Events

A massive chunk of Arizona's wilderness suddenly got federal protection — and nobody saw it coming. President Theodore Roosevelt, an avid outdoorsman who'd personally explored the region, signed the proclamation that would preserve 808,120 acres of raw, breathtaking terrain. And he did it without Congress's approval, using presidential power to shield the canyon's towering red rocks and impossible depths from mining and logging. Sixteen years before it became a national park, Roosevelt ensured this geological marvel would remain untouched, a cathedral of stone carved by the Colorado River's relentless persistence.

Twelve-year-old Leonard Thompson was dying. Skeletal, barely conscious, he'd been in a Toronto hospital ward for months—another victim of what doctors called a "death sentence" disease. But Canadian researchers Frederick Banting and Charles Best had other plans. They'd extracted insulin from dog pancreases and were ready to try something radical. The first injection didn't work. But a refined dose two weeks later? Thompson stabilized. Suddenly, type 1 diabetes wasn't an automatic death sentence. And a medical miracle was born.