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Pacemaker Invention

Pacemaker Invention

Engineer Wilson Greatbatch accidentally grabbed the wrong part in 1958, leading to one of the most important medical inventions of the 20th century.
He was building a device to record heart rhythms at the University of Buffalo. He reached into his component box for a 10,000-ohm resistor, but pulled out a 1-megaohm one instead.
When he plugged it into the circuit, it didn’t work as intended. Instead of simply oscillating, the device began to emit a steady, rhythmic electrical pulse.
It pulsed for 1.8 milliseconds, then stopped for a second, then pulsed again. Greatbatch immediately recognized the rhythm. It was a perfect imitation of a healthy human heartbeat.
He realized this wasn’t a failure, but a breakthrough. He saw the potential for a device that could be implanted inside the body to regulate a faulty heart.
Greatbatch refined his design over the next two years, working with surgeon Dr. William Chardack to make it small and safe enough for a human.
In 1958, they successfully tested their device by implanting it into a dog, proving it could take over the function of the heart.
Two years later, in 1960, the first implantable pacemaker was successfully placed in a human patient, extending his life by 18 months.
This single mistake, grabbing the wrong tiny part from a box, gave rise to a technology that has saved and improved millions of lives worldwide.
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Katie – The Beer Angel

Katie - The Beer Angel

Ten years ago, I had this tiny old man who came through the liquor store drive-thru every other day. He wouldn’t even look at me—just handed over his money and said he wanted a six-pack of Natty. I spent so much time at the store, and all the regulars were like family to me. But not him. He was just… Pete.
It drove me nuts that he never acted like he knew me.

After about a year, I started telling him jokes from another regular. He didn’t say yes or no, just listened to me absolutely butcher the punchlines. I told him all I wanted in life was to catch him smiling as he drove away. He mostly shook his head and asked if I’d stop holding his beer hostage. I told him someday, *someday*, he’d stop hating me.

We played this game for two more years. Then, one day, after I lovingly slid his beer into his lap, he threw something at me. It was a shirt that said *BEER ANGEL.* My life was made.

After that, Pete started warming up to me. He’d bring little gifts—a figurine of a cow lifting weights, a candle he found near his trash can, and one time, a Playboy because “he liked the girl’s earrings.” His cackling when I saw it is something I’ll never forget.

Six years into our drive-thru friendship, Pete asked if I could run an errand for him. He handed me his debit card and a grocery list, telling me I could spend $20 on myself. I was over the moon. Then he asked if I could cut his hair. He was on oxygen and didn’t think he could make it to the barber anymore. I told him I’d drag him into the shop on a blanket if I had to, but when he declined, I promised to stop by after work.

He greeted my 3-year-old daughter, Violet, and me with chocolates filled with liquor. He laughed harder than anyone I’ve ever known. Over the next few years, I visited him regularly, cutting his hair, chatting while he did crosswords, and bringing him lottery tickets.

Pete was funny without trying and hilariously awful in the best way. One day, I mentioned something my dad had said and referred to myself as “Kate.” He looked at me and said, “Is your name Kate? I just thought it was ‘butthole.’” I laughed and told him my family calls me Kate, and it makes me feel loved.

A few visits later, he handed me a check, and when I got to the car, I saw it was made out to “Kate.” I cried.

The last time I saw him, he called me “sweetheart” as I left. I looked back at him—so tiny and frail—and said, “I prefer ‘butthole.’” He laughed, and I left smiling.

A couple of weeks later, I drove to Dexter for his funeral. There were only a few people there, and I stood off to the side, crying. After the service, they all came up to me and said, “You must be Kate! He talked about you all the time!”

It’s been a year since Pete passed, but Violet and I talk about him often. I sure miss him.

Please, be kind to people. Obnoxiously, annoyingly, insanely kind. You never know how much it might mean.

Credit: Katie Sawyer

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Quote of the Day

“Strong minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, weak minds discuss people.” – Socrates, Philosopher (469 – 399 BC)

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Michael Clarke Duncan

Michael Clarke Duncan

Before his Oscar nomination, before he moved the world with tear-filled eyes and healing hands, Michael Clarke Duncan dug trenches in the streets of Chicago.
He was massive, powerful… but painfully shy.
His mother, who raised him alone, always said:
“Your size is a gift, but your tenderness is your true power.”
For years, he worked nightclub doors, guarding celebrities.
He kept bodies safe—while dreaming of touching souls on a movie screen.
But no one believed in him.
“Too big,” they said.
“Too gentle,” they said.
Then one day, Bruce Willis saw him cry.
Not on cue. Not rehearsed. Just… truth.
And in that moment, he found his John Coffey—the gentle giant who looked like a monster, but only wanted to help.
Michael wept in every scene.
He wasn’t acting. He was remembering: his mother’s words, the judgment in strangers’ eyes, the weight of being misunderstood.
“Being strong doesn’t mean striking back.
Sometimes, it means standing tall without breaking.”
When he passed in 2012, the world mourned not his muscles, but his soul.
Because sometimes, the biggest men are the best listeners.
And sometimes, a giant doesn’t need to roar—he just needs someone to believe in him.
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Peyo

Peyo

In a hospital in Calais, France, a 15-year-old stallion named Peyo moves softly from room to room, offering quiet companionship to patients in palliative care. Once a champion show horse, Peyo has found a new purpose—one that touches the soul and defies simple explanation.
Lovingly called Doctor Peyo, he isn’t like other therapy animals. With remarkable intuition, Peyo seems to sense exactly who needs him most. Without guidance, he stops outside certain rooms and gently lifts one leg—his silent signal to trainer Hassen Bouchakour that someone inside could use his comfort.
When welcomed in, Peyo stands calmly by the bedside. Patients and families reach for his mane, rest their hands on his back, or lean into his gentle presence. Sometimes, he remains for hours, offering a wordless kind of solace that goes beyond language.
Peyo’s extraordinary path began when Bouchakour noticed his deep, instinctive connection with people who were sick or distressed. What began as a surprising behavior grew into a calling: to bring peace to those nearing the end of life.
Since 2016, Peyo has become a beloved figure at Calais Hospital. Doctors, families, and patients speak of the calm he brings. Some even report needing less pain medication after his visits, a testament to the unique peace he offers simply by being there.
While science can’t fully explain how Peyo detects illness or emotional suffering, his effect is undeniable. In the quietest moments, this gentle stallion offers something beyond medicine: connection, comfort, and grace.
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Harold

Harold

This is my friend Harold.
Not the guy in the man lift—but the man behind him, sitting quietly in his wheelchair on the sidewalk.
Harold lives in the nursing home just across the street from our job site.
Since day one, he’s been there.
Every morning at 7 a.m., like clockwork.
He takes lunch when we do.
And he doesn’t leave until I shut down the crane and head home.
At first, I thought,
“He’s just an old man enjoying the fresh air. Curious, maybe. Just passing time.”
But something about his consistency got me curious too.
So one day, I walked over and introduced myself.
That first conversation lasted over two and a half hours.
And it changed me.
Harold, it turns out, is nearing the end of his life.
He’s battling heart failure and a degenerative disease that’s been eating away at his health for years.
But before all that, Harold spent over 50 years doing exactly what I do now—operating cranes.
He told me he never imagined he’d get to see one up close again—let alone watch one in action, every day.
It’s not just a job to him. It’s his life. His pride. His story.
He has family. Two daughters. A son.
They haven’t visited in the seven years he’s been in that nursing home.
So I made Harold a deal.
He jokingly asked if I’d put him on payroll.
I told him I couldn’t swing that… but here’s what I could do:
 Every morning, I bring him his favorite—a black coffee.
 Twice a week, I grab him lunch from anywhere he wants.
 And at the end of each day, I sit with him so he can critique my crane work and give me pointers.
Because no matter how good you think you are, there’s always more to learn.
And Harold?
He didn’t hesitate before saying,
“ABSOLUTELY!”
Now he’s not just watching.
He’s part of the crew.
He’s teaching again. Smiling again.
Living with purpose in his final days.
And I guess I’m sharing this to say:
 Don’t overlook the quiet people in the background.
 Don’t assume someone’s just “passing time.”
 Walk over. Say hello.
You never know what kind of impact you might make—or what kind of soul you’ll meet.
I’m so thankful I took that step.
And when the day comes that God calls Harold home,
I’ll find peace in knowing he spent his final chapter surrounded by something he loved.
And by someone who cared enough to see him.
Be that someone. Make someone feel seen.
It might just be the most important thing you do today.
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Clearing Space Junk

Clearing Space Junk

Japan’s superconducting space tether can deorbit satellites using Earth’s magnetic field
Japan has developed a space-age cleanup system that could deorbit dead satellites without fuel or explosions — using only Earth’s magnetic field. It’s a superconducting tether, made of ultra-thin niobium alloy, that drags space debris into lower orbit by generating electric currents as it slices through the planet’s magnetosphere.
The idea is simple in theory, but stunning in execution: As the tether travels at orbital speeds through Earth’s magnetic field, it induces a current — and this in turn produces a Lorentz force that opposes its motion. Over time, this force slows down the object, gently reducing altitude until it burns in the atmosphere.
Developed by JAXA in collaboration with Tokyo University, the tether is no longer a concept — it’s already been tested on micro-satellites launched in low Earth orbit. In one test, a 700-meter-long tether successfully lowered a dead payload by over 120 km within two weeks — with no propulsion, no fuel, and no risk of explosion.
Unlike traditional deorbit methods, this technique doesn’t require contact with the satellite itself. A deployable “net satellite” attaches the tether to any dead or defunct object — then activates and drags it down slowly, passively, and safely.
With over 30,000 pieces of space junk threatening the ISS and future launches, Japan’s tether could become the standard orbital janitor for the next century. It’s cost-effective, passive, and scalable — ideal for large satellite constellations like Starlink.
Cleaning space doesn’t require explosions anymore. Just a wire, superconductors, and the quiet power of physics.
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Charles Babbage Difference Engine 2

Charles Babbage Difference Engine 2

In the 1840s, English mathematician Charles Babbage designed a mechanical computer so far ahead of its time that he was never able to build it.
Known as the Difference Engine No. 2, his plans described a machine of incredible complexity, designed to calculate and print mathematical tables automatically.
For over a century, Babbage’s designs remained on paper, a brilliant but unproven concept from a mind working far beyond the technology of his era.
Then, in the late 1980s, a team at the Science Museum in London, led by curator Doron Swade, decided to take on a monumental challenge.
They would build the Difference Engine No. 2 using only the materials and engineering tolerances that would have been available to Babbage himself.
The team relied heavily on the work of scholar Allan G. Bromley, who had spent years deciphering Babbage’s often cryptic and detailed blueprints.
After years of work, the calculating section of the engine was completed in 1991. The machine consisted of over 8,000 bronze and steel parts, weighing more than five tons.
When they turned the crank for the first time, it worked perfectly, validating Babbage’s genius more than 150 years after he conceived it.
The team didn’t stop there. They went on to build the engine’s massive printing and stereotyping apparatus, completing the full machine in 2002.
The project was so successful that a second Difference Engine was commissioned and completed in 2008, funded by former Microsoft CTO Nathan Myhrvold.
The successful construction proved that Babbage’s failure was not one of design or theory, but purely of the limited manufacturing capabilities of the 19th century.