Many stories are forgotten because they’re overshadowed by others or are simply silenced due to their sensitive or controversial content. But as Sue Monk Kidd, the author of The Secret Life of Bees, said, “Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.”
That’s why projects like the Facebook page ‘Forbidden Stories’ exist. They help us to keep the lesser-known moments of history alive, at the same time expanding our point of view. Scroll down to find the most fascinating stories, and don’t forget to upvote your favorites.
#1
I was unsure if I should post this or not but I said f* it. 151 days ago i found myself shaking in my kitchen trying to cook eggs. I turned the oven off and collaped on my knees with tears running down my face. I lost the game of life and thinking this is who i am. A alcoholic trying to raise two kids as a single father. My body hurt. I was consistently drunk every night and functionally hungover every day. My liver was shutting down and I was dying from the inside out. It was that very moment I picked up the phone and called everyone. My mom, my sisters, and even my ex-wife. I asked for help. Not money, not for someone to tell me its ok, just for someone to tell me i can do this. February 20th was the first morning I woke up without being hungover. I went through 2 weeks of hell before feeling somewhat normal. Night sweats, body temors, and nauseous 24/7. But I f'n did it. March 7th was the first day I woke up hydrated, full of energy, and the motivation to conquer the world. I look back at that day almost every day and remember that feeling. The feeling of nothing can stop me. It took me 20 years to get sober for me. I'm proud of where this journey is going and I wouldn't change a thing about it. Thank you to all the people who stood by me and have watched me go through this. Life is good. Thank you mom, my sisters, and even my ex-wife for answering the call that day. My name is Dan and I am sober.
One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went though and it will be someone else’s survival guide.’ – Brene Brown
One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went though and it will be someone else’s survival guide.’ – Brene Brown
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193points
#2
So, I'm headed home on the CTA Redline and there's a homeless man sitting across from me. He's older, weathered, minding his own business. His feet are so swollen he's wearing the tattered gym shoes he has with the back folded down; like slip-ons. I don't know how many pairs of socks he's wearing in an attempt to keep his feet warm but there is blood seeping through.
There's another man on the other side of the doors; younger, carrying a satchel and a suitcase, also minding his own business. He's wearing a pair of big black snow boots. They look new; they look expensive; they're built for a Chicago winter.
Quietly, in a blink and you'll miss it fashion, the younger man takes off the boots he's wearing and passes them to the old man. He opens his suitcase and gives him a pair of socks as well.
The young man puts on a spare pair of shoes from the suitcase. These shoes are nice too, but not as nice as the boots. They would have fit the old man just as well, but they were not what this old man needed.
He tells the old man to try and clean his feet and to make sure he changes into the new socks as soon as he can and then the young man gets off at 87th.
Those of us who are close enough to see and hear the exchange are floored.
The shoes off his feet.
I love that in a time and place where hate and apathy are rampant, quiet compassion appears without warning.
I pray that we all are compelled to do similar.
I pray that we all allow empathy to invoke action.
I pray that we never forget that we have always had the power to be a blessing.
I'm inspired to continue to try to ‘be the change’ and I pray you are too.”
There's another man on the other side of the doors; younger, carrying a satchel and a suitcase, also minding his own business. He's wearing a pair of big black snow boots. They look new; they look expensive; they're built for a Chicago winter.
Quietly, in a blink and you'll miss it fashion, the younger man takes off the boots he's wearing and passes them to the old man. He opens his suitcase and gives him a pair of socks as well.
The young man puts on a spare pair of shoes from the suitcase. These shoes are nice too, but not as nice as the boots. They would have fit the old man just as well, but they were not what this old man needed.
He tells the old man to try and clean his feet and to make sure he changes into the new socks as soon as he can and then the young man gets off at 87th.
Those of us who are close enough to see and hear the exchange are floored.
The shoes off his feet.
I love that in a time and place where hate and apathy are rampant, quiet compassion appears without warning.
I pray that we all are compelled to do similar.
I pray that we all allow empathy to invoke action.
I pray that we never forget that we have always had the power to be a blessing.
I'm inspired to continue to try to ‘be the change’ and I pray you are too.”
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170points
#3
A few years ago, he came home in tears after being bullied - again. And I remember sitting at my crafting table, just trying to hold it together while I worked on orders . He sat nearby, quietly watching me make wreaths, resin bookmarks, laser signs, and little crochet animals. I didn't know it then, but something was stirring in him. One day, out of nowhere, he asked if he could try making a wreath. Just like that - no fear, just curiosity. And I’ll be honest, I almost cried right then. Since then, he hasn’t stopped. Ribbon rolls, mesh cuts, bow loops - he's into all of it. He said, “I want to make people smile too.”Because this isn’t just my business anymore - it’s ours. Every wreath we sell now has a piece of his heart in it. And every time an order comes in, I see his face light up like he just won an award. Crafting gave me peace. But it gave him pride. Purpose. And maybe even a bit of healing. So yeah - he’s the best crafting partner. Not just today, but every day
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155points
Behind the Facebook page ‘Forbidden Stories’ is GonzoToday, a collective of writers and artists dedicated to promoting self-expression, truth, and freedom. Founded by Clayton Luce, GonzoToday “is an open, source multimedia, educational, grassroots PR and marketing platform, which places value on the individual and not the dollar,” their website reads.
“Our mission is to provide an alternative model to corporate mainstream media, which operates under one fundamental difference: the currency we use to measure our bottom lines.”
#4
At the shelter, he always slept with this little stuffed toy.
A chewed-up, worn-out plush that no one noticed… except him.
He held onto it during every nap, every night, as if it anchored him.
A chewed-up, worn-out plush that no one noticed… except him.
He held onto it during every nap, every night, as if it anchored him.
In a place that was loud, cold, and uncertain, that toy was the only constant.
And tonight, for the very first time, he’s not at the shelter anymore.
He’s home. In a real bed. In the quiet. With warmth. And people who were waiting just for him.
He’s home. In a real bed. In the quiet. With warmth. And people who were waiting just for him.
But he still has his toy.
Because he survived with it. And now that he’s finally safe, he’s not letting go.
Because he survived with it. And now that he’s finally safe, he’s not letting go.
He’s sleeping deeply.
And this time, he’s not dreaming of a home — he’s in one.
And this time, he’s not dreaming of a home — he’s in one.
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137points
#5
I never really believed in angels—at least, not the kind with wings.
Then I met Pickles.
She was scrappy when I found her, hiding behind the dumpster of the pizza shop I worked at. Matted fur, half a tail, and the most stubborn glare I’d ever seen in something so small. But I tossed her a crust one night—just a leftover edge from a pepperoni slice—and her eyes lit up like I’d offered her gold.
From that moment on, she was mine… or maybe I was hers.
Pickles moved in with me into my tiny studio apartment. She slept on my chest, knocked over my plants, and cried if I left the room for too long. Her favorite thing in the world? Pizza nights. The second that box hit the table, she was there, paws up, eyes pleading, halo glowing.
And yes, her halo was made of pizza. Not literally—but in all the little ways that mattered.
Because every time I felt like I was falling apart, she was there with greasy paws and crust crumbs stuck to her whiskers. She didn’t care if I cried into a cold slice or worked double shifts. She loved me when I didn’t love myself. She made the silence of my apartment feel full. Full of life. Of warmth. Of home.
She grew older, slower. The jumps weren’t so high, and the pizza crusts stayed longer in the box.
.
And then, one night, she didn’t come when I called.
.
And then, one night, she didn’t come when I called.
I found her curled up by the oven—the warmest place she knew—silent, still, and peaceful. Like she’d just finished her favorite meal and was ready to nap forever.
Now every pizza night feels a little empty.
But sometimes, when I open the box, I imagine her sitting there again—tail flicking, eyes shining, that invisible halo of melted cheese and love still hovering above her head.
They don’t stay forever, but their love lingers in every corner. And sometimes, it smells like pizz
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122points
#6
There was a homeless man who 'camped' in the covered garage where my office was located. You'd see him huddle down for the night, along with his little dog, a small scruffy little terrier mix. When I walked thru the garage on my way to lunch, I would often check to see where he was and then bring him a burger and drink. He always tore the sandwich in half, ate one half and gave the other to his dog. I started bringing him a bag of dry dog food every month and he took great pains to keep it dry. His little dog rode in the child's seat in the grocery cart wherever he went.
One especially cold winter morning, I noticed his dog was missing and he seemed utterly forlorn. I bought him some coffee and he explained how the city rounded up the homeless and took them to the shelter because it was bitterly cold and they took his dog away from him. They took her to the local shelter (no license, no tags, no rabies vaccination). I was appalled.
I took the morning off, picked him up from the garage & drove him to the shelter where we asked to look for his 'lost' dog. When we found her, she put up such a racket of pure joy upon seeing him: yipping, yelping, wiggling uncontrollably. Paws squeezed between chain link trying to touch her master and his fingers stroking her little face.
I paid for her license, basic shots and retrieval fee and he rode back in silence hugging her so tight, I thought he would break her. When we got out, I told him to keep her safe. He hugged me, made Sasha give me a smooch of thanks, and hurried off to where he'd hidden his cart.
I understand the need to keep these souls safe but taking his one undeniable friend -- while legally founded -- was gut wrenchingly wrong on so many other levels.
Any act of kindness can change lives….no matter how great or small.
One especially cold winter morning, I noticed his dog was missing and he seemed utterly forlorn. I bought him some coffee and he explained how the city rounded up the homeless and took them to the shelter because it was bitterly cold and they took his dog away from him. They took her to the local shelter (no license, no tags, no rabies vaccination). I was appalled.
I took the morning off, picked him up from the garage & drove him to the shelter where we asked to look for his 'lost' dog. When we found her, she put up such a racket of pure joy upon seeing him: yipping, yelping, wiggling uncontrollably. Paws squeezed between chain link trying to touch her master and his fingers stroking her little face.
I paid for her license, basic shots and retrieval fee and he rode back in silence hugging her so tight, I thought he would break her. When we got out, I told him to keep her safe. He hugged me, made Sasha give me a smooch of thanks, and hurried off to where he'd hidden his cart.
I understand the need to keep these souls safe but taking his one undeniable friend -- while legally founded -- was gut wrenchingly wrong on so many other levels.
Any act of kindness can change lives….no matter how great or small.
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114points
Their mission statement claims that they don’t use money as their bottom-line measure of success. Instead, “Its projects, resources, and efforts are achieved through a concept of communal bartering and shared exposure. We put in the pain communally, we reap the gain communally. We provide opportunities and resources for people to produce content that might not be allowed in traditional media, with a freedom of speech and expression unparalleled anywhere in the media industry,” they tell us in their ‘about us’ section.
“We provide shared affiliate networking; syndication within the growing community of GonzoToday sites, personalities and contributors; exposure to a working newsroom; and the ability to get involved in projects and collaborations that are usually closed to most creative talents.”
#7
Rosalind Franklin was uncompromising with strong opinions and no fear to share them. But she also loved to have fun, spending time with friends at small dinners in the evenings or going on hikes or bike rides through the mountains on weekends. Friends said she liked to tease and had a mischievous wit.
Rosalind was born in 1920 in London, into a wealthy banking family. As a child, she hated dolls, hated pretend games. She was logical, literal, always seeking facts and reasons.
But as the only daughter amongst three brothers for the first ten years of her life, she also wanted to be viewed as tough. She’d ignore pain, illness, once even walking blocks to a hospital with a needle stuck in her knee.
It was in school as a teenager that Rosalind fell in love with science, chemistry and physics in particular. At fifteen she decided to become a scientist. She set her sights on going to Cambridge University, to which she was admitted. But her father, who didn’t believe in a university education for women, refused to pay for her to attend. An aunt, the sister of Rosalind’s father volunteered to pay for Rosalind, as did Rosalind’s mother. With three women now against his decision, Rosalind’s father backed down and agreed to pay for her university education.
After college, Rosalind took a job at the British Coal Utilization Research Association in South London. This was during WWII, so to get to work she’d have to ride her bike through bomb raids. She never complained, but she was scared.
Her commitment to work pushed Rosalind through the fears. And it was in her work that she found much success. She published five papers, which are still cited today, dozens of articles. Her research changed the way scientists understood coal and similar structures. And her work earned her a PHD. She was 26 years old at the time and already an expert in her field.
It was also in this work where Rosalind learned that she needed to understand X-ray technology, so that she could better understand physical matter, the matter from which the universe is made of. She studied, became an expert, and then because of her expertise was offered a position at Cambridge to help analyze X-ray photographs of DNA molecules.
Focusing on determining the molecular structure of DNA, she took X-ray photographs that were considered the most beautiful of the time. And just as in her previous roles, she made critical discoveries, including the double helix structure. Her work helped build an understanding of DNA.
But because of gender issues of the time, Rosalind received little credit for her work. The research she helped shape would earn a number of men a Nobel Prize, and they did little to credit her for the valuable research she did.
Rosalind dedicated her life to science. She never married. Even her love of children was set aside for science, as she couldn’t imagine the thought of her children raised by nannies while she worked.
Rosalind Franklin had her life cut short when she passed away from ovarian cancer at only 37 years old
Rosalind was born in 1920 in London, into a wealthy banking family. As a child, she hated dolls, hated pretend games. She was logical, literal, always seeking facts and reasons.
But as the only daughter amongst three brothers for the first ten years of her life, she also wanted to be viewed as tough. She’d ignore pain, illness, once even walking blocks to a hospital with a needle stuck in her knee.
It was in school as a teenager that Rosalind fell in love with science, chemistry and physics in particular. At fifteen she decided to become a scientist. She set her sights on going to Cambridge University, to which she was admitted. But her father, who didn’t believe in a university education for women, refused to pay for her to attend. An aunt, the sister of Rosalind’s father volunteered to pay for Rosalind, as did Rosalind’s mother. With three women now against his decision, Rosalind’s father backed down and agreed to pay for her university education.
After college, Rosalind took a job at the British Coal Utilization Research Association in South London. This was during WWII, so to get to work she’d have to ride her bike through bomb raids. She never complained, but she was scared.
Her commitment to work pushed Rosalind through the fears. And it was in her work that she found much success. She published five papers, which are still cited today, dozens of articles. Her research changed the way scientists understood coal and similar structures. And her work earned her a PHD. She was 26 years old at the time and already an expert in her field.
It was also in this work where Rosalind learned that she needed to understand X-ray technology, so that she could better understand physical matter, the matter from which the universe is made of. She studied, became an expert, and then because of her expertise was offered a position at Cambridge to help analyze X-ray photographs of DNA molecules.
Focusing on determining the molecular structure of DNA, she took X-ray photographs that were considered the most beautiful of the time. And just as in her previous roles, she made critical discoveries, including the double helix structure. Her work helped build an understanding of DNA.
But because of gender issues of the time, Rosalind received little credit for her work. The research she helped shape would earn a number of men a Nobel Prize, and they did little to credit her for the valuable research she did.
Rosalind dedicated her life to science. She never married. Even her love of children was set aside for science, as she couldn’t imagine the thought of her children raised by nannies while she worked.
Rosalind Franklin had her life cut short when she passed away from ovarian cancer at only 37 years old
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109points
#8
I’m so proud of my son. He saw a kid, whose name I now know is Conner, balled up into a corner, crying. So, he went to console him, grabbed his hand, and walked him inside of the school!
What we didn't know was that he was autistic. His mother fears every day that someone will laugh at him because he doesn't speak correctly. Laugh at him because he doesn't sit still or because he jumps up and down and flaps his hands.
It is an honor to raise such a loving, compassionate child. He’s a kid with a big heart. The first day of school started off right.
Conner's reaction?
'He was so kind to me. I started crying and then he helped me. I was so happy! He found me and held my hand and I got happy tears.'
It doesn't matter, you know, color. It doesn't matter, gender. It doesn't matter, disability. Just be kind. Open your heart. That’s what we need in this world. One act of kindness can change someone's life."
What we didn't know was that he was autistic. His mother fears every day that someone will laugh at him because he doesn't speak correctly. Laugh at him because he doesn't sit still or because he jumps up and down and flaps his hands.
It is an honor to raise such a loving, compassionate child. He’s a kid with a big heart. The first day of school started off right.
Conner's reaction?
'He was so kind to me. I started crying and then he helped me. I was so happy! He found me and held my hand and I got happy tears.'
It doesn't matter, you know, color. It doesn't matter, gender. It doesn't matter, disability. Just be kind. Open your heart. That’s what we need in this world. One act of kindness can change someone's life."
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107points
#9
Today at Walmart, an elderly man came up to me and asked, “Does your phone take pictures?” I said, “Yes, it does,” not really understanding why he was asking. He then said, “Let me see your phone.” I handed it to him, and he said, “Now let me take a picture of this moment.”
I was a bit surprised but agreed, even though I don't like pictures of myself. My daughter Aubrey was shy and didn’t want a picture, but I decided to give it a try. He took a picture of me and my daughter in Walmart, even though she wasn’t smiling. Afterward, I thanked him and said, “Nobody ever takes pictures of me with my kids.” He smiled and said, “I knew that, because you’re the mom.” He added, “Time goes by so fast. These are the best moments of your life.”
He told me he was 85 years old and would do anything to have more moments like that, taking his kids on shopping trips. I was speechless. A complete stranger stopping to care meant so much to me as a mom. It’s so rare to get pictures with your kids. His kindness really touched my heart and reminded me to appreciate every moment. What a beautiful soul he has!
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98points
The GonzoToday team is truly doing a service to society by diversifying the media landscape and granting opportunities for people to express themselves freely. In fact, the Gonzo part of their name refers to Gonzo journalism, an unconventional style of journalism that is subjective and often includes the reporter as part of the story in a first-person narrative.
The gonzo journalist becomes part of the story, presenting facts and events through their lens. These stories usually critique society and the self, so certain aspects are often exaggerated or profane, making use of hyperbole, humor, and sarcasm.
#10
In the 1930s in the United States, sacks containing flour and grain were made of cloth, primarily cotton. The Kansas Wheat company, in the midst of the Great Depression, realized that the poorest families were reusing them to sew dresses for women and girls, so to make them more captivating they decided to print them with floral and colorful motifs.
The initiative was a huge success: they made sure that the ink used for the logos would fade after a simple wash, and some bags even had the patterns already drawn on the fabric, ready to be cut and sewn.
A marketing tactic that helped American families get through a particularly difficult period, also useful as a source of income for women who would later sell their recycled models
The initiative was a huge success: they made sure that the ink used for the logos would fade after a simple wash, and some bags even had the patterns already drawn on the fabric, ready to be cut and sewn.
A marketing tactic that helped American families get through a particularly difficult period, also useful as a source of income for women who would later sell their recycled models
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95points
#11
In 1915, Effie Hotchkiss bought a new Harley-Davidson and attached a sidecar to carry her mother, Avis, as a passenger. The pair then set out from Brooklyn to see the Panama Pacific International Exhibition in San Francisco. Avis had instilled confidence in her daughter, and when asked if she had fears about the arduous cross-country journey, Avis replied, “I do not fear breakdowns, for Effie, being a most careful driver, is a good mechanic and does her own repairing with her own tools.” The pair were the first women to cross America by motorbike, at a time when the roads, where they existed, were simply horrendous. After visiting the Pacific Coast, the pair rode back to Brooklyn, for an epic 9,000-mile journey
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94points
#12
Butterfly McQueen – The Actress Who Walked Away From Hollywood with Her Integrity Intact
In 1939, the world saw her on the big screen in Gone with the Wind, playing Prissy, the fluttery, nervous maid who cried, "I don't know nothin’ 'bout birthin’ babies!" The role made Butterfly McQueen famous—but it didn’t make her proud.
Born Thelma McQueen in Tampa, Florida, she got the nickname "Butterfly" from a role she danced in as a teen. She had trained in dance and aspired to perform, not to be caricatured. But Hollywood, in the 1930s and '40s, had a place for Black women—and it was almost always in the kitchen or as the comic sidekick.
Despite the limitations, she carved out a career. But what many didn’t see was the deep conflict within her. She hated the roles she was offered—maids, slaves, background figures with exaggerated accents. She once said:
“I didn’t mind being funny, but I didn’t like being stupid.”
And so, after a string of roles that echoed the same racial stereotypes, she made a radical choice—one that few actors, especially Black women in the mid-20th century, could afford to make. She walked away from Hollywood. No press conference, no scandal. Just a quiet refusal to continue playing parts that demeaned her people and her intellect.
In a world where fame is often seen as the ultimate goal, Butterfly McQueen chose dignity instead. She left Los Angeles, moved around the country, and eventually returned to school—earning a degree in political science from City College of New York. She took odd jobs, sometimes working in department stores or as a receptionist. People barely recognized the woman who once starred in one of the most-watched films in history.
But that was just fine with her.
She lived modestly, never married, and never returned to major Hollywood films. In her later years, she spoke more openly about her dissatisfaction with the roles Black actors were given. She was also an outspoken atheist—another rare stance for someone of her time—and supported secular causes, human rights, and education.
Butterfly McQueen died in 1995 at the age of 84, after a tragic home fire in Georgia. She had never chased fame again, but what she left behind was far more powerful: a legacy of quiet defiance, personal truth, and the courage to say no to a system that asked her to be less than she was.
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92points
This new journalism movement started in the 1970s when Hunter S. Thompson published an article that was described as “gonzo.” While the initial and exact meaning of the word is unknown, in a broader sense, “gonzo” has come to describe something that is outlandishly unconventional, outrageous, extreme, or very strange or unusual. In journalism, it became known as a style that intends to be shocking and exciting rather than give information.
#13
Today, the man wearing red got on the subway, he opened his folder and started reading. A few stops later a man got on and asked him “what are you studying for? You look confused, maybe I can help?” He said my son just failed a math test, and I am re-studying fractions so I can teach him. I am 42 years old and I don’t remember any of this, so I am reteaching myself. The guy in the black informed him that he use to be a math teacher, and would help quiz him. Everything the man in the red got wrong, it was broken down and corrected for him. By the end of the train ride, the man had a better understanding. He had a new method to come home with to teach his son. It’s the little things like this that I love seeing, because most people could care less about what the person next to them is going through
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86points
#14
At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, was walking through a park one day in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.
Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.
The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."
Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life.
During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.
Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.
"It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl.
Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and brought the doll with her to her happy home.
A year later Kafka died.
Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:
"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."
Embrace change. It's inevitable for growth. Together we can shift pain into wonder and love, but it is up to us to consciously and intentionally create that connection.
Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.
The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."
Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life.
During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.
Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.
"It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl.
Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and brought the doll with her to her happy home.
A year later Kafka died.
Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:
"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."
Embrace change. It's inevitable for growth. Together we can shift pain into wonder and love, but it is up to us to consciously and intentionally create that connection.
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86points
#15
A great woman erased from history by idiots.
The branding of the syrup was a tribute to this woman’s gifts and talents. Now future generations will not even know this beautiful woman existed. What a shame. The world knew her as “Aunt Jemima”, but her given name was Nancy Green and she was a true American success story. She was born a slave in 1834 Montgomery County, KY. and became a wealthy superstar in the advertising world, as its first living trademark. Green was 56 years old when she was selected as spokesperson for a new ready-mixed, self-rising pancake flour and made her debut in 1893 at a fair and exposition in Chicago. She demonstrated the pancake mix served thousands of pancakes, and became an immediate star. She was a good storyteller, her personality was warm and appealing, and her showmanship was exceptional! Let's not forget greatness & exceptional black folks who broke so many barriers!
The branding of the syrup was a tribute to this woman’s gifts and talents. Now future generations will not even know this beautiful woman existed. What a shame. The world knew her as “Aunt Jemima”, but her given name was Nancy Green and she was a true American success story. She was born a slave in 1834 Montgomery County, KY. and became a wealthy superstar in the advertising world, as its first living trademark. Green was 56 years old when she was selected as spokesperson for a new ready-mixed, self-rising pancake flour and made her debut in 1893 at a fair and exposition in Chicago. She demonstrated the pancake mix served thousands of pancakes, and became an immediate star. She was a good storyteller, her personality was warm and appealing, and her showmanship was exceptional! Let's not forget greatness & exceptional black folks who broke so many barriers!
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80points
Even though traditional media prioritizes objective facts, Gonzo journalism does the opposite and embraces the fact that objectivity might be impossible to achieve in any kind of storytelling. As Thompson, the father of Gonzo journalism, said, “Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.”
#16
In the spring of 1910, in a quiet English village lined with cobblestone streets and ivy-covered walls, there lived a young lady named Eleanor. She was known for her kindness, her delicate lace dresses, and the way she always had ink on her fingers from writing poetry no one ever read.
But more than anything, people knew Eleanor for her constant companion — a snow-white cat named Marble.
Marble had come into Eleanor’s life on a rainy October evening, just a tiny kitten with wide, frightened eyes, left in a wicker basket on the doorstep of the old manor house where she lived alone after her parents had passed. Eleanor had taken one look at the tiny creature and whispered, “Well then, I guess you and I will keep each other from getting too lonely.”
And they did.
Each morning, Marble would sit by Eleanor’s writing desk as she scribbled poems into her worn leather journal. He would bat at her quill with his paw, and she would pretend to scold him, but she always smiled. Every afternoon, the two could be found in the garden — Eleanor with her parasol, Marble chasing bees and tumbling through patches of lavender.
The villagers spoke of them fondly. “The lady and her cat,” they’d say. “Two hearts, one soul.”
But Eleanor held a sadness that she never shared. At 23, she had once been promised to a young man named Thomas. War took him away before he could return with a ring. Letters stopped coming. And though Eleanor never wore black, her eyes sometimes did.
Marble became her lighthouse through grief.
He would sleep on her chest when she cried, blink at her softly when she stared too long at the sea, and curl up by her journal when she couldn’t find the words. For years, it was just the two of them — quiet, steady, healing.
One morning in early winter, Eleanor didn’t rise.
The maid found her still, her hand resting gently on Marble’s back, a notebook on her lap, the final page filled.
"To the one who stayed,
who asked for nothing but gave me everything,
you are my dearest love,
in fur and silence."
who asked for nothing but gave me everything,
you are my dearest love,
in fur and silence."
Marble sat by her side for days. He ate nothing. He made no sound.
The villagers buried Eleanor beneath the cherry tree in her garden, the same one Marble always climbed to catch butterflies. They let Marble say goodbye.
But he never truly left her.
Every year, for nearly a decade, Marble would disappear from whichever home had taken him in, only to be found curled at the foot of Eleanor’s grave — rain or shine, season after season. Waiting. Remembering.
Until one spring morning, he too did not return.
They buried him beside her.
And for those who passed by the cherry tree each year, they swore they could sometimes hear a soft purr in the breeze and catch the faint scent of lavender.
Two hearts.
One soul.
Together once more and forever .
One soul.
Together once more and forever .
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79points
#17
A child fell into the enclosure.
People screamed.
Panic surged.
But the gorilla didn’t roar.
He sat beside the boy… and held his hand.
People screamed.
Panic surged.
But the gorilla didn’t roar.
He sat beside the boy… and held his hand.
This is the real story of Binti Jua — the gorilla who protected a human child.
It happened in 1996, at the Brookfield Zoo near Chicago. A 3-year-old boy slipped away from his mother, climbed over a railing, and fell 18 feet into the gorilla enclosure.
The impact knocked him unconscious.
He lay there, bleeding, motionless.
He lay there, bleeding, motionless.
Inside the enclosure was a female western lowland gorilla named Binti Jua.
She was 8 years old.
Weighing over 150 pounds.
Strong enough to tear through steel if she wanted to.
Weighing over 150 pounds.
Strong enough to tear through steel if she wanted to.
As crowds screamed and panicked above, fearing the worst…
Binti slowly approached the boy.
Binti slowly approached the boy.
But instead of aggression, she showed something else:
Compassion.
She gently cradled the boy.
Checked his wounds.
Lifted him carefully into her arms.
And carried him to the door where zookeepers could reach him.
Checked his wounds.
Lifted him carefully into her arms.
And carried him to the door where zookeepers could reach him.
She even held her own baby on her back while doing it.
“She could have done anything,” one zookeeper said.
“But she chose kindness.”
“But she chose kindness.”
The boy survived — with minor injuries and a miraculous story.
Binti Jua became a symbol of maternal instinct, empathy, and the unexpected gentleness of wild strength.
Her name means “Daughter of Sunshine” in Swahili. And that day… she truly lived up to it.
“She didn’t see a trespasser,” said a zoo staff member.
“She saw a child in need.”
“She saw a child in need.”
Binti Jua —
the gorilla who reminded the world
that compassion crosses species
the gorilla who reminded the world
that compassion crosses species
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79points
#18
One evening, while walking my dog Mollie through the park, a group of men started shouting and following me. My usually sweet and soppy Mollie immediately positioned herself between me and them, letting out a low growl—something I had never heard from her before. They quickly caught on and asked if she would bite, and with as much bravado as I could muster, I said yes (even though she’s never hurt a fly). Right on cue, Mollie lunged forward, barking with a level of aggression I never imagined she had. The men took off, and the moment they were gone, Mollie instantly switched back to her usual self, wagging her tail and begging me to throw her ball!
Bonus story: In the second week of having Mollie, I let her off-leash for the first time. Unexpectedly, I collapsed due to a medical issue (which was later resolved). As I came to, my first thought was that my new puppy must have run off. But when I looked up, there she was—calmly lying next to me, watching me as if waiting for my next move.
And because I can’t resist showing her off, here’s a picture of my beautiful girl!
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78points
While nowadays, specific publications like GonzoToday are devoted to this kind of journalism, elements of this style can be seen slowly seeping into mainstream reporting. Content found on sites like Medium or Vox is moving away from traditional journalism, and we start to see more stories of regular people telling them from their point of view.
#19
“While out riding with a group of friends today, there was a lady that approached us in the Go Mart parking lot in Clay, WV. She asked if one of us would give her a ride around the parking lot for $20. She explained to us that this was on her bucket list. She wanted to send a picture to her son of herself on a motorcycle. I told her that one of us would take her for a ride. I told her to just follow me over to the bikes. This is when she told me that she was blind and would need help walking over to them. She latched onto my arm and we walked to the bikes. I told her she could ride on mine if she was able to get on. She didn't need to give me any money to go for a ride, but she insisted. I asked her if she was sure twice and she said, 'Yes, just keep it.' At this point, I told her I was going to back my bike up and that my friends would help her get on and how to hold onto me. She was so excited once she finally got on the back. I asked her if she needed to let her friend know where she was, but she said, "no, she will see us!" Her friend walked out of the gas station, so the lady yelled, "quick, get the camera!" As we started moving she let out a 'Woohoo!' We went around the lot and when we came back to park, she couldn't stop smiling. Not only did this make her day, but it made mine as well.
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76points
#20
"I am the single mother of four absolutely beautiful little girls. They are 9, 5, 2, and 6 weeks. And things have been particularly rough since my ex left.
My truck had a flat I constantly had to air up. The driver side window motor died. And I needed a new alternator belt. The truck was a mess. And we didn't drive anywhere unless we had to.
Well the other day we desperately needed to go to the store. So we loaded up and drove to the Winn Dixie about 9 blocks away.
When we got out of the store it was far after dark. And POURING rain.
I loaded my kids and groceries into the truck. Tried to crank it...... Nothing. No click. Nothing.
One of my girls had accidentally left a light on. My battery was dead. My phone was also disconnected. I have no family to speak of and was on my own.
I got out and opened my hood to be sure my battery hadn't come loose. Nope.
I must have asked more than twenty people in the course of two hours for a jump. They all ignored me. Not even a no. Just acted like i didn't exist.
My 5 Year old was melting down. My newborn SCREAMING, my two year old crying she was hungry, and my oldest desperately trying to help.
I was bawling and felt like the worst Mom ever.
Then I got a knock on the passenger window. An older gentleman (he was 74) with a cane and a bad limp was on the other side of that knock.
I opened the door. He handed me a plate of chicken strips and biscuits from the deli and bottles of water.
'Feed those babies and yourself young lady. I have a tow truck on the way and my wife will be here shortly to take y'all home.'
Sure enough she arrived followed by the tow truck. Us and our truck were taken home.
The next morning the gentleman returned to my house with a mechanic who replaced my battery and alternator and fixed my window.
The elderly gentleman then left and did not return. When I asked what I owed the mechanic and if I could make payments he smiled telling me the older man had paid for all of it.
He said that the only payment the older man wanted was for me to never give up and keep being an amazing mom.
I've never cried so hard in my life. Things had been absolutely awful. More so than I care to explain.
And without knowing us or our situation this kind man helped us in ways he will never know.
What he did revived my faith when I was falling apart. But he wouldn't even take a hug.
I'll never be able to thank him. But I certainly hope one day I can do what he did for me for someone else."
My truck had a flat I constantly had to air up. The driver side window motor died. And I needed a new alternator belt. The truck was a mess. And we didn't drive anywhere unless we had to.
Well the other day we desperately needed to go to the store. So we loaded up and drove to the Winn Dixie about 9 blocks away.
When we got out of the store it was far after dark. And POURING rain.
I loaded my kids and groceries into the truck. Tried to crank it...... Nothing. No click. Nothing.
One of my girls had accidentally left a light on. My battery was dead. My phone was also disconnected. I have no family to speak of and was on my own.
I got out and opened my hood to be sure my battery hadn't come loose. Nope.
I must have asked more than twenty people in the course of two hours for a jump. They all ignored me. Not even a no. Just acted like i didn't exist.
My 5 Year old was melting down. My newborn SCREAMING, my two year old crying she was hungry, and my oldest desperately trying to help.
I was bawling and felt like the worst Mom ever.
Then I got a knock on the passenger window. An older gentleman (he was 74) with a cane and a bad limp was on the other side of that knock.
I opened the door. He handed me a plate of chicken strips and biscuits from the deli and bottles of water.
'Feed those babies and yourself young lady. I have a tow truck on the way and my wife will be here shortly to take y'all home.'
Sure enough she arrived followed by the tow truck. Us and our truck were taken home.
The next morning the gentleman returned to my house with a mechanic who replaced my battery and alternator and fixed my window.
The elderly gentleman then left and did not return. When I asked what I owed the mechanic and if I could make payments he smiled telling me the older man had paid for all of it.
He said that the only payment the older man wanted was for me to never give up and keep being an amazing mom.
I've never cried so hard in my life. Things had been absolutely awful. More so than I care to explain.
And without knowing us or our situation this kind man helped us in ways he will never know.
What he did revived my faith when I was falling apart. But he wouldn't even take a hug.
I'll never be able to thank him. But I certainly hope one day I can do what he did for me for someone else."
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76points