Mole Man

there's Plenty Windo. Plenty needed help. The Great Depression had shuttered his small Texas diner, and his options were few. His hometown wasn't exactly a bustling metropolis, but he needed to do something or his family would be out on the street. So he looked around at how there as we're getting by. There were breadlines and soup kitchens, but those wouldn't help him long term. An income was necessary, and FDR's new deal wouldn't be implemented for another several years.

It was around this time when Plenty noticed an interesting trend among the desperate. Specifically, he saw their willingness to subject themselves to absurd and sometimes dangerous stunts for a little notoriety. Performing an odd trick in exchange for a bit of fame seemed like the only viable way to make any real money, especially for someone like Plenty who didn't have an agricultural background to rely on. There were men who spent days, sometimes weeks, at the top of

a flagpole. One person pushed a peanut up the Rocky mountains with only his nose. Plenty took an inventory of the stunts that had been performed up till then, and it looked like everything worth doing had already been done by somebody else except one. No one had it tompted to walk the circumference of the Earth. Plenty saw a unique opportunity to chart a path for himself and his family by being the first man to circumnavigate the globe. He bought himself a pair of shoes, some glasses, and

a good backpack. He also started training with a doctor because he'd never attempted such a strenuous feat before in his life. In fact, no one had, which was what made the stunt so fascinating. On April fifteenth, ninety one, Plenty began his journey east, leaving his wife and daughter behind in Texas. As he set out to make a name for himself, one step at a time. He had very little money on him, but with the help of people he met along the way, he was able to

eat and sleep without too much to worry. He autographed postcards for twenty five cents a peace, and often stopped to chat with locals who would offer assistance. On his journey. To make his way overseas, Plenty took a job on a ship, working under a chief steward who made his life miserable. All part of the journey, he thought. Once in Europe, he continued his trek through Germany and down to Turkey, where authorities encouraged him to leave the city

as quickly as possible. His efforts had sparked outrage among the local population and incurred death threats to them. What he was doing was unnatural, silly, stupid. But despite the danger as an occasional harassment by police for his ludicrous plan, Plenty continued on his route, eventually hiking all the way to Italy. If only his success in the United States had followed him across the Atlantic. Despite having his name in the papers, Plenty hadn't found the kind of hospitality

in Europe that he'd had back in the US. Luckily for him, a wealthy Italian benefactor sympathized with his plight and helped him find his way back to the United States. A ship carried Plenty to California, where he resumed his walk back to Abilene in Texas to reunite with his family. By the end of the trip, eighteen months had past and the exhausted hiker had worn out thirteen pairs of shoes.

The fame he'd earned from the stunt didn't last, though, and it wasn't long before he was looking for other ways to make a buck in a poor economy. Thirty years later, Plenty wrote a memoir about his experience of walking around the world, but just like the stunt itself, the book didn't earn him much of an income. This might not seem surprising, as a dozen more pedestrians had managed to walk or run around the world since his first step. What is surprising is that Plenty did it

differently than anyone else. Those special glasses that he wore they had mirrors built in to allow him to see what was behind him. Plenty hadn't just walked around the earth, you see, He'd done the whole thing backwards. English historian John Dahlberg Acton is known for his oft quoted saying power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Many who have sat at the top have abused that position.

But it isn't always just about power, because power tends to come with money, and money comes with its own kind of burden. It can make a person greedier, it can alienate them from their friends and family, and one man, John Bentink, put his wealth and status that came with it between himself and the rest of the world. Bentink was born in London in eighteen twenty four to Henrietta and William Bentinck. William was the fourth Duke of Portland

and a pillar of the Bentinck political dynasty. His son John had no interest in politics, but the young Bentinck was eventually forced to take over as Marquis of Titchfield after his older brother's death from a brain abscess. Unfortunately, the elder Bentinck wasn't the only family member with medical problems. John too was known to suffer from lethargy, short term memory loss, and sciatica, which affected his time in the

military during his youth. However, that didn't stop him from moving up in the world, especially as more of the men and his family continued to die off. After his father passed away in eighteen fifty four, John became the fifth Duke of Portland, a title that also granted him a seat in the House of Lords. He didn't really want it, though his interest in politics was one of necessity not passion. John had no desire to live under a political spotlight and opted for solitude as much as possible.

He spent most of his time at his estate, known as well Back Abbey. It's where his family had lived for generations, and now that John was in charge, it was time to make some changes. You see, John had a problem with people. He didn't like talking to them or being around them, so he kept to himself as much as possible. He spent quite a large sum of money modifying in the main house and surrounding gardens. All the furniture was removed and stored elsewhere, including every painting

hanging on the walls. Then he commissioned the hundreds of oak trees his father had planted on the property to be used in constructing a sophisticated array of tunnels and rooms underground. It was estimated that roughly fifteen miles of tunnels were built that led to dozens of chambers all over the property. It was in these rooms where the portraits that used to be in the house were re hung. Some tunnels were tall and wide enough to allow horse

drawn carriages through. Many of them were covered by glass roofs and connected the main house to the rest of the estate so that John wouldn't have to venture outside. All the underground rooms were painted pink, including a converted chapel that he used as a gallery in a ballroom, although he never held any gatherings or invited any went over. In addition to the numerous rooms he had built, there was also an extensive library, an observatory, and a room.

Despite all the work he'd done on the house, he never spoke to any of his workers. They'd also been instructed not to speak to him either. He gave them their orders via notes on paper, and anyone who lived on the property was told to ignore him if he should walk past them. Even the duke's own doctor wasn't allowed to examine him in person. He kept his daily outdoor walks limited to the nighttime hours. After all the

workers had left or gone to bed. If he was required to go out during the day, he covered himself with two overcoats, a large hat, and a high colored shirt that obscured most of his face. For extra protection, he hid behind a large umbrella. Travel to his other home in London required extensive planning and negotiation as well. He'd take his carriage to a nearby town and have

it shipped by train to the other residents. The staff there were then instructed to hide until the Duke had hurried from the front door to his study, where he spent most of his time. It was where he ate all of his meals, which were wheeled in on tracks under the house. John Bentinck's money had afforded him the kind of isolation few people would ever know. In fact, his desire for underground solitude earned him quite a literary legacy.

It's very likely that the Fifth Duke of Portland was the inspiration behind the character of Mr Badger and Kenneth Graham's The Wind in the Willows. In the story, Mr Badger entertains his friends Rats and Mole after they stumble upon his underground home in the wild Wood. According to Mr Badger, there's no security or peace or tranquility except underground. I can't help but think that John would wholeheartedly agree. 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.