Math Puzzles For Kids. These problems are aimed at junior high and high school students.
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What Really Happened to Michael Rockefeller. Everything you could possibly need is here.
It’s teeming with shrimp and crabs and fish and clams. In the jungle there are wild pig, the furry, opossumlike cuscus, and the ostrichlike cassowary. And sago palm, whose pith can be pounded into a white starch and which hosts the larvae of the Capricorn beetle, both key sources of nutrition.
The rivers are navigable highways. Crocodiles 1. 5 feet long prowl their banks, and jet- black iguanas sun on uprooted trees. There are flocks of brilliant red- and- green parrots. Hornbills with five- inch beaks and blue necks. And secrets, spirits, laws and customs, born of men and women who have been walled off by ocean, mountains, mud and jungle for longer than anyone knows.
Until 5. 0 years ago, there were no wheels here. No steel or iron, not even any paper. There’s still not a single road or automobile. In its 1. 0,0. 00 square miles, there is but one airstrip, and outside of the main “city” of Agats, there isn’t a single cell tower. Here it’s hard to know where the water begins and the land ends, as the Arafura Sea’s 1. New Guinea, an invisible swelling that daily slides into this flat swamp and pushes hard against great outflowing rivers. It is a world of satiny, knee- deep mud and mangrove swamps stretching inland, a great hydroponic terrarium.
We were crossing the mouth of the Betsj River, a turbulent place of incoming tide and outrushing water, when the waves slammed and our 3. I crawled forward, reached under a plastic tarp and fumbled blindly in my duffel for the Ziploc bag holding my satellite phone, and slipped it into my pocket. I hadn’t wanted to bring the phone, but at the last minute I’d thought how stupid it would be to die for want of a call. If Michael Rockefeller had had a radio when his catamaran overturned in this exact spot in 1. He was 2. 3 years old, the privileged son of New York Gov.
Nelson Rockefeller, seven months into the adventure of a lifetime that had transformed him from clean- cut student to bearded photographer and art collector. One moment his boat was being tossed by the waves, just as ours was, and the next he and his Dutch companion were clinging to an overturned hull. And then Rockefeller had swum for shore and vanished. No trace of him was ever found, despite a two- week search involving ships, airplanes, helicopters and thousands of locals prowling the coasts and jungle swamps. The fact that such a simple, banal thing had happened to him made what was happening to us feel all the more real.
There would be no foreboding music. One bad wave and I’d be clinging to a boat in the middle of nowhere. The official cause of Michael’s death was drowning, but there had long been a multitude of rumors.
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He’d been kidnapped and kept prisoner. He’d gone native and was hiding out in the jungle. He’d been consumed by sharks. He’d made it to shore, only to be killed and eaten by the local Asmat headhunters.
The story had grown, become mythical. There had been an off- Broadway play about him, a novel, a rock song, even a television show in the 1. Leonard Nimoy. I’d been fascinated with the story ever since I first saw a photo of Michael on his first trip to what was then called Netherlands New Guinea. In it he is kneeling, holding his 3. He was working on a documentary film in the highlands of the Great Baliem Valley.
A SNAP Math fair is not like a traditional science fair. Although there is a superficial resemblance, it differs in its structure and its scope.
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That film, Dead Birds, was a groundbreaking ethnographic examination of a barely contacted, stone- age culture that engaged in constant ritual warfare. The mountains, the mist, the naked men yelling and screaming and attacking one another with spears and bow and arrow, had fascinated and entranced me, as had the whole idea of contact between people from dramatically different worlds. In my 2. 0s, I’d tried to get there, but it was too expensive for my young budget, so instead I’d ended up, briefly, in Borneo. I spent hours looking at that photo, wondering what Michael had seen and felt, wondering what had really happened to him, wondering if I might be able to solve the mystery. That he had been kidnapped or had run away didn’t make sense. If he had drowned, well, that was that.
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Except he’d been attached to flotation aids. As for sharks, they rarely attacked men in these waters and no trace of him had been found. Which meant that if he hadn’t perished during his swim, there had to be more. There had to have been some collision, some colossal misunderstanding.
The Asmat people were warriors drenched in blood, but Dutch colonial authorities and missionaries had already been in the area for almost a decade by the time Michael disappeared, and the Asmat had never killed a white. If he had been murdered, it struck to the heart of a clash between Westerners and Others that had been ongoing ever since Columbus first sailed to the New World. I found it compelling that in this remote corner of the world the Rockefellers and their power and money had been impotent, had come up with nothing. How was that even possible? I started poking around in Dutch colonial archives and the records of Dutch missionaries, and I found more than I’d ever imagined. After the ships and planes and helicopters had gone home, a series of new investigations took place.
Cannibals and Missionaries. Three missionaries and three cannibals want to get to the other side of a river. There is a small boat, which can fit only two. Is this proof a lost Rockefeller heir joined a tribe of naked cannibals? Picture shows white man with Papuan man-eaters eight years after mysterious disappearance. Wolf Sheep & Cabbage: Cannibals & Missioneries: Family Crisis: The Lonely Knight: Elevators Logic: Bags & Signs: Frogs Logic: Queens Logic: Knights Logic: Scales Logic. The Captured by Cannibals trope as used in popular culture. One specific, discredited version of I'm a Humanitarian is the idea that when missionaries or.
There were pages and pages of reports, cables and letters discussing the case, sent by the Dutch government, Asmat- speaking missionaries on the ground and Catholic Church authorities—and most of it had never been made public. Men who had been key participants in those investigations had remained silent for 5. On February 2. 0, 1. Asmat, Nelson Rockefeller introduced the world to a new kind of seeing. He was 4. 9 years old, square- jawed and ambitious, the grandson of Standard Oil founder John D. Rockefeller. At the time of Nelson’s birth, which was announced on the front page of the New York Times, John D.
In two years, Nelson would become the governor of New York. In 1. 96. 0, he would run for the presidency. In 1. 97. 4, he would become vice president of the United States. Inside a family- owned, four- story townhouse with elegantly curving bay windows at 1. West 5. 4th Street—just around the corner from the Museum of Modern Art, which his mother, Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, had helped found—guests began arriving at 8: 3. The things they were celebrating came from a world away. A carved paddle from Easter Island.
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The elongated, exaggerated face of a wooden mask from Nigeria. Pre- Columbian Aztec and Mayan stone figures from Mexico. Around these objects were no ethnographic dioramas, no depictions of African huts or canoes and fishing nets. They rested atop stark white cylinders and cubes, illuminated by track lighting against white walls. They were to be viewed as works of art. Nelson was dressed in the height of New York tribal finery: black tie.
As the guests nibbled canap. Our aim will always be to select objects of outstanding beauty whose rare quality is the equal of works shown in other museums of art throughout the world, and to exhibit them so that everyone may enjoy them in the fullest measure.”Michael Rockefeller was just 1. His father’s pride over the new museum, the exotic beauty and pull of the objects, the cream of New York’s elite admiring them. Michael was tall and slender, clean- shaven and square- jawed like his father, with thick, black- rimmed glasses. He’d grown up with his two sisters and two brothers in the family townhouse in Manhattan and on the Rockefeller estate in Westchester County. As Abby Rockefeller had done with Nelson, so Nelson did with Michael, schooling him in art the way other boys were schooled in baseball, taking him to art dealers on Saturday afternoons. His twin sister, Mary, remembered how they loved to watch their father rearrange his art.
As he neared the end of his four years at Harvard, Michael was, in the words of a friend, “a quiet, artistic spirit.” And he was torn. His father expected his son to be like him—to pursue a career in one of the family enterprises, banking or finance, and indulge his artistic passions on the side. Michael graduated cum laude from Harvard with a B. A. He’d traveled widely, working on his father’s ranch in Venezuela for a summer, visiting Japan in 1. And how could he make his “primitive art”- collecting father prouder than by going to its source and plunging in deeper than the forceful governor and presidential candidate had ever dreamed? At Harvard he met the filmmaker Robert Gardner, who was beginning work on Dead Birds, and signed on as the sound engineer. In the evenings, Heider was astonished to see the wealthiest member of the team darning his socks.
But Michael was ambitious, too. The region was home to people who lived as hunter- gatherers and yet produced carvings of astounding beauty. Only in the mid- 1. Dutch missionaries and government officials begun pacifying the Asmat, but even by 1. Westerner, and inter- village warfare and headhunting remained common. In many ways, the Asmat world at the time was a mirror image of every taboo of the West. In some areas, men had sex with each other.
They occasionally shared wives. In bonding rituals, they sometimes drank one another’s urine. They killed their neighbors, and they hunted human heads and ate human flesh. They weren’t savages, however, but biologically modern men with all the brainpower and manual dexterity necessary to fly a 7. They were pure subsistence hunter- gatherers who lived in a world of spirits—spirits in the rattan and in the mangrove and sago trees, in the whirlpools, in their own fingers and noses. Every villager could see them, talk to them. There was their world, and there was the kingdom of the ancestors across the seas, known as Safan, and an in- between world, and all were equally real.
No death just happened; even sickness came at the hand of the spirits because the spirits of the dead person were jealous of the living and wanted to linger and cause mischief. The Asmat lived in a dualistic world of extremes, of life and death, where one balanced the other.