The curse of King Tut is a popular myth claiming that anyone who disturbs the mummy or tomb of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun will suffer bad luck, illness or death... For British archaeologist Howard Carter, it was a career-defining discovery and the culmination of years of searching for the lost tomb. Hunt had seemed hopeless after months spent sifting through 70,000 tons of sand and gravel, according to Carter’s obituary in New York Times. But when a workman found a step cut into a chunk of bedrock buried in sand, the stairway it revealed led to the door of the tomb. Carter opened it on Nov. 26, in 1922. Tutankhamen was only about 8-9 when he came to power in 1332 BC. His decade-long rule was relatively unremarkable in Egyptian history; discovery of his tomb was significant instead because it was the first such tomb to be found almost entirely intact. Inside, according to a 1922 New York Times account, stood two life-size statues of the pharaoh wearing solid gold sandals and gold crowns adorned with stylized cobras. The cobras gave local workmen pause, especially after a grim omen later that day. According to the Times, Carter kept a canary as a pet, but that night it was killed by a snake. “The incident made an impression on the native staff, who regard it as a warning from the spirit of the departed King against further intrusion on the privacy of his tomb,” the Times noted. Though not as dramatic as a murderous mummy, it is widely claimed that many people associated with opening the tomb fell soon victim to the curse, dying under mysterious circumstances. The legend gained traction because a few of the people who were involved in finding the tomb did, in fact, die not long after it was opened. The highest profile death associated with the curse is probably that of George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, fifth Earl of Carnarvon, a British aristocrat and amateur Egyptologist who helped finance the search. His death on March 25, 1923 — a year after tomb was opened is widely regarded as mysterious, but, in fact, he suffered from poor health before he arrived in Cairo, and in any event died from a decidedly mundane mosquito-carried disease. The idea of a curse was promoted by no less a prominent person than Sherlock Holmes creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who also wrote a book explaining that fairies were real). Newspapers began reporting the legend of a “Pharoah’s Curse,” which would mean death for anyone who disturbed the ancient rulers’ slumber. The wealthy Brit who financed Carter’s excavation, and who joined him inside the tomb was dead by April — although, as the Times noted, “he had been in bad health.” Eleven other people in the group that entered the tomb with Carter were dead within seven years. In his obituary, the Times points out that Carter, despite being fairly sickly himself, lived long enough to be “the best refutation of the curse.” He may have been too dazzled by the tomb’s gilded treasures to give superstition a second thought — after all, Tut was not, in fact, buried in his jammies. Instead, as TIME reported when his coffin was finally opened three years after the tomb was, he wore golden sandals, a gold-inlaid royal apron, a golden star in the place where his heart had been and “innumerable amulets of beauty and ghostly merit, as well as two swords, jewel-studded.” Over his head and shoulders, Tut wore his now-iconic solid-gold death mask, inlaid with lapis lazuli and precious stones. On his forehead were representations of the deities tasked with protecting him in death: one in the form of a vulture, the other a cobra meant to spit poison at his enemies. The cobra may have taken revenge on Carter’s canary, but it did little to keep the archaeologist from disturbing the pharaoh’s eternal rest. After Carter opened Tut’s sarcophagus, he and his workers “wrenched the golden mask away from the royal mummy,” the BBC reported — and decapitated the Boy King in the process. #archaeohistories

U.S. Army Sergeant Charles Robert Jenkins, who deserted his post and crossed into North Korea in January 1965... In January 1965, 24-year-old Jenkins was on patrol near the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). Fearing he would be sent to fight in the Vietnam War, he walked across the border into North Korea, expecting to seek asylum in the Soviet Union and eventually return home. Instead of being freed, he was held by North Korean authorities for 39 years, 6 months, and 4 days. During this time, he was subjected to harsh living conditions, forced indoctrination, physical abuse, and appeared as an "evil American" villain in North Korean propaganda films. . . . An American soldier crossed into North Korea believing he would eventually find his way home. On January 5, 1965, Sergeant Charles Robert Jenkins deserted his unit near the Korean Demilitarized Zone and walked toward North Korean territory carrying a rifle with a white cloth attached to it. He feared dangerous patrols and the possibility of being sent to fight in Vietnam. His plan, as he later explained, was to seek help through the Soviet embassy and arrange his return to the United States. Instead, North Korean authorities detained him, beginning almost forty years of life under a government he had badly misunderstood. Jenkins was 24 and serving with the United States Army in South Korea. Korean War had ended in an armistice rather than a peace treaty, and the border separating the two Koreas remained heavily militarized. Patrols near the frontier were dangerous, while the expanding American involvement in Vietnam created additional anxiety among soldiers. Jenkins later admitted drinking heavily before making his decision. His fears were real, but his intended solution rested on a disastrous misunderstanding. He imagined that communist North Korea might offer a temporary refuge from which he could eventually return to civilian life. He had little understanding of how the country treated foreigners who entered its territory. North Korean soldiers took him into custody, and the hoped-for journey to Soviet embassy never materialized. Jenkins was interrogated and placed under constant supervision. He eventually lived alongside three other American servicemen who had crossed into North Korea: James Dresnok, Jerry Parrish and Larry Abshier. Men were subjected to political indoctrination, restricted movement and demands of a government that regarded them as propaganda assets. In his later memoir, Jenkins described shortages, beatings and psychological pressure. His recollections must be distinguished from independently documented facts, but his prolonged confinement and use in propaganda are well established. North Korean government put Americans to work teaching English and appearing in films. Their foreign appearance made them useful as characters representing hostile Americans in state productions. Jenkins became recognizable to some North Korean audiences through these roles, even though his freedom remained severely restricted. He had exchanged the possibility of military service in Vietnam for life in a country where he could not decide where to live or travel. Years passed without an opportunity to return home. American authorities classified him as a deserter, while his relatives struggled to understand what had happened to him. His circumstances changed in 1980 when North Korean officials introduced him to Hitomi Soga, a Japanese woman who had been abducted by North Korean agents in 1978. Soga had been taken from Japan with her mother, whose fate remains unresolved. She and Jenkins shared the experience of living in a foreign country without the freedom to leave. They married and eventually had two daughters (Mika and Brinda). Their relationship gave Jenkins a family, but it also created another reason to fear separation. The children grew up in North Korea, and their parents had to consider how any attempt to escape might affect them. #archaeohistories