Al Franken Provides Comic Relief at the Grateful Dead’s 1980 Halloween Concert: A Tribute to Our Favorite Deadhead Senator

Our illus­tri­ous Sen­a­tor from Min­neso­ta Al Franken has long been a Dead­head, or at least an ardent fan. He and com­e­dy part­ner Tom Davis were the first writ­ers hired by Sat­ur­day Night Live in 1975 and occa­sion­al­ly also per­formed rou­tines on the show. They were also Grate­ful Dead fans respon­si­ble for get­ting the band booked on SNL.

So by the time 1980 and the eight-night res­i­den­cy of the Grate­ful Dead at Radio City Music Hall rolled around, Franken and Davis were asked to host the final night, Hal­loween, for a show that was simul­cast on radio and closed cir­cuit tele­vi­sion to 14 movie the­aters around the coun­try. Their job? To help enter­tain view­ers and fill the two 40-minute breaks in the Dead­’s show.

For Radio City Music Hall, the event saved its finan­cial skin. Accord­ing to Rolling Stone, by the late ‘70s, “with New York City in fis­cal freefall, Radio City’s future was sud­den­ly shaky; movie atten­dance dropped, and plans to con­vert it into an office build­ing or park­ing lot loomed.”

The solu­tion was to book pop and rock acts. The first was Lin­da Ron­stadt. The sec­ond was the Dead, and soon Dead­heads descend­ed on Rock­e­feller cen­ter, buy­ing up 36,000 tick­ets.

Franken and Davis pre-taped many of the seg­ments, and the Dead loved mock­ing them­selves. There’s a Jer­ry Lewis Telethon par­o­dy for “Jerry’s Kids,” where Franken urges dona­tions for acid casu­al­ties; Bob Weir’s lux­u­ri­ous hair is admired; drugs and penis jokes abound; and at one point Davis “mis­tak­en­ly” drinks acid-dosed urine and trips out. (In real­i­ty, Davis actu­al­ly had dropped acid for the live por­tion.)

Radio City’s lawyers sued after the con­certs for dam­ag­ing its rep­u­ta­tion, but lat­er set­tled. A com­pi­la­tion video of the Hal­loween show and the pre­vi­ous night’s con­cert was released in 1981 as Dead Ahead, the source of these clips.

Tom Davis died in 2012 from throat and neck can­cer; and Al Franken rep­re­sents the cit­i­zens of Min­neso­ta, but did briefly take over SiriusXM’s Grate­ful Dead chan­nel in May of 2017 to host a full day of music and inter­views with Bob Weir, Bill Kreutz­mann and Mick­ey Hart, the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of the Dead (always an iron­ic turn of phrase).

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sen­a­tor Al Franken Does a Pitch Per­fect Imi­ta­tion of Mick Jag­ger (1982)

Al Franken Effort­less­ly Draws the Map of Amer­i­ca

11,215 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

The Grate­ful Dead Play at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids, in the Shad­ow of the Sphinx (1978)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The Tokyoiter: Artists Pay Tribute to the Japanese Capital with New Yorker-Style Magazine Covers

When humorist and New York­er con­trib­u­tor David Sedaris quit smok­ing about a decade ago, he chose Tokyo in which to do it: “Its for­eign­ness would take me out of myself, I hoped, and give me some­thing to con­cen­trate on besides my own suf­fer­ing.” That first extend­ed trip not only allowed him to kick the habit and gave him plen­ty of cul­ture clash­es to write about, but began his rela­tion­ship with Tokyo that con­tin­ues to this day. “Win­dows flanked the mov­ing side­walks, and on their ledges sat pot­ted flow­ers,” he writes in appre­ci­a­tion in his first diaries there. “No one had pulled the petals off. No one had thrown trash into the pots or dashed them to the floor. How dif­fer­ent life looks when peo­ple behave them­selves.”

Most strik­ing­ly of all, there stood all “those vend­ing machines, right out in the open, lined up on the side­walk like peo­ple wait­ing for a bus.” The then-Paris-based Sedaris com­mis­er­ates with a French Japan­ese lan­guage school class­mate: “ ‘Can you believe it?’ he asked. ‘In the sub­way sta­tion, on the street, they just stand there, com­plete­ly unmo­lest­ed.’ ”

Our Indone­sian class­mate came up, and after lis­ten­ing to us go on, he asked what the big deal was.

“In New York or Paris, these machines would be trashed,” I told him.

The Indone­sian raised his eye­brows.

“He means destroyed,” Christophe said. “Per­sons would break the glass and cov­er every­thing with graf­fi­ti.”

The Indone­sian stu­dent asked why, and we were hard put to explain.

“It’s some­thing to do?” I offered.

“But you can read a news­pa­per,” the Indone­sian said.

“Yes,” I explained, “but that wouldn’t sat­is­fy your basic need to tear some­thing apart.”

Those vend­ing machines, a basic expec­ta­tion to Toky­oites but a bare­ly imag­in­able lux­u­ry to many a for­eign­er, appear on one cov­er of the Toky­oi­ter, a col­lab­o­ra­tive art project pro­duc­ing a series of cov­ers for an imag­i­nary New York­er-style mag­a­zine based in the Japan­ese cap­i­tal. This trib­ute to a dis­tinc­tive­ly Japan­ese form of auto­mat­ed side­walk com­merce comes from Hen­nie Haworth, an illus­tra­tor based in Eng­land (where Sedaris also now lives, inci­den­tal­ly) who spent six months in Japan doing noth­ing but draw­ing its vend­ing machines.

“I have a fam­i­ly mem­ber liv­ing in Japan which gives me excuse to vis­it every now and again,” writes illus­tra­tor Yuliya. “One of the main inspi­ra­tions I find in folk­lore and all the mag­i­cal beings of Japan. I’m orig­i­nal­ly from Ukraine and grew up sur­round­ed by folk tales and super­sti­tions, and even though I nev­er tru­ly believed in any of it, it always fas­ci­nat­ed me. I miss that in mod­ern West­ern world. So the crea­tures on my cov­er are made up but they are inspired by Japan­ese Yokai and just like the rest of Tokyo, they’re tak­ing a spon­ta­neous nap on the train.” Oth­er Toky­oi­ter cov­ers, con­tributed by artists from all around the world, take as their sub­jects Toky­o’s archi­tec­ture, its food, its street life, its bath hous­es, and much more besides.

Tak­en as a col­lec­tion, the project presents a com­bi­na­tion of images of Tokyo famil­iar even to those who’ve nev­er set foot in the city and ref­er­ences whose nuances only a Toky­oite — or at least some­one with a Sedaris-lev­el famil­iar­i­ty with the place — can imme­di­ate­ly grasp. What could be more Tokyo, for instance, than the Rock­a­bil­ly dancers of Yoyo­gi Park, por­trayed here by Aus­tralian artist Grace Lee, who for more than 40 years have spent their Sun­day after­noons tak­ing 1950s Amer­i­cana to its absolute lim­it for the enjoy­ment of all who pass by? And if you’ve gone to see them your­self, you’ll know that, if you get thirsty while watch­ing, you can sim­ply buy a drink from one of the many vend­ing machines near­by, all lined up right out in the open.

See more cov­ers in the Toky­oi­ter col­lec­tion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Curat­ed Col­lec­tion of Vin­tage Japan­ese Mag­a­zine Cov­ers (1913–46)

New Archive Presents The Chicagoan, Chicago’s Jazz-Age Answer to The New York­er (1926 to 1935)

Mashup Artist “Kuti­man” Trav­els to Tokyo and Cre­ates an Incred­i­ble Musi­cal Post­card

Time Trav­el Back to Tokyo After World War II, and See the City in Remark­ably High-Qual­i­ty 1940s Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A Short Documentary on Artist Jeff Koons, Narrated by Scarlett Johansson

If you don’t move, noth­ing hap­pens. — Jeff Koons

Jeff Koons, the sub­ject of Oscar Boyson’s recent pop video essay, above, is sure­ly one of the most wide­ly known liv­ing artists. As with fel­low artists Damien Hirst and Cindy Sher­man the spot­light has pro­duced an army of detrac­tors who know very lit­tle about him, or his large, far-rang­ing body of work.

The choice of Scar­lett Johans­son to pro­vide snarky sec­ond-per­son nar­ra­tion might not jol­ly Koons’ naysay­ers into sus­pend­ing judg­ment long enough for a prop­er rein­tro­duc­tion. (His show-and-tell dis­play of his Venus of Wil­len­dorf cof­fee mug caus­es her to quip, “You sexy moth­er­fuck­er.” Ugh.)

On the oth­er hand, there’s rap­per Phar­rell Williams’ onscreen obser­va­tion that, “We need haters out there. They’re our walk­ing affir­ma­tions that we’re doing some­thing right.”

The poten­tial for clam­orous neg­a­tive reac­tion has nev­er pro­pelled Koons to shy away from doing things on the grand scale in the pub­lic are­na, as the giant open air dis­play of such sculp­tures as “Seat­ed Bal­le­ri­na,” “Bal­loon Flower,” and “Pup­py” will attest.

Sure­ly, the genial affect he brings to the film is not what those who abhor “Made in Heav­en,” a series of erot­ic 3‑D self-por­traits co-star­ring his then-wife, porn-star Ilona “Cic­ci­oli­na” Staller, would have expect­ed.

Nor does he come off as a pan­der­ing, high priest of kitsch, some­thing cer­tain to dis­ap­point those who abhor “Michael Jack­son and Bub­bles,” his gaudy, larg­er-than-life glazed porce­lain sculp­ture of the King of Pop and his pet chimp.

“Kitsch is a word I real­ly don’t believe in,” he smiles (pos­si­bly all the way to the bank).

Instead, he veers toward reflec­tion, a fit­ting pre­oc­cu­pa­tion for an artist giv­en to mir­ror-pol­ished stain­less steel and more recent­ly, gaz­ing balls of the sort com­mon­ly found on 20th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can lawns. He wants view­ers to take a good look at them­selves, along with his work.

Those whose hearts are set against him are unlike­ly to be swayed, but the unde­cid­ed and open-mind­ed might soft­en to a list of influ­ences includ­ing Duchamp, Dali, DaVin­ci, Frag­o­nard, Berni­ni, and Manet.

Dit­to the opin­ions of a diverse array of talk­ing heads like Frank Gehry, Lar­ry Gagosian, and fel­low post-mod­ernist David Salle, who prais­es Koons’ artis­tic ded­i­ca­tion to “every­day Amer­i­can-style hap­pi­ness.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Waters: The Point of Con­tem­po­rary Art

Cindy Sherman’s Insta­gram Account Goes Pub­lic, Reveal­ing 600 New Pho­tos & Many Strange Self-Por­traits

Teens Pon­der Mean­ing of Con­tem­po­rary Art

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Jared Leto Stars in a New Prequel to Blade Runner 2049: Watch It Free Online

Blade Run­ner, as any­one who’s seen so much as its first shot knows, takes place in the Los Ange­les of Novem­ber 2019. Though the film flopped when it came out in 1982, the acclaim and fans it has drawn with each of the 35 years that have passed since did­n’t take long to reach the kind of crit­i­cal mass that demands a sequel. After numer­ous rumors and false starts, the Octo­ber release of Blade Run­ner 2049, pro­duced by Blade Run­ner direc­tor Rid­ley Scott and direct­ed by Arrival direc­tor Denis Vil­leneuve, now fast approach­es. The new movie’s pro­mo­tion­al push, which has so far includ­ed trail­ers and mak­ing-of fea­turettes, has now begun to tell us what hap­pened between 2019 and 2049.

“I decid­ed to ask a cou­ple of artists that I respect to cre­ate three short sto­ries that dra­ma­tize some key events that occurred after 2019, when the first Blade Run­ner takes place, but before 2049, when my new Blade Run­ner sto­ry begins,” says Vil­leneuve in his intro­duc­tion to the brand new short above.

Tak­ing place in the Los Ange­les of 2036, the Luke Scott-direct­ed piece “revolves around Jared Leto’s char­ac­ter, Nian­der Wal­lace,” writes Col­lid­er’s Adam Chit­wood, who “intro­duces a new line of ‘per­fect­ed’ repli­cants called the Nexus 9, seek­ing to get the pro­hi­bi­tion on repli­cants repealed,” the gov­ern­ment hav­ing shut repli­cant pro­duc­tion down thir­teen years before due to a dev­as­tat­ing elec­tro­mag­net­ic pulse attack for which repli­cants took the blame.

A time­line appeared at Com­ic-Con this past sum­mer cov­er­ing the events of the thir­ty years between Blade Run­ner and Blade Run­ner 2049, though in very broad strokes: in 2020 “the Tyrell Cor­po­ra­tion intro­duces a new repli­cant mod­el, the Nexus 8S, which has extend­ed lifes­pans,” in 2025 “a new com­pa­ny, Wal­lace Corp., solves the glob­al food short­age and becomes a mas­sive super pow­er,” in 2049 “life on Earth has reached its lim­it and soci­ety divides between Repli­cant and human.” The two oth­er short films to come should just about tide over fans until the release of Blade Run­ner 2049 — not that those who’ve been wait­ing for a new Blade Run­ner movie since the 1980s can’t han­dle anoth­er month.

The short Blade Run­ner 2049 pre­quel, enti­tled “Nexus: 2036,” will be added to our list, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Blade Run­ner 2049’s New Mak­ing-Of Fea­turette Gives You a Sneak Peek Inside the Long-Await­ed Sequel

The Offi­cial Trail­er for Rid­ley Scott’s Long-Await­ed Blade Run­ner Sequel Is Final­ly Out

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

The Blade Run­ner Pro­mo­tion­al Film

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Periodic Table of Elements Presented as Interactive Haikus

British poet and spec­u­la­tive fic­tion writer recent­ly got a lit­tle cre­ative with the Peri­od­ic Table, writ­ing one haiku for each ele­ment.

Car­bon

Show-steal­ing diva,
throw your­self at any­one,
decked out in dia­monds.

Sil­i­con

Locked in rock and sand,
age upon age
await­ing the dig­i­tal dawn.

Stron­tium

Dead­ly bone seek­er
released by Fukushi­ma;
your sweet days long gone.

You can access the com­plete Ele­men­tal haiku here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent

Inter­ac­tive Peri­od­ic Table of Ele­ments Shows How the Ele­ments Actu­al­ly Get Used in Mak­ing Every­day Things

The Peri­od­ic Table of Ele­ments Scaled to Show The Ele­ments’ Actu­al Abun­dance on Earth

Peri­od­ic Table Bat­tle­ship!: A Fun Way To Learn the Ele­ments

“The Peri­od­ic Table Table” — All The Ele­ments in Hand-Carved Wood

World’s Small­est Peri­od­ic Table on a Human Hair

“The Peri­od­ic Table of Sto­ry­telling” Reveals the Ele­ments of Telling a Good Sto­ry

Chem­istry on YouTube: “Peri­od­ic Table of Videos” Wins SPORE Prize

Free Online Chem­istry Cours­es

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An Animated Introduction to Ludwig Wittgenstein & His Philosophical Insights on the Problems of Human Communication

In the record­ed his­to­ry of phi­los­o­phy, there may be no sharp­er a mind than Lud­wig Wittgen­stein. A bête noire, enfant ter­ri­ble, and all oth­er such phras­es used to describe affronts to order and deco­rum, Wittgen­stein also rep­re­sent­ed an anar­chic force that dis­turbed the staid dis­ci­pline. His teacher Bertrand Rus­sell rec­og­nized the exis­ten­tial threat Wittgen­stein posed to his pro­fes­sion (though not right away). When Wittgen­stein hand­ed Rus­sell the com­pact, cryp­tic Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus, he admit­ted his stu­dent had gone beyond his own ana­lyt­ic insights in the pur­suit of absolute clar­i­ty. Wittgenstein’s long­time men­tor and friend, famed logi­cian and math­e­mati­cian Got­t­lob Frege, expressed crit­i­cism. Some have sug­gest­ed he did so in part because he saw that Wittgen­stein had ren­dered much of his work irrel­e­vant.

Alain de Bot­ton gives a brief but fas­ci­nat­ing sketch of Wittgen­stein’s ideas and incred­i­bly odd biog­ra­phy in the School of Life video above. The eccen­tric Aus­tri­an savant, he asserts, “can help us with our com­mu­ni­ca­tion prob­lems” through his pen­e­trat­ing, though often impen­e­tra­ble, claims about lan­guage. That may be so. But we may need to rede­fine what we mean by “com­mu­ni­ca­tion.” Accord­ing to Wittgen­stein in the Trac­ta­tus, an over­whelm­ing per­cent­age of what we obsess about on a dai­ly basis—political and reli­gious abstrac­tions, for example—is so total­ly inco­her­ent and mud­dled that it means noth­ing at all. He revised this opin­ion dra­mat­i­cal­ly in his lat­er thought.

Though he pub­lished noth­ing after the Trac­ta­tus and soon became a near-recluse after his star­tling entry into ana­lyt­ic phi­los­o­phy, notes from his stu­dents were col­lect­ed and pub­lished as well as a posthu­mous book called Philo­soph­i­cal Inves­ti­ga­tions. This ver­sion of Wittgenstein’s approach to the prob­lems of com­mu­ni­ca­tion involves a devel­op­ment of the “ostensive”—or demonstrative—role of lan­guage. Wittgen­stein made an argu­ment that lan­guage can only serve a social, rather than a per­son­al, sub­jec­tive, func­tion. To make the point, he intro­duced his “Bee­tle in a Box” anal­o­gy, which you can see explained above in an ani­mat­ed BBC video writ­ten by Nigel War­bur­ton and nar­rat­ed by Aidan Turn­er.

The anal­o­gy uses the idea of each of us claim­ing to have a bee­tle in a box as a stand in for our indi­vid­ual, pri­vate expe­ri­ences. We all claim to have them (we can even observe brain states), but no one can ever see inside the the­ater of our minds to ver­i­fy. We sim­ply have to take each oth­er’s word for it. We play “lan­guage games,” which only have mean­ing in respect to their con­text. That such games can be mutu­al­ly intel­li­gi­ble among indi­vid­u­als who are oth­er­wise  opaque to each oth­er has to do with our shared envi­ron­ment, abil­i­ties, and lim­i­ta­tions. Should we, how­ev­er, meet a lion who could speak—in per­fect­ly intel­li­gi­ble English—we would not, Wittgen­stein assert­ed, be able to under­stand a sin­gle word. The vast­ly dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ences of human ver­sus lion would not trans­late through any medi­um.

Just above, we have an expla­na­tion of this thought exper­i­ment from an unlike­ly source, Ricky Ger­vais, in an attempt­ed expla­na­tion to his com­ic foil Karl Pilk­ing­ton, who takes things in his own pecu­liar direc­tion. Though Wittgen­stein used the idea for a dif­fer­ent pur­pose, his obser­va­tion about the unbridge­able chasm between humans and lions antic­i­pates Thomas Nagel’s provoca­tive claims in the 1974 essay “What is it like to be a bat?” We can­not inhab­it the sub­jec­tive states of beings so dif­fer­ent from us, and there­fore can­not say much of any­thing about their con­scious­ness. Maybe it isn’t like any­thing to be a bat. Luck­i­ly for humans, we do have the abil­i­ty to imag­ine each other’s expe­ri­ences, in indi­rect, imper­fect, round­about, ways, and we all have enough shared con­text that we can, at least the­o­ret­i­cal­ly, use lan­guage to pro­duce more clar­i­ty of thought and greater social har­mo­ny.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus Sung as a One-Woman Opera

In Search of Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Seclud­ed Hut in Nor­way: A Short Trav­el Film

Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Short, Strange & Bru­tal Stint as an Ele­men­tary School Teacher

Wittgen­stein and Hitler Attend­ed the Same School in Aus­tria, at the Same Time (1904)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Margaret Hamilton, Lead Software Engineer of the Apollo Project, Stands Next to Her Code That Took Us to the Moon (1969)

Pho­to cour­tesy of MIT Muse­um

When I first read news of the now-infa­mous Google memo writer who claimed with a straight face that women are bio­log­i­cal­ly unsuit­ed to work in sci­ence and tech, I near­ly choked on my cere­al. A dozen exam­ples instant­ly crowd­ed to mind of women who have pio­neered the very basis of our cur­rent tech­nol­o­gy while oper­at­ing at an extreme dis­ad­van­tage in a cul­ture that explic­it­ly believed they shouldn’t be there, this shouldn’t be hap­pen­ing, women shouldn’t be able to do a “man’s job!”

The memo, as Megan Molteni and Adam Rogers write at Wired, “is a species of dis­course pecu­liar to polit­i­cal­ly polar­ized times: cher­ry-pick­ing sci­en­tif­ic evi­dence to sup­port a pre-exist­ing point of view.” Its spe­cious evo­lu­tion­ary psy­chol­o­gy pre­tends to objec­tiv­i­ty even as it ignores real­i­ty. As Mul­der would say, the truth is out there, if you care to look, and you don’t need to dig through clas­si­fied FBI files. Just, well, Google it. No, not the pseu­do­science, but the careers of women in STEM with­out whom we might not have such a thing as Google.

Women like Mar­garet Hamil­ton, who, begin­ning in 1961, helped NASA “devel­op the Apol­lo program’s guid­ance sys­tem” that took U.S. astro­nauts to the moon, as Maia Wein­stock reports at MIT News. “For her work dur­ing this peri­od, Hamil­ton has been cred­it­ed with pop­u­lar­iz­ing the con­cept of soft­ware engi­neer­ing.” Robert McMil­lan put it best in a 2015 pro­file of Hamil­ton:

It might sur­prise today’s soft­ware mak­ers that one of the found­ing fathers of their boys’ club was, in fact, a mother—and that should give them pause as they con­sid­er why the gen­der inequal­i­ty of the Mad Men era per­sists to this day.

Hamil­ton was indeed a moth­er in her twen­ties with a degree in math­e­mat­ics, work­ing as a pro­gram­mer at MIT and sup­port­ing her hus­band through Har­vard Law, after which she planned to go to grad­u­ate school. “But the Apol­lo space pro­gram came along” and con­tract­ed with NASA to ful­fill John F. Kennedy’s famous promise made that same year to land on the moon before the decade’s end—and before the Sovi­ets did. NASA accom­plished that goal thanks to Hamil­ton and her team.

Pho­to cour­tesy of MIT Muse­um

Like many women cru­cial to the U.S. space pro­gram (many dou­bly mar­gin­al­ized by race and gen­der), Hamil­ton might have been lost to pub­lic con­scious­ness were it not for a pop­u­lar redis­cov­ery. “In recent years,” notes Wein­stock, “a strik­ing pho­to of Hamil­ton and her team’s Apol­lo code has made the rounds on social media.” You can see that pho­to at the top of the post, tak­en in 1969 by a pho­tog­ra­ph­er for the MIT Instru­men­ta­tion Lab­o­ra­to­ry. Used to pro­mote the lab’s work on Apol­lo, the orig­i­nal cap­tion read, in part, “Here, Mar­garet is shown stand­ing beside list­ings of the soft­ware devel­oped by her and the team she was in charge of, the LM [lunar mod­ule] and CM [com­mand mod­ule] on-board flight soft­ware team.”

As Hank Green tells it in his con­densed his­to­ry above, Hamil­ton “rose through the ranks to become head of the Apol­lo Soft­ware devel­op­ment team.” Her focus on errors—how to pre­vent them and course cor­rect when they arise—“saved Apol­lo 11 from hav­ing to abort the mis­sion” of land­ing Neil Arm­strong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon’s sur­face. McMil­lan explains that “as Hamil­ton and her col­leagues were pro­gram­ming the Apol­lo space­craft, they were also hatch­ing what would become a $400 bil­lion indus­try.” At Futur­ism, you can read a fas­ci­nat­ing inter­view with Hamil­ton, in which she describes how she first learned to code, what her work for NASA was like, and what exact­ly was in those books stacked as high as she was tall. As a woman, she may have been an out­lier in her field, but that fact is much bet­ter explained by the Occam’s razor of prej­u­dice than by any­thing hav­ing to do with evo­lu­tion­ary deter­min­ism.

Note: You can now find Hamil­ton’s code on Github.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How 1940s Film Star Hedy Lamarr Helped Invent the Tech­nol­o­gy Behind Wi-Fi & Blue­tooth Dur­ing WWII

Meet Grace Hop­per, the Pio­neer­ing Com­put­er Sci­en­tist Who Helped Invent COBOL and Build the His­toric Mark I Com­put­er (1906–1992)

How Ada Lovelace, Daugh­ter of Lord Byron, Wrote the First Com­put­er Pro­gram in 1842–a Cen­tu­ry Before the First Com­put­er

NASA Puts Its Soft­ware Online & Makes It Free to Down­load

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How to Listen to Music: A Free Course from Yale University

Taught by Yale pro­fes­sor Craig Wright, this course, Lis­ten­ing to Music, oper­ates on the assump­tion that lis­ten­ing to music is “not sim­ply a pas­sive activ­i­ty one can use to relax, but rather, an active and reward­ing process.” When we under­stand the basic ele­ments of West­ern music (e.g., rhythm, melody, and form), we can appre­ci­ate music in entire­ly new ways. That includes every­thing from clas­si­cal music, rock and tech­no, to Gre­go­ri­an chant and the blues.

You can watch the 23 lec­tures above, on YouTube, or Yale’s web­site, where you’ll also find a syl­labus and infor­ma­tion on each class ses­sion. The main text used in the course is Lis­ten­ing to Music, writ­ten by the pro­fes­sor him­self.

Lis­ten­ing to Music will be added to the Music sec­tion of our ever-grow­ing col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

It’s also worth not­ing that Prof. Wright has cre­at­ed an inter­ac­tive MOOC called Intro­duc­tion to Clas­si­cal Music. You might want to check it out.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Eve­lyn Glen­nie (a Musi­cian Who Hap­pens to Be Deaf) Shows How We Can Lis­ten to Music with Our Entire Bod­ies

Down­load 400,000 Free Clas­si­cal Musi­cal Scores & 46,000 Free Clas­si­cal Record­ings from the Inter­na­tion­al Music Score Library Project

Play­ing an Instru­ment Is a Great Work­out For Your Brain: New Ani­ma­tion Explains Why

1200 Years of Women Com­posers: A Free 78-Hour Music Playlist That Takes You From Medieval Times to Now

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