Anna Claypoole Peale was born on this day in 1791, into the remarkable Peale family of Philadelphia — a household where painting was both a vocation and a shared language. Under the guidance of her father, James Peale, she learned the demanding craft of miniature portraiture, a discipline that required patience, delicacy, and an eye for the smallest truths.

By her early thirties, she had become one of the finest miniaturists in the young republic. Statesmen, diplomats, and military officers sat for her, including figures such as Senator William Pinkney, General Andrew Jackson, and Secretary of War John C. Calhoun — men who shaped the early nation and trusted her to capture their likeness in a space no larger than a locket.

In 1824, she and her sister Sarah Miriam Peale were elected to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, the first women to receive that distinction. Her portraits endure in their clarity and restraint: calm faces, steady gazes, and the unmistakable touch of an artist who understood how to render a life in inches.

Though she later stepped back from public work, her legacy remains woven into the early visual record of the United States — a life shaped not by spectacle, but by the dignity of a craft carried forward with care.

Image of Anna painted by her father James when she was about 14 years old.

Before dawn on this day in 1836—around 5 a.m.—Mexican forces under General Antonio López de Santa Anna launched their final assault on the Alamo after a 13‑day siege. Fewer than 200 Texian defenders held the former mission as troops attacked from multiple directions in the darkness, breaching the outer walls within minutes.

Driven back from the palisade and outer defenses, the defenders made their final stands inside the Long Barrack and ultimately the chapel, where the last and most desperate hand‑to‑hand fighting occurred. William Barret Travis was killed early in the battle. James Bowie was gravely ill and unable to stand. David Crockett’s fate remains debated, but all combatant defenders were killed or executed after the fighting ended. Roughly 15 to 20 noncombatants—women, children, and enslaved people—survived and were released.

Modern estimates place Mexican casualties between 400 and 600, though some early accounts claimed far higher numbers. The battle was largely over by sunrise, ending in less than ninety minutes.

The fall of the Alamo did not end the revolution, but it reshaped it. News of the defeat spread quickly, drawing volunteers to the Texian cause and cementing the battle’s place in American memory. Today, the Alamo and the city of San Antonio mark the anniversary with commemorations, including the annual Dawn at the Alamo ceremony.

Image: The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Picture Collection, The New York Public Library. “Battle of the Alamo.” The New York Public Library Digital Collections. http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e0-f7a6-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Susanna Dickinson, one of the few on the side of the Texians, who survived the siege of the Alamo.

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

LUSITANIA, New York City: view of bow with tugs, March 6, 1914

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

Born March 6, 1905 in Kosse, Texas Bob Wills – the King of Western Swing – was a singer, songwriter, fiddler, and bandleader. That’s Bob (front, center) with his Texas Playboys on tour. When asked in 1957 about rock-n-roll he replied “Why man, that’s the same kind of music we’ve been playin’ since 1928!”

Image via Wikimedia Commons, no known copyright, public domain in the US.

On this day in 1944, the United States mounted one of its largest daylight bombing raids of the war, sending roughly 700 B‑17 Flying Fortresses and other heavy bombers deep into the heart of Nazi Germany. Flying straight into the Reich’s defenses in broad daylight was a uniquely American strategy — costly, determined, and aimed at breaking the industrial power that sustained Hitler’s war machine.

Nearly ten percent of the aircraft that took off that morning never returned, a measure of both the danger and the resolve behind the mission. Throughout the war, American and Allied aircrews would drop more than a million tons of explosives on Germany, targeting factories, rail lines, and military infrastructure in an effort to shorten the conflict and weaken the regime’s ability to fight.

Image: Group of B-17 Flying Fortress bombers via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

On March 6, 1923, U.S. Marine Veteran and Tonight Show sidekick, Ed McMahon, was born in Detroit, Michigan

Image of Ed McMahon and Johnny Carson in the 1960s
via Wikimedia Commons, no known restrictions

Comedians Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in the NBC radio studios in 1942.

Lou Costello was born on March 6, 1906 in Paterson, New Jersey.

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

Crowds gathered at Harvard University on March 6, 1902 which was the day when Prince Henry of Prussia received an honorary doctorate (LL.D.) from Harvard during his visit to the United States.

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

On March 6, 1921, the top-grossing film of that year, “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” was released.

Image: Publicity photo of Rudolph Valentino from “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” in 1921 via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

In just two takes the Everly Brothers recorded their hit song “All I Have to Do Is Dream” on March 6, 1958

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

General of The Army, Philip Sheridan, was born on March 6, 1831 in Albany, New York.

During the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, Sheridan was in Chicago at the time. He coordinated relief efforts during the tragedy, and because of this, he and his wife were later gifted a home in Washington, D.C., by the citizens of Chicago.

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain

On March 6, 1943 “Freedom from Want,” the famous painting by Norman Rockwell, was published in the Saturday Evening Post.

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain in the US.

Group photo of more than 100 members of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce during their excursion to Pomona, California on March 6, 1903

Image via Wikimedia Commons, public domain in the US.

A look down Pike Street toward the Manhattan Bridge in New York.

March 6, 1936

Image via NYPL, public domain

“The latest photograph of President Lincoln – taken on the balcony at the White House, March 6, 1865”

via Library of Congress, no known restrictions

“But we must, like other States engaged in the like glorious Struggle, contend with Difficulties. By Perseverance, and the Blessing of God, I trust, if we continue to deserve Freedom, we shall be enabled to overcome them. To that Being, in whose Hands is the Fate of Nations, I recommend you, and the Army under your Command.”

John Hancock to George Washington in a letter dated March 6, 1776

Image: Bust of George Washington from 1786 by French sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon, photo from Wolfgang Sauber via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY 3.0

March 6, 1912 — The First Oreo Goes on Sale

On this day in 1912, grocer S.C. Thuesen of  1026 Washington Street in Hoboken sold the first tin of Nabisco’s new “Oreo Biscuit.” Baked across the river at the Chelsea factory in Manhattan—now Chelsea Market—and priced at 25 cents a pound, it was an unremarkable purchase at the time. Encased in a metal tin with a glass lid, these two chocolate wafers and pale cream filling marked the beginning of one of America’s most enduring foods.

From that single transaction in the “Mile Square City,” the Oreo began its long climb into everyday life, eventually becoming the best-selling cookie in the world.

On this day in 1831, Edgar Allan Poe was dismissed from West Point after deliberately stepping away from the routines that governed cadet life. He stopped appearing at roll call, skipped drills and classes, and even ignored mandatory church parades — a calculated unraveling of his duties once he knew the Academy no longer held a future for him.

The break with his foster father, John Allan, had reached its end. When Poe sent a final letter asking Allan to support his resignation, Allan turned the page over and wrote on the back that it was “the most barefaced one‑sided statement,” a margin note that made his rejection unmistakable. He disowned Poe soon afterward.

Within weeks, Poe reached New York — thinly clad, nearly penniless — relying on contributions from sympathetic cadets to publish Poems, the small volume that marked the beginning of the life he chose for himself.