Dearly Departed

we might call them a snake oil salesman. But back then men would stand on street corners and shout about the curative properties of whatever ointment or tincture they were trying to sell, almost all of it false. Not all of their sales tactics were stationary, though, a dentist in seventeen seventies London had the bright idea to take his show on the road. His name was Martin Van Butchell, and he wrote upon a white pony with purple spots.

He painted those on himself. Though Butchell advertised his practice in local papers, often boasting about his talents at dental reconstruction, real or artificial teeth. His ad read from one to an entire set. He promised top of the line hardware fitted to the individual with no pain. Suffice it to say he didn't quite live up to those promises, but that didn't stop people from flocking to his door. It was London in the seventeen seventies and dentists were a

hot commodity, especially among the elite. And even though sugar was a luxury for the middle and upper classes, its use increased fourfold in Britain during the eighteenth century. That meant that making a good living, even for quacks like Butchell, wasn't like pulling teeth. Even that was exactly what they did, I know. But as business grew, so did the competition, and soon Butchell had to come up with interesting ways

to drum up new customers. Some dentists might have created advertisements or hired someone to walk up and down the block with the sandwich board sign hung on their shoulders, but not Butchell. He took his advertising game to a whole new level. He had his wife Mary sit in the front window of his practice as a way of enticing ailing passers by. She simply sat there, in full view for all Londoners to see. She didn't mind, She didn't complain about it, and that's because she was dead.

Butchell had tasked his former surgery and anatomy professors with embalming his late wife. Then they replaced her eyes with glass ones, colored her cheeks and lips, and dressed her in a fancy gown before placing her in a glass topped coffin The display worked. Londoners came in by record numbers to see the deceased woman in the window, though not all of them were happy about it. Many scolded him for such a grotesque display or for not giving

her a proper burial. She deserved better, they said. But none of that bothered Butchell, although it did bother his new bride, Elizabeth. After he remarried, she told him to get his dead wife's body out of the window. There was no way that she was going to share her man with another woman, even a dead one. Not wanting to risk losing two wives, he gave Mary's corpse to

the brother of one of his former teachers. She was passed down over the years until she was eventually donated to the Royal College of Surgeon's Museum, where she was once again put on display. Now, if only Butchell's professors had taken a bit more care with his late wife's embalming. They hadn't done a very thorough job, and Mary's body began to slowly deteriorate. What was left of her was

destroyed in nineteen forty one during a German bombing raid. However, Mary van Butchell's story left all those who heard it, especially her husband's patients, with one simple question. Why why did Martin van Butchell have his wife embalmed and stuck in his window? Well, it wasn't just about luring new

patients into his practice. No, he had another reason. According to Butchell himself, there had been a clause in his marriage contract that stated he would continue to receive income from Mary's family as long as she remained above ground, and that's precisely where he kept her. Everyone knows that athletes are no stranger to superstition. Wade Boggs famously ate a whole chicken before every Yankees game. Michael jor In war his unc shorts under his Bulls uniform for all

of his NBA games. There have been stories of unwashed socks, of lucky gloves, and all sorts of rituals that anyone outside the locker room might find strange. These sports stars believe their traditions were what helped them play their best and win. However, superstitions were not limited only to professional sports. The world of professional music is home to many bizarre

customs and superstitions. For example, since the nineteen sixties, several famous rockers have joined what's known as the twenty seven Club, named for those who died at the age of Jimmy Hendrix, Janice Joplin, and Jim Morrison are all members, as is Kurt Cobain. Even weirder is the white lighter curse. Legend has it that any musician who uses a white lighter

is doomed to an unpleasant fate. And wouldn't you know it, for people who were carrying white lighters when they die, i'd were Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain. Superstition has struck singers in the Philippines as well. Karaoke bars all over that country have pulled Frank Sinatra's My Way from their song collections due to the high number

of deaths of people who have sung the song. But perhaps the worst case of superstition affecting a musician can be found in the case of Austrian composer Arnold Schoenberg. Born on September eighteen seventy four, Schoenberg changed the face of music through two World wars. He also developed a severe case of triske decaphobia, the fear of the number thirteen. Schoenberg was known to avoid rooms, floors, and entire buildings

numbered thirteen. In his compositions, he would number the measures between twelve and fourteen as twelve A. He even titled his last opera, Moses and Aaron, the latter name spelled with one a, much to my chagrin, instead of two, because otherwise the title would have had thirteen letters in it instead of twelve. And if his age or birthday year happened to be a multiple of thirteen, it set

him on edge like nothing else. Here's an example. As his fifty six birthday approached in nineteen thirty nine, Schoenberg consulted an astrologer regarding his horoscope for that year, and even though nineteen thirty nine was not a multiple of thirteen, sixty five, certainly was. The astrologer told him it would be a dangerous year, but he would survive. That assurance

calmed him. However, in all his worry about multiples of thirteen, there were other parts of his life that he hadn't considered. One such area was in the digits of his age. For example, on his seventy sixth birthday in nineteen fifty, another astrologer warned him to be careful. Not only was nineteen fifty a multiple of thirteen, but when the numbers seven and six from his age were added together, they

totaled you guessed it, thirteen. It seemed as though Schoenberg couldn't escape the cursed number no matter where he went. On the day of his seventy six birthday, un nervous and depressed, Schoenberg decided to spend it in his bed. There was no party, no one paid him a visit or called to wish him well. At that night, he and his wife lay in bed, and she looked at the clock and said to herself, another quarter of an hour and then the worst is over. Soon after the

words left her mouth, the phone rang. It was the doctor. Her husband made a sound in his throat, and then his heart stopped. Arnold Schoenberg's worst fear had come true. He died at thirteen minutes to midnight on his seventy six birthday in nineteen fifty on Friday, m I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about

the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.