Transcription
Welcome to Aaron Mankeyy's Cabinet of Curiosities, a production of iHeart Radio and Grim and Mild. Our world is full of the unexplainable. And if history is an open book, all of these amazing tales are right there on display, just waiting for us to explore. Welcome to the Cabinet of Curiosities.
Long before it haunted medieval stories, the bacterium euria pestus emerged on the steps of central Asia, setting the stage for a catastrophe that would later be remembered across Europe as the black death. In the 1300s, it was carried westward in caravans on the Silk Road. And in 1347 it made itself known to the population of Europe in horrifying fashion in the port town of Msina when 12 ships docked from the Black Sea. Port workers and onlookers were horrified to discover that the bulk of the sailors aboard each of the ships had died covered in black boils and in the many years to follow it would decimate nations and in one case may have actually been used as the first instance of biological warfare.
In the 14th century, Crimea was a hot spot for commerce. And the Republic of Genanoa, now northern Italy, had a trading outpost in Kafa, where enslaved people's, silk, and food stuffs were bought and sold. But the Genoies town stood as an affront to the Golden Horde, an offshoot of the Mongolian Empire under the rule of Khan Jani Beg. Due to religious differences and trade disagreements, the Khan found the Genoies troublesome. And after a massive brawl between Muslims and Christians in the city of Tana, they laid siege to that city. The Genoies escaped to Kafa, another trading post long allowed by the Golden Horde and continued their business there. But the Khan had grown tired of the Genoies. Tensions rose enough that the Genoies government sent a fleet to Kafa, including a considerable number of soldiers, to fortify the settlement's defenses.
It was the end of August in 1346 when the Golden Horde arrived to surround Kafa with an army numbering in the thousands. They began the work of laying siege to the city, digging trenches and building siege towers from which to attack. Any attempt by the Genoies to halt their action was violently pushed back. And so by early September, as stones flew from trebuchets and archers sent cascades of arrows over the city walls, the Genoies were cut off from any reinforcements or supplies that could ever come by land. Their attackers did not go unscathed, though the plague had entered the Mongol camp with the rats and quickly began infecting their army.
Now, historians all agree that the plague eventually did spread onto the Genoies. But a particular story emerged to explain how. You see, in addition to the stones and arrows that the Golden Horde hurled over the walls of the city, they also began launching the bodies of their plague victims. And as the defenders inside the walls attempted to remove those bodies, the disease began to infect them, too. As a result, the Genoies found themselves increasingly outnumbered as their own fell to the plague. In desperation, they came up with a daring plan. Under the cover of night, they slipped out from the city walls and set fire to the trebuchets and siege engines that had caused so much destruction, attacking those who came to fight the blaze. By the time they made it back to the city, they had managed to kill a large number of their attackers, although not nearly enough to make a difference.
In the end, it wasn't clever warfare that finally ended the siege. It was a second wave of plague that swept through the Golden Horde, killing nearly a third of their entire army. This massive blow made the Khan's campaign increasingly untenable. On the 4th of October, the Khan made the decision to abandon Kafa. His men retreated, leaving the besieged city to the Genoies. It could hardly be described as a victory, though their own ranks had been ravaged, and the boatloads of victims that they had sent to other ports only helped to spread the black death across Europe. It was the first wave of a pandemic that would claim between a quarter and onethird of the entire population of Europe.
The siege of Kafa illustrates how a single flash point can intertwine warfare, trade, and disease into a torrent that reshapes continents. Although the Genoies managed to hold the city, the conditions created by the siege created a series of channels for the Black Death to make its way into Europe. Whether or not the Golden Horde truly catapulted plagueinfested corpses over the walls remains a topic of debate, but the legacy of the siege reminds us that the consequences of warfare extend far beyond the battlefield, creating tragedies that echo down to us through history.
Austin, Texas, is home to its fair share of skyscrapers. The city's slogan, keep Austin weird, is exemplified in the unusual designs that are used in buildings all over the city. From a power plant built in an art deco style to the lonely moonlight towers illuminating the city at night, Austinites have been redefining urban architecture for decades. And perhaps no one more than the artist Vince Hanimman.
In 1988, Vince began creating what has become Austin's most unusual structure. And he did it in his very own backyard. Weighing over 60 tons and standing more than 30 ft high, it is much smaller than the skyscrapers a few blocks north. But what makes this tower so special are the materials used in its construction. Aside from a few iron trusses, Vince's entire backyard structure is made of junk. It started with Vince seeking out heavy pieces of mass- prodduced materials. But most of the structure today is made from donations. Local schools, closing businesses, tour groups of other artisans, they all bring something to contribute.
You might be picturing a massive pile of trash in someone's backyard. But Vince's build is much more artistic than that. The central tower of the structure is mostly discarded car bumpers and old plumbing equipment with a throne room at its center. An old red recliner welded to a mountain of old bicycle parts sits in the middle. And on either side of it are staircases made of rusting brass instruments and pieces of iron fences. The Cathedral of Junk has quite a few levels, and the structures are sound enough for most people to ascend them. The second floor of the cathedral contains a lookout point where visitors can see the Austin skyline from Vince's own backyard.
But one issue here is that you can also see Vince's cathedral from pretty far away. You see, Austin might embrace its weird side and lean into creativity more than a lot of other cities, but that doesn't mean that Vince's neighbors are all that thrilled to be living next door to this particular public piece of art. From some perspectives, the cathedral is basically just a pyramid of trash in someone's backyard. And so, a few of the neighbors formed a group and they complained to the city of Austin. At first, they tried to get the whole thing demolished. Unfortunately, Texas is big on personal freedoms and the local government wasn't keen to remove a community landmark just because some people thought that it was an eyesore.
Which is why in 2010 that same group of neighbors got the Austin Code Department involved. Maybe there wasn't much that you could do about someone's backyard landscaping, but how could anyone be sure the building was even safe if a bad storm or a tornado came their way? what was to stop debris from flying out from Vince's backyard and straight through a neighbor's roof or window. When Vince learned the cathedral would be subjected to dozens of inspections, he thought about throwing in the towel right then and there. He had enjoyed making it certainly, but he had never intended to make junk building his entire life. But like all good Texans, Vince believed a person should be able to do what they please with their own property. His mind was made up. Let the inspections begin.
And so they did. City officials poked and prodded every inch of Vince's creation, looking for weak spots, and they found virtually none. "This thing is built to withstand Texas storms," Vince boasted to one man who did his best to shake the base of the structure. Engineers, inspectors, public safety officers all did their best to find a flaw. In the end, only one thing had to go. As Vince describes it, I called it the TV pyramid. About 200 old screens I'd stack together. One guy told me, "This isn't a pyramid. This is just a pile." And I told him, "Well, what kind of pile experts are you? Aren't we just a kind of pile?" The engineer was unmoved by this philosophical question, though, and the pyramid came down. Today, they have been moved to a smaller Zen garden of TVs.
Vince is still welcoming guests into his backyard cathedral. He's happy to answer questions about where things came from or how he put them together, but that isn't what everyone wants to know. Vince says, "People ask me all the time, what made you want to do this? Like it had some sort of profound meaning. I just did it because I liked it. And when I stop liking it, I'll take it down." And as for those who love what Vince has done for Austin's artistic community, they hope that day never comes.
I hope you enjoy today's guided tour through the Cabinet of Curiosities. This show was created by me, Aaron Mankey, in partnership with iHeart Podcasts, researched and written by the Grim andmild team, and produced by Jesse Funk. Learn more about the show and the people who make it over at grimandmild.com/curiosities. You'll also find a link to the official Cabinet of Curiosities hardcover book available in bookstores and online, as well as ebook and audiobook. And if you're looking for an ad-ree option, consider joining our Patreon. It's all the same stories, but without the interruption for a small monthly fee. Learn more and sign up over at patreon.com/grim and mild. And until next time, stay curious.