“The Matilda Effect”: How Pioneering Women Scientists Have Been Denied Recognition and Written Out of Science History

Pho­to via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The his­to­ry of sci­ence, like most every his­to­ry we learn, comes to us as a pro­ces­sion of great, almost exclu­sive­ly white, men, unbro­ken but for the occa­sion­al token woman—well-deserving of her hon­ors but seem­ing­ly anom­alous nonethe­less. “If you believe the his­to­ry books,” notes the Time­line series The Matil­da Effect, “sci­ence is a guy thing. Dis­cov­er­ies are made by men, which spur fur­ther inno­va­tion by men, fol­lowed by acclaim and prizes for men. But too often, there is an unsung woman genius who deserves just as much cred­it” and who has been over­shad­owed by male col­leagues who grabbed the glo­ry.

In 1993, Cor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty his­to­ri­an of sci­ence Mar­garet Rossiter dubbed the denial of recog­ni­tion to women sci­en­tists “the Matil­da effect,” for suf­frag­ist and abo­li­tion­ist Matil­da Joslyn Gage, whose 1893 essay “Woman as an Inven­tor” protest­ed the com­mon asser­tion that “woman… pos­sess­es no inven­tive or mechan­i­cal genius.” Gage wrote that “even the Unit­ed States cen­sus” failed “to enu­mer­ate her among the inven­tors of the coun­try.” Such asser­tions, Gage pro­ceed­ed to demon­strate, “are care­less­ly or igno­rant­ly made… although woman’s sci­en­tif­ic edu­ca­tion has been gross­ly neglect­ed, yet some of the most impor­tant inven­tions of the world are due to her.”

Over 100 years lat­er, Rossiter’s tena­cious work in unearthing the con­tri­bu­tions of U.S. women sci­en­tists inspired the His­to­ry of Sci­ence Soci­ety to name a pres­ti­gious prize after her. The Time­line series pro­files of the few of the women whom it describes as prime exam­ples of the Matil­da effect, includ­ing Dr. Lise Meit­ner, the Aus­tri­an-born physi­cist and pio­neer of nuclear tech­nol­o­gy who escaped the Nazis and became known in her time as “the Jew­ish Moth­er of the Bomb,” though she had noth­ing to do with the atom­ic bomb. Instead, “Meit­ner led the research that ulti­mate­ly dis­cov­ered nuclear fis­sion.” But Meit­ner would become “lit­tle more than a foot­note in the his­to­ry of Nazi sci­en­tists and the birth of the Atom­ic age.”

Instead, Meitner’s col­league Otto Hahn received the acco­lades, a Nobel Prize in Chem­istry and “renown as the dis­cov­er­er of nuclear fis­sion. Meit­ner, who direct­ed Hahn’s most sig­nif­i­cant exper­i­ments and cal­cu­lat­ed the ener­gy release result­ing from fis­sion, received a few essen­tial­ist head­lines fol­lowed by decades of obscu­ri­ty.” (See Meit­ner and Hahn in the pho­to above.) Like­wise, the name of Alice Augus­ta Ball has been “all but scrubbed from the his­to­ry of med­i­cine,” though it was Ball, an African Amer­i­can chemist from Seat­tle, Wash­ing­ton, who pio­neered what became known as the Dean Method, a rev­o­lu­tion­ary treat­ment for lep­rosy.

Ball con­duct­ed her research at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Hawaii, but she trag­i­cal­ly died at the age of 24, in what was like­ly a lab acci­dent, before the results could be pub­lished. Instead, Uni­ver­si­ty Pres­i­dent Dr. Arthur Dean, who had co-taught chem­istry class­es with Ball, con­tin­ued her work. But he failed “to men­tion Ball’s key con­tri­bu­tion” despite protes­ta­tions from Dr. Har­ry Holl­mann, a sur­geon who worked with Ball on treat­ing lep­rosy patients. Dean claimed cred­it, and pub­lished their work under his name. Decades lat­er, “the scant archival trail of Alice Ball was redis­cov­ered…. In 2000, a plaque was installed at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Hawaii com­mem­o­rat­ing Ball’s accom­plish­ments.”

Oth­er women in the Matil­da effect series include bac­te­r­i­al geneti­cist Esther Leder­berg, who made amaz­ing dis­cov­er­ies in genet­ics that won her hus­band a Nobel Prize; Irish astro­physi­cist Joce­lyn Bell Bur­nell, who dis­cov­ered the first radio pul­sars in 1967, but was exclud­ed from the Nobel award­ed to her the­sis super­vi­sor Antony Hewish and astronomer Mar­tin Ryle. A sim­i­lar fate befell Dr. Ros­alind Franklin, the chemist exclud­ed from the Nobel award­ed to her col­leagues James Wat­son, Fran­cis Crick, and Mau­rice Wilkins for the dis­cov­ery of DNA.

These promi­nent exam­ples are but the tip of the ice­berg when it comes to women who made sig­nif­i­cant con­tri­bu­tions to sci­en­tif­ic his­to­ry and were reward­ed by being writ­ten out of it and denied awards and recog­ni­tion in their life­time. For more on the his­to­ry of U.S. women in sci­ence and the social forces that worked to exclude them, see Mar­garet Rossiter’s three-vol­ume Women Sci­en­tists in Amer­i­ca series: Strug­gles and Strate­gies to 1940, Before Affir­ma­tive Action, 1940–1972, and Forg­ing a New World since 1972. And read Timeline’s Matil­da Effect series of arti­cles here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read the “Don’t Let the Bas­tards Get You Down” Let­ter That Albert Ein­stein Sent to Marie Curie Dur­ing a Time of Per­son­al Cri­sis (1911)

Marie Curie Attend­ed a Secret, Under­ground “Fly­ing Uni­ver­si­ty” When Women Were Banned from Pol­ish Uni­ver­si­ties

Pop Art Posters Cel­e­brate Pio­neer­ing Women Sci­en­tists: Down­load Free Posters of Marie Curie, Ada Lovelace & More

The Ency­clo­pe­dia of Women Philoso­phers: A New Web Site Presents the Con­tri­bu­tions of Women Philoso­phers, from Ancient to Mod­ern

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

Van Gogh’s Art Now Adorns Vans Shoes

While muse­ums remain free for the most part in Europe and still so pop­u­lar that they are loved bet­ter than lux­u­ry brands (accord­ing to this one arti­cle), fund­ing is not what it used to be. As you might have seen with our posts on Hierony­mus Bosch on (Dr. Marten’s) Boots, wear­able clas­sic art is kind of a thing now.

The Van Gogh Muse­um in Ams­ter­dam announced a series of lim­it­ed-edi­tion Vans (Van Gogh, Vans shoes, get it?!) fea­tur­ing pat­terns based on his paint­ings: “Skull” (1887), “Almond Blos­som” (1890), “Sun­flow­ers” (1889) and van Gogh’s “Self-Por­trait as a Painter” (1887–1888). There’s even a shoe that uses writ­ing from one of his let­ters, includ­ing stamp and address, as a pat­tern.

Would ol’ Vin­cent been hap­py with this, see­ing the pub­lic want to wear his work? He was cer­tain­ly hap­py in that Doc­tor Who episode where he trav­eled for­ward in time to know he hadn’t suf­fered in vain. But would he have liked to see his art wrapped around fans’ bod­ies?

Because the Vans line doesn’t stop at shoes, it fea­tures base­ball hats, t‑shirts, hood­ies, and back­packs. There is undoubt­ed­ly a lot of detail put into them. These aren’t quick knock offs made for a tourist stall. The shoe inte­ri­ors con­tain addi­tion designs, and each prod­uct comes with infor­ma­tion about the work.

And it’s all for a good cause: a por­tion of each sale goes back to the Van Gogh Muse­um to help with fund­ing and preser­va­tion.

That’s a sight bet­ter than 2017’s Van Gogh bags designed by artist/cultural appro­pri­a­tor Jeff Koons for Louis Vuit­ton, for which he slapped some mas­ter­pieces on a $5,000 hand­bag and hung “VAN GOGH” in blocky fake-gold let­ters on the front. (If it makes you feel bet­ter, Louis Vuit­ton burns all its left­over prod­uct lest it fall into the hands of the poors.)

The Vans Van Gogh col­lec­tion store opens August 3, so we can’t even tell you how much these shoes might be. But if the Doc Marten’s are any­thing to go by, they will sell out quick.

Cool way to help fund a muse­um, or just pure com­mod­i­fi­ca­tion? Let us know below.

via This is Colos­sal

Relat­ed con­tent:

Watch the Trail­er for a “Ful­ly Paint­ed” Van Gogh Film: Fea­tures 12 Oil Paint­ings Per Sec­ond by 100+ Painters

Mar­tin Scors­ese Plays Vin­cent Van Gogh in a Short, Sur­re­al Film by Aki­ra Kuro­sawa

Down­load Hun­dreds of Van Gogh Paint­ings, Sketch­es & Let­ters in High Res­o­lu­tion

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.

Watch the First “Interactive” TV Show: Winky Dink and You Encouraged Kids to Draw on the Screen (1953)

Near­ly every­one born with­in the past fif­teen years nat­u­ral­ly thinks of screens as both touch­able and respon­sive to touch. But smart­phones, tablets, and the oth­er devices those kids have nev­er known a world with­out will always look like tech­no­log­i­cal mar­vels to their grand­par­ents’ gen­er­a­tion. Grow­ing up in the 1950s as part of one of tele­vi­sion’s most enthu­si­as­tic view­er­ships, they expe­ri­enced the rise of that then-mar­velous medi­um and the var­i­ous con­cepts it tried out before set­tling into con­ven­tion. Some may even remem­ber hap­py Sat­ur­day morn­ings with CBS’ Winky Dink and You, the show that they did­n’t just watch but actu­al­ly “inter­act­ed” with by break­ing out their crayons and draw­ing on the screen.

First aired in 1953, Winky Dink and You came host­ed by Jack Bar­ry, a famous tele­vi­sion per­son­al­i­ty since the begin­ning of tele­vi­sion broad­cast­ing. (He would remain so until his death in the mid-1980s, hav­ing bounced back from the quiz show scan­dals of the lat­er 1950s.) His ani­mat­ed side­kick, the tit­u­lar Winky Dink, was voiced by Mae Ques­tel, best known as the voice of Bet­ty Boop and Olive Oyl. “Winky Dink said he want­ed the chil­dren to mail away for a ‘Mag­ic Win­dow,’ which was actu­al­ly a cheap­ly pro­duced, thin sheet of plas­tic that adhered to the TV screen by sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty,” writes Winky Dink-gen­er­a­tion colum­nist Bob Greene. “Along with the plas­tic sheet that arrived in the mail were ‘mag­ic crayons.’ Chil­dren were encour­aged to place the sheet on their TV screen and watch the show each Sat­ur­day, so that Winky Dink could tell them what to do.”

Winky Dink, and Bar­ry, often told them to draw in the miss­ing parts of a pic­ture, or to con­nect dots that would reveal a cod­ed mes­sage. In the episode above, writes Pale­o­fu­ture’s Matt Novak, Bar­ry invites kids to “draw things on Winky Dink’s fam­i­ly mem­bers, like flow­ers on the but­ton hole of Uncle Slim’s jack­et, or an entire­ly new nose on the old guy. Uncle Slim sneezes in reac­tion to get­ting a nose drawn on his face, as you might expect” — by the stan­dards of 1950s chil­dren’s pro­gram­ming, “com­e­dy gold.” Dull though it may sound today, Winky Dink and You dates from an era when tele­vi­sion “was still seen as an edu­ca­tion force for good,” when “Amer­i­cans weren’t quite jad­ed enough to believe TV was a pas­sive tech­nol­o­gy that didn’t actu­al­ly stim­u­late the mind.”

And though the show man­aged to move two mil­lion mag­ic screens, con­cerns about X‑rays ema­nat­ing from pic­ture tubes (as well as the like­li­hood of impa­tient kids draw­ing right on the glass) end­ed its run in 1957. But in a sense, its lega­cy lives on: a much-cir­cu­lat­ed quote attrib­uted to Bill Gates describes Winky Dink and You “the first inter­ac­tive TV show,” and it does indeed seem to have pio­neered a kind of con­tent that has only in recent years reached full tech­no­log­i­cal pos­si­bil­i­ty. Any­one who has watched young chil­dren of the 21st cen­tu­ry play on smart­phones and tablets will notice a strik­ing resem­blance to the activ­i­ties led by Winky Dink and Bar­ry. Dif­fer­ent reboots have been attempt­ed in dif­fer­ent eras, but has the time come for a Winky Dink and You app?

(via Pale­o­fu­ture)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Duck and Cov­er: The 1950s Film That Taught Mil­lions of School­child­ren How to Sur­vive a Nuclear Bomb

1950 Super­man Poster Urged Kids to Defend All Amer­i­cans, Regard­less of Their Race, Reli­gion or Nation­al Ori­gin

1950s Bat­man Car­toon Tells Kids: “Don’t Believe Those Crack­pot Lies About Peo­ple Who Wor­ship Dif­fer­ent­ly”

Did Stan­ley Kubrick Invent the iPad in 2001: A Space Odyssey?

Before Mad Men: Famil­iar and For­got­ten Ads from 1950s to 1980s Now Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Marcel Marceau Used His Mime Skills to Save Children’s Lives During the Holocaust

In 1972, Jer­ry Lewis made the ill-con­sid­ered deci­sion to write, direct, and star in a film about a Ger­man clown in Auschwitz. The result was so awful that he nev­er allowed its release, and it quick­ly acquired the reputation—along with dis­as­ters like George Lucas’ Star Wars Hol­i­day Spe­cial—as one of the biggest mis­takes in movie his­to­ry. Some­how, this cau­tion­ary tale did not dis­suade the bold Ital­ian come­di­an Rober­to Benig­ni from mak­ing a film with a some­what sim­i­lar premise, 1997’s Life is Beau­ti­ful, in which he plays a father in a con­cen­tra­tion camp who enter­tains chil­dren with com­ic stunts and antics to dis­tract them from the hor­rors all around them.

That film, by con­trast, was a com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess and went on to win the Grand Prix at Cannes in 1998 and three Acad­e­my Awards the fol­low­ing year, a tes­ta­ment to Benigni’s sen­si­tiv­i­ty to his sub­ject, in a screen­play part­ly based on the mem­oirs of Rubi­no Romeo Salmoni. It’s a won­der that anoth­er real-life sto­ry of a com­ic genius who used his tal­ents not only to enter­tain chil­dren dur­ing WWII, but to save them from the Nazis has some­how nev­er been made into a fea­ture film—and espe­cial­ly sur­pris­ing giv­en the stature of the man in ques­tion: Mar­cel Marceau, the most famous mime in his­to­ry.

As we learn in the Great Big Sto­ry video above, Marceau was 16 years old in 1940 when Ger­man sol­diers marched into France. His “child­hood end­ed all at once,” says Shawn Wen, author of a recent book about Marceau. His father died in Auschwitz and both Marceau and his broth­er “were involved in the war effort against the Nazis.” In one sto­ry, Marceau dressed a group of chil­dren from an orphan­age as campers and walked them into Switzer­land, enter­tain­ing them all the way, “to the point where they could pre­tend as if they were going on vaca­tion rather than flee­ing for their lives.”

In anoth­er sto­ry, Marceau some­how con­vinced a group of Ger­man sol­diers to sur­ren­der to him. “It seems as if this nat­ur­al knack for act­ing,” says Wen, “end­ed up becom­ing a part of his involve­ment in the war effort.” Dur­ing the war, Marceau was “mim­ing for his life,” and the lives of oth­ers. Mime has been the butt of many jokes over the years, but Wen sees in Marceau’s silent per­for­mances a means of bring­ing human­i­ty togeth­er with an art that tran­scends lan­guage and nation­al­i­ty. Learn more about how Marceau began his mime career dur­ing the Nazi occu­pa­tion at our pre­vi­ous post here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

How Mar­cel Marceau Start­ed Mim­ing to Save Chil­dren from the Holo­caust

Mar­cel Marceau Mimes the Pro­gres­sion of Human Life, From Birth to Death, in 4 Min­utes

Helen Keller Writes a Let­ter to Nazi Stu­dents Before They Burn Her Book: “His­to­ry Has Taught You Noth­ing If You Think You Can Kill Ideas” (1933)

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

How Carol Kaye Became the Most Prolific Session Musician in History

They don’t spend their lives on tour bus­es, per­form­ing for hun­dreds or thou­sands of fans. They don’t make music videos or appear on album cov­ers and late-night TV show couches—all the things musi­cians are sup­posed to do in the pop­u­lar imag­i­na­tion. But they con­stant­ly com­pose, play, and record music. And their work may get heard far more than that of most aspir­ing stars, though we may nev­er know their names.

They are ses­sion musi­cians, the sea­soned play­ers that song­writ­ers, singers, and pro­duc­ers call on when it’s time to get into the stu­dio and get seri­ous. And Car­ol Kaye may be the most pro­lif­ic of them all, “with a career span­ning more than half a cen­tu­ry and appear­ances on an esti­mat­ed 10,000 record­ings,” as the Poly­phon­ic video pro­file above notes.

Name a clas­sic rock, pop, R&B, or soul album and there’s a very good chance Kaye’s bass appears on it. The Beach Boys, Neil Young, Frank Zap­pa, Lou Rawls, Ike & Tina Turn­er, Dusty Spring­field, Love, The Mon­kees, Ray Charles, The Right­eous Broth­ers, Wayne New­ton, and on and on.

She start­ed as a gui­tar prodi­gy at the age of 13. Soon, she was teach­ing the instru­ment and play­ing jazz clubs at night. At 25, she caught the atten­tion of band­leader “Bumps” Black­well, who recruit­ed her for her debut ses­sion gig, play­ing on Sam Cooke’s “Sum­mer­time.” Her rhythm gui­tar work can also be heard on Richie Valens’ “La Bam­ba” and sev­er­al Son­ny & Cher hits.

But it’s Kaye’s work on the bass that made her most renowned, the result of a “hap­py acci­dent” when the bass play­er in a record­ing ses­sion failed to show up. Kaye took over and loved it so much that she stuck with the instru­ment, say­ing in one inter­view that she found in the bass “my own lit­tle spot. I knew what to do and what to invent.”

Invent she did, on both gui­tar and bass, con­tribut­ing her taste­ful play­ing to so many clas­sics that the his­to­ry of mod­ern music can­not be told with­out her. She has influ­enced count­less bass play­ers, from Gene Sim­mons to Tina Wey­mouth and writ­ten some of the most icon­ic grooves of all time. How’s that for a musi­cian who nev­er made a video?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Meet Car­ol Kaye, the Unsung Bassist Behind Your Favorite 60s Hits

Car­ol Kaye, 81-Year-Old Pio­neer of Rock, Gives Kiss’ Gene Sim­mons a Bass Les­son

7 Female Bass Play­ers Who Helped Shape Mod­ern Music: Kim Gor­don, Tina Wey­mouth, Kim Deal & More

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

How Charlie Kaufman Goes Deep into the Human Condition in Being John Malkovich, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Other Movies

We all remem­ber our ear­ly encoun­ters with the work of Char­lie Kauf­man, though few of us knew at the time — or even know now — that it was the work of Char­lie Kauf­man. Now acclaimed as a screen­writer and the direc­tor of the films Synec­doche, New York and Anom­al­isa, he brought his pen­chant for the inter­sec­tion of the philo­soph­i­cal and sur­re­al even to the first projects he worked on. These include episodes of tele­vi­sion shows like Get a Life, the ear­ly-1990s sit­com known pri­mar­i­ly for its weird­ness, and the more sub­tly askew Ned and Stacey a few years lat­er. But only at the end of the 1990s did Hol­ly­wood and its audi­ences taste Kauf­man’s writ­ing in its purest form in Being John Malkovich.

Direct­ed by Spike Jonze, Being John Malkovich, a film about a pup­peteer who dis­cov­ers a tun­nel into the mind of the tit­u­lar actor, launched a cin­e­mat­ic explo­ration of Kauf­man’s sig­na­ture themes: con­trol, con­nec­tion, iden­ti­ty, mor­tal­i­ty. That explo­ration would con­tin­ue in Kauf­man and Jonze’s next film, Adap­ta­tion, as well as in his col­lab­o­ra­tions with direc­tor Michel Gondry, Human Nature and Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind“Writ­ing with Hon­esty,” the Chan­nel Criswell video essay above, shows us how Kauf­man has approached those themes in the films he has writ­ten for oth­er direc­tors as well as for him­self.

In Kauf­man’s work, says Chan­nel Criswell cre­ator Lewis Bond, “the craft and strug­gle of the writer is ever-present with the raw sin­cer­i­ty with which the angst of every per­son is put on dis­play.” This has required Kauf­man not just to break long-estab­lished rules of screen­writ­ing but to put him­self into his screen­plays in unusu­al­ly direct ways (as evi­denced by Adap­ta­tion’s depic­tion of screen­writ­ing guru Robert McK­ee and use of a screen­writer main char­ac­ter named Char­lie Kauf­man). His “explo­ration of the human con­di­tion” neces­si­tates “plac­ing his own anx­i­eties at the cen­ter of his work. His naked ego is com­plete­ly exposed to the audi­ence, to the point of unbri­dled self-scruti­ny.” In oth­er words, “the fur­ther he probes into his char­ac­ters, the deep­er he actu­al­ly delves into him­self.”

This may sound self-indul­gent — and nobody acknowl­edges that more than Kauf­man him­self — but Bond describes the process as “test­ing his own per­sona as he’s plac­ing him­self in sit­u­a­tions that he does­n’t know how to over­come. He watch­es oth­ers watch­ing him­self, giv­ing him the lib­er­ty to write as he dis­cov­ers.” He dis­cov­ers, as his writ­ing takes him into the realms of the abstract, the metaphor­i­cal, and the sym­bol­ic, that he and his view­ers share an inner self. “Por­tals to the head of John Malkovich, a fake twin broth­er he writes as real, a the­ater the size of a city tak­ing pri­or­i­ty over the end of the world: all these are clear peeks into the soul of Kauf­man, his attempts to rec­on­cile his per­son­al foibles, and through this we rec­og­nize our own frail­ties and anx­i­eties in his.” Hence, per­haps, the mem­o­ra­bil­i­ty of our encoun­ters with Kauf­man’s work: they’re also encoun­ters with our­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Film­mak­ers Tell Their Sto­ries: Three Insight­ful Video Essays Demys­ti­fy the Craft of Edit­ing, Com­po­si­tion & Col­or

What Makes a David Lynch Film Lynchi­an: A Video Essay

Watch a Video Essay on the Poet­ic Har­mo­ny of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Film­mak­ing

44 Essen­tial Movies for the Stu­dent of Phi­los­o­phy

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Prince Plays Guitar for Maria Bartiromo: It’s Awkward (2004)

This uncom­fort­able scene played out on CNBC in 2004.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Prince Play Jazz Piano & Coach His Band Through George Gershwin’s “Sum­mer­time” in a Can­did, Behind-the-Scenes Moment (1990)

Hear Prince’s Per­son­al Playlist of Par­ty Music: 22 Tracks That Will Bring Any Par­ty to Life

Apply to Become an Archivist Over­see­ing Prince’s Arti­facts & Archival Mate­ri­als: Appli­ca­tions Are Being Accept­ed Now

« Go Back
Quantcast
Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.