This article by the The National World War II Museum tells the story of unsung heroes on an the extraordinary mission to protect our shared heritage even through the darkest times of humanity, amidst the chaos of war.

A description of how the Monuments Men came into existence, and how two of its members were among the first officers sent to the front lines. A story of how one of the largest repositories of art stolen by the Nazis was found.

In a time when the world is virtually at a standstill, and numerous citizens are suffering, just trying to survive day to day, questions regarding the importance of cultural preservation have been proffered. The same question was asked by a select group of men and women during the Second World War, whose main objective was to safeguard culturally significant works of art from destruction. In June 1943, the “American Commission for the Protection and Salvage of Artistic and Historic Monuments in War Areas,” eventually known as “The Roberts Commission,” was formed. The Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives (MFAA) section, consisting of approximately 345 men and women representing 14 nations, was created as a result of this commission. The core aims of the MFAA officers were to work with Allied troops to avoid unnecessary destruction of cultural targets, assess heavily damaged areas and create as well as implement procedures for the protection of important historical monuments.

The MFAA, nicknamed the Monuments Men came into existence in 1943, but the majority of its officers deployed the following year. Major Robert K. Posey and Lieutenant Commander George K. Stout, who arrived in Normandy, France in July 1944, were two of twelve Monuments Men who served near the front line during active combat and were each responsible for large regions in Europe. Stout was an art conservator who helped establish the American Defense Harvard Group, which was instrumental in the creation of The Roberts Commission. He was transferred to the MFAA in June 1944 and tasked with protecting significant cultural artifacts in France. Posey was an architect whose main objective was to inspect damaged monuments and make temporary repairs as best as possible. At the time of the MFAA’s deployment to the European theater of operations, the eventual scope of their mission was not yet known, as they would be responsible for the recovery and restitution of millions of items of cultural importance.

The majority of these objects had been confiscated or illegally acquired by the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg (ERR), which was created by Alfred Rosenberg with the sole purpose of gathering the finest artworks for display in Hitler’s proposed Fuhrermuseum. The ERR created detailed records of the items that were seized, in the form of large leather-bound albums that were later used as evidence in the postwar Nuremberg Trials to convict Nazi criminals. In 1947, the United States military transferred 39 of these albums to the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), however it is believed that over 100 of these albums were originally created. From 2007 to 2014, The Monuments Men Foundation, created by Robert Edsel, obtained another four ERR albums that were ultimately donated to NARA. Many of the stolen items pictured in these albums were hidden in areas throughout Germany and Austria.

A cigarette box made for Herman Goring that Robert Posey acquired during his service in the MFAA. It will be exhibited in the upcoming Liberation Pavilion. The National WWII Museum, Gift of Robert and Maria Posey, The Monuments Men Foundation Collection, 2018.075.573

During the war, Major Robert Posey was able to inadvertently gather information from someone close to the Germans after he came down with a horrible toothache. The information he obtained led to the discovery of one of the largest repositories of stolen items. Posey was referred to a local dentist whose son-in-law happened to be an art scholar. When questioned by Posey and his assistant, he admitted to working for Herman Goring and Alfred Rosenberg. The information the scholar disclosed led to the discovery of a massive stockpile in a salt mine in Altaussee, Austria in May 1945. The entrances to the mine had been blocked by the local miners after they realized the Nazi soldiers intended to destroy everything within, but Posey was able to use his architectural engineering knowledge to safely access the mine. The mine contained such priceless works of art as Michelangelo’s Bruges Madonna, Vermeer’s The Astronomer and The Ghent Altarpiece by Jan van Eyck. Lieutenant Commander George K. Stout coordinated the removal of these items to the Munich Central Collecting Point with assistance from Posey and a small team of Monuments Men. In Munich, the items were identified, catalogued, and prepared for return to their owners or countries of origin.

A detailed sketch of Section A-B of the Altaussee mine in Austria. Courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD.

By 1951, when the last Monuments Men officer returned home, over five million culturally significant items had been restored to their country of origin. These items included Torah scrolls, church bells, library books, and famous artworks completed by some of the greatest artists ever known. Lieutenant Commander Stout recognized the significance of the work with which the Monuments Men were tasked and the important legacy they would leave behind. In 1943 he stated: “To safeguard these things will show respect – of the beliefs and customs of all men and will bear witness that these things belong not only to a particular people but also to the heritage of mankind.” In these uncertain times we cling to our culture, our values, and the enduring lessons learned by past generations. These lasting reflections of the past illustrate stories of resilience in the most challenging periods of our history, and we can look at them for guidance during our darkest hours. 

This article by the The National World War II Museum tells the story of unsung heroes on an the extraordinary mission to protect our shared heritage even through the darkest times of humanity, amidst the chaos of war.

A description of how the Monuments Men came into existence, and how two of its members were among the first officers sent to the front lines. A story of how one of the largest repositories of art stolen by the Nazis was found.

In a time when the world is virtually at a standstill, and numerous citizens are suffering, just trying to survive day to day, questions regarding the importance of cultural preservation have been proffered. The same question was asked by a select group of men and women during the Second World War, whose main objective was to safeguard culturally significant works of art from destruction. In June 1943, the “American Commission for the Protection and Salvage of Artistic and Historic Monuments in War Areas,” eventually known as “The Roberts Commission,” was formed. The Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives (MFAA) section, consisting of approximately 345 men and women representing 14 nations, was created as a result of this commission. The core aims of the MFAA officers were to work with Allied troops to avoid unnecessary destruction of cultural targets, assess heavily damaged areas and create as well as implement procedures for the protection of important historical monuments.

The MFAA, nicknamed the Monuments Men came into existence in 1943, but the majority of its officers deployed the following year. Major Robert K. Posey and Lieutenant Commander George K. Stout, who arrived in Normandy, France in July 1944, were two of twelve Monuments Men who served near the front line during active combat and were each responsible for large regions in Europe. Stout was an art conservator who helped establish the American Defense Harvard Group, which was instrumental in the creation of The Roberts Commission. He was transferred to the MFAA in June 1944 and tasked with protecting significant cultural artifacts in France. Posey was an architect whose main objective was to inspect damaged monuments and make temporary repairs as best as possible. At the time of the MFAA’s deployment to the European theater of operations, the eventual scope of their mission was not yet known, as they would be responsible for the recovery and restitution of millions of items of cultural importance.

The majority of these objects had been confiscated or illegally acquired by the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg (ERR), which was created by Alfred Rosenberg with the sole purpose of gathering the finest artworks for display in Hitler’s proposed Fuhrermuseum. The ERR created detailed records of the items that were seized, in the form of large leather-bound albums that were later used as evidence in the postwar Nuremberg Trials to convict Nazi criminals. In 1947, the United States military transferred 39 of these albums to the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), however it is believed that over 100 of these albums were originally created. From 2007 to 2014, The Monuments Men Foundation, created by Robert Edsel, obtained another four ERR albums that were ultimately donated to NARA. Many of the stolen items pictured in these albums were hidden in areas throughout Germany and Austria.

A cigarette box made for Herman Goring that Robert Posey acquired during his service in the MFAA. It will be exhibited in the upcoming Liberation Pavilion. The National WWII Museum, Gift of Robert and Maria Posey, The Monuments Men Foundation Collection, 2018.075.573

During the war, Major Robert Posey was able to inadvertently gather information from someone close to the Germans after he came down with a horrible toothache. The information he obtained led to the discovery of one of the largest repositories of stolen items. Posey was referred to a local dentist whose son-in-law happened to be an art scholar. When questioned by Posey and his assistant, he admitted to working for Herman Goring and Alfred Rosenberg. The information the scholar disclosed led to the discovery of a massive stockpile in a salt mine in Altaussee, Austria in May 1945. The entrances to the mine had been blocked by the local miners after they realized the Nazi soldiers intended to destroy everything within, but Posey was able to use his architectural engineering knowledge to safely access the mine. The mine contained such priceless works of art as Michelangelo’s Bruges Madonna, Vermeer’s The Astronomer and The Ghent Altarpiece by Jan van Eyck. Lieutenant Commander George K. Stout coordinated the removal of these items to the Munich Central Collecting Point with assistance from Posey and a small team of Monuments Men. In Munich, the items were identified, catalogued, and prepared for return to their owners or countries of origin.

A detailed sketch of Section A-B of the Altaussee mine in Austria. Courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD.

By 1951, when the last Monuments Men officer returned home, over five million culturally significant items had been restored to their country of origin. These items included Torah scrolls, church bells, library books, and famous artworks completed by some of the greatest artists ever known. Lieutenant Commander Stout recognized the significance of the work with which the Monuments Men were tasked and the important legacy they would leave behind. In 1943 he stated: “To safeguard these things will show respect – of the beliefs and customs of all men and will bear witness that these things belong not only to a particular people but also to the heritage of mankind.” In these uncertain times we cling to our culture, our values, and the enduring lessons learned by past generations. These lasting reflections of the past illustrate stories of resilience in the most challenging periods of our history, and we can look at them for guidance during our darkest hours. 

If you are, at all, an Investigation Discovery or Law and Order fan, you know that unidentified people are called John or Jane Doe until their identity is revealed. But how did this become the norm? This post by Matt Soniak for the Mental Floss blog explains it!

From the courts to the morgue, if the government doesn’t know a person’s name, or wants to withhold it for some reason, they generally use the name John Doe or Jane Doe as a placeholder. But why?

The John Doe custom was born out of a strange and long since vanished British legal process called an action of ejectment. Under old English common law, the actions landowners could take against squatters or defaulting tenants in court were often too technical and difficult to be of any use. So landlords would instead bring an action of ejectment on behalf of a fictitious tenant against another fictitious person who had allegedly evicted or ousted him. In order to figure out what rights to the property the made-up persons had, the courts first had to establish that the landlord really was the owner of the property, which settled their real reason for action without the landlord having to jump through too many legal hoops.

Frequently, landlords named the fictitious parties in their actions John Doe (the plaintiff) and Richard Roe (the defendant), though no one has been able to find the case where these names were first used or figure out why they were picked. The names don’t appear to have any particular relevance, and it might be that the first names were chosen because they were among the most common at the time. The surnames, meanwhile, both reference deer—a doe being a female deer and roe being a specific deer species (Capreolus capreolus) common in Britain. They might also have been the actual names of real people that a particular landlord knew and decided to use. Unfortunately, we just don’t know.

Whatever their ultimate origin, the names eventually became standard placeholders for unidentified, anonymous, or hypothetical parties to a court case. Most U.S. jurisdictions continue to use John Doe and his female counterpart, Jane Doe, as placeholder names, and will bring in Roe if two anonymous or unknown parties are involved in the same case. The Feds use these placeholders, too, perhaps most famously in Roe v. Wade. The Jane Roe in that case was actually Norma Leah McCorvey, who revealed herself soon after the Supreme Court decision.

If you are, at all, an Investigation Discovery or Law and Order fan, you know that unidentified people are called John or Jane Doe until their identity is revealed. But how did this become the norm? This post by Matt Soniak for the Mental Floss blog explains it!

From the courts to the morgue, if the government doesn’t know a person’s name, or wants to withhold it for some reason, they generally use the name John Doe or Jane Doe as a placeholder. But why?

The John Doe custom was born out of a strange and long since vanished British legal process called an action of ejectment. Under old English common law, the actions landowners could take against squatters or defaulting tenants in court were often too technical and difficult to be of any use. So landlords would instead bring an action of ejectment on behalf of a fictitious tenant against another fictitious person who had allegedly evicted or ousted him. In order to figure out what rights to the property the made-up persons had, the courts first had to establish that the landlord really was the owner of the property, which settled their real reason for action without the landlord having to jump through too many legal hoops.

Frequently, landlords named the fictitious parties in their actions John Doe (the plaintiff) and Richard Roe (the defendant), though no one has been able to find the case where these names were first used or figure out why they were picked. The names don’t appear to have any particular relevance, and it might be that the first names were chosen because they were among the most common at the time. The surnames, meanwhile, both reference deer—a doe being a female deer and roe being a specific deer species (Capreolus capreolus) common in Britain. They might also have been the actual names of real people that a particular landlord knew and decided to use. Unfortunately, we just don’t know.

Whatever their ultimate origin, the names eventually became standard placeholders for unidentified, anonymous, or hypothetical parties to a court case. Most U.S. jurisdictions continue to use John Doe and his female counterpart, Jane Doe, as placeholder names, and will bring in Roe if two anonymous or unknown parties are involved in the same case. The Feds use these placeholders, too, perhaps most famously in Roe v. Wade. The Jane Roe in that case was actually Norma Leah McCorvey, who revealed herself soon after the Supreme Court decision.

Ever wondered where this quirky idiomatic expression comes from? Well, it’s a gem! This article from Mental Floss takes us on a ride through the history of “up to snuff,” from its funky 18th-century roots to how it’s still making it’s way in today’s conversations. It’s like time travel, but with words!

By the 1800s, snuff—powdered, usually snort-able tobacco—had become such a long-standing societal fixture in the UK and U.S. that phrases started popping up around the word itself. To beat to snuff, for instance, meant to best your opponent so thoroughly that you figuratively reduced them to powder. In high snuff, meanwhile, described someone in high spirits (maybe a nod to the buzz you’d get after using tobacco).

But the most prevailing example is probably up to snuff, which the Oxford English Dictionary defines as “knowing, sharp, not easily deceived,” and “up to the required or usual standard.” Unlike the aforementioned phrases, the connection between pulverized tobacco and being savvy or meeting requirements isn’t quite clear. On his World Wide Words blog, Michael Quinion suggests that it may have had to do with snuff’s largest user demographic: wealthy men “who would be able to appreciate the quality of snuff and distinguish between examples of different value.”

What we do know is that up to snuff had entered the British lexicon by 1807, when it appeared in a London newspaper—the earliest known written mention of the phrase, according to Merriam-Webster. Only fragments of the passage are legible: “ … asked a young lady if she would have a pinch of snuff, and on … in the negative, he facetiously observed … suppose you are up to snuff.”

It came up again in Hamlet Travestie: In Three Acts, an 1810 parody of Shakespeare’s Hamlet by British playwright John Poole. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are explaining to the king that Hamlet won’t reveal why he’s been strangely disconsolate, and Guildenstern says, “He’ll not be sounded; he knows well enough / The game we’re after: Zooks, he’s up to snuff.”

After the play’s conclusion, Poole added annotations and commentary that he himself wrote in the voices of literary luminaries and Shakespearean scholars of eras past, including Alexander Pope, Samuel Johnson, George Steevens, and William Warburton. Though Poole-as-Warburton argues that up to snuff was referring to Hamlet’s ability to literally sniff out Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s ulterior motive, Poole-as-Johnson asserts that it was likely being used in its “common acceptation” as a reference to Hamlet’s being “a knowing one.” Grose’s Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue echoed Poole-as-Johnson’s understanding of the phrase in its 1823 edition, and so did Merriam-Webster in its 1864 dictionary.

As for how the idiom evolved to describe someone or something that meets standards, there’s no clear path—though it makes sense that someone considered knowing and astute would also be generally regarded as a person of merit.

Ever wondered where this quirky idiomatic expression comes from? Well, it’s a gem! This article from Mental Floss takes us on a ride through the history of “up to snuff,” from its funky 18th-century roots to how it’s still making it’s way in today’s conversations. It’s like time travel, but with words!

By the 1800s, snuff—powdered, usually snort-able tobacco—had become such a long-standing societal fixture in the UK and U.S. that phrases started popping up around the word itself. To beat to snuff, for instance, meant to best your opponent so thoroughly that you figuratively reduced them to powder. In high snuff, meanwhile, described someone in high spirits (maybe a nod to the buzz you’d get after using tobacco).

But the most prevailing example is probably up to snuff, which the Oxford English Dictionary defines as “knowing, sharp, not easily deceived,” and “up to the required or usual standard.” Unlike the aforementioned phrases, the connection between pulverized tobacco and being savvy or meeting requirements isn’t quite clear. On his World Wide Words blog, Michael Quinion suggests that it may have had to do with snuff’s largest user demographic: wealthy men “who would be able to appreciate the quality of snuff and distinguish between examples of different value.”

What we do know is that up to snuff had entered the British lexicon by 1807, when it appeared in a London newspaper—the earliest known written mention of the phrase, according to Merriam-Webster. Only fragments of the passage are legible: “ … asked a young lady if she would have a pinch of snuff, and on … in the negative, he facetiously observed … suppose you are up to snuff.”

It came up again in Hamlet Travestie: In Three Acts, an 1810 parody of Shakespeare’s Hamlet by British playwright John Poole. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are explaining to the king that Hamlet won’t reveal why he’s been strangely disconsolate, and Guildenstern says, “He’ll not be sounded; he knows well enough / The game we’re after: Zooks, he’s up to snuff.”

After the play’s conclusion, Poole added annotations and commentary that he himself wrote in the voices of literary luminaries and Shakespearean scholars of eras past, including Alexander Pope, Samuel Johnson, George Steevens, and William Warburton. Though Poole-as-Warburton argues that up to snuff was referring to Hamlet’s ability to literally sniff out Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s ulterior motive, Poole-as-Johnson asserts that it was likely being used in its “common acceptation” as a reference to Hamlet’s being “a knowing one.” Grose’s Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue echoed Poole-as-Johnson’s understanding of the phrase in its 1823 edition, and so did Merriam-Webster in its 1864 dictionary.

As for how the idiom evolved to describe someone or something that meets standards, there’s no clear path—though it makes sense that someone considered knowing and astute would also be generally regarded as a person of merit.