No, left it at a train station.
A little island in the Indian Ocean disappeared in 1883.
Was that East or West of Java? 
Hut one or Hut two?
I’d think it would be enough for some just to have it to view by themselves whenever they want to.
I’m not sure that makes sense - kinetoscopes (which is the term for what you describe) were gone by the late sixties, and recording live broadcasts on videotape was pretty standard. Of course I have no idea how they actually recorded the moon landing; perhaps they didn’t have a means of connecting the equipment together as they might not have had the same level of standard connectors that they did even a decade later.
It had to do with the format or something the Apollo cameras used a whole new format to film and the signal was sent to the Aussies because they were in Line of sight and it was night here there it had to be converted and such to TV standards.
The score of Thespis, or The Gods Grown Old.
This was the first theatrical collaboration of William S. Gilbert and Arthur S. Sullivan, and was little more than a short farce used as an “after-piece” to follow another, entirely unrelated play. It premiered in December of 1871 and only ran for 63 performances. The libretto was published at the time and has survived mostly intact. The score, however, was withheld by Sullivan, who planned to re-use the music as the occasion saw fit.
As it happened, one such opportunity arose in 1879. By this time, Gilbert and Sullivan’s partnership had produced two moderately successful light operas (Trial By Jury and The Sorcerer) and one certified smash hit (H.M.S. Pinafore). Though tremendously popular on the American side of The Pond, however, Pinafore yielded very little profit to its creators. The copyright laws of the time did little or nothing to prevent theater companies in the U.S. from staging their own productions of the operetta that neither credited nor reimbursed Gilbert, Sullivan and their impresario, Richard D’Oyly Carte. So when the “official” version of H.M.S. Pinafore finally arrived in New York a full year after its London debut, the show had lost its novelty and failed to attract much of an audience. The expedition to “The Colonies”, however, was anything but a failure, as the trio had an ace up their collective sleeves. Gilbert and Sullivan had already been hard at work on their follow-up piece, and kicked into overdrive (so to speak) to have it ready ahead of schedule. As 1879 came to a close, the plot to foil the copyright pirates went into action, and on December 30, the curtain rose on a single, unadvertised performance of The Pirates of Penzance at Royal Bijou Theatre, Paignton, England. The very next day, the opera received a full-scale, red-carpet premiere at the Fifth Avenue Theater in New York. With these near-simultaneous openings, Gilbert, Sullivan, and D’Oyly Carte had secured their production rights in the both the U.S. and the U.K., paving the way for many future successful collaborations.
So where does the score of Thespis come into it? Well, as it turns out, Sullivan found when he arrived in New York that he had left his nearly-completed score for Act I of Pirates back in England. He set about reconstructing it, but found himself unable to recall all of the music he had written. Fortunately, he did have a copy of the Thespis score, and simply grafted one of its songs neatly into an appropriate spot. The lyrics required only the merest alteration, and “Climbing over rocky mountain” has taken its place as one of the best known numbers from The Pirates of Penzance, despite the fact that the Penzance seashore does not, in fact, have any mountains.
Neither Gilbert nor Sullivan made any effort to mount a revival production of Thespis – it’s likely they looked upon the early collaboration as something of an embarrassment. Unproduced, unpublished and neglected, the majority of the score simply passed out of history. Many musicologists have sought to prove one song or another from the various succeeding operas to be a cannibalized leftover from Thespis, but to little effect. Along the same lines, multiple “reconstructions” have been attempted (to varying degrees of acclaim) some taking the cannibalization approach, and others employing original compositions in Sullivan’s distinctive style. All remains mere academic speculations, however, until the golden day when the lost score of Gilbert & Sullivan’s earliest collaboration is unearthed at last.
Here’s the Apollo footage story (from 2006):
And then…
However, note this (recent story):
That may contradict the previous article’s explanation, or it may be a major oversimplification of the other explanation.
So this recent Remaster looks to be just a remaster of what was broadcast over commercial TV–i.e., not using the original, higher-quality footage.
Shakespeare’s Cardenio and Love’s Labour Won.
(Unless they’ve been mentioned earlier, in which case feel free to make fun of me).
They decided not to show anyone the high-quality footage. The problem was that you could clearly see, in the depths of space behind the Apollo landing module:
<== SOUNDSTAGE 2 ===
=== CAFETERIA ==>
Why, yes, I am kidding.
I hope.
I think that was thrown away rather than lost.
While legends of the Confederate Treasury’s gold are overblowm (there was never that much gold as compared to the U.S. treasury and most of it was spent long before the war was over) there is credible evidence that some gold bars and thousands of pounds of silver evacuated from Richmond in the final days of the war is buried, probably somewhere around Danville, Virginia. There have been many searches but nothing that fruitful so far. Some experts believe that it was retrieved by those who knew where it lay and some even believe it may have come into the possession of John Tyler’s New York widow, but most believe it was left wherever it was buried.
Charles Guiteau was known to be a nutcase long before he got it into his head to shoot James Garfield which he did to unify the Republican party, to get revenge for Garfield’s failure to make Guiteau ambassador to France in spite of poor Charlie having written numerous letters asking him nicely, to promote the sales of Guiteau’s (almost completely plagiarized) book on religion, and a general “why the hell not?” thinking. He did have some method to his madness though, and he wanted to make sure the gun he used would look good in a museum. Unfortunately the one with the ivory handles that he liked was more than his budget and his brother (who was long used to Guiteau’s nutty requests and begging for money and so probably thought little to nothing of it when he rattled off something about going to shoot the president) wouldn’t loan him the extra $1.00 he asked for, so he had to go with the .442 Webley pistolhe could afford.
Ironically the gun whose posterity he spent so much time in choosing is now missing. It disappeared from archive shelves many years ago.
Thanks, DD. Every time I saw that scene, I was wondering where that prop wound up – didn’t dare think it was destroyed. I wonder what prompted J L to give it to William Conrad.
Found by Jimmy Durante!
In an other musical loss, we may never find the Mothership. I blame Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk.
There’s enough fragments of the Holy Cross around to make a set of three… maybe some are from St Dimas and the other guy who got crucified at the same time.
And the Cathedral of Valencia has the Holy Grail, or at least claims to. In its current form, it’s the kind of cup you’d use for Communion wine, but the metal-and-jewels setting/stem are a medieval addition to the original set of dish (now the foot) and bowl (now the bowl of the cup). The composition and style are consistent with a set of “good dishes” in 1st Century Palestine.
There’s enough mentions of this same point in this thread to make up two or three threads on the same subject 
Actually, I would go and buy a known copy of some picture if I had the stolen one, and destroy secretly the replica, and let the real one be known as the replica.
There are frequently copies of famous paintings for sale. Most people wouldnt know a real Rembrandt or Van Gogh if it bit them on the nose.
If it bit me on the nose, it’s probably not a Rembrandt. It might, however, be a Van Gogh.
The dodo.
Nothing to add to the Falcon point, but I’ll just throw in this irrelevant tidbit: NBC newsman Chet Huntley’s widow later married William Conrad.