The Olympic Sprinter Who Nearly Lost Her Medals Because of Her Autopsy

Youtube // Rob Lucas
Youtube // Rob Lucas

In April 1911, a baby was born in a small village in tsarist Poland. Her parents named her Stanislawa, and that summer, at the tail end of the first large wave of pre-World War I Polish immigration to the United States, Julian and Weronika Walasiewiczowna packed up their daughter and moved to Ohio. They anglicized their surname to Walsh to better fit in and shortened their daughter's name to Stasia and, later, Stella. The family settled into a Cleveland neighborhood called Slavic Village, Julian found a solid job in a steel mill, and the couple had two more American-born daughters.

Little Stella grew up a girl stuck between identities—the Midwestern American life was the only one she knew, and yet when her athletic prowess catapulted her to international acclaim, she was forced to compete for the country of her birth. After decades of fighting for the chance to represent the United States at the Olympic games, she was never able to live out her dream of winning a medal for the stars and stripes.

But, unbeknownst to most (though speculation abounded), Stella Walsh was also physically stuck between identities. The world was shocked when, following her murder in a mugging gone awry, her autopsy revealed that Walsh had ambiguous genitalia. For the woman once regarded as the world's greatest female athlete, questions arose as to the legitimacy of her titles, and her integrity after a lifetime of living and competing as a woman.

A BULLY FOR "BULL MONTANA"

Youtube // Rob Lucas

At her Cleveland high school in the 1920s, Stella matured into an athletic superstar. She played on numerous sports teams—including the boys' baseball team—and amassed an impressive collection of ribbons, trophies, and medals from track meets. She had a distinctly masculine appearance, however, and other students teased her for it. At 5 feet 9 inches, her stocky build, muscular arms, and thick neck earned her the macho nickname of Bull Montana—a reference to the contemporary wrestler/actor Lewis Montagna who went by the same name. She was bullied, but she also proved time and again that she was the best athlete around.

After high school, Walsh took a job as a file clerk for the New York Central Railroad, but sports continued to be her passion, and she joined her employer's athletic association. Although she was a Polish—not American—citizen, she competed in track and field events in international competitions in both Poland and the United States, winning gold medals for running and the long jump. In 1930, her time of 6 seconds broke the world record for the 50-yard dash at the Millrose Games in New York City, and she quickly became a local celebrity in Cleveland, appearing frequently in the sports section of the newspaper and winning the title of "Miss Stadium" in the city's 1931 popularity contest.

THE PURSUIT OF OLYMPIC GLORY

Youtube // Rob Lucas

With several world records under her belt and a newfound global audience, Walsh took action to become an American citizen. In 1930 she applied for citizenship with the goal of competing for the U.S. on its home turf of Los Angeles at the 1932 Summer Olympic games. But then the Great Depression hit home, and not only did Walsh's father lose his full-time steel mill position, but Stella was laid off from her job just a week before she was set to take her oath of citizenship.

Sensing an opportunity, the Polish consulate offered Walsh a paying job and a scholarship for higher education, provided she abandon her plan to become a legal American and instead compete for her birth country. Reluctantly, she agreed to their terms—this was long before athletes had sponsorships and paid endorsement deals, and they were expected to fully fund their own training and travel. She was just 21, and she didn't have much of a choice if she wanted to compete. "I’m not trying to duck the United States," Walsh told reporters at the time, "But I can’t run forever. If a big company like the New York Central can’t give me a job, where can I get one?"

At the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles, Walsh ran as Stanislawa Walasiewicz (a shortened version of her birth name) and handily set and immediately matched her own world record for the 100-meter dash, running it in 11.9 seconds during two preliminary heats and the final medal race. She won the gold for Poland—one of the two the country took home that year.

As a result, Stella's star continued to rise; she won awards and honors from the Polish government and media. She used her promised scholarship to study physical education and journalism at a women’s college in Warsaw, but she longed to return to the States. She felt isolated and missed the higher "standard of living" that she'd been accustomed to her whole life. Within six months of moving to the Polish capital, she severely sprained her ankle and decided to return home to Cleveland to mend.

Between 1933 and 1935, Walsh won big at various competitions like the Women’s World Games, earning medals and breaking records for the 100-meter dash, hurdles, broad jump, and shot put events. Newspapers admiringly referred to her as "The Queen of Sprint" and "The Cleveland Flyer."

Stella Walsh (right) and Helen Stephens at the 1936 Olympic Games. Photo courtesy of Getty Images

By 1936, Walsh was prepared for the Summer Olympics in Berlin and hoped to defend her Olympic record and gold in the 100-meter. But this time, an 18-year-old bullet from Missouri lined up next to her. American Helen Stephens—who grew up just a couple hundred miles away from Walsh—had taken the world record in Kansas City the previous year. She would take the gold in Berlin as well, giving the U.S. a set of shimmering 100-meter victories (this was, after all, the Olympics headlined by legend Jesse Owens).

Accounts vary, but whether it was a livid Walsh or incensed Polish journalists, someone leveled the accusation that Stephens was competing under false pretenses. A Polish newspaper reported a rumor—which was quickly picked up by the AP—that the 6-foot-tall Stephens was actually a man disguised as a woman to give "himself" an unfair advantage against female athletes. Humiliated by the allegations, Stephens was forced to submit to a genital inspection—the first of its kind—by the Olympic committee to clear her of gender fraud. They determined that she was in fact female, and Stephens later successfully sued a magazine for implying that she was a man. But the indictment proved to be a bit of a red herring—Stephens may have had nothing to hide, but Walsh did.

AN AMERICAN UNRECOGNIZED

Youtube // Rob Lucas

After the Berlin Olympics, Walsh announced her retirement, but she never actually quit competing. She participated in events like women's (baseball) pitching and basketball games, and in 1937, tied Stephens's 100-meter record. In 1954, at age 43, she won her fifth consecutive U.S. pentathlon championship. She'd made a plea to the Olympic committee before the 1952 games to let her run for the United States. "I pay taxes and I vote like any other American," she said, having become an American citizen in the years following World War II, when there was no longer much of a Poland to speak of. "I want to represent this country" [PDF].

That appeal didn't work; at the time, International Olympic Committee rules stated that after an athlete had competed on behalf of one country, they could not later compete for another. But an ill-advised "cupid's clause" in the IOC guidelines soon became the loophole that would finally allow Walsh to try out for the U.S. team. According to the new rule, if, say, a female athlete who had competed for one country were to marry a man from another, she would now be permitted to compete for her husband's country. "Stella could take a crack at the 1956 Olympics if she corners an American husband between now and the try outs this summer," a sports columnist for the L.A. Times noted, though he added that it didn't "seem likely." Never one to lose a challenge, Walsh soon married Harry Olson, a former boxer who worked as a draftsman for a California aviation company. He was 12 years her junior.

Somewhat suspiciously, Walsh revealed their marriage—which took place in Las Vegas—on the eve of the Olympic trials for the 1956 Melbourne games. "I have competed five times for my native country, Poland, in Olympics and women's Olympiads," she told reporters of her now-legal bid to run as an American. "But my greatest ambition is to run for my adopted country, America, in the November Olympics at Melbourne, Australia."

The stunt worked—she did get to compete at the American trials, but, after coming in a disappointing third in her 200-meter heat, she failed to make the team. Stella and Harry separated a couple of months later (though they never officially divorced), and after a few years of setting up training schools for girls in California (and trying out for the American Olympics team one last time in 1960), she eventually moved back to her family in Cleveland.

Through her fifties and sixties, Walsh organized athletic competitions and scholarships for Polish-American athletes, coached young sprinters, and worked as a bartender in Cleveland. In her spare time, she was known to challenge younger people to race her, knowing that, even at her age, she’d likely outrun them. The people in her community were aware of the rumors about her gender, but she was accepted for who she was, and no one questioned her about her masculine appearance. The days of Bull Montana were in her distant past. She was a cherished hometown celebrity, and in 1970, Cleveland’s mayor proclaimed April 13 as Stella Walsh Day, and the U.S. Track and Field organization inducted her into their hall of fame in 1975.

A SECRET EXPOSED

YouTube // Rob Lucas

In December 1980, Walsh was in a Cleveland parking lot when she was approached by two men with a gun. When they tried to grab her purse, the 69-year-old Walsh fought back. The gun fired, hitting her in the chest. When local TV stations reported Walsh’s death, they also reported information that the coroner’s office had leaked about her preliminary autopsy report: Stella Walsh—who was considered one of the greatest female athletes of all time—had male genitalia.

One of Cleveland’s local TV stations, WKYC Channel 3, sued the county coroner’s office to compel them to release Walsh’s official autopsy report. Her family and supporters protested, not wanting the salacious results to be made public, but within days, national newspapers like The Washington Post were speculating about her gender identity with headlines like "Heroine or Hero?". A judge sided with Channel 3, and the coroner, Samuel Gerber, released Walsh’s autopsy report on January 23, 1981.

His examination revealed that Walsh lacked female reproductive organs (no uterus, ovaries, vagina) and instead had a non-functioning, underdeveloped penis. Genetically, she had mosaicism, a cellular mutation that resulted in Walsh having mostly male (XY) chromosomes along with a few cells with X0 chromosomes (the 0 indicating a missing X chromosome). Gerber speculated that at birth, Stella probably had ambiguous genitalia and, as was customary in those cases in those days, her parents decided to raise her as a girl. Significant physical differences weren't typically noticed until children with mosaicism reached puberty, and in the 1920s and '30s, terms and conditions like intersex and transgender were neither known nor acknowledged.

Reaction to the news that Stella was intersex was mixed. Many people in Cleveland’s tight-knit Polish neighborhoods defended her, arguing that she was still a sports hero and role model. Others were shocked at the deceit, and a new nickname cropped up: "Stella the Fella," one far worse than the Bull Montana taunts she'd endured as a teen. Her former husband, Harry Olson, spoke to reporters and called her a freak of nature, though he also admitted that they'd had intimate relations and he hadn't realized there was anything suspect. Some of Stella's childhood friends and neighbors stated in interviews that they had always known about her physical differences, but it had also been an accepted reality.

"When she grew up … other boys and girls knew she had these physical deformities," an outspoken friend of Walsh's told reporters. "She was ridiculed. We knew this. She was a hermaphrodite. It was common knowledge that she had this accident of nature." Still, as he and others pointed out, Walsh didn't live her life pretending to be something she wasn't. She may have been self-conscious—another childhood friend admitted on TV that she had seen Stella’s "mutation" when she was changing in a locker room once and that Walsh felt extreme shame and embarrassment about her body, an anecdote that further shed light on Walsh's longtime standoffishness in locker rooms and tendency to request private rooms rather than bunk with other athletes on trips—but Walsh had always lived her life as a woman.

"I knew there was something different about Stella," one of Walsh's former trainees told SB Nation, "but she lived so supremely as a woman and never discussed that particular thing."

SUBSEQUENT TESTING IN SPORTS

Because of her autopsy results, Stella faced a posthumous backlash from other athletes who questioned if it was fair that they lost medals and competitions to an athlete who had male genitalia and presumably more testosterone than they did. Did Stella start the rumor about her Olympics competitor Helen Stephens being a man to take attention away from her own nebulous gender? Would Walsh have been able to run as fast as she had and to break so many world records if she hadn’t been intersex? Should the IOC rescind her medals? The short answer: It’s complicated.

When Walsh competed in the Olympics, the IOC didn’t conduct routine gender verification tests (which started in the late 1960s), and no doctor diagnosed her with a gender-related condition. Studies have shown that some people with mixed male and female chromosomes don’t have excess "male" strength; it depends on how well the individual’s androgen receptors function.

Although the IOC examines intersex athletes on a case by case basis, its policy on transgender athletes is more clear cut. Since 2004, both female-to-male and male-to-female transgender athletes have been allowed to compete in the Olympics, and now for this coming Olympics, male-to-female athletes must have officially declared their gender and have testosterone level below a certain amount for 12 months prior to and throughout competition [PDF] (female-to-male athletes have no such restrictions). In 2009, the International Association of Athletics Federations made a South African runner, Caster Semenya, undergo gender determination testing. Although the findings were supposed to be confidential, leaked results claimed to have shown that she was intersex—she had neither ovaries nor a uterus but did have internal, undescended testicles. After a forced year-long hiatus from competing, she was allowed to run again, winning a silver medal in the 800-meter event at the 2012 Olympics. Semenya is currently set to make a comeback in this summer's Rio games.

For the 2012 London Olympics, the IOC released their updated regulations [PDF] for determining what to do with intersex female athletes with elevated androgen levels, who may be unfairly benefiting from the performance enhancing effects of male hormones, such as greater speed, power, and strength. The regulations stated that a confidential, expert panel consisting of a gynecologist, genetic expert, and endocrinologist can, if requested, investigate an athlete’s medical history and testosterone blood levels. If the panel determines that the athlete’s condition does not give her a competitive advantage, then the athlete will be allowed to compete. If the athlete has functional androgen receptors and testosterone in the range of normal for males, that athlete will be ineligible for competition.

For Stella Walsh, though, medical knowledge and societal attitudes in her competing years were not as evolved as they are today. The IOC decided against rescinding any of Walsh’s medals because gender determination tests were not conducted during the years she participated as an Olympian. As the county coroner who conducted her autopsy stated, "Socially, culturally, and legally, Stella Walsh was accepted as a female for 69 years. She lived and died as a female."

Walsh's birth and death certificates both list her as female, but the controversy surrounding her sex would have mortified her in life. A better, and more representational legacy of Stella Walsh rests on her drive to train hard and never stop competing. As sports columnist Dan Coughlin, a longtime friend of hers, wrote years later, Walsh was always a world-class athlete, first and foremost. "She trained relentlessly. She was always an Olympian … Whatever she was, she was one of a kind."

When Theodore Roosevelt's Antique Gun Was Stolen From Sagamore Hill

Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain
Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Shortly before hitting the battlefield on July 1, 1898, Theodore Roosevelt had a decision to make. He was about to lead a volunteer cavalry known as the Rough Riders in the Battle of San Juan Heights in Santiago, Cuba, during the Spanish-American War. In protecting both his life and the lives of his men during combat, what sidearm should he choose?

Roosevelt, an avowed arms enthusiast, had an arsenal in his personal collection as well as numerous firearms issued by the U.S. military. The gun he chose to holster on his waist was a Colt Model 1895 .38 caliber double-action revolver with six shots, a blue barrel, and a checkered wood grip. While it may not have been the most formidable weapon at his disposal, it was the most emotionally resonant. The gun, a gift from his brother-in-law, had been retrieved from the wreck of the U.S. battleship Maine, whose sinking had claimed the lives of 266 men and helped usher in the war. He considered the gun a tribute to the sailors and Marines lost in the tragedy.

Now it had become an instrument of that war. In the conflict, Roosevelt aimed his revolver at two opposing soldiers. He missed one. The other was struck—and the wound was fatal. “He doubled up as neatly as a jackrabbit,” Roosevelt later wrote.

Just a few years later, Roosevelt would be president of the United States. The gun remained in his possession until his death in 1919, and eventually came into the care of Sagamore Hill, his onetime home and later a historic site. The Colt occupied a place of honor in the property’s Old Orchard Museum, behind glass and next to the uniform that he wore during the charge.

In April of 1990, a museum employee walked past the display and noticed something unusual. The Colt was gone. The weapon used by the 26th president to kill a man would go missing for 16 years, recovered only under the most unusual of circumstances.

“This poor gun has been through a lot,” Susan Sarna, the museum’s curator, tells Mental Floss. “It was blown up on the Maine, sunk to the bottom, resurrected, goes to San Juan Hill, comes here, then gets stolen—twice.”

 

According to a 2006 article in Man at Arms magazine by Philip Schreier [PDF], the senior curator at the National Rifle Association’s National Firearms Museum, the Colt has indeed had a hectic life. Manufactured in Hartford, Connecticut, in March 1895, the firearm (serial number 16,334) was delivered from the factory to the U.S. government and wound up on board the USS Maine when the ship was first commissioned in September of that year. The gun was considered ship property and remained on board until February 15, 1898, when the Maine exploded in Havana, Cuba. Many blamed the Spanish for the explosion, and hundreds of men lost their lives.

At the time, Roosevelt’s brother-in-law, William S. Cowles, was heading the U.S. Naval Station. He and his team were sent to the site to inspect the scene. Divers retrieved bodies and other items, including the Colt. Knowing Roosevelt—at the time the Assistant Secretary of the Navy under President William McKinley—was fond of weapons and a genial warmonger, Cowles gave it to him as a gift. While it was perfectly functional, it's clear Cowles intended the Colt to serve to honor the memory of those who had died.

The Colt revolver that once belonged to Theodore Roosevelt is pictured on display at Sagamore Hill
Roosevelt's Colt revolver on display at Sagamore Hill.
Courtesy of Sagamore Hill National Historic Site

Roosevelt later took it into battle, using it to shoot at enemy forces. (He would earn a posthumous Medal of Honor in 2001 for his actions that day.) Shortly after, the weapon was inscribed to represent its participation in two exceptional events. On one side of the handle:

From the sunken battle ship Maine.

On the other:

July 1st 1898, San Juan, Carried and used by Col. Theodore Roosevelt.

Following Roosevelt’s death in 1919, the Sagamore Hill estate in Oyster Bay, New York, was home to his wife, Edith, until her death in 1948. The property was later donated to the National Park Service in 1963 and became Sagamore Hill National Historic Site. The gun went on display along with many of the former president's other personal effects, eventually settling in the Old Orchard near the uniform he wore during the Battle of San Juan Heights.

In 1963, the Colt came up missing for the first time. With no guard or contemporary security system in place, someone nicked it from the building. Fortunately, it was soon found in the woods behind the museum, slightly rusty from being exposed to the elements but otherwise unharmed. The perpetrator may have gotten spooked after taking off with it and decided to abandon the contraband, but no one had a chance to ask—he or she was never caught.

By April of 1990, the gun and uniform were in a display case borrowed from the American Museum of Natural History. While somewhat of a deterrent, it didn't offer much in the way of security. “The case could be lifted and the lock just popped open,” Sarna says.

Sarna had just started at the museum back then. According to her, the case had either been disturbed by a thief or possibly left open by someone cleaning the display, inviting a probing set of hands. Either way, the gun disappeared—but it wasn’t immediately obvious.

“No one was sure what day it had happened,” she says; the best guess was that the theft had occurred between April 5 and 7. “You’d have to walk into the room it was in and look in the case. If you’re just walking by, you’d see the uniform, but not necessarily the gun.”

It was chief ranger and head of visitor services Raymond Bloomer Jr. and ranger John Foster who discovered the theft one morning. The lock had been popped but the glass was not broken. Sarna and the other employees conducted a search of the property, believing that perhaps someone had taken the Colt out for cleaning. When that failed to produce any results, they notified the National Park Service, which is the first line of investigation for theft on government-owned park property. The NPS, in turn, contacted local authorities in Nassau County and Cove Neck, New York. Soon, the FBI was involved.

Predictably, law enforcement looked at museum employees with a critical eye. “There were all different types of people here interviewing us,” Sarna says. “In museums, the majority of thefts are an inside job.”

Theodore Roosevelt is pictured in uniform
Roosevelt in uniform while leading the Rough Riders.
Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Park ranger and museum staffer Scott Gurney, who was hired in 1993, tells Mental Floss that the suspicion cast over employees—none of whom were ever implicated—remained a sore spot. “I found an old police report about it in a desk and asked a ranger about it,” Gurney says. “He got really mad at me and told me not to bring it up again. It was kind of a black eye for the people working there.”

As Sarna and the others set about installing a security system in the museum, the FBI started casting a wide net to locate the weapon, which was uninsured. “It was basically a shoplifting incident,” Robert Wittman, a retired FBI agent in their art crimes division who worked on the case from the mid-1990s on, tells Mental Floss. “It wasn’t all that unusual. In the 1970s and 1980s, lots of small museums were getting hit.” Worse, one of the museum staff working the front desk within view of the display was, according to Gurney, legally blind. The lack of security, Wittman says, was in part because pieces weren’t initially all that valuable on the collector’s market.

The Colt was unique in that it was so readily identifiable. Thanks to the inscriptions, it would invite questions if the thief attempted to sell the weapon. Any attempt to alter it would destroy its cultural value and defeat the purpose of taking it. The FBI sent notices to gun dealers and monitored gun shows in case it turned up. Nothing seemed promising.

“We heard things constantly,” Sarna says. “Someone said it was seen in Europe. Someone else said it was in private hands, or that a collector had it.” Later, when the museum was able to start receiving emails via the burgeoning world of the internet, more tips—all dead ends—came in. Another rumor had the gun being bought during a gun buyback program in Pennsylvania and subsequently destroyed. This one looked promising, as it bore the same serial number. But it turned out to be a different model.

A reward was offered for information leading to the gun’s retrieval, with the amount eventually climbing to $8100. But that still wasn’t sufficient for the gun to surface. “We really had no lines on it,” Wittman says.

Then, in September 2005, Gurney began receiving a series of calls while working in the visitor’s center. The man had a slight speech impediment, he said, or might have been intoxicated. Either way, he told Gurney he knew where the gun was. “He told me it was in a friend’s house, but that he didn’t want to get the friend in trouble.”

The man continued calling, each time refusing to give his name and ignoring Gurney’s suggestion to simply drop the gun in the mail. The man also spoke to Amy Verone, the museum’s chief of cultural resources. He was certain he had seen Theodore Roosevelt’s gun, wrapped in an old sweatshirt in DeLand, Florida. He described the engravings to Verone, who hung up and immediately called the FBI.

 

After more calls and conversations, including one in which Gurney stressed the historical importance of the weapon, the caller eventually relented and gave his information to the FBI. A mechanical designer by trade, Andy Anderson, then 59, said he had seen the gun the previous summer. It had been shown to him by his girlfriend, who knew Anderson was a history buff. She told Anderson her ex-husband had originally owned the firearm. It had been in a closet wrapped in a sweatshirt before winding up under a seat in the woman’s mini-van, possibly obscured by a dish towel. Presumably, her ex had been the one who had stolen it back while visiting the museum as a New York resident in 1990.

Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders uniform is pictured on display at Sagamore Hill
Roosevelt's Rough Riders uniform sits on display at Sagamore Hill next to his Colt.
Courtesy of Sagamore Hill National Historic Site

After Anderson contacted Sagamore Hill, FBI agents were dispatched from the Daytona Beach office to DeLand to question Anderson. He obtained the revolver from his girlfriend and handed it over, though he apparently tried to convince the FBI to let him return the weapon without disclosing the thief’s identity. The FBI didn’t agree to an anonymous handoff, however, and in November 2006 the ex-husband, a 55-year-old postal employee whom we’ll refer to as Anthony T., was charged with a misdemeanor in U.S. District Court in Central Islip, New York.

Wittman remembers that the split between Anthony T. and his wife had been acrimonious and that she had no involvement in the theft. “We were not going to charge her with possession of stolen property,” he says.

Wittman went to Florida to pick up the Colt and brought it back to the Philadelphia FBI offices, where it was secured until prosecutors authorized its return to Sagamore Hill on June 14, 2006. Schreier, the NRA museum’s senior curator, arrived at Sagamore Hill with Wittman, FBI Assistant Director in Charge in New York Mark Mershon, and Robert Goldman, the onetime U.S. assistant attorney and art crime team member who was himself a Roosevelt collector and had doggedly pursued the case for years. When Schreier confirmed its authenticity, the gun was formally turned back over.

There was no reasonable defense for Anthony T. In November of that year, he pled guilty to stealing the Colt. While he was eligible for up to 90 days in jail and a $500 fine, Anthony T. received two years of probation along with the financial penalty and 50 hours of community service. According to Wittman, cases of this sort are based in part on the dollar value of the object stolen—the weapon was valued at $250,000 to $500,000—not necessarily its historical value. “The sentencing may not be commensurate with the history,” Wittman says.

From that perspective, the Colt takes on far greater meaning. It was used in a battle that cemented Roosevelt’s reputation as a leader, one credited with helping bolster his national profile. It was used in commission in the death of a human being, giving it a weight and history more than the sum of its metal parts.

“It’s looked at as one of his greatest triumphs,” Sarna says of the Rough Riders and the U.S. victory in the 1898 conflict. “It brought us into a new century and out of isolationism.”

It’s once more on display at Sagamore Hill, this time under far better security and surveillance. (Though the museum is still vulnerable to heists: a reproduction hairbrush was recently swiped.) Sarna, who wasn’t sure if she would ever see the Colt again, is glad to see it where it belongs.

“Thank goodness they got divorced,” she says.

It’s not publicly known why Anthony T. felt compelled to take the Colt. Wittman describes it as a crime of opportunity, not likely one that was planned. After the plea, Anthony T. was let go from his job, and his current whereabouts are unknown. Prosecutors called it a mistake in judgment.

Anderson, the tipster, lamented any of it had to happen. “We’re talking about a mistake he made 16 years ago,” Anderson told the Orlando Sentinel in November 2006. “I have no regrets, but I never meant to cause trouble. I wish Anthony the best.”

If Anthony T. was an admirer of Roosevelt’s, he might find some poetic peace in the fact that he pled guilty to violating the American Antiquities Act of 1906, which was instituted to prevent theft of an object of antiquity on property owned by the government.

That bill was signed into law by Theodore Roosevelt.

15 Amazing Facts About the Washington Monument

iStock/Sean Pavone
iStock/Sean Pavone

It's the tallest building in Washington, D.C. and it honors the first U.S. president, George Washington. Here are a few more Washington Monument facts to celebrate the anniversary of its completion on December 6, 1884.

1. Building a monument to George Washington was not a unanimously supported idea.

Today, trumpeting George Washington as a hero and a symbol of national pride isn’t going to start any arguments. In the 19th century, however, Washington’s approval rating was far from 100 percent. The very idea of constructing a monument to honor the former president felt like an affront to the Democratic-Republicans—the opposing party to the Washington-aligned Federalists—who both favored Thomas Jefferson over Washington and decried such tributes as unseemly and suspiciously royalist.

2. It took almost 40 years to complete the Washington Monument's construction.

After decades of deliberation about where to build a monument to George Washington, what form it should take, and whether the whole thing was a good idea in the first place, the foundation for a great stone obelisk was laid at the center of Washington, D.C.’s National Mall on July 4, 1848. Although the design looks fairly simple, the structure would prove to be a difficult project for architect Robert Mills and the Washington National Monument Society. Due to ideological conflicts, lapses in funding, and disruptions during the Civil War, construction of the Washington Monument would not be completed until February 21, 1885. The site opened to the public three years later. 

3. A coup within the Washington National Monument Society delayed construction.

In 1855, an anti-Catholic activist group nicknamed the Know-Nothings seized control of the 23-year-old Washington National Monument Society. Once in power, the Know-Nothings rejected and destroyed memorial stones donated by Pope Piux IX. The Know-Nothing affiliation cost the project financial support from the public and from Congress. In 1858, after adding only two layers of masonry to the monument, the Know-Nothings abdicated control of the society. 

4. Early ideas for the Washington Monument included statues, Greek columns, and tombs. 

Before the society settled on building an obelisk, several other ideas were suggested as the visual representation of George Washington’s grandeur. Among them were an equestrian statue of the first president (which was part of Pierre L’Enfant’s original plan for Washington, D.C.), a separate statue situated atop a classical Greek column, and a tomb constructed within the Capitol building. The last idea fell apart when Washington’s family was unwilling to move his body from its resting place in Mount Vernon.

5. Later design plans included an elaborate colonnade ...

Even after Mills’ obelisk model had been accepted, a few flashier design elements received consideration as possible additions to the final project. Mills had originally intended to surround the tower with a circular colonnade, featuring not only a statue of George Washington seated gallantly atop a chariot, but also 30 individual statues of renowned Revolutionary War heroes. 

6. ... and an Egyptian sun.

Mills placed a winged sun—an Egyptian symbol representing divinity—above the doorframe of the Washington Monument’s principal entrance. The sun was removed in 1885. 

7. The monument originally had a flat top.

It has become recognizable for its pointed apex, but the Washington Monument was originally designed to bear a flat top. The monument's design was capped with a pyramid-shaped addition in 1879.

8. The engineer who completed the Washington Monument asked the government to supply his workers with hot coffee.

Several years after the 1855 death of Mills, Col. Thomas Lincoln Casey Sr., chief of engineers of the United States Army Corps of Engineers, assumed responsibility for completing the Washington Monument. Among his most memorable orders was an official request to the U.S. Treasury Department to supply his workers—specifically those assigned to the construction of the monument’s apex—with “hot coffee in moderate quantities.” The treasury complied. 

9. Dozens of miscellaneous items are buried beneath the monument.

On the first day of construction, a zinc case containing a number of objects and documents was placed in the Washington Monument’s foundation. Alongside copies of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence are a map of the city of Washington, publications of Census data, a book of poems, a collection of American coins, a list of Supreme Court justices, a Bible, daguerreotypes of George Washington and his mother Mary, Alfred Vail’s written description of the magnetic telegraph, a copy of Appleton’s Railroad and Steamboat Companion, and an issue of the arts and leisure magazine Godey’s Lady’s Book, among many other items.

10. Some of the Washington Monument's memorial stones bear strange inscriptions.

The vast majority of the 194 memorial stones lining the Washington Monument are not likely to inspire confusion. Common inscriptions celebrate George Washington, the country, and the states they represent. However, a few of the monument’s stones bear engravings of a more curious variety. A stone donated by a Welsh-American community from New York reads (in Welsh), “My language, my land, my nation of Wales—Wales for ever.” Another stone from the Templars of Honor and Temperance articulates the organization’s rigid support of Prohibition: “We will not make, buy, sell, or use as a beverage any spirituous or malt liquors, wine, cider, or any other alcoholic liquor, and will discountenance their manufacture, traffic, and use, and this pledge we will maintain unto the end of life.” 

11. The apex was displayed at Tiffany's before it was added to the structure.

The men who created the Washington Monument, though reverent in their intentions, were hardly above a good publicity stunt. William Frishmuth, an architect and aluminum magnate connected to the project, arranged for the pointed aluminum top of the monument to enjoy an ornate two-day display at New York City’s luxury jewelry store Tiffany’s. The apex was placed on the floor of the storefront so that shoppers could claim to have walked “over the top of the Washington Monument.” 

12. Opening ceremonies attracted several big-name guests.

Among the 20,000 Americans present for the beginning of construction in 1848 were then-President James K. Polk, three future presidents (James Buchanan, Abraham Lincoln, and Andrew Johnson), former first lady Dolley Madison, Alexander Hamilton's widow Elizabeth Hamilton (John Quincy Adams' widow was too sick to attend), and a bald eagle.

13. The Washington Monument was the tallest structure in the world for about six months.

Upon its official opening on October 9, 1888, the Washington Monument—standing an impressive 555 feet high—boasted the superlative of tallest manmade structure on Earth. The honor was short-lived, however, as the following March saw the unveiling of the Eiffel Tower, which topped out at 986 feet. 

14. It is still the tallest of its kind.

As of 2019, the Washington Monument still reigns supreme as both the world’s tallest all-stone structure and the tallest obelisk. (The stone San Jacinto Monument in Texas is taller, but it sits on a concrete plinth.)

15. A few decades after construction, the monument caught "tuberculosis."

Wear and tear had begun to get the best of the Washington Monument by the early 20th century, prompting an exodus of the cement and rubble filler through the structure’s external cracks. The sweating sensation prompted John S. Mosby Jr., author of a 1911 article in Popular Mechanics, to nickname the phenomenon “geological tuberculosis.”

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