September 12, 2025 • 15 mins
Step back in time with The Strange History Podcast as host Amy explores the quirky, bizarre, and unforgettable world of the 1950s. From radioactive children’s toys and Jell-O nightmares to ducktail hair, soda fountains, and Cold War fallout shelters, this mega-episode uncovers 25 strange things from the 1950s you’ll never see today. Packed with historical facts, funny stories, and nostalgic details, this episode dives deep into America’s postwar culture—highlighting the fads, fashion, food, and forgotten trends that defined a decade. Whether you’re a history buff, vintage lover, or just curious about what made the 1950s so weird, this episode is your time machine to the strangest decade in American history.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Welcome back to the Strange History Podcast. I'm your host, Amy,
and today we're hopping in our time machine, greasing our hair,
and zipping straight back to the nineteen fifties, a decade
of sock hoops, shiny cheves, and social rules so bizarre
you'd think the whole country had a stick of butter
lodged in its corset. Now, don't get me wrong, the
(00:22):
fifties had charm, but it also had a lot of
weird habits, products and traditions that thankfully didn't make it
to twenty twenty five. So buckle up, buttercup, We're about
to explore twenty four strange, funny, and occasionally terrifying things
from the nineteen fifties. You'll never see today.
Speaker 2 (00:41):
Drive through but for your baby.
Speaker 1 (00:45):
That's right. In the nineteen fifties, banks weren't the only
thing with drive throughs. Some grocery stores, pharmacies, and even
liquor shops let you pull up, roll down the window,
and no joke, hand over your infant to a smiling
clerk who would baby sit them while you shopped. Imagine
pulling up to a Kroger today tossing little Timmy out
the window like a bag of laundry and saying back
(01:08):
in thirty minutes, don't let him eat paste. These baby
parking services were advertised as modern, convenient and safe, though
I can't imagine OSHA approving parents genuinely thought this was
cutting edge childcare. After all, nothing said responsible parenting like
(01:28):
leaving your baby in the care of a seventeen year
old stock boy who'd rather be sneaking cigarettes out back.
Speaker 2 (01:35):
The airplane ashtray Olympics.
Speaker 1 (01:38):
This next one has hit every decade up to the nineties.
Flying in the fifties was fancy. Ladies wore pearls, men
wore suits, and kids were expected to sit still and
look adorable. But the real highlight smoking everywhere. Airplanes were
basically giant metal chimneys in the sky. Every seat had
(01:59):
its own ash, and passengers could puff away while turbulence
rattled their martinis. Flight attendants excuse me, stewardesses wore white
gloves and encouraged passengers to light up. Today, the idea
of lighting a Marlborough on a Southwest flight would get
you tackled by air marshals. But back then, if you
(02:19):
weren't chainsmoking at thirty thousand feet, you were the weird one.
Speaker 2 (02:24):
Jello America's culinary mad scientist.
Speaker 1 (02:28):
The fifties food pyramid wasn't based on grains or proteins.
It was based on jello. Everything, and I mean everything,
ended up suspended in gelatine. Want a salad slap some
can tuna, celery and olives into lime jello dinner party,
mold hot dogs into a gelatine loaf, dessert, banana slices,
(02:51):
and strawberry jello with a mayonnaise topping. Cookbooks proudly featured
these unholy creations with glossy photos of quivering towers of
meat encased in lime green wobble. Housewives served them with pride,
while guests pretended they didn't want to cry. If Gordon
Ramsey had been alive and eating in nineteen fifty seven,
(03:11):
he would have needed therapy.
Speaker 2 (03:14):
Ducktail hair because Elvis said so.
Speaker 1 (03:18):
The duck tail hairstyle or Da Duck's ass if You're Nasty,
was the ultimate greaser look. Guys would slather on handfuls
of brill cream, comb their hair into a slick wave
in front, and pinch it in the back so it
literally resembled the rear end of a duck. It looked cool,
it looked rebellious. It also required so much grease that
(03:40):
if you leaned against a wall, you left behind a
head shaped oil stain, and God forbid you tried to
run your fingers through your boyfriend's hair, you'd come back
with enough grease to fry a pork chop.
Speaker 2 (03:51):
Television test patterns please stand by forever.
Speaker 1 (03:56):
Before twenty four hour programming TV station signed off at
midnight and didn't return until morning. Between shows, screens displayed
test patterns, those weird grayscale circles with a Native American
head in the middle. Families would sit there staring at
static or test patterns for hours. Little Timmy might have
(04:18):
even thought the Indian head was the show. Imagine trying
that today. Sorry, kids, no SpongeBob until seven am. Here's
a circle in some lines. Q Instant riots children's chemistry
sets Now with uranium, Yes, actual uranium. In nineteen fifty one,
(04:38):
the Gilbert U two three eight Atomic Energy Lab was
marketed as a toy. It came with Geiger counters, radiation sources,
and real uranium ore. The box literally said recommended for boys,
because nothing says fun like a nine year old splitting
atoms in the basement while mom makes tuna casserole. Not surprise,
(05:00):
it was pulled from shelves pretty quick. But somewhere out
there a kid probably got a Science Fair ribbon for
accidentally giving his hamster a low level radiation burn.
Speaker 2 (05:11):
Soap operas sponsored by cigarettes.
Speaker 1 (05:15):
Every housewife's favorite daytime escape was proudly brought to you
by Winston Cigarettes. Commercial breaks featured moms lighting up while vacuuming,
or cartoon doctors saying more physicians smoked camels than any
other brand. It was the golden age of gas lighting.
Today ads for cigarettes would be as welcome as a
(05:37):
raw sewage commercial between episodes of The Bachelor.
Speaker 2 (05:40):
Kids hitchhiking without a care.
Speaker 1 (05:43):
In the fifties, hitchhiking wasn't just normal, it was encouraged.
Parents thought nothing of telling little Johnny go ride your
thumb to baseball practice. Highways were full of teenagers sticking
out their arms for rides from total strangers, who, of
course were also probably smoking while driving. It was so
(06:04):
normalized that Life magazine published hitchhiking etiquette guides. Today we
warn kids about stranger danger. Back then, hitching was basically
the uber of suburbia.
Speaker 2 (06:15):
Doctor knows best even when he doesn't.
Speaker 1 (06:19):
Doctors in the fifties smoked in exam rooms, prescribed amphetamines
for dieting, and told pregnant women a Martinian night was
good for the baby. Patients rarely questioned authority. If a
doctor said you've got ghosts in your blood, try heroin,
people would have nodded politely. Medical science was advancing, sure,
(06:40):
but it was also the wild West of healthcare. Let's
just say, your grandma's doctor's orders back then might sound
like a stand up routine.
Speaker 2 (06:48):
Today the vending machine of dreams.
Speaker 1 (06:53):
Automats were like a cafeteria from the future. Imagine a
wall of tiny glass doors behind one pie, another meat loaf,
dropping a coin, open the door, and vola dinner. No waiters,
no lines, just hot food, instantly available. They were beloved
(07:14):
by office workers, families, and anyone who wanted quick comfort food.
The biggest chain, Horn and Hardart, served over eight hundred
thousand New Yorkers a day in its prime. People even
went there on dates. By the seventies, fast food killed
the automat. Today, the closest we've got is an airport
(07:35):
vending machine selling sad sandwiches for fourteen dollars.
Speaker 2 (07:40):
Glow, baby glow.
Speaker 1 (07:43):
The atomic age brought us nuclear fear, but also nuclear fashion.
In the fifties, radiation wasn't terrifying. It was trendy. Manufacturers
laced everything with radium. Toothpaste that promised atomic whitening, radium
alarm clocks that glowed cheerfully through the night, even face
creams boasting a youthful glow, though it was more Chernobyl
(08:06):
than Chanel. The most infamous example Ratathor, a radium laced
energy tonic. A wealthy industrialist named Eben Byers drank so
much of it his bones disintegrated and his jaw fell off.
The Wall Street Journal reported his death under the unforgettable
headline The radium water worked fine until his jaw came off.
(08:30):
But Americans loved the atomic gimmick. Toasters were branded atomic,
cocktails were nuclear, and toys even came with small samples
of uranium ore. Yes, kids played with uranium. Today we
panic about Wi Fi frying our brains. In the fifties,
they were rubbing uranium on their skin. Movies in the
(08:52):
parking lot the drive in theater wasn't just a movie.
It was a cultural event. By nineteen fifty eight, there
were over four thousand drive ins across America. They're glowing
screens rising like billboards. In the suburbs, Families packed the
station wagon, kids in pajamas bouncing in the back. Teens
(09:13):
stuffed themselves into car trunks to sneak in for free.
Couples fogged up windshields during double features. One Pennsylvania drive
in even tried baby bottle warmers installed in car windows
so parents could feed infants mid movie. Others offered car
hop style food service burgers delivered right to your car door. Today,
(09:35):
drive ins are a nostalgia novelty, but in the fifties
they weren't just theaters. They were the mall, the playground,
the tinder date, and the babysitter rolled into one the
Amazon prime of dairy. If you lived in the suburbs,
you didn't run to the store for milk. The milkman
brought it to you. Clinking glass bottles landed on your
(09:56):
doorstep every morning, along with butter cream and some times
ice cream. The milkman wore a neat uniform, carried a
wire basket, and knew every family on his route. Kids
loved him because he sometimes snuck them chocolate milk. Adults
loved him. Well, let's just say the phrase milkman's baby
(10:16):
didn't come out of nowhere. By the seventies, supermarkets killed
the milkman business. Today, the closest thing we've got is
Amazon Fresh, except Jeff Bezos doesn't leave you free chocolate milk.
Speaker 2 (10:29):
Car seats. We don't need no stinking car seats.
Speaker 1 (10:34):
The nineteen fifties family car was a death trap on wheels.
Kids weren't buckled in. They were bouncing around like popcorn
in the back of a Buick car. Seats existed, but
they weren't about safety. They were just booster perches so
junior could look out the window. Some were basically hammocks
dangling from the seat back. Accidents were brutal. It wasn't
(10:57):
until the late sixties that seat belts became standard, But
in the fifties, safety was an afterthought. As one boomer
put it, if Dad slammed the brakes, Mom just threw
out her arm to keep us from flying through the windshield.
Speaker 2 (11:12):
A bomb shelter in every backyard.
Speaker 1 (11:16):
The Cold War drilled one lesson into Americans. If the
Soviets nuked us, the best defense was a hole in
the backyard. Magazines sold DIY fallout shelter blueprints. Hardware stores
had shelter kits with air filters, flashlights, and Geiger counters.
Some families stocked spam, baked beans, playing cards, and let's
(11:39):
be honest. Plenty of whiskey schools raffled off shelters. One
Detroit contest promised win the bomb shelter of your dreams
reality check. A plywood bunker wasn't stopping radiation, but for
anxious suburban dads, it gave them a sense of control,
and in the Cold War, that was priceless.
Speaker 2 (12:01):
High heels in the produce aisle.
Speaker 1 (12:04):
Housewives in the fifties weren't just judged by their casse roles.
They were judged by their appearance. Grocery shopping meant lipstick, heels, gloves,
and sometimes even a hat. Magazines advised women to dress
neatly for errands because you never knew who you might
bump into. Department stores even had hat check girls. Vacuum
(12:28):
cleaner ads showed women in pearls smiling while scrubbing the rug.
A Sears catalog once declared a tidy appearance makes housework
a pleasure. Today we wear pajama pants to target. Back then,
you vacuumed like you were hosting a cocktail party.
Speaker 2 (12:45):
Tiny Marlboroughs for tiny humans.
Speaker 1 (12:49):
Candy cigarettes were every kid's favorite. Contraband little Chalky sticks
sold in packs identical to Marlboroughs and Lucky strikes. Some
even puffed powdered sugar smoke when you through them. Parents
thought it was harmless fun, The tobacco industry thought it
was brilliant marketing, and kids thought it was the coolest
way to look grown up. One man recalled in an interview.
(13:11):
We'd sit on the curb outside school, puffing our candy
smokes like gangsters. Nobody cared. Today, you'd be accused of
corrupting the youth. Back then, it was childhood training wheels
for the nicotine industry.
Speaker 2 (13:24):
Breathe easy with this giant metal coffin.
Speaker 1 (13:29):
Polio terrified parents in the early fifties. Every summer outbreaks
paralyzed thousands of kids, swimming pools, closed playgrounds when empty
families stayed indoors, terrified of the invisible virus. The worst
cases ended up in iron lungs, huge machines that encased
the body, mechanically moving the chest so the patient could breathe.
(13:51):
Hospitals lined entire wards with these machines, children's faces peeking
out from the ends. One survivor, Martha Mason, lived inside
an iron lung for over sixty years, writing books with
the help of voice recognition software. Jonas Salk's vaccine, introduced
in nineteen fifty five, changed everything. Polio nearly disappeared, but
(14:15):
in the fifties the sight of rows of children in
metal coffins was seared into public memory. So that was
the nineteen fifties, a time of jukeboxes, ductail hair, radioactive toys,
and jello crimes against humanity. Some of it was charming,
some of it was dangerous, and some of it well,
(14:37):
let's just say, if you brought a lime jello hot
dog loaf to a dinner party today, you'd be escorted
out by police. Thanks for listening to the Strange History podcast.
I'm Amy your time traveling Jello fearing host. Don't forget
to subscribe, leave a review, And if you're ever tempted
to hitchhike to a sockhop with your hair greased into
(15:00):
a duck's But remember history is strange. And sometimes best
left in the past,
Welcome back to the Strange History Podcast. I'm your host, Amy,
and today we're hopping in our time machine, greasing our hair,
and zipping straight back to the nineteen fifties, a decade
of sock hoops, shiny cheves, and social rules so bizarre
you'd think the whole country had a stick of butter
lodged in its corset. Now, don't get me wrong, the
(00:22):
fifties had charm, but it also had a lot of
weird habits, products and traditions that thankfully didn't make it
to twenty twenty five. So buckle up, buttercup, We're about
to explore twenty four strange, funny, and occasionally terrifying things
from the nineteen fifties. You'll never see today.
Speaker 2 (00:41):
Drive through but for your baby.
Speaker 1 (00:45):
That's right. In the nineteen fifties, banks weren't the only
thing with drive throughs. Some grocery stores, pharmacies, and even
liquor shops let you pull up, roll down the window,
and no joke, hand over your infant to a smiling
clerk who would baby sit them while you shopped. Imagine
pulling up to a Kroger today tossing little Timmy out
the window like a bag of laundry and saying back
(01:08):
in thirty minutes, don't let him eat paste. These baby
parking services were advertised as modern, convenient and safe, though
I can't imagine OSHA approving parents genuinely thought this was
cutting edge childcare. After all, nothing said responsible parenting like
(01:28):
leaving your baby in the care of a seventeen year
old stock boy who'd rather be sneaking cigarettes out back.
Speaker 2 (01:35):
The airplane ashtray Olympics.
Speaker 1 (01:38):
This next one has hit every decade up to the nineties.
Flying in the fifties was fancy. Ladies wore pearls, men
wore suits, and kids were expected to sit still and
look adorable. But the real highlight smoking everywhere. Airplanes were
basically giant metal chimneys in the sky. Every seat had
(01:59):
its own ash, and passengers could puff away while turbulence
rattled their martinis. Flight attendants excuse me, stewardesses wore white
gloves and encouraged passengers to light up. Today, the idea
of lighting a Marlborough on a Southwest flight would get
you tackled by air marshals. But back then, if you
(02:19):
weren't chainsmoking at thirty thousand feet, you were the weird one.
Speaker 2 (02:24):
Jello America's culinary mad scientist.
Speaker 1 (02:28):
The fifties food pyramid wasn't based on grains or proteins.
It was based on jello. Everything, and I mean everything,
ended up suspended in gelatine. Want a salad slap some
can tuna, celery and olives into lime jello dinner party,
mold hot dogs into a gelatine loaf, dessert, banana slices,
(02:51):
and strawberry jello with a mayonnaise topping. Cookbooks proudly featured
these unholy creations with glossy photos of quivering towers of
meat encased in lime green wobble. Housewives served them with pride,
while guests pretended they didn't want to cry. If Gordon
Ramsey had been alive and eating in nineteen fifty seven,
(03:11):
he would have needed therapy.
Speaker 2 (03:14):
Ducktail hair because Elvis said so.
Speaker 1 (03:18):
The duck tail hairstyle or Da Duck's ass if You're Nasty,
was the ultimate greaser look. Guys would slather on handfuls
of brill cream, comb their hair into a slick wave
in front, and pinch it in the back so it
literally resembled the rear end of a duck. It looked cool,
it looked rebellious. It also required so much grease that
(03:40):
if you leaned against a wall, you left behind a
head shaped oil stain, and God forbid you tried to
run your fingers through your boyfriend's hair, you'd come back
with enough grease to fry a pork chop.
Speaker 2 (03:51):
Television test patterns please stand by forever.
Speaker 1 (03:56):
Before twenty four hour programming TV station signed off at
midnight and didn't return until morning. Between shows, screens displayed
test patterns, those weird grayscale circles with a Native American
head in the middle. Families would sit there staring at
static or test patterns for hours. Little Timmy might have
(04:18):
even thought the Indian head was the show. Imagine trying
that today. Sorry, kids, no SpongeBob until seven am. Here's
a circle in some lines. Q Instant riots children's chemistry
sets Now with uranium, Yes, actual uranium. In nineteen fifty one,
(04:38):
the Gilbert U two three eight Atomic Energy Lab was
marketed as a toy. It came with Geiger counters, radiation sources,
and real uranium ore. The box literally said recommended for boys,
because nothing says fun like a nine year old splitting
atoms in the basement while mom makes tuna casserole. Not surprise,
(05:00):
it was pulled from shelves pretty quick. But somewhere out
there a kid probably got a Science Fair ribbon for
accidentally giving his hamster a low level radiation burn.
Speaker 2 (05:11):
Soap operas sponsored by cigarettes.
Speaker 1 (05:15):
Every housewife's favorite daytime escape was proudly brought to you
by Winston Cigarettes. Commercial breaks featured moms lighting up while vacuuming,
or cartoon doctors saying more physicians smoked camels than any
other brand. It was the golden age of gas lighting.
Today ads for cigarettes would be as welcome as a
(05:37):
raw sewage commercial between episodes of The Bachelor.
Speaker 2 (05:40):
Kids hitchhiking without a care.
Speaker 1 (05:43):
In the fifties, hitchhiking wasn't just normal, it was encouraged.
Parents thought nothing of telling little Johnny go ride your
thumb to baseball practice. Highways were full of teenagers sticking
out their arms for rides from total strangers, who, of
course were also probably smoking while driving. It was so
(06:04):
normalized that Life magazine published hitchhiking etiquette guides. Today we
warn kids about stranger danger. Back then, hitching was basically
the uber of suburbia.
Speaker 2 (06:15):
Doctor knows best even when he doesn't.
Speaker 1 (06:19):
Doctors in the fifties smoked in exam rooms, prescribed amphetamines
for dieting, and told pregnant women a Martinian night was
good for the baby. Patients rarely questioned authority. If a
doctor said you've got ghosts in your blood, try heroin,
people would have nodded politely. Medical science was advancing, sure,
(06:40):
but it was also the wild West of healthcare. Let's
just say, your grandma's doctor's orders back then might sound
like a stand up routine.
Speaker 2 (06:48):
Today the vending machine of dreams.
Speaker 1 (06:53):
Automats were like a cafeteria from the future. Imagine a
wall of tiny glass doors behind one pie, another meat loaf,
dropping a coin, open the door, and vola dinner. No waiters,
no lines, just hot food, instantly available. They were beloved
(07:14):
by office workers, families, and anyone who wanted quick comfort food.
The biggest chain, Horn and Hardart, served over eight hundred
thousand New Yorkers a day in its prime. People even
went there on dates. By the seventies, fast food killed
the automat. Today, the closest we've got is an airport
(07:35):
vending machine selling sad sandwiches for fourteen dollars.
Speaker 2 (07:40):
Glow, baby glow.
Speaker 1 (07:43):
The atomic age brought us nuclear fear, but also nuclear fashion.
In the fifties, radiation wasn't terrifying. It was trendy. Manufacturers
laced everything with radium. Toothpaste that promised atomic whitening, radium
alarm clocks that glowed cheerfully through the night, even face
creams boasting a youthful glow, though it was more Chernobyl
(08:06):
than Chanel. The most infamous example Ratathor, a radium laced
energy tonic. A wealthy industrialist named Eben Byers drank so
much of it his bones disintegrated and his jaw fell off.
The Wall Street Journal reported his death under the unforgettable
headline The radium water worked fine until his jaw came off.
(08:30):
But Americans loved the atomic gimmick. Toasters were branded atomic,
cocktails were nuclear, and toys even came with small samples
of uranium ore. Yes, kids played with uranium. Today we
panic about Wi Fi frying our brains. In the fifties,
they were rubbing uranium on their skin. Movies in the
(08:52):
parking lot the drive in theater wasn't just a movie.
It was a cultural event. By nineteen fifty eight, there
were over four thousand drive ins across America. They're glowing
screens rising like billboards. In the suburbs, Families packed the
station wagon, kids in pajamas bouncing in the back. Teens
(09:13):
stuffed themselves into car trunks to sneak in for free.
Couples fogged up windshields during double features. One Pennsylvania drive
in even tried baby bottle warmers installed in car windows
so parents could feed infants mid movie. Others offered car
hop style food service burgers delivered right to your car door. Today,
(09:35):
drive ins are a nostalgia novelty, but in the fifties
they weren't just theaters. They were the mall, the playground,
the tinder date, and the babysitter rolled into one the
Amazon prime of dairy. If you lived in the suburbs,
you didn't run to the store for milk. The milkman
brought it to you. Clinking glass bottles landed on your
(09:56):
doorstep every morning, along with butter cream and some times
ice cream. The milkman wore a neat uniform, carried a
wire basket, and knew every family on his route. Kids
loved him because he sometimes snuck them chocolate milk. Adults
loved him. Well, let's just say the phrase milkman's baby
(10:16):
didn't come out of nowhere. By the seventies, supermarkets killed
the milkman business. Today, the closest thing we've got is
Amazon Fresh, except Jeff Bezos doesn't leave you free chocolate milk.
Speaker 2 (10:29):
Car seats. We don't need no stinking car seats.
Speaker 1 (10:34):
The nineteen fifties family car was a death trap on wheels.
Kids weren't buckled in. They were bouncing around like popcorn
in the back of a Buick car. Seats existed, but
they weren't about safety. They were just booster perches so
junior could look out the window. Some were basically hammocks
dangling from the seat back. Accidents were brutal. It wasn't
(10:57):
until the late sixties that seat belts became standard, But
in the fifties, safety was an afterthought. As one boomer
put it, if Dad slammed the brakes, Mom just threw
out her arm to keep us from flying through the windshield.
Speaker 2 (11:12):
A bomb shelter in every backyard.
Speaker 1 (11:16):
The Cold War drilled one lesson into Americans. If the
Soviets nuked us, the best defense was a hole in
the backyard. Magazines sold DIY fallout shelter blueprints. Hardware stores
had shelter kits with air filters, flashlights, and Geiger counters.
Some families stocked spam, baked beans, playing cards, and let's
(11:39):
be honest. Plenty of whiskey schools raffled off shelters. One
Detroit contest promised win the bomb shelter of your dreams
reality check. A plywood bunker wasn't stopping radiation, but for
anxious suburban dads, it gave them a sense of control,
and in the Cold War, that was priceless.
Speaker 2 (12:01):
High heels in the produce aisle.
Speaker 1 (12:04):
Housewives in the fifties weren't just judged by their casse roles.
They were judged by their appearance. Grocery shopping meant lipstick, heels, gloves,
and sometimes even a hat. Magazines advised women to dress
neatly for errands because you never knew who you might
bump into. Department stores even had hat check girls. Vacuum
(12:28):
cleaner ads showed women in pearls smiling while scrubbing the rug.
A Sears catalog once declared a tidy appearance makes housework
a pleasure. Today we wear pajama pants to target. Back then,
you vacuumed like you were hosting a cocktail party.
Speaker 2 (12:45):
Tiny Marlboroughs for tiny humans.
Speaker 1 (12:49):
Candy cigarettes were every kid's favorite. Contraband little Chalky sticks
sold in packs identical to Marlboroughs and Lucky strikes. Some
even puffed powdered sugar smoke when you through them. Parents
thought it was harmless fun, The tobacco industry thought it
was brilliant marketing, and kids thought it was the coolest
way to look grown up. One man recalled in an interview.
(13:11):
We'd sit on the curb outside school, puffing our candy
smokes like gangsters. Nobody cared. Today, you'd be accused of
corrupting the youth. Back then, it was childhood training wheels
for the nicotine industry.
Speaker 2 (13:24):
Breathe easy with this giant metal coffin.
Speaker 1 (13:29):
Polio terrified parents in the early fifties. Every summer outbreaks
paralyzed thousands of kids, swimming pools, closed playgrounds when empty
families stayed indoors, terrified of the invisible virus. The worst
cases ended up in iron lungs, huge machines that encased
the body, mechanically moving the chest so the patient could breathe.
(13:51):
Hospitals lined entire wards with these machines, children's faces peeking
out from the ends. One survivor, Martha Mason, lived inside
an iron lung for over sixty years, writing books with
the help of voice recognition software. Jonas Salk's vaccine, introduced
in nineteen fifty five, changed everything. Polio nearly disappeared, but
(14:15):
in the fifties the sight of rows of children in
metal coffins was seared into public memory. So that was
the nineteen fifties, a time of jukeboxes, ductail hair, radioactive toys,
and jello crimes against humanity. Some of it was charming,
some of it was dangerous, and some of it well,
(14:37):
let's just say, if you brought a lime jello hot
dog loaf to a dinner party today, you'd be escorted
out by police. Thanks for listening to the Strange History podcast.
I'm Amy your time traveling Jello fearing host. Don't forget
to subscribe, leave a review, And if you're ever tempted
to hitchhike to a sockhop with your hair greased into
(15:00):
a duck's But remember history is strange. And sometimes best
left in the past,
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Cardiac Cowboys
The heart was always off-limits to surgeons. Cutting into it spelled instant death for the patient. That is, until a ragtag group of doctors scattered across the Midwest and Texas decided to throw out the rule book. Working in makeshift laboratories and home garages, using medical devices made from scavenged machine parts and beer tubes, these men and women invented the field of open heart surgery. Odds are, someone you know is alive because of them. So why has history left them behind? Presented by Chris Pine, CARDIAC COWBOYS tells the gripping true story behind the birth of heart surgery, and the young, Greatest Generation doctors who made it happen. For years, they competed and feuded, racing to be the first, the best, and the most prolific. Some appeared on the cover of Time Magazine, operated on kings and advised presidents. Others ended up disgraced, penniless, and convicted of felonies. Together, they ignited a revolution in medicine, and changed the world.