Lady Liberty has pushed her torch high into the New York City skyline since 1886, but at one time, the grand statue did more than just inspire Americans — it was also a lighthouse. The same year French sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi oversaw completion of his copper creation (formally named “Liberty Enlightening the World”), President Grover Cleveland approved a plan for the statue to be lit as a lighthouse. Engineers believed the Statue of Liberty’s torch, at 305 feet above sea level, could act as a navigational tool for ships approaching the New York Harbor, and thus set to work installing nine electric lamps within the torch, plus more along Lady Liberty’s feet and in the statue’s interior. 

The Statue of Liberty’s design was once patented.

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French sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi was issued a U.S. patent for his Statue of Liberty design in 1879, seven years before the statue was completed. The design patent protected Bartholdi from replicas of all sizes (including miniature versions), but lasted only 14 years.

At 7:35 p.m. on November 1, 1886, engineers flipped on the power switch, washing the Statue of Liberty in light for the first time. However, the lights stayed on for just one week due to a lack of funding, and it took two weeks of darkness before the U.S. Lighthouse Board could secure an emergency budget. Even once the lights were turned back on, some questioned the statue’s efficacy as a lighthouse: Newspapers reported that while the lights were initially planned to reach 100 miles or more out at sea, in reality the torch was visible just 24 miles from the harbor. By the early 20th century, the lighthouse was considered “useless” for boat navigation, and on March 1, 1902, the U.S. War Department, with approval from President Theodore Roosevelt, extinguished the light permanently. 

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Many farewells have religious connections. Adios in Spanish and adieu in French mean “to God,” for example. The go-to parting phrase in English, “goodbye,” looks rather secular by comparison — it just means to part on good terms, right? Not quite. “Goodbye” is actually a contraction of the phrase “God be with ye.” It started popping up around the 1570s (spelled “godbwye”). The “God” part of “goodbye” likely gained an extra “o” over time to be consistent with other common English salutations, such as “good morning” and “good night.”

We don’t know where the English phrase “so long” comes from.

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“So long” might be a take on the Irish goodbye “slán,” or maybe German’s “adieu so lange.” Hebrew’s “shalom” also could be a possible candidate, as could Arabic’s “salaam.” Unfortunately, little evidence exists of the phrase’s adoption into English, so the mystery remains.

It might make sense to think that the word “good,” styled “gōd” in Old English, comes from some etymologically divine background. Yet despite their seeming similarities, “good” and “God” developed separately from one another. “Gōd” in Old English simply means “excellent; fine; valuable, etc.,” whereas the origin of “God” to refer to an all-knowing deity is harder to pin down. In its Germanic past, the word was actually plural (“gods”) and neuter (meaning not masculine or feminine), which reflected the polytheism common throughout Europe before the rise of Christianity. Once Europe embraced a more monotheistic existence, the word “God” transformed into a singular, masculine noun. This polytheistic history can be seen in other languages, too. Remember adios and adieu? Both come from the Latin root deus, a derivation of Greek mythology’s mightiest deity — Zeus.

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Marie Antoinette’s most famous line has echoed for more than 200 years, reportedly adding fuel to the fire of France’s revolution. The only problem is that the French queen’s supposed declaration is a myth — historians don’t think Marie Antoinette ever said, “Let them eat cake,” after being told her subjects had no bread. Researchers point to two main plot holes in the quote’s supposed backstory, the first being its phrasing in English. In fact, the French queen is supposed to have said, “Qu’ils mangent de la brioche,” or “Let them eat brioche,” a reference to a decadent bread made with eggs and butter.

Marie Antoinette helped popularize potatoes in France.

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Eighteenth-century botanists adapted potatoes to Europe’s climate, though many Europeans believed they were unsafe to eat — until Marie Antoinette got involved. The queen wore a spray of potato flowers in her hair in 1785, leading spuds to become a fashionable food for high society.

The second problem is that the outline of the tale predates Marie Antoinette’s reign. At least one similar story cropped up around the 16th century in Germany, wherein a noblewoman suggested the poorest citizens in her kingdom eat sweetened bread. However, the first person to print the line about brioche was likely Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a French philosopher who mentioned the story around 1767 in his book Confessions, attributing the comment to a “great princess.” Rousseau’s text was published when Marie Antoinette was still a child in Austria, though it’s possible the story inspired French revolutionaries decades later, and was repeated with the addition of Marie Antoinette’s name as propaganda against the French monarchy. Yet there is no historical evidence (aka printed materials) that proves the queen ever uttered the phrase.

While Marie Antoinette was known for her excessive spending, some historians say the centuries-long smear to her reputation has long overshadowed her philanthropic side. As queen, she established a home for unwed mothers, personally adopted and cared for orphans, and even sold the royal flatware in 1787 to cover the cost of grain for impoverished families — all activities befitting a benevolent ruler who just so happened to love shopping.

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There are plenty of ships in the U.S. Navy, but only one has the curious distinction of flying the Jolly Roger — the ominous flag typically associated with pirates. Although a skull and crossbones is the most common adornment, lawless seamen during the golden age of piracy (1650-1720) flew many grisly symbols, including skeletons but also bleeding hearts and sharp weapons. After closing in on a ship, pirates hoisted the Jolly Roger at the last minute, and though designs varied from ship to ship, the message was clear — surrender or die. 

Captain Morgan was a real person.

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The real Captain Morgan was Sir Henry Morgan, a Welsh buccaneer who operated in the Caribbean in the 17th century. He served as deputy governor of Jamaica under King Charles II and spent the final years of his life there.

But for the U.S. destroyer USS Kidd, flying the Jolly Roger is less about striking fear into the hearts of its enemies than it is an 80-year-long tradition. The ship honors Rear Admiral Isaac C. Kidd, who earned the nickname “Cap” while attending the U.S. Naval Academy due to his name’s similarity to the infamous 17th-century pirate Captain Kidd. During the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, Kidd was killed aboard the USS Arizona. Within two years, a Fletcher-class destroyer bearing his name sailed the Pacific. The ship’s crew kept the nickname alive by adopting the Jolly Roger and calling themselves “the Pirates of the Pacific,” though their “booty” often involved retrieving downed Allied fighter pilots. Today’s USS Kidd, commissioned in 2007, is actually the third ship to bear the name and the third to hoist the fearful flag of a bygone era.

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