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Wyandotte II Mon - History

Wyandotte II Mon - History



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Wyandotte II

(Mon.: dp. 2,100; 1. 224'0", b. 43'0", dr. 11'6", s. 13
k.; cpl. 100; a. 2 16" D. sb.; cl. Canonicus)

Tippecanoe—a Canonicus-class monitor constructed by Miles Greenwood at the shipyard of John Litherbury at Cincinnati, Ohio—was laid down on 28 September 1862; and launched on 22 December 1864. However she was not completed until 1866 when she was 1st up at New Orleans. In the year 1869, she was twice renamed: to Vesuvius on 16 June and to Wyandotte on 10 August.

Between the years 1870 and 1872, the monitor was laid up at Key West, Fla., and at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. In 1873 and 1874, Wyandotte underwent extensive repairs by John Roach at Chester, PA. On 24 January 1876, the warship was commissioned, with Lt. Thomas C. Terrell in command.

Wyandotte operated with the North Atlantic Squadron off the east coast into 1879, on exercises and training cruises, basing for a time out of Hampton Roads, VA. She later served as station ship at Washington D.C., before being laid up in 1885 and placed in ordinary—first at Richmond and then at Norfolk, VA.

Transferred to the Connecticut state militia in 1896, she was serving in this capacity when, at the opening of the Spanish-American War, some Americans along the eastern seaboard felt apprehensive, lest the Spanish Navy attack American cities. Their anxiety was fed by the fact that the major warships of the United States Fleet had gathered around Key West far from the major metropolitan centers to the north. This uneasiness swept over the east coast and produced a clamor for the Navy to take steps to protect the "endangered" cities.

As a result, the Navy reactivated old ships—for the most part, of Civil War vintage—for local defense. Recommissioned on 30 April 1898, with Lt. John B. Milton in command, Wyandotte sailed from New Haven, Conn., on 17 May, to guard Boston. The venerable warship remained on station from 19 May to 6 September, but no Spanish armada ever appeared.

After hostilities ended, Wyandotte steamed to Philadelphia, where she arrived on 9 September. She was decommissioned there on 20 September and later sold for scrap on 17 January 1899.


Huron

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Huron, also called Wyandot, Wyandotte, or Wendat, Iroquoian-speaking North American Indians who were living along the St. Lawrence River when contacted by French explorer Jacques Cartier in 1534.

Many aspects of Huron culture were similar to those of other Northeast Indians. Traditionally, the Huron lived in villages of large bark-covered longhouses, each of which housed a matrilineal extended family some villages were protected by an encircling palisade. Agriculture was the mainstay of the Huron economy men cleared fields and women planted, tended, and harvested crops including corn (maize), beans, squash, and sunflowers. Hunting and fishing supplemented the diet.

The Huron were divided into matrilineal exogamous clans, each headed by a clan chief all the clan chiefs of a village formed a council, which, with the village chief, decided civil affairs. Villages were grouped into bands (each of which had a band chief and a band council, consisting of village chiefs, to deal with civil matters affecting the entire band), and all the bands together constituted the Huron nation. A large council of band chiefs and their local councils dealt with matters concerning the whole tribe. Women were highly influential in Huron affairs, as each clan’s senior women were responsible for selecting its civil leader.

The Huron were bitter enemies of tribes of the Iroquois Confederacy, with whom they competed in the fur trade. Before the 17th century the Iroquois drove some Huron from the St. Lawrence River westward into what is now Ontario, where related groups seem to have already been resident four of those bands (the Rock, Cord, Bear, and Deer peoples) formed the Wendat Confederacy, which was defeated and dispersed by Iroquois invasions in 1648–50. The survivors were either captured and forced to settle among their conquerors or driven west and north. The latter remnants drifted back and forth between Michigan, Wisconsin, Ontario, Ohio, and Quebec. During the French and Indian War in the mid-18th century, the Huron allied with the French against the British and the Iroquois Confederacy.

The Huron gradually reestablished some influence in Ohio and Michigan, but the U.S. government eventually forced tribal members to sell their lands. They subsequently migrated to Kansas and then to Indian Territory (present-day Oklahoma).

Early 21st-century population estimates indicated some 4,000 individuals of Huron descent.

This article was most recently revised and updated by Kathleen Kuiper, Senior Editor.


Contents

The GLEW was formed in 1902 to purchase Riverside Ironworks. Riverside was the short-lived successor to the venerable S.F. Hodge Company (Samuel F. Hodge & Company), which was well known for quality steam engines and provided access not only to marine engine markets, but also to non marine markets as well. Because of the Hodge Company, which was founded in 1863, and other companies like them, the Detroit River community had become a hot bed for steam engine development. Antonio C. Pessano was elected as President and General Manager for his engineering background and charismatic personality. The new company realized that the Riverside yard had limited room and service docks. GLEW announced the purchase of a second shipyard in Ecorse, Michigan in 1903 which later became the River Rouge yard, named after its location on the River Rouge. [1] [2] [3] The GLEW again expanded in 1905 when it acquired the Columbia Iron Works in St. Clair, Michigan, and in 1912 when operations began at their Ashtabula shipyard in Ohio. [1] These GLEW shipyards helped Pressano realize his goal for the company. From the time it launched Hull #1 (Fontana) out of Ecorse, this immense shipbuilding enterprise would later be known for the construction of famous ships like SS Wyandotte, SS William C. Atwater and the Edmund Fitzgerald. [1]

It was anticipated that GLEW would be the largest shipbuilding plant on the Great Lakes. In 1903, the plant owned eighty-five acres (34 ha) along the Detroit River that included 1,400 feet (430 m) of river frontage. [4] The company began with a capital of $1.5 million and a $500,000 bond issue. [5] Within three years of GLEW's formation, Detroit built fifty percent of the tonnage of all ships in the Great Lakes. [3]

The GLEW created opportunity for other companies and played a large wartime role during the company’s fifty-eight-year span. Many shipping companies hoped that the skilled craftsmanship of the GLEW would help establish their firm as a major contender within the Great Lakes shipping industry. [6] The Northwestern Mutual Insurance Company of Milwaukee contracted the GLEW to build the first ‘super freighter’ thus putting them on the map. Other orders of the same magnitude ensued which benefited the local economy. Hugh McElroy, general superintendent of the GLEW stated that these contracts presented 1,300 new jobs and thereby tripling the company’s workforce. [7] William Penn Snyder, president of Shenango Furnace Company of Sharpsville, Pennsylvania felt that the incorporation of GLEW ships would clearly change his smaller (by comparison) iron and steel industry into a leading competitor. Just as Snyder had hoped, the record-breaking freighter, SS Shenango, helped dramatically expand the company. This relationship between the two companies led to the contract of more ships whereby even Elizabeth Russel, daughter of John Russel, vice president and treasurer of GLEW had the honor of christening the SS William P. Snyder. [6] Although the Snyder did not set records, the GLEW would become renowned via other vessels.

The GLEW set records and earned long-time standing recognition as a leading innovator in shipbuilding technology. In 1908, the SS Wyandotte was launched from the Ecorse site. This 364 ft (111 m). steel hulled, self-unloader was the prototype for the modern day self-unloader. [8] Again technology advanced and the newer ships of 1911 based their design on the Wyandotte but were incorporated with grander features. The GLEW designed and built seven new ships of “full canal dimensions and rather deep draft,” thereby forging the way for bigger and better products and production and pushed technology further. [9]

The year 1925 marked a new technical era when GLEW built the 604 ft (184 m) SS William C. Atwater at the River Rouge site at the request of Wilson Transit. The Atwater was “the first ship with full-size hatches [that] have single-piece steel hatch covers” [6] As machinery advanced, so did the size of the vessels. By 1957, plans were made to build the largest ore carrier to maneuver the Lakes.

GLEW'S hull #301 was named Edmund Fitzgerald. Her 729 ft (222 m) length made her the largest ship on the Great Lakes and she had a carrying capacity of nearly 26,800 long tons (30,000 short tons 27,200 t) of iron ore. The new "Queen of the Lakes" was launched on June 7, 1958, from GLEW’s River Rouge shipyard. Mrs. Edmund Fitzgerald had the privilege of breaking the champagne bottle on Fitzgerald ’s bow. The event received wide spread media coverage. An estimated 15,000 people showed up to witness the event that marked the first new "maximum seaway-size" freighter on the Lakes. [6] [10] The Fitzgerald arguably became the most famous shipwreck in the history of Great Lakes shipping, made legendary by Gordon Lightfoot's popular ballad, the "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald". [11] [12]

The war years not only saw the construction but also the destruction of vessels. During World War I, the SS Vacuum (Hull # 99, Ecorse yard) commissioned by Ocean Freight Cargo Ship in 1912 as the SS Bayamon was sunk by German torpedo April 28, 1917 near Scotland. The SS Gratangen (Hull #156, Ashtabula) commissioned by Corona Coa in 1916 as the SS Corona was sunk by German submarine in 1917. The P. L. M. No. 4 (Hull #162,Ecorse) commissioned by the French government for the Paris, Lyon and Mediterranean Railway in 1916 was torpedoed and sunk in English Channel on December 27, 1917. [1] However, the construction during wartime enabled the GLEW to bring economic prosperity to the Detroit area.

The Navy department appropriations bill for 1941 awarded Great Lakes shipyards government contracts worth almost ninety million dollars. The GLEW was responsible for twenty-one new ore carriers commissioned by the Pittsburgh Steamship Company and the U.S. Maritime Commission. [13] As the year came to an end, more military orders from Washington came in when the Great Lakes shipyards were already operating at full capacity. The shipbuilders met the increased demand by expanding and creating new ways to heighten production levels that resulted in the larger, deeper vessels. Some of the vessels became casualties of war. The SS Catherine (hull # 219 from GLEW Ecorse) was commissioned by U.S. Maritime Commission as the SS Covedale in May 1919. She was torpedoed by Germans on June 17, 1941. The supply and demands were met but when peace came, the over-abundance of shipbuilding orders decreased and so to did the local economies of the once booming, small Great Lakes ports. The role of delivering bulk commodities could not change for GLEW’s vessels and therefore they were valued whether at war or at peace. It was the decrease in shipbuilding orders that troubled the local economy and marked the end of an era. [13]

GLEW’s 58-year history saw the end to their own epoch. Foreign firms started producing cost-cheap ships therefore, the America steamship companies began dealing abroad. On April 30, 1961, GLEW stockholders agreed to dissolve the shipbuilding giant and sell it to the Great Lakes Steel Corporation. [14]


Wyandotte II Mon - History

Monday - Saturday: 10AM - 9PM

Wyandot Barbeque 2 is a neighborhood BBQ restaurant located near the heart of Overland Park, Kansas. There were once three Wyandot Barbeque restaurants, but today there is only this one and the original location on State Avenue in Kansas City, Kansas (Wyandotte County).

This joint had been in this former Taco shop for at least 30 years, but it is does not get the press that many KC BBQ joints get. It isn't fancy or even in very good repair, and during our last visit the "fresh brewed" iced tea looked like it had been in the dispenser for a few days. Still, I like the food.

The meaty ribs are tender and have very good flavor. The brisket is also very good. The bone-in chicken doesn't have as much flavor as the other meats.

The onion rings are not fresh made, but are still crispy and good. The previously frozen crinkle cut French fries are cooked perfectly. They are golden and crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. To my tastes buds, they are better than the fresh cut fries at many other places.

The servings are larger than many places and the prices are lower. You can easily fill up for about $10.

Slabs of ribs are sold by size from $15 - $20 depending on the weight of the slab.


Probably more than half of the customers get their meals to go.


The seats in the Wyandot Barbeque 2 dining room could use replacement


Mixed plate of beef, ham, ribs and fries - $11


Half chicken - $4.75, onion rings - $2.10


The Wyandot Barbeque 2 menu from January 2020


Wyandot Barbeque 2 Map


100 Years on a Dirty Dog: The History of Greyhound

As careers go, Carl Eric Wickman’s stint in the car business was less than auspicious. In 1913, the immigrant drill operator paid $3,000 to open a Goodyear Tire/Hupmobile car franchise in Hibbing, Minn., not far from the world’s largest open-pit iron mine. Unfortunately, Wickman was even worse at selling cars than he was at picking car makers—so the enterprising young Swede abandoned his dealership dreams soon after making his one and only sale … to himself.

Realizing that most iron miners were too poor to afford their own vehicle, Wickman decided to start transporting workers between Hibbing and Alice, a mining town two miles away. Cramming 15 passengers into his eight-seat “touring car,” the 27-year-old charged 15 cents a ride. On his first trip, in 1914, Wickman collected a grand total of $2.25. But 100 years later, that modest sum has grown into nearly a billion dollars in annual revenue.

Wickman, it turns out, pretty much invented intercity bus travel—which for most Americans equals Greyhound, the company that emerged from that long-ago Hupmobile ride. “Greyhound has become generic for bus travel,” says Robert Gabrick, author of Going The Greyhound Way. “Like Kleenex for tissues.” Indeed, this classic American business icon—which, as it happens, is now owned by a British conglomerate—today has more than 7,300 employees, with estimated yearly sales of $820 million and 2,000 buses serving 3,800 destinations in 48 U.S. states and nine Canadian provinces. “I’m amazed at Greyhound’s brand recognition,” says DePaul University professor Joseph Schwieterman, an authority on intercity bus travel. “It’s an American success story.”

But Greyhound’s journey to bus-industry dominance was far from smooth, not least because U.S. roads were god-awful bumpy when Wickman started out. Indeed, Uncle Sam’s first serious stab at building a quality national road system was the Federal Highway Act of 1921, which by coincidence was the same year that the first intercity buses rolled off assembly lines.

Yes, Wickman invented the bus business before the bus was invented.

But that wasn’t his only challenge. Wickman’s “Snoose Line”—“snoose” was Swedish for snuff, which local miners snorted to stay alert—also faced competition from other car owners who saw money-making possibilities in hauling people to work. So in1916, Wickman and his two partners merged their company with a rival outfit operated by a 19-year-old mechanic and Studebaker-owner named Ralph Bogan. They called their new company Mesaba Transportation Co., and the deal became a template for the future, as Wickman expanded his bus empire across America by acquiring hundreds of competitors over the years. In fact, Greyhound was for decades really just a collection of regional bus lines united under a single brand—Great Lakes Greyhound, Florida Greyhound—connected by sophisticated timetables and transfers. Even Greyhound’s corporate history reflects a slick transfer. The company officially traces its lineage to Wickman’s Hupmobile, but he actually sold his stake in Mesaba in 1922 and invested in another Minnesota operator soon after. In 1925, that company merged with a Wisconsin bus line operator to form Northland Transportation, which was Wickman’s first stab at interstate bus travel. It was also—for anyone still trying to keep score—the official birth (following a couple of name changes) of the modern Greyhound Corporation.

But first, a railroad big shot had to see something hiding in plain sight.

Early in the 20th century, Americans generally took trains when they needed to travel between cities. But after World War I ended in 1918, train ticket sales started to decline, a development that prompted railroad executives to attack bus companies—whose fares were cheaper—by accusing them of ruining America’s roads and failing to pay their share of repair costs. Then, in 1925, Great Northern Railroad president Ralph Budd decided to actually study the matter. Surprisingly, Budd’s investigation showed that passenger traffic on trains declined even when there was no route competition from buses. The real culprit, his research showed, was Henry Ford, whose introduction of the assembly line into car-making in 1913 resulted in drastically lower car prices: The railroads were losing business to Model T’s, which many former train riders could now suddenly afford. Those unlucky folks who couldn’t—or those who didn’t know how to drive—still traveled by train, unless they were too poor to afford a ticket, in which case they took a bus.

Budd quickly understood that train and bus operators should be allies, not enemies. Bus routes could replace money-losing rail runs, while also feeding passengers to trains when it made sense. And so, in 1925, Great Northern Railroad bought 80% of Northland, transforming Wickman’s company from a cash-strapped regional operator into a well-financed national company. This deal, as much as anything, allowed Wickman and his colleagues to expand, not to mention survive the Great Depression and emerge with a national brand: Greyhound, the name of a small bus line Northland Transportation bought and decided to use for the whole shebang.

Good thing, too, since it’s tough to imagine people writing crowd-pleasing lyrics about “Northland Transportation.” Greyhound, on the other hand, has turned up in songs ranging from Robert Johnson’s “Me and the Devil” to Chuck Berry’s “Promised Land” to the Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin’ Man.” But the free product placement that truly turned Greyhound into a cultural icon was the 1934 movie It Happened One Night. A huge hit, the Columbia Pictures comedy starred Claudette Colbert as a spoiled heiress on the run and Clark Gable as a reporter chasing her, but third billing should have gone to the Greyhound bus featured prominently in the action. Company officials credited the film for spurring interest in bus travel, and 12 years later Greyhound was still inspiring silver screen romance: The 1946 musical No Leave, No Love, featured the hit “Love On A Greyhound Bus” (a song that won’t be confused with the less romantic 2003 Sara Evans country hit, “Backseat of a Greyhound Bus). Eleven years later, Greyhound launched another improbable cultural touchstone: Lady Greyhound, whose 13-year career as company “spokesdog” began on The Steve Allen Show in 1957 and included chairing the “pet division” of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, not to mention her own canine fashion show at the New York World’s Fair and dozens of fans clubs around the U.S.

It was during these decades—from the 1930s through the 1950s—when Greyhound was among a small group of U.S. firms that helped America reimagine itself. Mostly movie studios, automakers and large consumer product companies, these firms painted a picture through their ads and products of a country whose future was only exceeded by the gumption of its citizens and the bounty of its natural resources. Greyhound’s self-selected role was as unofficial tour guide. “Greyhound invested time and financial resources in advertising its ability to transport passengers all over the U.S.,” says Margaret Wash, an intercity bus historian. “They suggested it was fashionable to take bus trips.”

Starting in the 1930s, Greyhound’s national ad campaigns emphasized (or exaggerated) bus travel’s excitement (“Now I Know How Columbus Felt!”), low cost (“Spend less … and have the best vacation ever!) and killer app: someone else at the wheel (“Leave the Driving to Us”). But the real stars of these ads were America (“Roaring Cities, Calm Countryside”) and family (“Rolling Home”). “These campaigns made bus travel into a business of aspirations,” says Robert Gabrick, author of Going The Greyhound Way. “They idealized their passengers and the country they lived in.”

Greyhound was especially enmeshed in the fabric of American life during a crucial period in the nation’s history: World War II. From 1941 to 1945, the company aggressively adopted a patriotic mission, even going so far as to outline its priorities in its 1942 annual report to shareholders. Through its ads, meanwhile, Greyhound told consumers what it saw as its primary wartime function: transporting troops and other crucial personnel around the country (“This Army Moves By Greyhound”) after that came educating the public about efficient travel (“Serve America Now So You Can See America Later”), which mattered a lot now that fuel and rubber were being rationed.

Image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Before and after the war, though, Greyhound spent much time, money and effort on forward progress. In 1930, company headquarters relocated from sleepy Duluth, Minn., to wide-awake Chicago. Ten years later, Greyhound became the first bus line to launch a national chain of depot restaurants—Post House—aimed at riders who didn’t like greasy roadside diners. (Ask your grandparents.) The next year, Greyhound bought 10% of the Canadian bus builder Motor Coach Industries (it later acquired the rest). And, of course, Greyhound was for years at the cutting edge of bus design, with models that still enthrall a large community of collectors: 1939’s Super Coach (first bus with an all-metal body and rear-mounted engine), 1953’s Highway Traveler (picture windows, power steering, air shocks) and 1954’s Scenic Cruiser, which debuted the year Wickman died and gave the world a gift for the ages: on-board bathrooms.

Greyhound was the official bus line at both the Chicago (1933-34) and New York (1964-65) World’s Fairs. But nothing at either of those fantastical expos matched the company’s 1943 application to the Civil Aeronautics Board, which outlined a plan for “the integration of air service and bus service”—a.k.a., a helicopter-bus! Sadly, this crazy-genius idea was not to be. Just four years later Greyhound told annual report readers that “it will be some years before the development of a helicopter with sufficient capacity for economical capacity” to make the idea a reality. But if Greyhound failed to lift bus travel to new altitudes, the company did manage to usher America into other strata of uncharted territory. During WWII, for example, Greyhound replaced many of its drafted bus drivers with women, which was arguably the first time America confronted such a wholesale substitution of traditionally male authority figures.

Two decades later, Greyhound found itself in the middle of another cultural shift, when civil rights activists known as “Freedom Riders” rode Greyhound (and then-rival Trailways) buses into the Deep South to protest segregation. Until then, intercity bus drivers followed a common practice when crossing the Mason-Dixon line, asking black passengers to sit separate from whites in the back of the bus. But within a few months of the Freedom Riders campaign, Uncle Sam outlawed segregation in any facilities or vehicles involved in interstate commerce.

Greyhound's overall record on race-relations was mixed. On the one hand, Greyhound had a history of hiring blacks on the other hand, most of those jobs were menial. The good jobs—drivers, managers, mechanics—generally went to white men. This was especially galling to many because African-Americans always accounted for a disproportionately large percentage of intercity bus passengers.

Throughout this country’s two “Great Migrations”—during and after each World War—millions of southern blacks moved north and west in search of better lives. More often than not, they rode Greyhound for their big move and also for trips back home to visit friends and family. So it was no coincidence that in 1962, as the Civil Rights movement heated up, Greyhound strengthened its ties to black Americans. Joe Black, a former Brooklyn Dodger who was the first African-American pitcher to win a World Series game, was hired as full time director of Greyhound’s outreach program. “The intercourse between Greyhound and blacks is one of the happier aspects of the company’s history,” writes Carlton Jackson in Hounds of the Road, a corporate history.

Still, by the time Black was hired, there were other trends bubbling that had greater consequences for bus travel. In 1956, Congress passed the Interstate Highway Act, which created the Dwight D. Eisenhower System of Interstate and Defense Highways. Eisenhower was president at the time, but that’s not why his name is on America’s largest public works project to date. In an earlier career, while saving the world from Adolf Hitler as Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe during World War II, Ike noticed that Germany had a superb highway network, which was helpful when moving trucks and tanks around. He came back to the U.S. pretty well convinced that his home country needed its own system of high-quality roads.

But as much as drivers today love cruising I-4 through I-99, America’s expanding highways were a mixed blessing for Greyhound. Better roads meant quicker travel and fewer repairs, but they also encouraged the growing ranks of car owners to drive themselves on business trips and vacations. As any farsighted executive could see, this development, coupled with the increasing affordability of air travel in the 1950s and 1960s, spelled trouble for the bus industry. So Greyhound started buying all sorts of companies in all sorts of non-bus industries. That’s how Greyhound’s stable of businesses came to include such diverse businesses as Burger King, Dial Soap, Purex bleach, a package delivery service, and even a skin bank for burn victims.

Depending on whom you ask, this strategy was either the beginning of a decades-long loss of focus that ate away at Greyhound’s soul or a smart strategy for diversifying profits and protecting shareholders. “Greyhound was generating massive amounts of cash that probably wasn’t best invested in a slow-growth business like bus travel,” says Craig Lentzsch, Greyhound’s CEO many years later (1994-2003). “Shareholders did very well during those years.” On the flip side, it was during this time that Greyhound’s core business started to weaken: Buses started deteriorating, terminals became seedy and dangerous, and workers grew unhappy. “There were economic and cultural forces at work but Greyhound also lost sight of what made bus travel successful,” says Gabrick, the author. “It became a business of low aspirations.”

Whatever the verdict, where once the giant company was known, at least somewhat affectionately, as “The Hound,” consumers soon enough started calling it “The Dirty Dog,” with absolutely no affection at all. “It was pretty bleak,” says James Inman, a comedian whose book about a 1995 cross-country trip, Greyhound Diary, captures the zeitgeist of the Dirty Dog from the late 1970s until the mid 2000s. “It was a lesson in America’s class divide: broke people, unpleasant buses, rude drivers, horrible terminals. There was no romance of the road at all.”

There certainly wasn’t much at Greyhound HQ, which moved from Chicago to Phoenix in 1971. Sixteen years later, like Abraham casting Ishmael into the desert, the Greyhound Corporation spun off its U.S. bus operations. Newly liberated and headquartered in Dallas, Greyhound Lines returned to its roots, acquiring Trailways, its largest rival, that same year. Federal anti-trust lawyers, who take a dim view of mergers that create monopolies, might have blocked the deal in different times. But Trailways in 1987 was in financial trouble, and the government decided that saving jobs and retaining bus routes trumped other concerns. Plus, the bus business was struggling enough that few informed observers worried too much that Greyhound would try to price-gouge in the face of less competition.

How right they were. Three years later, in 1990, Greyhound faced its own financial cliff when its unionized workers went on strike. This labor stoppage, one of the longest and nastiest in American history, forced the company to drastically curtail operations, which resulted in big losses. So big, in fact, that soon after its union started picketing, Greyhound execs filed for bankruptcy protection, a move that allowed their company to keep operating during a whopping three-year strike. But that labor strife, which often turned violent, had a silver lining. In what might be called a reverse Eisenhower, this overwhelmingly awful turn of events sowed the seeds of Greyhound’s later revival.

Since 1972 Greyhound had been marketing directly to the Hispanic community, with great success, but the strike caused the company to cut many of the routes that catered to Spanish speakers. Not surprisingly, newer, smaller bus companies popped up to serve these passengers. They did very well, largely because many owners, managers and drivers spoke Spanish, which was not often the case on Greyhound. “Bus travel is a service industry,” says Lentzsch, the former president. “When you have Spanish-speaking drivers serving Spanish-speaking passengers in an English-speaking country, the experience will likely be a positive one.”

For Greyhound, though, the experience was negative, as the company struggled to get Hispanic customers back on its buses after settling its labor differences. Things got even worse as the ethnic-bus model was copied in various other ethnic communities around the U.S., resulting in the curbside buses that started popping up 10 to 15 years ago in major cities with large Asian populations like Chicago, New York and Washington, D.C. These competitors also cut into Greyhound’s business, not only among Asian consumers but also students and other cash-conscious riders, as well as travelers who simply wanted to avoid airport security and bus terminals.

But Greyhound, which had merged with the Canadian bus company Laidlaw Inc. in 1999, was finally getting on its feet again. The company began to revamp its fleet, part of an “Elevate Everything” program that included new looks for buses, terminals and uniforms. Then, in 2008—one year after FirstGroup of England bought Laidlaw—Greyhound finally started exploiting the enormous opportunity in the discount and curbside bus business. The company launched (on its own and with partners) three different services: NeOn, BoltBus and Yo! Bus. Amenities like free WiFi, power outlets, leather seating and extra legroom began to appear on more and more of its buses. “I think it’s fair to say that Greyhound is once again proud of its product,” says Schwieterman.

Today, the company is getting more money from more trips from more passengers than ever. The average Greyhound passenger pays $52 to travel 355 miles, and last year the Dirty Dog’s buses covered 5.6 billion passenger miles—about 2.8 billion times the distance between Hibbing and Alice, Minn.


Elizabeth I

Elizabeth I, House of Tudor, (7 September 1533 &ndash 24 March 1603) was queen regnant of England and Ireland from 17 November 1558 until her death. Sometimes called The Virgin Queen, Gloriana, or Good Queen Bess, Elizabeth was the fifth and last monarch of the Tudor dynasty. The daughter of Henry VIII, she was born a princess, but her mother, Anne Boleyn, was executed two and a half years after her birth, and Elizabeth was declared illegitimate. Her half-brother, Edward VI, bequeathed the crown to Lady Jane Grey, cutting his half-sisters out of the succession. His will was set aside, Lady Jane Grey was executed, and in 1558 Elizabeth succeeded the Catholic Mary I, during whose reign she had been imprisoned for nearly a year on suspicion of supporting Protestant rebels.

In her book &ldquoElizabeth the Queen&rdquo, Alison Weir describes the 25 year old Elizabeth as:

&ldquoTall and slender, with a tiny waist, small bosom and beautiful, long-fingered hands, which it pleased her vanity to display to advantage in a variety of affected poses. She had a swarthy complexion like that of her mother (Anne Boleyn).

Color Portraits like this one appear to be Whitenized modern Fakes because in the "Royal Portrait Gallery" these generally are attributed to "Unknown Artist" while the others are identified by Artist Name.

The Albino people often like to use words that will cause confusion when discussing the race and appearance of non-Albinos, so as to make them sound more Albino - if they are important people. Such is the case with Queen Elizabeth I, who is described as swarthy: so first, let us clearly define swarthy.

Webster's: of a dark color, complexion, or cast.

Etymology of swarthy: Alteration of swarty, from swart +&lrm -y, Old English sweart, "Black".

In the book "Native Arctic tribes of the former Soviet Union" the Nenet people are described as Swarthy: Quote from the Nenets: "Due to dark pigmentation, hair and eyes are black or brown and the skin is swarthy. In appearance the Nenets resemble most the Ostyaks, displaying, however, more Mongoloid characteristics." Luckily we happen to have a picture of a Nenet boy, with this picture we can clearly see what the Albinos mean when they say "Swarthy".


In 1945, a Japanese Balloon Bomb Killed Six Americans, Five of Them Children, in Oregon

Elsye Mitchell almost didn’t go on the picnic that sunny day in Bly, Oregon. She had baked a chocolate cake the night before in anticipation of their outing, her sister would later recall, but the 26-year-old was pregnant with her first child and had been feeling unwell. On the morning of May 5, 1945, she decided she felt decent enough to join her husband, Rev. Archie Mitchell, and a group of Sunday school children from their tight-knit community as they set out for nearby Gearhart Mountain in southern Oregon. Against a scenic backdrop far removed from the war raging across the Pacific, Mitchell and five other children would become the first—and only—civilians to die by enemy weapons on the United States mainland during World War II.

While Archie parked their car, Elsye and the children stumbled upon a strange-looking object in the forest and shouted back to him. The reverend would later describe that tragic moment to local newspapers: “I…hurriedly called a warning to them, but it was too late. Just then there was a big explosion. I ran up – and they were all lying there dead.” Lost in an instant were his wife and unborn child, alongside Eddie Engen, 13, Jay Gifford, 13, Sherman Shoemaker, 11, Dick Patzke, 14, and Joan “Sis” Patzke, 13.

Dottie McGinnis, sister of Dick and Joan Patzke, later recalled to her daughter in a family memory book the shock of coming home to cars gathered in the driveway, and the devastating news that two of her siblings and friends from the community were gone. “I ran to one of the cars and asked is Dick dead? Or Joan dead? Is Jay dead? Is Eddie dead? Is Sherman dead? Archie and Elsye had taken them on a Sunday school picnic up on Gearhart Mountain. After each question they answered yes. At the end they all were dead except Archie.” Like most in the community, the Patzke family had no inkling that the dangers of war would reach their own backyard in rural Oregon.

But the eyewitness accounts of Archie Mitchell and others would not be widely known for weeks. In the aftermath of the explosion, the small, lumber milling community would bear the added burden of enforced silence. For Rev. Mitchell and the families of the children lost, the unique circumstances of their devastating loss would be shared by none and known by few.

In the months leading up to that spring day on Gearhart Mountain, there had been some warning signs, apparitions scattered around the western United States that were largely unexplained—at least to the general public. Flashes of light, the sound of explosion, the discovery of mysterious fragments—all amounted to little concrete information to go on. First, the discovery of a large balloon miles off the California coast by the Navy on November 4, 1944. A month later, on December 6, 1944, witnesses reported an explosion and flame near Thermopolis, Wyoming. Reports of fallen balloons began to trickle in to local law enforcement with enough frequency that it was clear something unprecedented in the war had emerged that demanded explanation. Military officials began to piece together that a strange new weapon, with markings indicating it had been manufactured in Japan, had reached American shores. They did not yet know the extent or capability or scale of these balloon bombs.

Though relatively simple as a concept, these balloons—which aviation expert Robert C. Mikesh describes in Japan’s World War II Balloon Bomb Attacks on North America as the first successful intercontinental weapons, long before that concept was a mainstay in the Cold War vernacular—required more than two years of concerted effort and cutting-edge technology engineering to bring into reality. Japanese scientists carefully studied what would become commonly known as the jet stream, realizing these currents of wind could enable balloons to reach United States shores in just a couple of days. The balloons remained afloat through an elaborate mechanism that triggered a fuse when the balloon dropped in altitude, releasing a sandbag and lightening the weight enough for it to rise back up. This process would repeat until all that remained was the bomb itself. By then, the balloons would be expected to reach the mainland an estimated 1,000 out of 9,000 launched made the journey. Between the fall of 1944 and summer of 1945, several hundred incidents connected to the balloons had been cataloged.

One of the balloons filled with gas (Photo courtesy Robert Mikesh Collection, National Museum of the Pacific War)

The balloons not only required engineering acumen, but a massive logistical effort. Schoolgirls were conscripted to labor in factories manufacturing the balloons, which were made of endless reams of paper and held together by a paste made of konnyaku, a potato-like vegetable. The girls worked long, exhausting shifts, their contributions to this wartime project shrouded in silence. The massive balloons would then be launched, timed carefully to optimize the wind currents of the jet stream and reach the United States. Engineers hoped that the weapons’ impact would be compounded by forest fires, inflicting terror through both the initial explosion and an ensuing conflagration. That goal was stymied in part by the fact that they arrived during the rainy season, but had this goal been realized, these balloons may have been much more than an overlooked episode in a vast war.

As reports of isolated sightings (and theories on how they got there, ranging from submarines to saboteurs) made their way into a handful of news reports over the Christmas holiday, government officials stepped in to censor stories about the bombs, worrying that fear itself might soon magnify the effect of these new weapons. The reverse principle also applied—while the American public was largely in the dark in the early months of 1945, so were those who were launching these deadly weapons. Japanese officers later told the Associated Press that “they finally decided the weapon was worthless and the whole experiment useless, because they had repeatedly listened to [radio broadcasts] and had heard no further mention of the balloons.” Ironically, the Japanese had ceased launching them shortly before the picnicking children had stumbled across one.

The sandbag mechanism for the bombs (Photo courtesy Robert Mikesh Collection, National Museum of the Pacific War) Details of one of the bombs found by the U.S. military (Photo courtesy Robert Mikesh Collection, National Museum of the Pacific War)

However successful censorship had been in discouraging further launches, this very censorship “made it difficult to warn the people of the bomb danger,” writes Mikesh. “The risk seemed justified as weeks went by and no casualties were reported.” After that luck ran out with the Gearheart Mountain deaths, officials were forced to rethink their approach. On May 22, the War Department issued a statement confirming the bombs’ origin and nature “so the public may be aware of the possible danger and to reassure the nation that the attacks are so scattered and aimless that they constitute no military threat.” The statement was measured to provide sufficient information to avoid further casualties, but without giving the enemy encouragement. But by then, Germany’s surrender dominated headlines. Word of the Bly, Oregon, deaths—and the strange mechanism that had killed them – was overshadowed by the dizzying pace of the finale in the European theater.

The silence meant that for decades, grieving families were sometimes met with skepticism or outright disbelief. The balloon bombs have been so overlooked that during the making of the documentary On Paper Wings, several of those who lost family members told filmmaker Ilana Sol of reactions to their unusual stories. “They would be telling someone about the loss of their sibling and that person just didn’t believe them,” Sol recalls.

While much of the American public may have forgotten, the families in Bly never would. The effects of that moment would reverberate throughout the Mitchell family, shifting the trajectory of their lives in unexpected ways. Two years later, Rev. Mitchell would go on to marry the Betty Patzke, the elder sibling out of ten children in Dick and Joan Patzke’s family (they lost another brother fighting in the war), and fulfill the dream he and Elsye once shared of going overseas as missionaries. (Rev. Mitchell was later kidnapped from a leprosarium while he and Betty were serving as missionaries in Vietnam 57 years later his fate remains unknown).

“When you talk about something like that, as bad as it seems when that happened and everything, I look at my four children, they never would have been, and I’m so thankful for all four of my children and my ten grandchildren. They wouldn’t have been if that tragedy hadn’t happened,” Betty Mitchell told Sol in an interview.

The Bly incident also struck a chord decades later in Japan. In the late 1980s, University of Michigan professor Yuzuru “John” Takeshita, who as a child had been incarcerated as a Japanese-American in California during the war and was committed to healing efforts in the decades after, learned that the wife of a childhood friend had built the bombs as a young girl. He facilitated a correspondence between the former schoolgirls and the residents of Bly whose community had been turned upside down by one of the bombs they built. The women folded 1,000 paper cranes as a symbol of regret for the lives lost. On Paper Wings shows them meeting face-to-face in Bly decades later. Those gathered embodied a sentiment echoed by the Mitchell family. “It was a tragic thing that happened,” says Judy McGinnis-Sloan, Betty Mitchell’s niece. “But they have never been bitter over it.”

Japanese schoolgirls were conscripted to make the balloons. (Photo courtesy Robert Mikesh Collection, National Museum of the Pacific War)

These loss of these six lives puts into relief the scale of loss in the enormity of a war that swallowed up entire cities. At the same time as Bly residents were absorbing the loss they had endured, over the spring and summer of 1945 more than 60 Japanese cities burned – including the infamous firebombing of Tokyo. On August 6, 1945, the first atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, followed three days later by another on Nagasaki. In total, an estimated 500,000 or more Japanese civilians would be killed. Sol recalls “working on these interviews and just thinking my God, this one death caused so much pain, what if it was everyone and everything? And that’s really what the Japanese people went through.”

In August of 1945, days after Japan announced its surrender, nearby Klamath Falls’ Herald and News published a retrospective, noting that “it was only by good luck that other tragedies were averted” but noted that balloon bombs still loomed in the vast West that likely remained undiscovered. “And so ends a sensational chapter of the war,” it noted. “But Klamathites were reminded that it still can have a tragic sequel.”

While the tragedy of that day in Bly has not been repeated, the sequel remains a real—if remote—possibility. In 2014, a couple of forestry workers in Canada came across one of the unexploded balloon bombs, which still posed enough of a danger that a military bomb disposal unit had to blow it up. Nearly three-quarters of a century later, these unknown remnants are a reminder that even the most overlooked scars of war are slow to fade.


List of Medal of Honor recipients for World War II

World War II was a global military conflict. It is also called Second World War. It was the joining of what started off as two separate conflicts. The first began in Asia as the Second Sino-Japanese War. The other began in Europe in 1939 with the German invasion of Poland. [1]

This global conflict split the majority of the world's nations into two opposing military alliances. On one side was the Allies. On the other was the Axis powers. It involved the mobilization of over 100 million military personnel. This made it the most widespread war in history. It placed the participants in a state of "total war". The distinction between civil and military resources were eliminated. This resulted in the complete activation of a nation's economic, industrial, and scientific capabilities for the purposes of the war effort. Over 60 million people, the majority of them civilians, were killed, making it the deadliest conflict in human history. [2] The financial cost of the war is estimated at about a trillion 1944 U.S. dollars worldwide, [3] [4] making it the most costly war in capital as well as lives.

The Allies won. The result was the United States and Soviet Union emerged as the world's two leading superpowers.

During this conflict 464 United States military personnel received the Medal of Honor, 266 of them posthumously. Seventeen of these were Japanese-Americans fighting in both Europe and the Pacific. Additionally, the only recipient for the United States Coast Guard received the Medal for his actions during this war.

The Medal of Honor was created during the American Civil War. It is the highest military decoration presented by the United States government to a member of its armed forces. The recipient must have distinguished themselves at the risk of their own life above and beyond the call of duty in action against an enemy of the United States. Due to the nature of this medal, it is commonly presented posthumously. [5]


Later Career

After The Six Million Dollar Man, Majors enjoyed another wave of popularity with The Fall Guy (1981-86). In this action series, he played a stuntman who supplemented his income by working as a bounty hunter. In the 1980s and &apos90s, Majors also revisited his iconic Six Million Dollar Man role in several TV movies.

Majors has continued to work steadily throughout his career. In recent years, he appeared on The Game, Weeds and Raising Hope. In 2013, Majors was seen on Dallas, where he shared scenes with Linda Gray.


Contents

The name of France comes from the Germanic tribe known as the Franks. The Merovingian kings began as chieftains. The oldest known was Chlodio. Clovis I was the first of these to rise to true kingship. After his death, his kingdom was split between his sons into Soissons (Neustria), Paris, Orléans (Burgundy), and Metz (Austrasia). Several Merovingian monarchs brought back together the Frankish kingdoms and took the title of "King of the Franks". But upon their deaths, according to Frankish custom, the kingdom would often be split once again between their sons.

King of Paris
(Roi de Paris)
(595–629)

The last Merovingian kings, known as the lazy kings (rois fainéants), did not hold any real political power. The Mayor of the Palace governed instead. When Theuderic IV died in 737, Mayor of the Palace Charles Martel left the throne vacant and continued to rule until his own death in 741. His sons Pepin and Carloman briefly brought back the Merovingian dynasty by raising Childeric III to the throne in 743. In 751, Pepin deposed Childerich and took the throne.

Portrait Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Childeric III
(Childéric III)
743 November 751 • Son of Chilperic II or of Theuderic IV King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)

Three of the twelve kings during the 147-year Carolingian Dynasty – Odo, his brother Robert I and Robert's son in law Raoul/Rudolph – were not from the Carolingian Dynasty but from the rival Robertian Dynasty. The Robertian Dynasty became the Capetian Dynasty with when Hugh Capet took the throne in 987.

The Capetian Dynasty, the male-line descendants of Hugh Capet, ruled France from 987 to 1792 and again from 1814 to 1848. The branches of the dynasty which ruled after 1328 are generally called Valois and Bourbon.

Direct Capetians (987–1328) Edit

Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Hugh Capet
(Hugues Capet)
3 July 987 24 October 996 • Grandson of Robert I King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
style="text-align:center" style="text-align:center"| Robert II the Pious, the Wise
(Robert II le Pieux, le Sage)
24 October 996 20 July 1031 • Son of Hugh Capet King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
Henry I
(Henri Ier)
20 July 1031 4 August 1060 • Son of Robert II King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
Philip I
(Philippe Ier l' Amoureux)
4 August 1060 29 July 1108 • Son of Henry I King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
Louis VI the Fat
(Louis VI le Gros)
29 July 1108 1 August 1137 • Son of Philip I King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
Louis VII the Young
(Louis VII le Jeune)
1 August 1137 18 September 1180 • Son of Louis VI King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
Philip II Augustus
(Philippe II Auguste)
18 September 1180 14 July 1223 • Son of Louis VII King of the Franks
(Roi des Francs)
King of France
(Roi de France)
Louis VIII the Lion
(Louis VIII le Lion)
14 July 1223 8 November 1226 • Son of Philip II Augustus King of France
(Roi de France)
Louis IX the Saint
(Saint Louis)
8 November 1226 25 August 1270 • Son of Louis VIII King of France
(Roi de France)
Philip III the Bold
(Philippe III le Hardi)
25 August 1270 5 October 1285 • Son of Louis IX King of France
(Roi de France)
Philip IV the Fair
(Philippe IV le Bel)
5 October 1285 29 November 1314 • Son of Philip III King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Louis X the Quarreller
(Louis X le Hutin)
29 November 1314 5 June 1316 • Son of Philip IV King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
John I the Posthumous
(Jean Ier le Posthume)
15 November 1316 20 November 1316 • Son of Louis X King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Philip V the Tall
(Philippe V le Long)
20 November 1316 3 January 1322 • Son of Philip IV
• Younger brother of Louis X
King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Charles IV the Fair
(Charles IV le Bel)
3 January 1322 1 February 1328 • Son of Philip IV
• Younger brother of Philip V
King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)

Not listed above are Hugh Magnus, eldest son of Robert II, and Philip of France, eldest son of Louis VI. Both were co-Kings with their fathers but died before them. Because neither Hugh nor Philip were sole or senior king in their own lifetimes, they are usually not listed as Kings of France.

House of Valois (1328–1589) Edit

Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Philip VI of Valois, the Fortunate
(Philippe VI de Valois, le Fortuné)
1 April 1328 22 August 1350 • Son of Charles of Valois, who was son of Philip III King of France
(Roi de France)
John II the Good
(Jean II le Bon)
22 August 1350 8 April 1364 • Son of Philip VI King of France
(Roi de France)
Charles V the Wise
(Charles V le Sage)
8 April 1364 16 September 1380 • Son of John II King of France
(Roi de France)
Charles VI the Beloved, the Mad
(Charles VI le Bienaimé, le Fol)
16 September 1380 21 October 1422 • Son of Charles V King of France
(Roi de France)
Charles VII the Victorious, the Well-Served
(Charles VII le Victorieux, le Bien-Servi)
21 October 1422 22 July 1461 • Son of Charles VI King of France
(Roi de France)
Louis XI the Prudent, the Universal Spider
(Louis XI le Prudent, l'Universelle Aragne)
22 July 1461 30 August 1483 • Son of Charles VII King of France
(Roi de France)
Charles VIII the Affable
(Charles VIII l'Affable)
30 August 1483 7 April 1498 • Son of Louis XI King of France
(Roi de France)

Valois–Orléans Branch (1498–1515) Edit

Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Louis XII Father of the People
(Louis XII le Père du Peuple)
7 April 1498 1 January 1515 • Great-grandson of Charles V
• Second cousin, and by first marriage son-in-law of Louis XI
• By second marriage husband of Anne of Brittany, widow of Charles VIII
King of France
(Roi de France)

Valois–Angoulême Branch (1515–1589) Edit

House of Bourbon (1589–1792) Edit

Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Henry IV, Good King Henry, the Green Gallant
(Henri IV, le Bon Roi Henri, le Vert-Galant)
2 August 1589 14 May 1610 • Tenth generation descendant of Louis IX in the male line
• Grandnephew of Francis I
• Second cousin, and by first marriage brother-in-law of Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III
King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Louis XIII the Just
(Louis XIII le Juste)
14 May 1610 14 May 1643 • Son of Henry IV King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Louis XIV the Great, the Sun King
(Louis XIV le Grand, le Roi Soleil)
14 May 1643 1 September 1715 • Son of Louis XIII King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Louis XV the Beloved
(Louis XV le Bien-Aimé)
1 September 1715 10 May 1774 • Great-grandson of Louis XIV King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Louis XVI the Restorer of the French Liberty
(Louis XVI le Restaurateur de la Liberté Française)
10 May 1774 21 September 1792 • Grandson of Louis XV King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
(1774–1791)

From 21 January 1793 to 8 June 1795, Louis XVI's son Louis-Charles was titled King of France as Louis XVII. In reality, he was imprisoned in the Temple during this time. His power was held by the leaders of the Republic. On Louis XVII's death, his uncle Louis-Stanislas claimed the throne, as Louis XVIII. He was only de facto King of France in 1814.

The First French Republic lasted from 1792 to 1804, when its First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte, declared himself Emperor of the French.

Portrait Coat of Arms Name Emperor From Emperor Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Napoleon I
(Napoléon Ier)
18 May 1804 11 April 1814 - Emperor of the French
(Empereur des Français)
Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Louis XVIII 11 April 1814 20 March 1815 • Younger brother of Louis XVI/ uncle of Louis XVII King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Portrait Coat of Arms Name Emperor From Emperor Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Napoleon I
(Napoléon Ier)
20 March 1815 22 June 1815 - Emperor of the French
(Empereur des Français)
Napoleon II
(Napoléon II)
[1]
22 June 1815 7 July 1815 Son of Napoleon I Emperor of the French
(Empereur des Français)
Portrait Coat of Arms Name King From King Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Louis XVIII 7 July 1815 16 September 1824 • Younger brother of Louis XVI/ uncle of Louis XVII King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)
Charles X 16 September 1824 2 August 1830 • Younger brother of Louis XVIII King of France and of Navarre
(Roi de France et de Navarre)

The elder son of Charles X, the Dauphin Louis-Antoine, is sometimes said to have legally been the King of France as Louis XIX. This is in the 20 minutes between Charles X's formal signature of abdication and the Dauphin's own signature.
Henri d'Artois, Charles X's grandson, is said by monarchists to be the King of France, as Henry V from 2 August 1830 to 9 August 1830. He was never recognized by the French State. He is generally not in lists of official French monarchs.

There was a brief period (20 March 1815 to 8 July 1815) called the Hundred Days in which Louis XVIII was king somewhat before the time, but fled because of Napoleon I's return from Elba

The Second French Republic lasted from 1848 to 1852, when its president, Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, was declared Emperor of the French.

Portrait Coat of Arms Name Emperor From Emperor Until Relationship with Predecessor(s) Title
Napoleon III
(Napoléon III)
2 December 1852 4 September 1870 • Nephew of Napoleon I Emperor of the French
(Empereur des Français)

The chronology of Head of State of France continues with the Presidents of France. There were short term periods by the Chief of State of the French State (1940–1944), the Chairman of the Provisional Government of the French Republic (1944–1946) and the President of the French Senate (1969 and 1974) during the Fifth Republic.


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