https://www.facebook.com/106885272493825/

Stories the World Forgot, W 28th Street, New York, NY (2025)

10/31/2025

She was cold, alone, and grief-stricken—then, in 1884, on a remote ranch near Silverton, Colorado, Lila Montgomery did the unthinkable: she survived two weeks of relentless winter after her husband’s death in a mining accident. Born and raised among the mountains, Lila knew the land’s beauty and its cruelty, but nothing had prepared her for the isolation and the gnawing hunger that crept into her bones. Each night, the wind tore across the valley, snow piling against her cabin, yet she kept the fire alive, her hands raw from chopping scraps of wood, her mind fixed on one goal: to endure.
It wasn’t just survival—it was the fierce rhythm of determination. Lila set traps for rabbits, melted snow for water, and rationed every crumb she had left. The cold bit at her fingers, frost formed on her eyelashes, and exhaustion threatened to steal her consciousness. Yet she moved with careful precision, balancing strength and patience, knowing that giving in meant death. Every day became a battle with both the elements and her own despair, and she met each challenge with quiet tenacity that belied her sorrow.
When neighbors finally reached her cabin, they found Lila worn, frostbitten, but unbroken. She had survived on courage alone, a woman who refused to surrender to the mountain and the winter that pressed against her life. Her story spread quietly across the valley, a testament to resilience that needed no witnesses. Yet outside those snowbound hills, who remembers the widow who stared death in the face and chose to keep living? Lila Montgomery’s journey asks the same question all survivors must confront: what would you do when left utterly alone in the world?

10/30/2025

During World War II, a young Belgian schoolteacher named Andrée Geulen noticed something strange. Her Jewish students began arriving at school wearing yellow stars. Most teachers stayed quiet. But Andrée couldn’t.
She joined a resistance network and began secretly moving Jewish children into safe houses. At school, she quietly told them, “If someone comes for you, don’t say your real name.” She memorized each child’s identity to reunite them with their families after the war.
The N***s eventually discovered her work. Soldiers raided the school and questioned her. She stayed calm and denied everything. As soon as they left, she risked her life again—sending more children into hiding before it was too late.
Years later, someone asked why she did it. She simply said, “What else could I do? They were children.”
You don’t have to be powerful to protect others. Sometimes courage is just refusing to look away. Even one quiet voice can save a life when it chooses to act instead of staying silent.

10/29/2025

1901: A Texas farm mother of 12 struggled to feed her family. 1926: She sold tamales at a county fair. 1969: She died at 98 having built a Tex-Mex restaurant empire that reached around the world. Her name was Adelaida Cuellar, and her story is the American Dream with a side of chili and tamales. The Farm: Early 1900sIn the early 1900s, Adelaida Cuellar lived on a modest farm in Kaufman County, Texas, east of Dallas. She had been born in Mexico around 1871 and had immigrated to Texas, settling on land that required backbreaking work and offered little reward. She had twelve children: Isabel, Manuel, Amos, and nine others. Adelaida was widowed (sources rarely mention her husband), leaving her to raise twelve children alone on a farm that barely sustained them. A photograph from around 1901 shows Adelaida with three of her young children on the farm. Life was hard. Days were long. Money was scarce. But Adelaida had something that couldn't be measured in acres or dollars: she could cook. Her chili was legendary among family and neighbors. Her tamales were unforgettable. The recipes came from her Mexican heritage, adapted to Texas ingredients and tastes—what we now call Tex-Mex cuisine.For years, Adelaida cooked to feed her family. The food was survival, comfort, and love wrapped in corn husks and served with beans and rice. She had no idea that her cooking would one day feed millions. The Fair: Mid-1920sBy the mid-1920s, Adelaida's children were growing up. Money was still tight. The farm still demanded endless work. Then, around 1926, Adelaida did something bold: she set up a food stand at the Kaufman County Fair. She made her homemade chili and tamales, carried them to the fairgrounds, and sold them to fairgoers. People couldn't get enough. Lines formed at her stand. People came back for seconds. They asked when she'd be selling again. Word spread: "You have to try that lady's tamales. "When the fair ended, the demand didn't. Adelaida realized something: people would pay for her cooking. Not just neighbors and family—strangers, lots of them. With the help of her twelve children—who were now teenagers and young adults—Adelaida opened a small café in Kaufman. It was modest, family-run, and served the same chili and tamales that had been hits at the fair. The café succeeded. Customers became regulars. The Cuellar family had found something bigger than farming: they had found a business. The Move: 1940By 1940, five of Adelaida's sons saw even greater potential. Dallas was growing. The Oak Lawn neighborhood was developing. Tex-Mex cuisine was gaining popularity across Texas. The brothers—including Manuel "Meme" Cuellar and Miguel "Mike" Cuellar—moved to Dallas and opened a restaurant in Oak Lawn. They named it El Chico ("The Little Boy" in Spanish).The timing was perfect. Dallas was booming. Diners were hungry for the flavors Adelaida had perfected on that Kaufman County farm decades earlier. Cheese enchiladas. Combination plates. Tacos. Chili. Tamales. All based on Adelaida's recipes, adapted for restaurant service.El Chico was an immediate hit. The Empire: 1940s-1960sThroughout the 1940s, 50s, and 60s, El Chico grew. More Dallas locations opened. Then locations across Texas. The chain expanded to other states. Eventually, El Chico would reach over 100 locations at its peak in the 1990s, with franchise locations even in Australia and the UAE. But in the 1960s, as the chain was expanding across Texas and becoming a Tex-Mex institution, Adelaida Cuellar was still alive to see it. She was in her 90s, but she visited the Dallas restaurants regularly. She was the grandmother figure—the matriarch whose recipes formed the foundation of every dish served. Staff knew her. Customers knew her story. She had gone from struggling farm mother to founder of a restaurant empire, all because she could make tamales that people couldn't forget.1969: The End and the Legacy Adelaida Cuellar died in 1969 at approximately 98 years old. She had lived through:
Immigration from Mexico to Texas
Raising twelve children, largely alone, on a struggling farm
The Great Depression
World War II
The birth of Tex-Mex cuisine as a recognized category
The growth of her family's restaurant from a fair stand to a multi-state chain
She had started with nothing but recipes, determination, and a stand at a county fair. She died having seen her cooking served in dozens of restaurants, having fed millions of people, and having built a legacy that would outlive her by generations. Her twelve children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren continued running El Chico. The chain continued expanding through the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, eventually reaching over 100 locations. Today:As of 2024, El Chico still exists. The chain has contracted from its peak (like many restaurant chains), but locations still serve across Texas and beyond. And every dish is still based on Adelaida Cuellar's recipes—the same ones she made on that Kaufman County farm over a century ago. Why This Story Matters: Adelaida Cuellar's story is the American Dream, but it's also more specific than that: It's an immigrant story - She came from Mexico, raised her family in Texas, and succeeded through work and talent. It's a mother's story - She raised twelve children, largely alone, and built a business with them .It's a food story - Tex-Mex cuisine, now a staple of American dining, was pioneered by people like Adelaida who adapted traditional Mexican recipes to Texas ingredients and tastes. It's a Texas story - From Kaufman County farm to Dallas restaurant to statewide chain, this is Texas history. It's a determination story - She could have stayed on that farm, struggling to survive. Instead, at an age when many would retire (she was in her 50s when she opened the café), she started a business. From 1901 to 1969, from farm to empire, from feeding twelve children to feeding millions, Adelaida Cuellar proved that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is share what you know how to make—whether that's tamales, chili, or a future for your family. In 1901, she posed for a photograph with three of her children on a struggling Texas farm. In 1926, she sold tamales at a county fair. In 1940, her sons opened El Chico in Dallas. In 1969, she died at 98, having seen her cooking become a restaurant empire. That's not just a success story. That's a legacy. Have you ever eaten at El Chico? It all started with one determined mother and a recipe for tamales.

10/29/2025

Milton Hershey knew what it felt like to fail.
Before he became the "Chocolate King," he'd failed spectacularly—twice. His first candy business in Philadelphia went bankrupt. His second attempt in New York collapsed too. At 30 years old, he was broke, in debt, and living back with his parents in rural Pennsylvania.
Most people would have quit. Milton tried again.
By 1900, he'd finally succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. The Hershey Chocolate Company was making him millions. He'd built an entire town—Hershey, Pennsylvania—around his factory, complete with homes, parks, and trolley lines for his workers. He married Catherine "Kitty" Sweeney, the love of his life, and they built a mansion overlooking his chocolate empire.
They had everything. Except the one thing they wanted most: children.
Kitty couldn't have biological children. In an era before adoption was common among wealthy families, the Hersheys faced a choice: they could live out their lives in comfort, or they could do something radical.
In 1909, they chose radical.
Milton and Kitty founded the Hershey Industrial School—a boarding school for orphaned boys who had nowhere else to go. Not a charity that sent monthly checks. Not a foundation with their names on a building. A real home where children without families could live, learn, and build futures.
The school started with just four boys. Milton and Kitty personally interviewed each one, making sure they felt wanted, not pitied. The boys lived in homesteads with house parents, attended classes, learned trades, and—crucially—were treated with dignity and love.
Kitty poured herself into the school, visiting constantly, learning the boys' names, asking about their dreams. She saw them not as charity cases but as the children she'd never have.
When Kitty died suddenly in 1915 at just 42 years old, Milton was devastated. Friends assumed he'd abandon the school project—it had been their dream together, and now she was gone.
Instead, he doubled down.
In 1918, Milton Hershey made a decision that shocked the business world: he transferred the majority ownership of the Hershey Chocolate Company—valued at $60 million at the time—into a trust for the school.
Not a portion of his wealth. Not his personal fortune. The entire company.
Every Hershey bar sold would now fund the education of orphaned children. Every Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, every Hershey's Kiss—all of it feeding into a trust that would care for children long after Milton was gone.
Business associates thought he'd lost his mind. "What if the school fails?" they asked. "What if the company struggles?"
Milton's response was simple: "If I wanted to build monuments to myself, I would have done it already. I want to build futures for kids who have none."
He expanded the school, building more homesteads, hiring more teachers, admitting more students. Boys who'd been living in orphanages or on the streets now had warm beds, three meals a day, education, healthcare, and a genuine chance at life.
When Milton Hershey died in 1945 at age 88, he'd given away virtually his entire fortune. He died modestly, in a small apartment in the Hershey Hotel, surrounded by photos of the children his school had helped.
But here's what makes this story extraordinary: it didn't end with his death. It got bigger.
Today—79 years after Milton died—the Milton Hershey School serves over 2,000 students from kindergarten through 12th grade. Every single one attends completely free. No tuition. No fees.
The school provides:

Housing in family-style homes with house parents
All meals, clothing, and school supplies
Medical and dental care
College prep and vocational training
Extracurricular activities and athletics
Career counseling and college scholarships

And the Hershey Trust? It now manages over $17 billion in assets, making it one of the wealthiest educational institutions in America. Every year, millions of chocolate bars fund thousands of childhoods.
The school has evolved too. It's no longer just for orphaned boys—it serves students from low-income families, single-parent homes, and challenging circumstances. Boys and girls. All races and backgrounds. Any child who needs a chance gets one.
Over 11,000 alumni have graduated since 1909. Doctors, teachers, business owners, military officers, artists, engineers—children who started with nothing, given everything they needed to build something.
Because one man remembered what it felt like to fail. And when he succeeded, he didn't ask, "How much can I keep?" He asked, "How many lives can I change?"
Milton Hershey never had biological children. But he's a father to thousands. And every time someone opens a Hershey bar, they're participating in a century-long act of generosity that shows no signs of stopping.
There's a statue of Milton Hershey on the school campus. He's not depicted as a wealthy industrialist in a suit. He's shown kneeling beside a young boy, eye to eye, hand on the child's shoulder.
That's how he saw them. Not as charity cases or tax deductions or PR opportunities. As his children. The ones he and Kitty never had biologically, but loved just the same.
The chocolate empire is still massive. The Hershey's brand is known worldwide. But Milton Hershey's real legacy isn't candy—it's the thousands of children who grew up knowing that someone they never met believed they deserved a chance.
Most billionaires leave their money to children who'll inherit comfort. Milton Hershey left his entire company to children who'd inherit nothing—and gave them everything instead.
That's not just philanthropy. That's love turned into institution. That's grief transformed into hope. That's one couple's dream of parenthood becoming thousands of childhoods worth living.
Every Hershey bar is sweet. But the story behind it? That's even sweeter.

10/28/2025

She escaped across a freeway with 36 cents in her pocket. Seven years later, she was the biggest rock star on Earth.
Dallas, July 1976. A 36-year-old woman sat in a hotel room watching her husband—also her boss, her business partner, and her brutal abuser—sleep.
For sixteen years, Ike Turner had controlled every aspect of Tina's life. He'd beaten her with coat hangers. Burned her with ci******es. Broken her jaw. Made her perform bloodied and bruised. Told her she was nothing without him.
That night, she had a single thought: "The way out is through the door."
So she walked through it.
She ran across a Dallas freeway in the middle of the night, dodging semi-trucks, with nothing but the clothes on her back, 36 cents, and a Mobil gas card in her pocket.
She checked into a Ramada Inn and called her manager to send her money. Then she filed for divorce.
In the settlement, Ike's lawyers came with demands. Tina came with one request: she wanted nothing.
Not the song rights. Not the houses. Not the cars. Not the money from songs she'd sung, albums she'd made famous, tours she'd performed through broken bones and black eyes.
All she wanted was the name: Tina Turner.
That was the name the world knew. That was her only asset. The only thing she could use to rebuild a career from ashes.
Ike got everything else. The masters. The royalties. The property. The catalog.
Tina got the debt from cancelled tour dates and a name that had been famous—past tense.
Most people assumed she was done. A 36-year-old woman who'd just walked away from an abusive marriage and a successful career? In an industry that chewed up and spit out younger, less traumatized people every day?
The smart money said she'd fade into obscurity. Maybe work casino lounges in Vegas. Maybe record for small labels. Maybe just disappear.
For a few years, it looked like the smart money might be right.
She took any gig she could get. She opened for younger acts. She played smaller venues. She worked Vegas, slowly rebuilding her voice, her confidence, her life—while paying off the debt from the marriage she'd escaped.
She saw a thera**st. She practiced her Buddhism—Nichiren chanting that she'd started in 1973, that had given her the strength to finally leave. She spoke publicly about the abuse, giving hope to women trapped in similar situations.
And she refused to give up on herself.
In 1983, she recorded a cover of Al Green's "Let's Stay Together" that started getting attention. Capitol Records took notice. They gave her a shot—but just barely.
Two weeks. That's how long they gave her to record her solo comeback album, "Private Dancer."
Two weeks to prove she wasn't washed up. Two weeks to justify the label's minimal investment. Two weeks to save her career.
Most artists would have panicked. Would have played it safe. Would have tried to recreate what worked before.
Tina Turner, at 44 years old, walked into that studio and recorded one of the greatest rock albums of the decade.
"Private Dancer" didn't just succeed. It exploded. Five times platinum in the U.S. alone. Four Grammy Awards. The single "What's Love Got to Do with It" hit number one.
But here's what really happened: Tina Turner didn't just have a comeback. She became bigger than she'd ever been with Ike.
In the 1980s, Tina Turner became the biggest rock star on the planet.
Not in a category. Not "for her age." Not with an asterisk.
She was headlining stadiums. One night it's The Rolling Stones. The next night, it's Tina Turner.
A Black woman in her mid-40s—an age when the industry usually considers female performers washed up—sitting atop rock and roll like it was her throne.
She sold out arenas across the world. She performed with Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Queen. She became a global phenomenon, bigger internationally than almost any American artist.
That voice—that raw, wildcat-fierce, spine-tingling voice that could tear through any song. Those legs. That dance. That unstoppable energy.
She was 45, 46, 47 years old, outperforming musicians half her age and making it look effortless.
The woman who fled across a freeway with 36 cents had become the Queen of Rock 'n' Roll.
But the best part of her story wasn't the comeback. It was what came after.
In 1986, Tina met Erwin Bach, a German music executive sixteen years younger. She was a superstar. He was a behind-the-scenes industry professional.
They fell in love.
For once, Tina found someone who wasn't intimidated by her fame, her talent, her power. "Erwin, who is a force of nature in his own right," she said, "has never been the least bit intimidated by my career, my talents, or my fame."
They were together for 27 years before marrying in 2013, after she became a Swiss citizen and retired to a palatial estate overlooking Lake Zurich.
Then, in 2016, her kidneys began to fail.
She'd survived poverty, abuse, career destruction, and years of rebuilding. But kidney disease was threatening to end it all.
As a Swiss resident, she had access to assisted su***de. She started making plans.
Erwin stopped her.
"He didn't want another woman, or another life," she said.
He gave her one of his kidneys.
Think about that arc: from a man who broke her bones to a man who gave her his organs. From someone who took everything to someone who gave everything.
Erwin's kidney bought her seven more years—years in a beautiful Swiss home, years of peace, years with a man who loved her enough to literally give part of himself to keep her alive.
She died in May 2023 at age 83. Tina Turner. Born Anna Mae Bullock to sharecroppers in Nutbush, Tennessee.
She left with 36 cents and became royalty.
She survived hell and became a Buddhist who found peace.
She was written off in her 30s and became the biggest rock star in her 40s.
She was abused by one man and cherished by another who gave her his kidney.
She walked out a door with nothing and built everything.
Her voice. Her legs. Her dance. Her survival. Her courage. Her refusal to be anything less than transcendent.
The girl from Nutbush who became the Queen of Rock 'n' Roll.
Simply the best. Better than all the rest.
And she proved it every single day from that Dallas freeway until her final breath in Switzerland.

10/28/2025

Her name was Bryna, and she came from a small village in the Mogilev region of the Russian Empire, in what is now Belarus.
In her youth, she was engaged to a man named Herschel, who left for America with promises and dreams. A year later, he sent money for her passage. In those days before visa requirements, she boarded a ship to join him, carrying nothing but hope for a better life.
They married and settled in Amsterdam, New York—not the glamorous city, but a small mill town. Bryna gave Herschel seven children: six daughters and finally, a son. They named him Issur, though everyone called him Izzy.
But the American dream turned into an American nightmare.
Herschel, who had been a horse trader in Russia, became a ragman in America—collecting junk and scraps to sell. What little money he made, he spent on alcohol and gambling with his friends. He was known throughout the neighborhood as a troublemaker and a bully. Worse still, he was cruel at home—so cold that he never once called his wife by her name. He addressed her only as "Hey, you!"
The family lived in crushing poverty. Bryna, who couldn't read or write, worked her fingers raw taking in laundry and doing whatever jobs she could find. But it was never enough. The children often went hungry.
She would send young Izzy to the Jewish butcher with a simple request: "Please, give me the bones you don't need anymore." She would take those discarded bones and boil them for hours, making a thin soup that kept her family alive for days.
Years later, her son—by then known as Kirk Douglas—remembered those days: "When it was a good day, we would eat omelettes made with water. When it was a bad day, we wouldn't eat at all."
But Bryna never gave up. She held her family together through sheer force of will. And she believed in her son with a fierceness that defied their circumstances. When Izzy talked about becoming an actor—a ridiculous dream for a poor kid from a ragman's family—she encouraged him.
Issur Demsky left that small town and became Kirk Douglas. He became a Hollywood legend, starring in classics like "Spartacus," "Paths of Glory," and "Lust for Life." But he never forgot where he came from. And he never forgot who made it possible.
In 1949, when Kirk formed his own film production company, he gave it a name: Bryna Productions. Not after himself. After his mother.
In 1958, Bryna Productions released "The Vikings," an epic film starring Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis. It was one of the year's biggest movies. And Kirk decided his mother needed to see something.
He took her by the arm and led her to Times Square in New York City. Among the flashing lights and enormous advertisements, he showed her a massive movie poster:
"BRYNA PRESENTS THE VIKINGS"
Her name. The woman who couldn't read. The woman who boiled bones for soup. The woman who was called "Hey, you!" by her own husband. Her name was on a billboard in Times Square.
Bryna Demsky burst into tears. Perhaps the first tears of pure joy she'd ever cried in her difficult life.
That December, just months after seeing her name in lights, Bryna passed away at age 74. Kirk was with her until the very end. Her last words to him were simple and loving:
"Izzy, son, don't be afraid. This happens to everyone."
Even in death, she was still trying to comfort him.
Kirk Douglas lived to be 103 years old. He became one of Hollywood's greatest stars, a producer, a philanthropist, and the father of actor Michael Douglas. But until his death in 2020, he always said the same thing: everything he achieved was because of his mother.
The woman who couldn't write her own name gave the world a legend. The woman who had nothing gave her son everything. And the son who became a star made sure the world would remember her name.
Every film that bore the title "A Bryna Production" was a love letter from a grateful son to the mother who believed in him when he had nothing but dreams.
She deserved to see her name in lights. And her son made sure she did.

10/27/2025

She Said No: The Sicilian Teenager Who Changed Italian Law
Imagine a country in 1965—the year The Beatles released "Yesterday"—where the law said a ra**st could walk free if he married his victim. This was Italy, and it was called "matrimonio riparatore"—the "rehabilitating marriage." The law didn't punish the crime; it aimed to "restore" the woman's supposed lost "honor."

Then came Franca Viola, a 17-year-old girl from Alcamo, Sicily.

The Abduction and the Unthinkable Choice
Franca had broken off a relationship with Filippo Melodia, a local man with mafia ties who couldn't handle rejection. On December 26, 1965, Melodia and a group of armed men stormed her home. They beat her mother. They kidnapped Franca.

For eight days, she was held captive, r***d, and terrorized. All the while, she was pressured: marry him, and all this goes away. Society expected her to submit, marry her attacker, and live a "ruined but salvaged" life.

When she was finally released, the entire town, and even some in her family, waited for the inevitable acceptance.

Franca Viola said no.

The Defiance that Rocked a Nation
With her father's staunch support, Franca refused the marriage and did the unthinkable: she pressed charges.

In Sicily, where honor codes were rigid and the mafia's influence was absolute, the backlash was instant and brutal. The family was shunned. Their fields were set on fire. They became a symbol of "dishonor."

But Franca didn't back down. The ensuing trial became a national media sensation. For the first time, Italians had to look at a law that protected a ra**st and punished the victim.

In 1966, Filippo Melodia was convicted and sentenced to 11 years in prison.

Franca Viola was the first woman in Italian history to publicly refuse the "rehabilitating marriage" and successfully prosecute her ra**st.

The Lasting Legacy
Franca's courage triggered a seismic cultural shift. She was met by Italy's President and even Pope Paul VI, a quiet but powerful acknowledgment of the change she had ignited.

In 1968, she married Giuseppe Ruisi, a childhood friend who loved her as a whole person, not a "dishonored" woman. Their marriage was a living statement: a victim's life is not ruined.

The law, however, took longer to budge.

It wasn't until 1981—15 years after Franca's brave "no"—that the Italian Parliament finally abolished Article 544. Rapists could no longer escape justice by marrying their victims.

Franca Viola never sought fame. She rarely gives interviews, living a quiet life with her family. She simply wanted justice.

But her story proves that sometimes, a single person's refusal to accept injustice—a 17-year-old girl saying "no" to fear, tradition, and the law—can force an entire modern nation to change forever.

A woman’s honor is not defined by what is done to her, but by how she responds.

07/02/2024

Rick Ross asked David Beckham to experience the super aircraft he’s planning to add to his collection

07/02/2024

Bored with Royce Rolls, DJ Khaled bought horses to roam around Miami Beach as a luxury hobby

07/01/2024

Rick Ross hosts golf tournament at 175,000 square foot mansion, including players Lil Wayne, Diddy, Justin Bieber, 21Savage, DJ Khaled

Stories the World Forgot

10/31/2025

10/30/2025

10/29/2025

10/29/2025

10/28/2025

10/28/2025

10/27/2025

07/02/2024

07/02/2024

07/01/2024

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share

Category