When 20 teachers from 20 countries went to a baseball game, the rules didn’t matter. Play ball!

Once Frederick Douglass rose to speak, Independence Day no longer seemed so free.

Four cyclists, one dream, 4,000 riders coast-to-coast. The Bikecentennial opened America to two-wheeled adventure.

More than “Henry’s brother,” William James opened his mind to spirits, drugs, life. . .

Fifty years ago, when America needed a lift, an astonishing horse answered the question.

From Woodstock to world humanitarianism, the former Hugh Romney has spread joy and healing.

Out of the academy and into the agora, Americans are thinking and questioning in ways that would make Socrates smile.

Modern art was elitist, so Komar and Melamid asked people what they wanted. Then they painted it — by the numbers.

The Attic reads and reviews this curious collection of curious (and insightful) maps.

Once just a pack of Ivy League smartasses, the Harvard Lampoon is now the stepping stone to comedy careers.

When the Depression cut off Appalachia, women on horseback brought books into dark hollows.

Twenty years ago, after decades of protest, this Puerto Rican island ejected the U.S. Navy and restored peace. And paradise perhaps.

Classical was a bore until Leonard Bernstein aired his “Young People’s Concerts.” (As seen in “Maestro.”)

Women couldn’t run 26 miles. Impossible. Then women jumped into the pack in Boston, and ran and ran. . .

In April 1923, the national pastime welcomed a stadium, a legend, and the first field of dreams.

Blending Bach with Biggie, "Black Violin" challenges every tired old touchstone.