The History of April Fools’ Day

Illustration by Sam Island Facebook Twitter LinkedIn

April Fools’ Day dates back more than 400 years; it’s even older than Thanksgiving (no joke!). Which means there have been lots of chances for good mischief.

In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII introduced the Gregorian calendar, moving the start of the new year to January from April. And thus, those who kept celebrating the old new year were ridiculed as

“April fools,” which eventually led to a new unofficial holiday, historians suggest.

The first documented April fools’ prank took place in London. A clever Brit announced a special event at the Tower of London: “See the Lions washed.” No such public cleansing of jungle cats

was planned, but the announcement drew a crowd of rubes.

The earliest recorded American April fools’ prank took place in Middletown, Connecticut, where an anonymous handbill promised a marketplace with a demand for “fool’s coats.” The ad specified

that sellers should bring coats that were “predominante” in yellow, with lots of tin bells and tassels, including “seven on the right shoulder.” 

When residents of Sitka, Alaska, awoke to see smoke rising from the crater of a long-dormant Mount Edgecumbe, officials scrambled to respond to a possible volcanic eruption. It was an

elaborate stunt, three years in the making. Oliver “Porky” Bickar led a group of people who had piled hundreds of tires and greasy rags in the volcano’s crater and set them on fire — and

spray-painted “APRIL FOOL” on the snow.

The official magazine of the British army reported that its guards’ fur helmets needed regular trimming because the bear pelts used were so thick that the hair continued growing. The London

Daily Express reprinted the article — perhaps because the prank story promised that the bearskin growth hormone “can be put to use in medical research — especially into baldness.”

1983: Some meta mischief

When an Associated Press reporter asked history professor Joseph Boskin about the origins of April Fools’ Day, the Boston University academic jokingly cited a fictitious King Kugel — the

name inspired by a friend’s favorite noodle dish. The next day, the professor was shocked to learn that the reporter had run the King Kugel gag as fact.