On a Friday afternoon in June 2017, Anthony Flores and his girlfriend, Anna Moore, decided to go out for vegan ice cream at Kippy’s. Though the pair lived 220 miles away, in Fresno, California, they were regulars at the Venice Beach ice-cream shop. “They came in all the time. They were striking,” says the owner, Kippy Miller. The couple did have a distinct look. Even for a casual trip, they tended to wear matching suits and ties. “I just don’t ever remember seeing them with another person,” Miller adds. As the couple looked at the flavors, a middle-aged man with closely cropped gray hair approached. Dr. Mark Sawusch, an ophthalmologist, had a question for the duo: “Do you know anything about this alkaline water?” They did, as it turned out.
As far as anyone seems to know, the meeting at Kippy’s happened entirely by chance. Sawusch’s office was nearby, but otherwise he and the couple traveled in different circles. He examined eyes; they owned a yoga studio. In any case, by that evening, they had the keys to the doctor’s silver Tesla. A week later, Flores texted Sawusch to offer his and Moore’s help: “Our desire is to add ease and flow to your life and be of great service.” Sawusch responded, calling the couple “the BEST friends I have ever met in my entire life.” They moved from their apartment into his Malibu beach house that same day. In a few months, the doctor would be dead. For the next six years, people would wonder: Were Flores and Moore scammers who stumbled upon the perfect mark in a vegan-ice-cream shop? Or were they simply trying to help a man coming off the worst year of his life?
Marseille’s Museum of European and Mediterranean Civilizations (Mucem) is a lattice-shrouded, shadow-throwing complex that juts over the waters of the city’s old port. Despite the seaside vibe, its code of conduct states that “perfect correctness, particularly in dress, is demanded of visitors; it is for example forbidden to walk around shirtless or barefoot.” Yet, on a recent afternoon, as a man strode across the entrance hall in nothing but a floral pareo and a lanyard—i.e., shirtless and barefoot—no one seemed bothered in the slightest. The museum, which was closed to the general public for the day, was offering a special tour of its big summer exhibition, “Paradis Naturistes” (“Naturist Paradises”). In keeping with the show’s theme, guests, such as the man in the lobby, would be allowed to shed their clothes, store them, and stroll through the galleries naked.
Picture this: You’re at a bar and someone clearly intoxicated starts telling your friend their grand theory about how the Titan submersible implosion was faked. Your friend locks eyes with you, clearly wanting to leave this dreadful conversation. She makes eyes to the door. Following someone’s gaze may seem like a simple act, but it has profound implications for the evolution of intelligence. And humans are far from the only animals that do it.
A few months ago, my sister graduated from college. She’s the youngest of our 22 first cousins and the final person to complete her higher education. Naturally, we were very proud and threw a big party to mark the occasion. As the drinks were flowing, my aunts and uncles began recounting family lore. One slice of that lore, stuck with me after the party ended, namely a story my grandmother had often told about how Frank Sinatra had performed at her high school while she was a student.
I’d heard this story many times. Since my grandmother is no longer alive, I thought it would be illuminating to try to track down more information about this alleged performance. What I didn’t realize is that this would send me on a multi-month journey digging through newspaper archives, pestering strangers on Facebook, speaking with leading Frank Sinatra experts, and questioning the honesty of my relatives. This is the diary of my search.