Amanda''s Magic Hands

11/22/2025

Carol Bissel

In 1889, her husband died and left her a failing company. The bank said sell. Her family said sell. She said "watch me build an empire."
March 1889. Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Anna Bissell watched her husband die from pneumonia in their bedroom. He was 45. She was 42.
Melville left her with five children to raise alone, a struggling carpet sweeper factory teetering on bankruptcy, and a choice no woman had ever faced.
Everyone—family, friends, business associates, the banks—told her the same thing: Sell the company. Take whatever you can get. Retreat into quiet widowhood like a proper lady.
It was 1889. Women couldn't vote in most states. They couldn't serve on juries. In many places, they couldn't control their own money or property. Female business leadership was so rare it was practically mythological.
The boardrooms were closed. The banks were skeptical. Society was hostile.
Anna Bissell didn't care.
She walked into that boardroom and took the helm. Not as a temporary caretaker. Not as a figurehead while men made the real decisions.
She was going to run this company. And she was going to make it legendary.
But here's the thing: she'd already saved the company once.
Rewind to 1883.
Anna Sutherland had been born in Nova Scotia in 1846. Smart, ambitious, working as a teacher by age 16 when most girls her age were just hoping to marry well.
At 19, she married Melville Bissell and moved to Grand Rapids. They opened a crockery shop together. Business was decent—until they noticed a problem.
The wooden shipping crates shed sawdust everywhere. It ground into their store carpets and was impossible to clean. Brooms just pushed it around.
So Melville invented something revolutionary: a mechanical carpet sweeper with rotating brushes that actually picked up dirt instead of scattering it.
Brilliant invention. But Melville was an inventor, not a salesman.
Anna? Anna could sell anything.
She hit the road with prototypes. Door-to-door. Town-to-town. She walked into general stores and demonstrated these sweepers with such passion that skeptical shop owners couldn't resist.
She convinced John Wanamaker—the man who pioneered the modern department store—to stock Bissell sweepers on his shelves.
That deal alone changed everything. Anna became the company's top salesperson.
Then in 1884, disaster struck. Fire gutted their entire factory.
Most businesses would have collapsed. The insurance barely covered a fraction of the loss.
Anna walked into every bank in Grand Rapids. She leveraged her reputation, her relationships, every connection she'd built. She secured the loans they needed.
Within three weeks, they were back in business.
Melville got the credit. But Anna had saved them.
Five years later, when Melville died, she didn't just save the company—she transformed it.
Anna understood what most business leaders of her era didn't: a great product needs great branding.
She aggressively protected patents and trademarks. She created consistent, recognizable branding. She expanded internationally—taking Bissell sweepers to Europe, Latin America, Asia.
She landed the ultimate endorsement: Queen Victoria demanded that Buckingham Palace be "Bisselled" every week.
By 1899—just ten years after taking over—Bissell was the largest carpet sweeper company in the world.
But profit wasn't her only metric.
In an era when workers were treated as disposable machinery, when 12-hour days and dangerous conditions were the norm, Anna created something radical.
She introduced one of America's first pension plans. She provided workers' compensation for injuries—decades before it became law. She offered paid vacation time.
She knew every employee by name. Asked about their families. Showed up at their weddings and funerals.
During the 1893 economic depression, when companies across America laid off thousands, Anna refused to fire a single person. She reduced hours and found other roles to keep everyone employed.
Her workers didn't just respect her. They loved her.
The Bissell company has never had a strike in its entire 140+ year history. Not one. That's Anna's legacy written in loyalty.
But she didn't stop at the factory gates.
She founded the Bissell House—a community center offering recreation and training programs for immigrant women and children. She served on boards for children's homes and hospitals.
She became the first female trustee of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The only woman in the National Hardware Men's Association for years.
One of her children later wrote: "Her chief joy was to find homes for destitute children. She has placed four hundred at least."
Four hundred children found families because of Anna Bissell.
Anna ran Bissell as CEO from 1889 to 1919—thirty years.
Then she served as board chairman until her death in 1934 at age 87.
She raised five children as a single mother.
She built a struggling factory into an international brand.
She pioneered labor practices that wouldn't become standard for decades.
She proved that compassion and capitalism could coexist.
Today, Bissell is still a family company, still headquartered in Grand Rapids. It holds about 20% of the North American floor care market and is worth approximately $1 billion.
In 2016, a seven-foot bronze statue of Anna Bissell was unveiled in downtown Grand Rapids.
But her real monument isn't made of bronze.
It's every pension plan. Every workers' compensation policy. Every female CEO who followed her path.
In 1889, the world told Anna Bissell to step aside because women couldn't lead.
She stepped up instead. And swept away every argument against her.
Not by being ruthless. Not by becoming like the men who tried to keep her out.
By being exactly who she was: brilliant, compassionate, and absolutely unstoppable.
The world said women couldn't build empires.
Anna Bissell built one anyway—and made sure it lifted everyone up along the way.
Anna Bissell (1846-1934)
Teacher. Salesperson. CEO. Pioneer.
America's first female CEO of a major manufacturing company.
She didn't just break the glass ceiling. She swept it clean.

11/22/2025

In 1889, her husband died and left her a failing company. The bank said sell. Her family said sell. She said "watch me build an empire."
March 1889. Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Anna Bissell watched her husband die from pneumonia in their bedroom. He was 45. She was 42.
Melville left her with five children to raise alone, a struggling carpet sweeper factory teetering on bankruptcy, and a choice no woman had ever faced.
Everyone—family, friends, business associates, the banks—told her the same thing: Sell the company. Take whatever you can get. Retreat into quiet widowhood like a proper lady.
It was 1889. Women couldn't vote in most states. They couldn't serve on juries. In many places, they couldn't control their own money or property. Female business leadership was so rare it was practically mythological.
The boardrooms were closed. The banks were skeptical. Society was hostile.
Anna Bissell didn't care.
She walked into that boardroom and took the helm. Not as a temporary caretaker. Not as a figurehead while men made the real decisions.
She was going to run this company. And she was going to make it legendary.
But here's the thing: she'd already saved the company once.
Rewind to 1883.
Anna Sutherland had been born in Nova Scotia in 1846. Smart, ambitious, working as a teacher by age 16 when most girls her age were just hoping to marry well.
At 19, she married Melville Bissell and moved to Grand Rapids. They opened a crockery shop together. Business was decent—until they noticed a problem.
The wooden shipping crates shed sawdust everywhere. It ground into their store carpets and was impossible to clean. Brooms just pushed it around.
So Melville invented something revolutionary: a mechanical carpet sweeper with rotating brushes that actually picked up dirt instead of scattering it.
Brilliant invention. But Melville was an inventor, not a salesman.
Anna? Anna could sell anything.
She hit the road with prototypes. Door-to-door. Town-to-town. She walked into general stores and demonstrated these sweepers with such passion that skeptical shop owners couldn't resist.
She convinced John Wanamaker—the man who pioneered the modern department store—to stock Bissell sweepers on his shelves.
That deal alone changed everything. Anna became the company's top salesperson.
Then in 1884, disaster struck. Fire gutted their entire factory.
Most businesses would have collapsed. The insurance barely covered a fraction of the loss.
Anna walked into every bank in Grand Rapids. She leveraged her reputation, her relationships, every connection she'd built. She secured the loans they needed.
Within three weeks, they were back in business.
Melville got the credit. But Anna had saved them.
Five years later, when Melville died, she didn't just save the company—she transformed it.
Anna understood what most business leaders of her era didn't: a great product needs great branding.
She aggressively protected patents and trademarks. She created consistent, recognizable branding. She expanded internationally—taking Bissell sweepers to Europe, Latin America, Asia.
She landed the ultimate endorsement: Queen Victoria demanded that Buckingham Palace be "Bisselled" every week.
By 1899—just ten years after taking over—Bissell was the largest carpet sweeper company in the world.
But profit wasn't her only metric.
In an era when workers were treated as disposable machinery, when 12-hour days and dangerous conditions were the norm, Anna created something radical.
She introduced one of America's first pension plans. She provided workers' compensation for injuries—decades before it became law. She offered paid vacation time.
She knew every employee by name. Asked about their families. Showed up at their weddings and funerals.
During the 1893 economic depression, when companies across America laid off thousands, Anna refused to fire a single person. She reduced hours and found other roles to keep everyone employed.
Her workers didn't just respect her. They loved her.
The Bissell company has never had a strike in its entire 140+ year history. Not one. That's Anna's legacy written in loyalty.
But she didn't stop at the factory gates.
She founded the Bissell House—a community center offering recreation and training programs for immigrant women and children. She served on boards for children's homes and hospitals.
She became the first female trustee of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The only woman in the National Hardware Men's Association for years.
One of her children later wrote: "Her chief joy was to find homes for destitute children. She has placed four hundred at least."
Four hundred children found families because of Anna Bissell.
Anna ran Bissell as CEO from 1889 to 1919—thirty years.
Then she served as board chairman until her death in 1934 at age 87.
She raised five children as a single mother.
She built a struggling factory into an international brand.
She pioneered labor practices that wouldn't become standard for decades.
She proved that compassion and capitalism could coexist.
Today, Bissell is still a family company, still headquartered in Grand Rapids. It holds about 20% of the North American floor care market and is worth approximately $1 billion.
In 2016, a seven-foot bronze statue of Anna Bissell was unveiled in downtown Grand Rapids.
But her real monument isn't made of bronze.
It's every pension plan. Every workers' compensation policy. Every female CEO who followed her path.
In 1889, the world told Anna Bissell to step aside because women couldn't lead.
She stepped up instead. And swept away every argument against her.
Not by being ruthless. Not by becoming like the men who tried to keep her out.
By being exactly who she was: brilliant, compassionate, and absolutely unstoppable.
The world said women couldn't build empires.
Anna Bissell built one anyway—and made sure it lifted everyone up along the way.
Anna Bissell (1846-1934)
Teacher. Salesperson. CEO. Pioneer.
America's first female CEO of a major manufacturing company.
She didn't just break the glass ceiling. She swept it clean.

11/21/2025

11/21/2025

Carol Bissel

11/21/2025

Randy Randy, way to go!

A male guinea pig nicknamed “Randy” made headlines after escaping his enclosure at Hatton Country World in Warwickshire and sneaking into a pen with more than 100 females. Over the next few weeks, staff realized he had reportedly impregnated most of them leaving the tiny escape artist with an estimated 400 offspring on the way.

Caretakers think a simple enclosure mix-up or a well-timed escape gave Randy access he was never supposed to have. The result was a sudden guinea pig population boom that required extra pens, extra food, and a lot of unexpected management.

It’s the kind of story that sounds too unbelievable to be real yet it’s now a legendary moment among zookeepers and an instant hit with anyone who hears it.

02/10/2025

02/10/2025

02/10/2025

Susan Sarandon and David Bowie’s paths crossed in the early 1980s while working on "The Hunger" (1983), a visually arresting horror film directed by Tony Scott. The movie featured Sarandon as a scientist and Bowie as a centuries-old vampire caught in a desperate struggle against time. Their characters shared an intimate connection, and behind the scenes, the two stars found themselves irresistibly drawn to each other. Bowie’s enigmatic aura and profound intellect fascinated Sarandon, while she captivated him with her fierce independence and quick wit. Their secret romance, unknown to the public for decades, was an intense but fleeting chapter in both their lives.

At the time, Sarandon had recently ended a long-term relationship with filmmaker Louis Malle, and she was not looking for anything serious. Bowie, on the other hand, was already a global icon, known for his ever-evolving artistry and magnetic presence. What made their connection remarkable was not just their physical attraction but their shared curiosity about life. They bonded over existential conversations, literature, music, and philosophy. Bowie, with his insatiable intellect, introduced Sarandon to new ideas and perspectives, while she admired his ability to reinvent himself constantly. Their time together was marked by deep conversations and a mutual appreciation for artistic expression.

Though their affair remained private for years, Sarandon later acknowledged how extraordinary Bowie was, describing him as “a really interesting person” with a brilliant mind. She recalled how he encouraged her to explore new creative avenues and challenged her in ways few others had. Their relationship, however, was destined to be short-lived. Sarandon was clear about her decision not to have more children at that stage in her life. Bowie, who had a son from his first marriage and would later have a daughter with his second wife, Iman, respected her stance. This difference in life goals ultimately led to their amicable separation.

Despite their romance ending, the two remained close friends. Bowie’s ability to remain connected with past lovers and maintain friendships was well-known, and Sarandon was no exception. They continued to admire each other from afar, occasionally crossing paths over the years. Sarandon later revealed that Bowie had a lasting impact on her, calling him "extraordinary" not just as an artist but as a human being. His influence lingered long after their relationship ended.

In the final days of Bowie’s life, Sarandon had the opportunity to reconnect with him. She was one of the few who knew about his illness before the public did. When he passed away in 2016, she expressed her grief, speaking of how unique and irreplaceable he was. For Sarandon, their time together was brief but transformative, leaving her with memories of a man whose mind, charm, and spirit remained unmatched.

02/08/2025