difficult enough, but in the early nineteen seventies academics set out to put the lyrics to music. The back of the tablet contained instructions for tuning a musical instrument, most likely a nine string Babylonian liar, the most likely instrument of the time. Another section of the tablet contained what appeared to be musical interludes, and even more difficult, the text, written in a spiral pattern, alternated from the front of the tablet to the back, and changes were indicated by interval names and number signs. It was all a mystery, and although professors and academics of life eventually paired up the instructions, it wasn't a matter of just sitting down and playing the notes. You see, sheet music as we know it wouldn't be used for another two thousand years. Once more, specialists in the field of music and language found themselves stumped. The problem was that when the unknown composer wrote to him, instructions revolved around a heptatonic scale, keeping it as simple as possible. It looks nothing like modern music. The arrangement between the words and how the notes are played came down to not only the interpretation of those words, but matching pitches and tone per octive with nothing familiar to go on. Basically, on the scale of difficulty, matching hearing and lyrics and music to modern day sheet music was a feat akin to understanding Einstein's theory of relativity written in a different language. Not only was the culture long gone, the specific characters indicated a localized version of the dialect, a sort of local slang. The knowledge they had of the Hearing in people seem tenuous at best. It wouldn't be until nineteen seventy two when the tablet was finally decoded, and the best part. This breakthrough allowed the piece to be set to modern music, and it played to the public for the first time in nineteen seventy four. Orchestras, guitarists, and other musicians have played their own interpretations of Hearing and Him Number six over the years since then. Though there are different renditions of the Him, the melody is always hauntingly beautiful. If music is the universal language, then perhaps the Hearing in Him is proof that music bridges time and culture, and that should be music to our ears. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show and you can learn all about it over at the world of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.

Aaron Mahnke's Cabinet of Curiosities

From the creator of the hit podcast Lore comes a new, bite-sized storytelling experience. Each twice 
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