In this episode, we explore James K. Polk, the eleventh president of the United States and one of the most effective yet controversial leaders in American history. Known as the first "dark horse" candidate, Polk rose from relative obscurity to win the White House in 1844 on a bold platform of territorial expansion.

During his single term from 1845 to 1849, he achieved every major goal he set, including lowering tariffs, establishing an independent treasury, settling the Oregon boundary, and acquiring vast western lands through the Mexican-American War. Yet his aggressive pursuit of Manifest Destiny reopened the explosive question of slavery in new territories, accelerating the sectional crisis that would erupt into civil war. Join us as we examine Polk’s relentless ambition, his complex relationship with slavery, and the paradox of a president who reshaped the nation while planting seeds of its near destruction.

In this episode of Dave Does History, we uncover the dark, forgotten side of Sir Isaac Newton, the man who defined the laws of motion and gravity but also brought those same laws crashing down on London’s criminal underworld.

When England’s economy teetered on collapse in the 1690s, the Crown turned to Newton, not as a scientist, but as a weapon. As Warden of the Royal Mint, he traded telescopes for testimony, equations for evidence, and used his brilliance to hunt counterfeiters in a city drowning in fraud.

His greatest adversary was William Chaloner, a master criminal bold enough to challenge Newton himself. What followed was a battle of intellect and will that ended at the gallows.

This is the story of Isaac Newton’s war on crime, where the man who measured the heavens proved equally capable of measuring guilt—and enforcing justice.

It was Halloween night, 1837. The Mississippi River was swollen and dark, a restless current running beneath a starless sky. Near Profit Island Bend, north of Baton Rouge, two steamboats met in the black water and changed history. One carried cargo. The other carried over seven hundred Creek men, women, and children forced from their homeland under government contract.

When the Monmouth collided with another vessel, the wooden hull split wide, and within minutes the river swallowed more than three hundred lives. It was the deadliest steamboat disaster on the Mississippi before the Civil War, and one of the most forgotten.

In this episode of Dave Does History, we revisit that tragic night and the world that allowed it to happen. This is not just a story about a wreck. It is a story about removal, greed, and the moment when progress demanded a terrible price.

John Adams was not a marble statue. He was a man of nerves, pride, and passion who helped build a new nation while wrestling with his own humanity. As the second president of the United States and one of the sharpest minds of the Revolution, Adams fought for independence, defended the rule of law, and gave the young Republic its conscience.

In this episode of Dave Does History, we explore the life of a founder who refused to bend to popularity. From his fiery debates in Congress to his complicated friendship with Jefferson, from his partnership with Abigail to his struggle to govern in a divided nation, Adams lived by conviction, not convenience. He left office unloved but undiminished, a man who believed that principle was the soul of freedom. Two centuries later, his stubborn integrity still speaks to the heart of the American experiment.

For thousands of years, the cat has walked beside us, never behind us. It has been worshipped as a god, cursed as a demon, and loved as a companion. From the temples of ancient Egypt to the cobblestone streets of medieval Europe, and now to the quiet hum of our living rooms, cats have shaped human history in ways we are only beginning to understand.

In this episode of Dave Does History, we explore the curious and enduring bond between people and their feline counterparts. We will travel through time to uncover how this creature went from divine protector to persecuted outcast to cherished pet. Along the way, we will see how science now confirms what cat lovers have always known, that these mysterious animals not only soothe our hearts but sharpen our minds. The story of the cat is, in many ways, the story of ourselves.

Today we tell the story of Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens—a name you won’t find carved on the National Mall, but one that should be there all the same. Laurens was born rich in Charleston, fought poor with Washington, and dreamed big enough to try freeing the enslaved in the middle of a slaveholding revolution. He was fearless to the point of foolishness, brilliant to the point of isolation, and loved his friends with a devotion that still stirs debate. He fought for liberty not just for himself, but for everyone, and he died before he could see what little of it the world would allow. This is the story of John Laurens, the soldier who tried to make freedom mean what it said.

The life and legacy of Theodore Roosevelt

Today, we head to the cold, churning waters off Korea in October 1597, where one man and thirteen battered ships faced the impossible. Admiral Yi Sun-sin, disgraced, beaten, and nearly forgotten by his own government, stood against a Japanese invasion force more than twenty times his size. The Battle of Myeongnyang was not supposed to be a victory. It was supposed to be the end. Instead, it became one of the most astonishing triumphs in naval history, a masterclass in courage, discipline, and tactical genius. We’ll look at the man behind the legend, the sea that became his ally, and the battle that saved a nation. This is The Miracle at Myeongnyang: Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s Last Stand.

Welcome to Dave Does History, where the past isn’t distant, it’s alive and muddy. Today we’re going back to October 25, 1415, Saint Crispin’s Day, to a field in northern France that would become one of the most improbable victories in military history. The Battle of Agincourt was more than a clash of swords and arrows. It was a collision of arrogance and endurance, of knights in shining armor sinking into the mud while English longbowmen carved their names into legend.

King Henry V led a starving, sick, and outnumbered army against a force that should have crushed him. What happened next would shatter French pride and reshape warfare for generations. It is a story of faith, fatigue, and the cold, relentless rain that leveled the field between kings and commoners. This is Agincourt, the triumph in the mud, where history bent its knee to the bowstring.

Tonight, we turn to one of the darkest nights in Los Angeles history, October 24, 1871. On that night, a mob of hundreds stormed through Chinatown and lynched at least eighteen Chinese immigrants. The victims were doctors, shopkeepers, and laborers, dragged from their homes and executed in the streets.

This was not a random act of violence. It was the result of years of rising hatred, fear, and resentment aimed at a community that helped build the city itself. The massacre shocked the nation but led to few consequences for those responsible.

In this episode, we’ll uncover what led to that night, what happened in its aftermath, and how the event has been remembered, forgotten, and rediscovered in the long story of America’s struggle with race and justice.

Today we turn back to 42 BCE, to the plains of Macedonia, where the fate of Rome was decided. The Battle of Philippi was not just another clash of legions. It was the final act in the long death of the Roman Republic. On one side stood Brutus and Cassius, men who believed they had saved freedom by killing a tyrant. On the other were Mark Antony and Octavian, men who believed they were avenging Caesar. Their struggle was more than a fight for power. It was a fight over the very idea of Rome itself.

What happened there would shape the next five hundred years of Roman history and leave lessons that still haunt every republic that forgets its purpose.

On an October afternoon in 1777, six hundred cold, hungry Americans waited behind a half-finished wall of mud and timber. Across the field marched two thousand Hessians, drums beating, flags bright in the smoke. The British expected an easy victory. What they got instead was one of the bloodiest, fastest defeats of the war. For forty minutes at Fort Mercer—better known as the Battle of Red Bank—the outnumbered defenders shattered the enemy, sank two British warships, and bought George Washington the time he needed to get his army to Valley Forge.

But there’s more to this story than cannons and courage. It’s about forgotten heroes, Black and Native soldiers written out of history, and a recent discovery that’s forced us to face the battle’s human cost all over again.

In October 1921, President Warren G. Harding traveled deep into the American South to do something no president had ever dared. Standing before a segregated crowd in Birmingham, Alabama, he condemned lynching and declared that democracy was a lie if it excluded Black citizens. It was a moment of courage from a man not known for boldness.

This week on Dave Does History, we look back at Harding’s remarkable speech, the storm it caused, and the larger struggle to pass the Dyer Anti-Lynching Bill. We’ll explore how the NAACP’s relentless campaign helped shape a reluctant president and how a single afternoon in Birmingham challenged the conscience of a divided nation.

Harding’s words didn’t end racial violence, but they cracked the silence that allowed it to thrive. Sometimes, history reminds us that courage can come from the most unexpected places.

In 1774, the American colonies found themselves at a breaking point. Britain had punished Boston for its rebellion, and the rest of the colonies were told to fall in line or face the same fate. Instead, they chose unity. In Philadelphia, delegates gathered for the First Continental Congress and drafted a document that would quietly change everything. It wasn’t a declaration of war. It wasn’t even a call for independence. It was a promise. A pledge to stop buying British goods, to live with restraint, and to enforce those rules on their neighbors.

The Continental Association turned thirteen divided colonies into a single movement. It made ordinary people responsible for defending liberty with their own choices, in their own towns, every day. Before the shots at Lexington, before Jefferson’s words in 1776, this was how America began to act like a nation.

The dust of North Africa still whispers the story. It was October 19, 202 BCE, and two men faced each other across the plains of Zama. On one side, Hannibal Barca, the Carthaginian who had crossed the Alps with elephants and fury. On the other, Scipio Africanus, the Roman who had learned from every one of Hannibal’s lessons and turned them against him. The Battle of Zama ended seventeen years of brutal war and decided who would rule the world. It was the clash of two minds, two nations, and two visions of power. Hannibal fought for survival. Scipio fought for destiny. When the dust settled, Rome stood tall, and Carthage began its long fall into memory. This was not just the end of a war. It was the birth of empire. And it all began in the red dust of Zama.

On October 18, 1775, the sky over Falmouth turned the color of iron and the Royal Navy lit a match. Lieutenant Henry Mowat’s squadron opened fire for nine hours on a coastal town that is now Portland, Maine. The lesson meant to be taught was fear. The lesson that landed was resolve.

Today we tell the story of how a wooden harbor became a furnace, why the British thought terror would tame New England, and how the ashes helped push Congress toward a navy of its own. We will meet the people who ran, the few who fought, and the officers who sailed away convinced they had proved a point.

This is not nostalgia. It is a reminder. When power chooses punishment over law, neighbors choose each other. The bombardment of Falmouth did not end the rebellion. It fed it. Pull up a chair, pour a coffee, and listen in.

On October 17, 1777, the tide of the American Revolution turned on a muddy field beside the Hudson River. British General John Burgoyne, once the pride of London’s military circles, surrendered his sword to American General Horatio Gates in what became known as the Surrender at Saratoga.

This was not just another battle. It was the moment when the world began to believe that the colonies might actually win. The British plan to cut New England off from the rest of the colonies collapsed under poor coordination, stubborn terrain, and fierce American resistance. When Burgoyne’s army finally laid down its arms, six thousand redcoats became prisoners, and a new chapter opened in the war for independence.

The victory at Saratoga convinced France to join the fight, bringing ships, money, and legitimacy to the American cause. The Revolution had found its turning point, and freedom had found its footing.

On October 16, 1793, the streets of Paris echoed with the wheels of a cart carrying a queen to her death. Marie Antoinette, once the glittering symbol of royal grandeur, now sat pale and silent, hands bound, a prisoner called the Widow Capet. Her fall from grace was a slow collapse, born of rumor, resentment, and revolution. The woman who once ruled the most elegant court in Europe became a scapegoat for a starving nation and the embodiment of everything the people despised about monarchy.

In today’s episode, we follow her final journey from the darkness of the Conciergerie to the bright scaffold at the Place de la Révolution. We will look at the trial that condemned her, the words that silenced a courtroom, and the poise that outlasted her crown. This is the story of Marie Antoinette’s last day and the Revolution’s defining moment.

On this episode we head down the flat road into Raft Swamp, where the pines close in and the ground swallows hoofprints. The date is October 15, 1781. The British are about to surrender at Yorktown, but here the fight still decides who controls the Cape Fear country. Loyalists gather on high ground and tear up a bridge, certain that cavalry will balk at water and mud. Major Joseph Graham ignores the script. He drives his dragoons off the road, through the wet, and up onto the causeway. The fight turns fast and rough. Sabres do the work. A rearguard fails. The night ends with trumpet calls and a broken Loyalist army.

This is the end of something in North Carolina. It is also a reminder about boldness and terrain. The last big Tory force in the state dissolves, and the road to Wilmington opens. History does not always turn on a famous field. Sometimes it turns in a swamp.

In the dark, frigid waters of the Cabot Strait, just after midnight on October 14, 1942, the passenger ferry SS Caribou was making her familiar run from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland. Onboard were soldiers heading home, mothers with children, sailors on leave, and the crew who knew every wave of that crossing.

Then, from beneath the black surface, the German submarine U-69 struck. One torpedo, one flash of fire, and within minutes the Caribou was gone, taking more than half of those aboard with her. The escort, HMCS Grandmère, dropped depth charges before turning back to rescue the survivors.

What followed was a night of loss, courage, and bitter questions about duty and humanity at war. This is the story of that attack, of the ship and the people who went down with her, and of a nation that learned just how close the war had come.