Agatha Sloboda

While visiting Moscow, a group of American tourists had encountered a flurry of questions from curious Russians, “what was the price of an American automobile, what did Americans think of ‘beat generation’ writers, how many Americans were unemployed?” When the interrogation broached the subject of music, one American boasted familiarity with Shostakovich, Khachaturian, and Prokofiev. “And,” one Russian chimed in, “is Willis Conover highly regarded in the United States?” Russian eyes widened, American brows furrowed, and a puzzled silence ensued.

When Loren Pope learned of the acclaimed architect Frank Lloyd Wright, he spent months working up the courage to mail him a letter. "There are certain things a man wants during life, and, of life," Pope divulged in 1941. "Material things and things of the spirit. The writer has one fervent wish that includes both. It is for a house created by you." Wright penned in response, "Of course I'm ready to give you a house." Their earnest collaboration resulted in a humbly exquisite Falls Church home. Pope's wish had come true, but mere wishful thinking would not be enough to save the house from highway builders in the 1960s.

As a centuries-old legend has it, three young women attempted to cross the Potomac River late one night. They drowned in a horrific storm, however, and marked the place of their deaths with a cluster of rocks: the Three Sisters Islands. Today's kayakers and canoe paddlers may not feel the dread of the three sisters' curse, but their final promise may explain D.C.'s failure to build a bridge over these islands. If we cannot cross the river here, then nobody else ever will. The unbuilt Three Sisters Bridge played a crucial role in mid-20th century politics, especially the subway vs. freeway debates that would determine the future of transit in the nation's capital.