One of the primary inspirations for Commonplace Fun Facts and the thing that so fascinates us about knowledge is the incredible web of history. There is no such thing as “useless information” because everything — and everyone — is connected in some way. Those threads that connect you to your closest associates and interests, if you pull on them and follow them long enough, will eventually connect you to everything else.

Don’t believe us? Take a stroll through history with us as we tug on one of those historical threads and follow it along some surprising twists and turns.

The Web of History Begins: Lincoln and the Too-Late Start of the Secret Service

One of the last official acts performed by Abraham Lincoln was signing an order to create the United States Secret Service. The agency’s original job wasn’t to shield presidents from bullets but to protect U.S. currency from counterfeiters. This, of course, did not do Lincoln much good, since John Wilkes Booth cut short his subscription to life insurance on April 14, 1865.

It’s one of history’s cruel ironies: the man who created the Secret Service never benefitted from its protection. Fate, however, seemed to want to tip the scales to correct this injustice. In so doing, the story takes a turn worthy of one of those complicated family reunions where you need a map the size of your living room wall to figure out how everyone is related.

The Booth Brothers and a Near Miss on the Tracks

About six months or so before that fateful day in Ford’s Theater, Abraham Lincoln’s son, Robert Todd Lincoln, was on a train platform. As he later wrote, “There was some crowding, and I happened to be pressed by it against the car body while waiting my turn. In this situation, the train began to move, and by the motion, I was twisted off my feet, and had dropped somewhat, with feet downward, into the open space, and was personally helpless, when my coat collar was vigorously seized and I was quickly pulled up and out to a secure footing on the platform. Upon turning to thank my rescuer I saw it was Edwin Booth, whose face was of course well known to me, and I expressed my gratitude to him, and in doing so, called him by name.”

It was natural that he would recognize the face of Edwin Booth. He was one of the most celebrated theatrical performers of the day. It was only after Lincoln’s murder was his name eclipsed by that of his younger brother: John Wilkes Booth.

In what seemed to be history actively attempting to tip the scales, the life of President Lincoln’s son is saved by the brother of the president’s assassin. History may not repeat itself, but it sure does like to rehearse awkward coincidences.

Mary Todd Lincoln, Eddie Foy, and Wyatt Earp Walk into a Story

After her husband’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln suffered a mental collapse so severe that her son had her institutionalized. One of the caretakers in those years was Mary Fitzgerald. Her son, Eddie Foy, went on to a celebrated Vaudeville career, sometimes even sharing a bill with Edwin Booth (imagine the awkwardness if Eddie’s mom ran into him backstage).

Because history apparently likes improv comedy, Foy later found himself dodging bullets—literally—when a fellow actor pulled a gun on him. The shooting was stopped by none other than lawman Wyatt Earp. As if that weren’t enough, Eddie Foy just happened to be in Tombstone, Arizona on the very same day Earp participated in the gunfight at the O.K. Corral.

Wyatt Earp, John Ford, and the Duke

Wyatt Earp lived long enough to become a Hollywood hanger-on, swapping stories with director John Ford. Ford later recalled that Earp described the gunfight in painstaking detail, which Ford used to stage his version in My Darling Clementine.

On the set of another Ford silent film, Hangman’s House (1928), Wyatt Earp paid a visit. A young extra named John Wayne would get his first credited screen appearance in that film. He looked forward to visits from Earp and later admitted he modeled his signature screen swagger and tough-guy persona on Wyatt Earp himself. “I knew him,” he said. “I often thought of Wyatt Earp when I played a film character. There’s a guy that actually did what I’m trying to do.” So when you watch the Duke stride into a dusty saloon, you’re really seeing Earp’s ghost—minus the handlebar mustache.

John Wayne, Pat O’Brien, and the Birth of Jack Benny

Wayne went on to star in John Ford productions and stage shows, such as At What Price Glory alongside actor Pat O’Brien. O’Brien, a Navy man during World War I, trained at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center. There, a young sailor named Benjamin Kubelsky attempted to impress his fellow recruits with his violin playing during a talent show.

The crowd booed. O’Brien, in a moment of mercy, walked onto the stage and whispered, “For heaven’s sake, Ben, put down the damn fiddle and talk to ’em.” Ben did, got laughs, and discovered a whole new career. The world would come to know him not as Benjamin Kubelsky, failed fiddler, but as Jack Benny, master of deadpan comedy.

Jack Benny, Jack Paar, and the Road to Late Night

During World War II, Jack Benny was once again surrounded by troops, but not as an unknown sailor. Now he was the headliner as he entertained troops around the world. While in the Pacific he stumbled across a funny young serviceman named Jack Paar. After the war, Benny gave Paar his first break as a summer replacement on his radio show. Paar went on to host The Tonight Show, paving the way for a cavalcade of comedians and celebrities whose careers were launched from behind that desk.

In addition to discovering new talent, Paar invited many established celebrities to be interviewed. On May 10, 1962, one of the celebrities who appeared on The Tonight Show was veteran actor Pat O’Brien.

Spencer Tracy, James Cagney, and Ronald Reagan’s Big Break

We, of course, have already encountered O’Brien. It’s appropriate his name would come up again, because he serves as a crossroad in our historical road map. Returning to World War I, there was another sailor at the Great Lakes Naval Academy who was close to O’Brien. It was fellow alumnus from Marquette Academy, Spencer Tracy. The men forged what would be a lifelong friendship and enlisted in the Navy at the same time. They each made their marks in show business. Tracy’s career skyrocketed, and he is recognized as one of the greatest actors of all time for many memorable performances such as his Oscar-winning role as Father Flanagan in Boys Town.

One of the actors originally considered to play Father Flanagan was James Cagney. He was passed over in favor of Tracy for being “too gangster” because of his performances in such movies as The Public Enemy and Angels With Dirty Faces. In an almost-too-cruel-to-be-true bit of irony, Cagney was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor in 1938 for his role in Angels With Dirty Faces. He lost out, however, when it was awarded to Spencer Tracy for his performance in Boys Town.

It was Cagney’s tough-guy gangster image that caused him to lose out again for another role. The blow was softened a bit when it went to his good friend Pat O’Brien, who was considered appropriately wholesome to play the title role in Knute Rockne, All American. The supporting role of football legend George Gipp went to a young actor named Ronald Reagan. That role would propel him to stardom and eventually another career that you may have heard about.

From the Gipper to the G-Man

Among Reagan’s many films was Code of the Secret Service (1939). It wasn’t his most acclaimed work, but it certainly earned some devoted fans. One of them was a young boy from Alabama named Jerry Parr. Inspired by Reagan’s portrayal of an agent, Parr joined the real Secret Service.

Parr was serving on the Presidential Protective Division as Special Agent in Charge and Head of the White House Detail on March 30, 1981. On that day, John Hinckley Jr. attempted to assassinate the man Parr was protecting: President Ronald Reagan. Parr acted instantly and heroically shoved Reagan into the limousine, throwing himself on top of the president. When he saw Reagan was coughing up blood, he made the split-second decision to divert the limousine from the White House to George Washington Memorial Hospital. That decision is credited for saving the president’s life.

Full Circle: Back to Lincoln

If you ever get the chance to watch Code of the Secret Service, you’ll never forget Ronald Reagan’s performance and how it ended up inspiring a boy who would grow up to save his life from an assassin’s bullet. As inspiring as that performance is, we would also encourage you to pay close attention to the movie’s credits. If you do, you’ll notice it was produced by Bryan Foy and co-starred his brother, Eddie Foy Jr. Their father was Eddie Foy. Their grandmother was Mary Fitzgerald, the woman who once cared for a grief-stricken widow, former First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln.

So let’s tie it all together:

• Lincoln creates the Secret Service, but too late to protect him from an assassin.
• Lincoln is assassinated, but his son’s life is saved by the assassin’s brother.
• The assassin’s brother appeared in Vaudeville with an actor named Eddie Foy.
• Eddie Foy’s mother becomes a caregiver for Lincoln’s widow.
• Eddie Foy tangles with Wyatt Earp.
• Wyatt Earp inspires John Wayne.
• John Wayne works with Pat O’Brien, who launches Jack Benny.
• Jack Benny launches Jack Paar.
• Pat O’Brien appears on Jack Paar’s television show.
• Pat O’Brien helps propel Ronald Reagan’s stardom.
• Reagan inspires Jerry Parr to join the Secret Service.
• A would-be assassin tries to kill the president, and this time, there is a Secret Service to stand in his way.
• Secret Service Agent Jerry Parr saves Reagan’s life.
• The movie that inspired Parr to join the Secret Service was made through the work of two brothers who were the grandsons of the woman who cared for a grief-stricken former First Lady, whose husband was assassinated because there was no Secret Service to protect him.

History doesn’t just repeat itself—it likes to play connect-the-dots.

Conclusion

History, as it turns out, is not a neatly arranged filing cabinet where each life sits in a tidy folder under alphabetical order. It’s more like a drawer that’s been yanked open, rummaged through by generations of curious relatives, and then hastily shoved shut again. Pull out one slip of paper—say, Abraham Lincoln signing a bureaucratic order on his last day alive—and suddenly you’re chasing connections through train stations, vaudeville stages, frontier saloons, Navy boot camps, late-night television, and ultimately a presidential motorcade under fire in 1981.

What makes this more than just a parlor trick is the reminder that history is never lived in isolation. Lincoln couldn’t have imagined that the agency he authorized would one day save another president whose performance in a B-movie inspired the agent who would save him, or that Lincoln’s grieving widow’s caregiver would be grandmother to entertainers who helped set that cinematic chain in motion. Wyatt Earp surely didn’t stride through Tombstone thinking, “Someday, a lanky kid named Marion Morrison will imitate my walk and become John Wayne.” And Jack Benny? He certainly never guessed that ditching the violin on a heckled night in boot camp would start him on a journey that would make his name known and loved around the world as the funniest man who couldn’t hit the right note on a violin to save his life.

The point isn’t that history is random, but that it’s gloriously entangled. A decision, a kindness, even a comic flop can set in motion ripples that reach far beyond their own century. Tug hard enough on any thread and you’ll find it knotted to a dozen others, each one telling you that our world isn’t a line of disconnected dates and names—it’s a web. And in that web, even the smallest strand might be holding the whole thing together.

We like to remind ourselves that history didn’t punch the time clock the day you showed up, and it won’t clock out the moment you’re gone. Every choice you make, every interaction—yes, even the one where you resisted honking at the guy who cut you off—threads itself into that sprawling, tangled web of cause and effect. Those threads stretch farther than you’ll ever see, brushing against the lives of people you’ll never meet in ways you couldn’t script if you tried. The least we can do is try to make our strands the kind that strengthen the web, not the ones that fray it.

---