The Scientific American article from February 1943 described the Seabees as “the newest branch of the Navy, and one of our most dramatic and romantic services.” The name is derived from the phonetic spelling of “CB”, or “Construction Battalion.” Officially created by Rear Adm. Ben Morell, then chief of the Navy’s Bureau of Yards and Docks, on March 5, 1942, the Seabees were seen as a necessity after the attacks on Pearl Harbor. It became clear that troops and bases would be needed in far-off parts of the Pacific, and it was too dangerous for civilians to do the work. The first Seabees headquarters was established at a naval base in Davisville, R.I. There, Camp Thomas was set up as a personnel receiving station, and Camp Endicott as the Naval Construction Training Center. A second base, Camp Allen, was later established in Norfolk, Va.

The Seabees logo was designed by Frank J. Iafrate, a civilian plan file clerk at the Naval Air Station in Quonset Point, R.I., who later joined the group. It is described in the article as “a zooming bee, with white Navy hat perkily cocked above the fighting-mad expression on his tough face, with spitting Tommy gun in his forehands, streaks across the hawser-encircled blue background of the insignia.” The bee carries a hammer and wrench to symbolize technical capabilities, and also the badges of a gunner’s mate, machinist’s mate and carpenter’s mate.

Recruitment for the Seabees focused more on technical skills and labor experience than physicality. It’s members include men who worked as blacksmiths, carpenters, electricians, mechanics, painters, pipe-fitters, plumbers, riggers, steelworkers, cooks, launderers, draftsmen, sail-makers, divers, doctors and dentists—to name a few. Combat and construction were the core tenants of the outfit, and their motto, “Construmus Batumius,” or “We Build, We Fight” summed up the attitude needed to join. Scientific American’s article put it this way, “…if you’re over 16 and under 51, still in good health, and want to line up with a two-fisted crew of really tough hombres who fight with one hand and build naval bases with the other, you may volunteer for service in the Seabees.”

New recruits went through boot camp, similar to that of other military divisions, but with more focus on the technical tasks they would perform. Boot camp was physically demanding. Older-aged recruits (many were veterans of World War I) sometimes had difficulty with this stage of training, and were urged to “take it easy” because they were valued more for their knowledge and skills than their physical abilities. Along with training in their technical duties, the Seabees also underwent regular military training, including military courtesy, combat signals, rifle marksmanship, extended order drill, techniques of the .45 pistol, hand grenades, the Thompson submachine gun, bayonet drill, the layout of bases and principles of air-raid protection. In short, Seabees had to be prepared to build and battle when they went out on a mission. After boot camp recruits were sent to training camps where they learned how to perform specific land jobs (putting up and tearing down huts, building storage tanks holding up to 10,000 gallons of water, clearing tree stumps with dynamite, constructing concrete forms, building roads with steel mesh in sandy landscapes, bulldozing, welding etcetera) and sea operations (building pontoons, piers, dry docks and landing barges).

Seabees would learn through lectures and labor how to properly construct and operate boilers, heaters, engines, evaporators and purifiers, electric generators, pontoons, propulsion units, and dry docks. They had to be proficient in refrigeration, welding, small arms, concrete work, carpentry, diving, excavation, hut erection and firefighting. Although each member had his own special area of expertise, it was necessary that everyone be able to perform any sort of necessary task in order to help one another and complete projects with speed and precision. Due to this mind-set, the Seabees became a very tight-knit group.

When training was finished, a battalion would leave for “Island X”—code for their destination. Scientific American described a battalion of Seabees as “a safari of over a thousand men with everything they’ll need for months—from toothpaste to aspirin, roast beef to a cold glass of beer, work gloves to a new pair of pants. Then add your list of all conceivable equipment, machinery and materials to build a city in which to live, to carve an airport out of a jungle, to build storages, bases and landing facilities on a coral reef.” Arriving at their destination, Seabees could find themselves having to erect, construct or repair bases on an island or mainland. Sometimes, the areas would already be occupied by the Navy, Army, or Marine Corps, but often the Seabees had to rely on their combat training and drive the enemy out before their construction could begin. In these cases, once a base was built Seabees also had the responsibility of holding off the enemy until Allied forces arrived.

During World War II 325,000 men served with the Seabees. They participated in every major amphibious assault and were among the first to arrive to the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944. Their initial job was to demolish underwater and onshore steel barriers that had been set up by the Germans to slow attacking forces. When daylight came the Seabees were spotted by German forces and came under attack. Heavy causalities resulted, but the surviving Seabees pressed on and successfully detonated the barriers to make way for the oncoming Allied invasion.

Their work didn’t end there. Next, pontoon causeways had to be constructed to allow troops to charge onto the beaches. Again, this was all done while under fire, but the quickness with which the Seabees worked allowed a great number of causeways to be built in a short amount of time, and German troops were swiftly pushed back. In addition to the causeways Seabees were in charge of maneuvering larger ferries called “Rhinos” full of men and supplies from the ships to the shore. They also constructed offshore cargo and docking facilities and piers out of old cargo ships, steel pontoons and prefabricated concrete structures from the U.K. According to the Naval History and Heritage Command, “The huge port area that was formed out of this odd combination of materials became known as Mulberry A. Even after the artificial harbor was partially destroyed in a severe storm the Seabees landed hundreds of thousands of tons of war material daily.” Less than a month after the initial invasion, over one million Allied infantry had stormed the beaches, thanks to the work of the Seabees.

The Seabees continued to be a part of every major war fought in by the U.S. since World War II. They are currently still doing work in Iraq and Afghanistan, and also help with reconstruction efforts in areas all over the world needing disaster relief and aid. With a rich history and many honors to their name, the Seabees deserve a big thanks for their contributions to the defense of the nation and the impacts they’ve made on the history of modern warfare.

According to the report from the June 4, 1877, Scientific American, the steamers were only four lengths apart when they became visible to one another. With little time to spare the Celtic’s commander ordered the engines be put into reverse, whereas the commander of the Britannic simultaneously gave orders to proceed full speed ahead in an attempt to pass by the Celtic’s bow. But the evasive measures were too late for disaster to be thwarted, and the Celtic’s prow slammed into the side of the Britannic, piercing three meters deep into her hull. The collision ripped a 1.4- by 0.45-meter gash in her side that extended below the waterline, causing a lower compartment to take on water. (The Celtic slammed into the Britannic twice more, but not with enough force to cause further damage to the Britannic’s hull.) The initial impact had caused the Celtic’s bow to rupture and become a twisted, mangled mess at the base. The top of the ship’s bow had rammed into the Britannic’s rails and rigging, splaying fragments of iron and toppling support beams onto the latter’s deck. The majority of injuries and deaths resulted from passengers who were not able to avoid the falling debris, rather than from drowning. However, considering the Celtic and Britannic were carrying 870 and 450 passengers, respectively, it was considered a miracle that only six people were confirmed to have died.

Damage sustained by the Britannic

Damage to the Celtic

Whereas both ships sustained structural damage and took on water, it was eventually realized that neither was in danger of sinking. The bulkheads in both ships that separated the breached compartments taking on water from the rest of the ship prevented damage from spreading to other sections of the vessels. Nevertheless, admitting the chaos of the initial impact, the Britannic’s captain, Hamilton Perry, ordered the crew to begin lowering the lifeboats. Women and children were told to board first, but several men pushed themselves forward. Capt. Perry took out his pistol and threatened to shoot any man who tried to take a spot on a boat before it was his turn. According to a report from the New York Times, 15 firemen ran to one of the lifeboats, boarded it and lowered it into the sea. “They rowed hurriedly to the Celtic, but later on, when they found that the Britannic was not going to sink at once, they returned. As they crept up the side of the  Britannic,with shame showing on their faces, the captain greeted them with the simple comment, ‘Shame on you!’ and they disappeared in the engine room.” Once it was confirmed that both ships would remain afloat, the lifeboats were recalled and passengers either returned to the Britannic or boarded the Celtic for safety.

Although the Britannic and Celtic were steam ships, they were also equipped with sails. Some of the sails, along with mattresses, were used to cover the hole in the side of the Britannic. Both ships agreed to stay close during the night, shining electric lights and firing minute-guns so as not to lose each other. Two other ships, the Marengo and the British Queen, eventually met the damaged vessels and escorted them to Sandy Hook’s harbor.

Amongst the passengers on the Britannic was two-and-a-half-year-old Eleanor Roosevelt, along with her mother, father and aunt. Screaming and crying, Eleanor had been lowered into a lifeboat against her will, and she and her family ended up on the Celtic after the collision. Once back in New York, Eleanor refused to board a different vessel with her parents bound for Europe, and developed a fear of ships and sea that remained with her for her entire life.

This particular accident proved that a large ship could take on water in a single compartment and still make it safely back to shore. The Scientific American article stated, “Ocean travelers can certainly take courage in the thought that a vessel with a hole in the side large enough for a man to walk though may still be comparatively safe, and the White Star Company may well be satisfied that by the use of this simple system nearly 2,000 lives have been saved and two magnificent vessels are still safe, and will soon be sound and ready again for further service.”

This, of course, is a bit of an ironic statement, as we know the fate that lay waiting for the most famous “unsinkable” ship of the White Star line.

Before photography was used, a placing judge who stood at the finish line had the final say in which horse had won. However, many people, including famous photographer Eadward Muybridge, were of the opinion that horse racing and other sports depended on new technology for accurate results. In a letter to the editor written to Nature in May of 1882, Muybridge stated “I venture to predict, in the near future that no race of any importance will be undertaken without the assistance of photography to determine the winner of what might otherwise be a so-called ‘dead-heat’.” (Scientific American is part of Nature Publishing Group.) In 1878 Muybridge had created the means to take photos of a horse in motion by placing a thin wire across a point of a horse track, which attached to a series of mounted cameras. When the wire was tripped, the cameras would go off, taking a series of simultaneous images. Scientific American featured some of these on the cover of their October 19th, 1878 issue.

The first documented use of a photo finish at a horse race was in 1881. The photo was taken by official racing association photographer Ernest Marks at a track in Plainfield, N.J. Cameras continued to be used in the early 20th century, along with new motion picture technology. But, because of their horizontal shutters, a horse on the inside of the track would be captured on the film whereas a horse on the outside would still be in motion, often creating images that would deem the outside horse ahead of the pack. As betting on horses became more and more prominent in the 1930s and ‘40s, it was clear that something had to be done to produce accurate race results in an industry that already had all the corruption it needed.

In 1937 Lorenzo del Riccio developed what is called a “strip camera” that utilized a single vertical slit rather than the traditional horizontal shutter. A sound and color engineer for Paramount Studios in California, del Riccio was able to perfect the device so that the image it produced showed different points in time at a fixed location instead of showing different locations at a fixed point in time. His invention, first used at a horse race at Bing Crosby’s Del Mar Turf Club in California, was later featured in the January 1941 issue of Scientific American.

The camera itself would be mounted at the top of the stands, along with a complete darkroom for quick developing. The slit in the camera was focused solely on the finish line. A telephoto lens with a five-and-a-half-inch focal length and f2 aperture captured the entire width of the track on film, which moved past the open slit at about the same relative speed as the horses. This allowed the horses to be in focus whereas the background would be a white blur. On average, it took about 48 seconds for the film to be developed. Del Riccio recognized that races taking place in the late afternoon would cause lighting problems, as shadows and low light would make for difficult to read photos. To rectify this, he engineered “Photo Chart” equipment, consisting of 1000-watt, water-cooled mercury lamps, first installed at Hollywood Park racetrack.

The lamps were placed in housing near the finish line and helped to illuminate the finish line tape. Ballast transformers for power and water-control equipment used to cool the lamps were kept in the same location. Atop the stands, a 24-inch Mole-Richardson “sunspot” with a triple-mercury lamp, placed at a 20-degree angle to the finish line, would be directed into a narrow-beam at the tape in the direction of the oncoming horses. With adequate light projecting on the horses as they crossed the finish line, the accuracy of judging a winner greatly improved. According to Scientific American, del Riccio’s work helped take all but one variable out of horse racing: “the selection of the horse itself!”

Although digital cameras are now used for photo finishes, the technology developed by del Riccio was instrumental in reassuring gamblers they were betting on fair outcomes, and helped bring horse racing maintain its popularity in American culture. There are still two of of three Triple Crown races left to run this season (the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes), so be sure to keep your eyes on the finish line  to see if Orb has what it takes to win it all!

Scientific American, of course, had an early interest in Otis and on November 25, 1854, published a detailed explanation of how his elevator guarded against free falls, complete with the diagram at the right. (For clarity,  we have improved the legibility of the lettering.)

The article notes that when power is applied to the lifting rope (K), the rope pulls on a vertical rod (I), which in turn pulls on right-angled levers (H), thereby pulling two pawls (G) away from the racks (B) secured to the inner sides of the vertical posts (A). This system prevents the pawls from “bearing against the racks” during the upward movement of the frame (F) and platform (E), “and much friction is obviated thereby.” When the pull on the rope stops, the pawls automatically catch into the racks again. By design, the pawls are also kept free from the racks during the elevator’s normal downward passage.

“If the rope should break, or be loosened from the driving shaft, or disconnected from the motive power accidentally,” the story reports, “the platform will be sustained, and no injury or accident can possibly occur, as the [platform] is prevented from falling.”

Otis died in 1861, but his sons carried on his business. In 1886 we gave readers an update on the company’s technology and featured four gorgeous engravings. The captions here are excerpted from the originals.

Figure 1 shows the Otis passenger car with safety frame. The framework is constructed entirely of wrought iron; the lifting cables pass through it and are connected independently to the gravity wedge safety apparatus under the car, as shown. The value of the car shown is one thousand dollars.

Figure 2: Recently, Messrs. Otis have added the rubber buffer attachment, which is designed to relieve the car from shock or jar when starting or stopping, and to insure smoothness of motion in running at high speed. Several sizes of these engines are made.

Figure 3: The demand for a hydraulic hoist, in connection with steel manufacture, has induced Messrs. Otis to bring out their standard hydraulic freight elevator. This form of machine is intended for any duty, and to be operated under water pressure of from thirty to five hundred pounds. Two or more lifting cables are employed.

Figure 4: The Otis hydraulic machine, with direct pumping system, adapted to passenger and freight service, is specially designed for any building where it is not desirable to place a tank on the roof or the attic. Its operation is to pump under pressure directly on the piston. The water from the cylinder is discharged into the tank, and is used over again.Credit: Scientific American (all images)

So why bother getting excited if the weather is just going to turn it’s backs on us once again? Before giving up completely, I’d like to present an invention from the November 10, 1888, Scientific American issue that helped its users transition from winter into spring—and back again, if necessary. Touted as “simple” and “cheap,” Herman H. Holtkamp’s patented attachment for bicycles allowed the wheels to move over surfaces covered in ice and snow. A runner, or “shoe,” attached to the back wheel by means of clipping it to a bracket. The bracket was adjustable in order to fit different-size wheels. To provide traction and stability for the front wheel, several cylindrical metallic plates were attached at various points. The cylinders were lined with leather or some other kind of cushioning to protect the tire, and were clamped to the wheel rim by flanges that protruded from their sides. Normal breaking methods could still be used.

Holtkamp’s attachment was made of steel, and could be sharpened “for special feats on very smooth ice.” It could be taken on or off in a very short time, allowing any cyclist to conquer that capricious beast, Mother Nature.

In France horseflesh sold for less than similar cuts of other meats, and the animal itself fetched $10 to $15 from the slaughterhouse. With this information, Scientific American proposed a horse in the U.S. would be worth $10 if sold to be slaughtered, with $3 allotted for alimentary purposes and the leftover $7 for the carcass. The carcass would be stripped into parts—hide, hoofs, hair—and sold for manufacturing.

The article estimated there to have been about 10 million horses in America at the time. If each had a $3 food value, an additional $30 million could be amassed from the sale of horses to slaughterhouses. A horse killed for food, however, could not be used for labor (their primary use at the time), thereby a financial loss would actually occur. But, the article wonders, what about horses that are not able to perform labor? It was estimated that yearly about one tenth of the horse population lost (or never had) labor value, and therefore utilizing these as food would create a $3-million increase in total profits. The article suggests farmers would save money by selling horses not used for labor to be used for food, as they would not have to spend to take care of these animals and would increase the income made off their slaughter. Further, by killing off unwanted horses sooner than later, there was a possibility of eventually strengthening the entire species.

Getting down to specifics, the 1875 article explains how a retired horse was used in France in order to show a possible model for America’s ponies. Each horse provided about 360 pounds of meat. The skin was sold to the tanner at $2.50; the hair, mane and tail sold at about 3 cents; hoofs were sold to toy- and comb-makers as well as sal ammoniac and Prussian blue (dye) producers. Tendons were sold to glue factories and bones—weighing in at about 90 pounds—fetched 60 cents. Fat went to soap-makers, perfumeries (it was turned into something called “bear’s grease,” which would be scented and sold to apothecaries), and to be used in oil lamps. Intestines, used as manure or in cat and dog food, were valued at about 5 cents apiece. By far, the strangest thing from the article, I found, was that the horse blood, once dried, weighed 20 pounds and was principally bought by sugar refineries Now, I’ve done some research, asked some horse experts, and still cannot figure out what a sugar refinery would need horse blood for. If anyone has an answer, please share! In summary, the article stresses that almost every part of the horse can be worth something, and adding “food source” to its long list of utilities would, in theory, increase economic profit.

In an article published 17 years later on May 7, 1892, Scientific American followed up with the progress of horseflesh consumption in Europe. It was still apparently very popular among the French “because this food agrees with their stomach as well as their purse.” Horse butcheries increased in number from 48 in 1874 to 132 in 1889, and horse meat still cost less than beef at about half the price. Consumption also increased in countries like the Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Belgium and Switzerland. Aside from the economic benefits, horse meat does provide more of certain nutrients than beef does. It contains less total fat, saturated fat and cholesterol, has twice as much iron, more than twice as much vitamin B12, and almost five times as much omega-3 than cow meat. In the same issue, Scientific American provided a further comparison of horses and cows beyond their nutritional values—just in case you were interested.

Cattle versus Horse

In 2005 the American Horse Council put out a report stating the U.S. horse population to be at about 9.2 million. This is slightly less than the 10 million accounted for in 1875, but a big difference is that in 2005 only about 1.7 million of the 9.2 million were involved in “labor” (that is, ranch work, carriage horses, police work, etcetera). If we use the model discussed in the 1875 article, this leaves a large number of horses who aren’t doing work to be eaten and profited from. But, considering how much attention and backlash the recent discovery of horse meat in beef products in Europe received in America, and the fact that the idea of eating horses causes most people here to grimace, it’s clear we are not ready to embrace this menu addition. Of course, a good deal of the recent outrage had to do with the fear of finding the veterinary drug phenylbutazone, which is harmful to humans, in horse meat sold as beef, but there’s definitely more to our reluctance. Horses that aren’t being used for labor in America are largely kept as pets or for recreational purposes, and eating companions is taboo to many. But, with a lot of us penny-pinching as it is, maybe we can look past this in order to take advantage of this low-cost and nutritional protein option? I, however, will be sticking to my own rule of never eating anything that wears a hat (image from Scientific American Supplement, August 9, 1902).

Hats made for horses at 1902 French Humane Society event

Bon appetite!

The March 19, 1870 issue of Scientific American featured the pedespeed, the invention of Mr. Thomas L. Luders of Olney, Illinois. According to the article, Mr. Luders and his son walked into the Scientific American offices with the invention, and while the elder explained the device, the younger fastened the pedespeed to his feet and performed a rousing demonstration.

The pedespeed wheels measured 14 to 15 inches in diameter and were attached to a stirrup and foot bed by an appendage made of hickory. The appendages had metal plates fastened to them with short axles protruding from their centers which allowed the wheels to turn. The stirrups were made of wooden strips about 3 inches wide and were bent to form a loop, at the bottom of which sat the foot bed. The foot bed had a toe strap and heel clasp to hold the rider’s foot in place. A second wooden strap was fitted to the top of the stirrup and was fastened around the rider’s calf.

While basic roller skates (particularly the parlor skate, which was the first roller skate granted a U.S. Patent) had been enjoyed by the public for some time, the article warned that “no mere carpet knight accustomed to roll about on the parlor skate can use these at the first attempt.” However, after some practice on the pedespeed, one could gracefully maneuver over surfaces where parlor skates were unable to go.

All types of people were encouraged to use the pedespeed without worry. For example, “The inventor, a large and heavy man, informs us he can use it constantly for two hours without fatigue.” For women riders, a cover could be placed over the wheels to protect the women’s dresses, as seen in the above image.

While more traditional “quad” roller skates took over in popularity, versions of the pedespeed continued to appear over time. This video from 1923 shows men “cycle-skating,” using skates much like the pedespeed but with the wheels on the inside of the foot rather than the outside:

A NEW SPORT CYCLE SKATING

Another video from 2007 shows a cycle-enthusiast’s first time using a homemade version of the pedespeed (with some difficulty):
The man I saw in the park was using something similar to the original pedespeed—most likely Chariot Skates. One of the major differences is that Chariot Skates have an extra small wheel at the back of them, giving them added stability that had to be earned on the pedespeed.

It’s always great to see old inventions roll back around in new forms and to see that people never tire of finding new ways to get around. I think the original Scientific American article sums it up best:

“Some three thousand years hence, some antiquarian digging for relics among the ruins of American cities, will discover that Yankee Mercury had his feet furnished with wheels, and that he probably made faster time than the Greek Mercury by odds.”

Enjoy the spring!

Photo courtesy of the Oglethorpe University Archives

Jacobs (pictured above) was a professor, clergyman and writer, and refounded Oglethorpe University in Atlanta in 1915 after it had been laid to waste by the Civil War. While researching and teaching about ancient cultures, Jacobs was struck with the lack of available information on past civilizations. This led him to the idea of creating a running record of civilization and everyday life, lessening the struggles of future historians. Jacobs did not want to rely on “happy circumstance,” such as the extreme dryness of Egypt, which helped preserve artifacts there, to enable our civilization to be studied by future generations. He believed it was our “archaeological duty to the future” to produce a record of daily life. Thus, the “Crypt of Civilization” was born.

The purpose of the project was to “make available to some civilization now unthought of, and still far in the future, the running story of life, manners, and customs of the present civilization.” Jacobs turned to Scientific American for help in announcing his idea and to solicit suggestions and aid from scientists, industry leaders, and philanthropists. He proposed some obvious methods of presenting information about our lives—books, motion pictures, phonographic records—but also recognized the need to include everyday objects like food, recreational equipment, furniture, automobiles, machines, toys, and so on.

The site proposed for the preservation project was in the basement of Phoebe Hearst Hall at Oglethorpe University. The basement was constructed in granite and covered in slate and had once contained a swimming pool, which left behind a waterproof lining. The underground chamber measured twenty feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet high. Porcelain was used to line the granite walls. After conferring with the U.S. Bureau of Standards, Jacobs decided the best way to preserve items would be to place them in steel receptacles with glass linings, filled with inert gas of nitrogen to prevent oxidation and aging. The foundation of the building rests on granite bedrock of the Appalachian Mountains, which, Jacobs felt, would stand the test of time.

Jacobs proposed the crypt be opened in the year 8113. He arrived at this date by determining the first fixed year in history to be 4241 B.C. (the establishment of the Egyptian calendar) and counting the number of years that had passed between then and 1936—6,177 years. Therefore, allowing the same amount of time to pass would mean the crypt would be opened in 8113 A.D. After 4 years of preparation, the crypt was officially sealed on May 28, 1940.

Photo courtesy of the Oglethorpe University Archives

Jacobs appointed photographer and inventor Thomas Kimmwood Peters (below) “archivist of the crypt” in 1937. From 1937 to 1940, Peters and a team of students undertook a project to create a microfilm of over 640,000 pages from more than 800 works on the arts and sciences, and to gather various motion picture and voice recordings, including speeches by Hitler, Stalin, Roosevelt, and Chamberlain, as well as the voices of Popeye the Sailor and a champion hog caller.

Photo courtesy of the Oglethorpe University Archives

Electronic machines, microreaders, and projectors were placed in the crypt, as well as a wind-powered electrical generator and a seven-power magnifier if the machines stopped functioning. At the very entrance of the crypt was placed a machine that aided the learning of the English language. Other interesting items included recordings of bird songs; a container of beer; a plastic beetle ornament; a vanity make-up mirror with light; a set of Lincoln Logs; a set of male and female mannequins; a package containing six miniature panties, five miniature shirts, and three drawers; five television tubes; a fly swatter; a piece of sheet music; a potato masher; a sample of soap in the shape of a bull; six Artie Shaw recordings; and a sample of gold mesh. If you think anything from this list sounds strange or outdated and wonder what it has to do with civilization, just remember that the crypt has only been sealed for 71 of its proposed 6,177 years. A full list of the crypt’s contents can be found here.

Photo courtesy of the Oglethorpe University Archives

Around the same time that Jacobs was preparing his “crypt,” the Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company was creating their own collection of items to preserve as part of a promotional event for the 1939 New York World’s Fair. The container they built was shaped like a torpedo, and was subsequently referred to as a time “capsule.” The name stuck and has been used to describe these kinds of vessels ever since.

Today, the crypt remains sealed under the watchful eye (along with dozens of other time capsules) of the International Time Capsule Society, which is headquartered at Oglethorpe University. The society aims to document all time capsules, as many end up lost or vandalized before they are scheduled to open. (In Corona, Calif., 17 time capsules have been misplaced and countless hours have been spent trying to find them.) ITCS’s co-founder, Paul Hudson, first stumbled across the Crypt of Civilization as a student in 1970, and is now a leading authority on time capsules. To find out more about the society and to view a list of the most sought after time capsules, visit their homepage here.

If all goes as planned, none of us will be around for the opening of the Crypt of Civilization. It remains to be seen how accurately we will ever be able to portray our own civilization. It seems impossible to leave a complete and unbiased record of our own lifetime, and the question of what to include in a civilization-encompassing time capsule is very much debatable. In an article about time capsules in the November 1999 American Heritage, Lester Reingold wrote, “If nostalgia is a process of recalling the past selectively, emphasizing some memories to the exclusion of others, then time capsules are a kind of nostalgia in reverse.” Therefore, time capsules seem less like an authentic way to represent our actual selves to the future than Jacobs had possibly thought. But which is better—to leave our legacy in the hands of “happy circumstances” or to bury it underground for safekeeping?

The founder and original editor in chief, Rufus Porter, declared the magazine’s purpose as showcasing “interesting news of passing events, general notices of the progress of Mechanical and other Scientific Improvements; American and Foreign Improvements and Patents; Scientific Essays, illustrative of the principles of the sciences of Mechanics, Chemistry, and Architecture; useful information and instruction in various Arts and Trades; Curious Philosophical Experiments; Miscellaneous Intelligence, Music, and Poetry.” Porter was a successful painter, wrote poetry, played music and constantly worked on creating new new inventions or improving old ones. If the early content of this now well-known science magazine seems a little hodgepodge, perhaps it is because, as suggested by The Rufus Porter Museum, it was “really a four page newspaper devoted to everything [Porter] was involved in.” Mr. Porter had an ambitious agenda for his magazine, wanting to keep topics specific enough to benefit those in the field of science and engineering but general enough to make it accessible and helpful to the common reader.

Scientific American, according to Porter, grew out of a void left by the discontinuance of publications like the “American Mechanic” (also edited and published by Porter) of Boston, the “Elevator” of Cincinnati, the “American Protector” of Hartford, and the “NY State Mechanic” of Albany. Porter believed in the need for a magazine that would provide an “advancement of more extensive intelligence in Arts and Trades in general, but more particularly in the several new, curious and useful arts, which have but recently been discovered and introduced.” The want was especially strong from people in the South and West of the U.S., as they promised patronage if such a publication were created. Porter stated that his new magazine would “present no gloomy catalogues of crime and depravity, believing that the cause of neither happiness nor morality will be thereby promoted;–our object being to please and enlighten. We shall advocate the pure Christian religion, without favoring any particular sect; and shall make it a point to adhere to reason and common sense, independently of the opinion of those, whose interests and popularity depend on their rigid adherence to traditional doctrines, and church creeds.” Here we see science and religion commingling which may come as a surprise to many contemporary readers. While reading through the early Scientific American issues, one does notice a virtuous and moral tone, but it is clear the articles aim to uphold the Christian values of the time rather than Christian doctrine.

The very first cover story (or in this case, the article at the top center of the front page) featured in Scientific American was dedicated to the topic of transportation. The railroad passenger car first became a form of popular form of transportation in the late 1830s. ”There is perhaps no mechanical subject, in which improvement has advanced to rapidly, within the last 10 years, as that of railroad passenger cars.” As they progressed, the cars became longer, more comfortable and safer, holding 60-80 passengers each and traveling at a speed of 30-40 mph. The improved car featured here was manufactured by Davenport & Bridges from Cambridgeport, Mass.

The front page also featured a number of smaller articles (some from other publications) without accompanying images, though in many cases the topics were so amusing that no images were needed. Here are two examples of stories that fell into the “interesting news of passing events” category:


No matter how incredible the content, each article in the early years of the archive helps paint a picture of life in industrial 19th century America. In a book review (did I mention there were book reviews?) of Rev. Henry A. Miles’ Lowell as it Was and as it Is, we get a sense of the experience of laborers in a major manufacturing city. The book focused on a factory called the Merrimac Company, who employed 1,250 women at the time. The women at this factory reportedly earned an average of $2 per week, which was slightly more than the $1.93 average earned by other female factory workers in Lowell in 1845. Apparently, factory work paid better than being a schoolteacher, as the review notes many teachers left the classroom for lighter work and better salary, though the hours were much longer.

The first issue proved magazine’s eagerness to be a first stop for science’s most important and groundbreaking stories. An article appeared announcing the implementation of Samuel Morse’s telegraph for general citizen use all over the country, starting in larger Northeastern cities. It had already been in use between Washington and Baltimore. While the Scientific American article regretfully offers little other information “in consequence of the press and the variety of matter which presses on this our first number,” it is exciting to see Morse’s invention reported on just before it would forever change the way news would be shared in the future.

I’ll end this look at Scientific American’s first issue with two of my favorite sections from the magazine’s early years: Poetry and Variety. The featured poems ranged from moral and patriotic to scientific, instructive, and sentimental. They appeared on the front page of the magazine until September 1849, when a column called “Rail Road News” replaced them.

The “Variety” section, later called “Miscellaneous,” is the closest Scientific American would come to having a gossip column. These short entries often had a humorous, larger than life feel to them and were often collected from other newspapers…perhaps we can think of them as the 19th century equivalent of tweets and retweets? Here are some of my favorites from this issue:

A correspondent of the St. Louis Republican having been bitten by a mad dog, was cured by drinking a decoction of the bark of the common black ash.

It is stated in one of the fashionable city papers, that “there are 190 doctors in Boston, more than there are patients.” It must be a healthy place.

It is decided by the logical schools that Puseyism is derived from catechism, while puppyism comes from dogmatism;–that makes the difference.

The Picayune has a story of a rattlesnake that swallowed a mole; but the mole would not stay swallowed, but gnawed his way out, thus killing the snake, and was off.

In the town of Eden, Me., there is owned a schooner called the ‘Garden,’ and which is commanded by Capt. Adam Wilkins. Thus Adam yet holds command over the Garden of Eden.

Several springs have been recently discovered in Genesee county, the waters of which are acidulated nearly to the degree of lemonade. The acid is the sulphuric.

Have the courage to pay a debt, while you have the money at command. Have the courage to wear your old coat till you can pay for a new one.

As time went on and the fields of science and engineering expanded and magazines became more specialized, Scientific American grew into the award-winning publication we are more familiar with today. However, if you’re like me and find nothing more enjoyable than leafing through volumes of the past, I encourage you to do just that—except digitally. Until the end of the month, Scientific American’s archive ranging from 1845-1909 is available for a free look.

While still in France, the statue’s shell was assembled and each piece was assigned a number or figure. Pieces that lined up next to each other had identical figures on sides which needed to fit together, creating a reassembly map. Each piece had a row of small holes on its edges, and when adjacent pieces lined up, their holes coincided so they could be riveted together.

The shell of the statue is made of very thin copper, making it somewhat pliable. When the pieces left France, they were tightly packed in wooden frames to prevent them from bending. However, some distortion inevitably occurred and once the pieces arrived, the laborers –with a lot of skill and patience—had to refit each piece. Iron bars were fitted to line the interior to give the shell extra strength and rigidity. The bars were bent to fit the contours of the copper, as seen in the close up of the face’s interior. Copper and iron were insulated from each other by a layer of shellac and asbestos in order to prevent and chemical reactions happening between the two metals.

The statue is braced by 2 systems of heavy girders, embedded deep into the pedestal, and 4 eye beams that connect the girders. The concrete foundation, which the article reported as “easily the largest single block of artificial stone in the world,” measured 90 feet square at the base, 65 feet square at the top, and 52 feet 10 inches in height.

The original date of the statue’s unveiling was set for September 3, 1886. However, all the intricate work needed to reassemble and erect the statue delayed the ceremony until October 28, 1886—which makes today the Statue of Liberty’s 125 Birthday!

Trick riding became widely popular in the late 1880s and 1890s in Europe and America. Bicycle academies and cycle racing had already proved their staying power, and many daring young riders sought ways to take the sport to a new level. In a piece from May 13, 1899, Scientific American featured two well-known trick riders from the States: N.C. Kaufman of Rochester, NY and Lee Richardson of Milwaukee, WI.

Kaufman was considered to be one of the best riders in all of America and Europe. His acrobatic style made his tricks “so startling and often so daring that a description would fill a goodly sized volume…He stands upon the step and drives the bicycle with his hands. He seats himself in the frame and, guiding the wheel with one hand and turning the pedal-crank with the other, rides at full speed about the stage. Then, unwinding himself from his uncomfortable position, he swings himself into the saddle again, and, raising the front wheel at the same time, turning the handle bars completely around, pedals about supported only by the rear wheel.”

In the pictures below, Kaufman is seen riding on what was known as a “safety” bike, an updated version of the “ordinary” or “penny-farthing” bicycle, which had a large front wheel and small back wheel.  The “safety” got its name because its identical wheels were thought to be safer. Most trick riders used it, however Kaufman also did tricks on an “ordinary” bicycle, making him one of the more exciting performers to watch.

Lee Richardson’s father, L.M. Richardson of the Monarch Cycling Manufacturing Company, gave him early exposure to cycling. Richardson credited his trick riding skills to patience and practice, which allowed him to condition muscles “of whose existence the rider was practically innocent.”

Many bicycles used by trick riders were specially made to hold up to the strain placed upon them, having reinforced frames and tires weighing between 28 and 30 pounds each. According to the article, the first trick most riders learned was to ride without placing their hands on the handlebars. Next came sidesaddle and standstill moves, followed by more difficult moves like the ones shown by Richardson below.

While tomorrow’s NYC Tweed Run won’t feature trick riding, it will have other fun events for 19^th century bicycle enthusiasts, such as saddle polishing and best dressed in tweed prizes. Scientific American’s archive documents the bicycle’s rich history, so be sure to check back soon for more two-wheeled tales.

“The fact is pretty generally recognized that so long as there is an available inch on which a foothold can be got, either inside a street car or on a platform, people will endeavor to occupy that space, and there they will remain, clinging to strap or bar, in positions uncomfortable to themselves and to those whom they crowd. Nothing short of a sentry with a sharp bayonet, stationed at each end of every car, will serve as an effective preventative; but as the use of that weapon might lead to disagreeable complications, that plan, together with the scheme of an India rubber car, capable of indefinite extension, must be reckoned as infeasible.”

If only a sentry had been on the subway this morning and could have pointed a bayonet at the guy who squeezed in front of me and repeatedly swung his backpack into my face.

A search for a less violent solution to the congestion problem led thirty-one-time patentee Mr. Cevedra B. Sheldon to invent extra seating in horse-drawn streetcars. Trips in these cars were often long and bumpy, making it extremely uncomfortable for those left standing. Despite what a glance at the accompanying engraving may suggest, extra seating was not found in the lap of fellow passengers.

Sheldon's folding seat for overcrowded trains

Rather, the additional seats attached to standards that were bolted to a riser below the primary seat. According to the description, the standards were shaped in a way that allowed for enough space between seats to prevent passengers from touching. The standard had a locking joint to keep it in place and a lug to help maintain its height. The invention was to increase the capacity of the car by at least half, but with the rapidly increasing population in cities, it most likely would not have been enough to prevent crowding. So, while literally rubbing elbows with strangers on your morning commute can be uncomfortable and unpleasant, just remember you’re taking part in a time-honored tradition of authentic city living.

The 1857 issue of Scientific American featured an invention aimed at preventing strangulation, the Anti-Garrote Collar. Garrote, a word with Spanish origins, refers to the act of strangling or to the tool used to strangle someone. According to the article, the crime went something like this: “Mr. Garroter steps softy up behind his victim, and chokes him with the rope, while Messrs. Accomplices abstract his portmonnaie [wallet], his watch, gold studs, gold sleeve buttons, horn-handled jack-knife, wooden pocket combs, quill toothpicks, short lead pencil, a choice recipe copied from the Scientific American, and all other ornaments which people worth garroting are supposed to always carry about them.”

   

Protection from these attacks was thought to require some form of collar, and previous attempts to fashion something included a collar with projecting iron prongs and one that housed a backwards-facing pistol that would discharge in this face of the attacker who came from behind when pressure was applied to the front of the neck. Mr. C. Colne of Philadelphia invented this particular collar made of thin iron and consisting of upper (A) and lower (A’) parts. A groove (B) ran around the middle of the collar and opened in the front to a knife blade (F) that would cut the garroting rope when it was placed about the neck. The collar folded over at the top (C) and protruded at the chin (E) in order to hide the blade. It consisted of four separate pieces (D) that were hooked together and could be “taken apart and carried in the pocket to be put on when required.” The article fails to mention specific “required” situations, but I would guess they included walking alone through dark alleyways and publicly reading a copy of Scientific American.

    

The anti-garrote collar seemed to make up in efficiency what it lacked in comfort. It was said to be “probably as comfortable as the stiff stove-pipe hats which we so long have suffered.” That may be why self-defense techniques have changed over the years…that and the perpetual loss of neckties caused by forgetting to remove the collar when dressing.

An article titled “Grotesque Forms of Cycles” ran in the December 30, 1899, issue of Scientific American, and featured cycles built for a “Great Cycle Meeting” that took place at Holburn Viaduct, England.  While they were made for advertisement purposes, there is no doubt that some of these cycles could be used to get ahead in a road race.

A gigantic bicycle was on display whose wheels measured 19 ½ feet in diameter and pneumatic tires 8 inches in thickness. It was created by Messrs. H.A. Lozier & Company, the manufacturers of the Cleveland bicycle. Surely a bicycle that large would be capable of covering a great deal of ground, giving its rider a sure advantage in a race.

Perhaps you would be more interested in giving your whole team a leg up. This tricycle, boasted as being the largest in the world, was able to carry 8 cyclists and had two driving wheels and a steering wheel that measured 13 feet and 7 ½ feet respectively. It was constructed for the Wowenhoe & Rubler Company of Boston and weighed 2,236 pounds (not including the 8 riders).

The meeting also featured advantages for the heavier-than-average cyclist wanting to compete, particularly the heaviest cyclist in the world in 1899, referred to only as “Grimes.” Grimes weighed in at 567 pounds, measured 6 feet tall 62 inches around the chest. The bicycle he is pictured with was specially built for him.

Lastly, for those who preferred to cycle for leisure rather than competition, “The Sociable” offered the chance to ride side by side with a companion. Its driving wheel measured about 6 feet in diameter and covered over 19 feet with each revolution. Herr Karl Jatho, the inventor, is pictured on the cycle with his sister.

While performance-enhancing drugs may do more for a cyclist’s race standings than any one of these imaginative contraptions, we are at least reminded of the innocence and whimsy that can accompany a bike ride. Besides, isn’t it always safer to soup up your wheels instead of your body?

These photos were part of the book The Moon by Professor William Pickering, who aimed to make a photographic atlas of the celestial body. They were taken in 1903 at Harvard University’s observatory.  

Professor Pickering’s book gave a great deal of information on the moon, although much of it was speculation which would have been difficult to prove prior to the lunar landing. For example, he suggested that the white lines radiating from craters on either pole of the moon seemed to indicate that “snow does fall upon the lunar surface.”  He also believed there to be vegetation on the moon, “basing his belief upon observations he has called ‘variable spots’—portions which demonstrate rapid darkening, beginning shortly after sunrise, followed by an equally rapid fading toward sunset, accompanied by a diminution in size as they darken.” Organic life resembling vegetation, according to the article, was the only simple explanation Professor Pickering could provide for his observations.

Our knowledge of space is always expanding, and it often seems that the more we know, the more we still need to learn. Pickering’s moon photos fall into a spectrum of lunar photography that began with John W. Draper’s 1839 photo and continues on to photos taken last month from NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Recorder that show data such as the roughness and slope of the moon’s surface and pinpoints the location of the Apollo 11 moon landing site. Whether near or far, the moon and its infamous craters and mares continue to create a sense of wonderment to those who gaze up to the night sky or to those who prefer looking in a book. If you’re interested in adding something of your own to astrophotography, check out these online how-to guides from Sky and Telescope and Imaging Resource.

Take for example the electric horse bit invented by M. Defoy and featured in the December 27, 1879, Scientific American Supplement. The bit was connected to an electromagnetic apparatus by metal wires placed in the reins. The rider simply turned the crank of the electromagnet and a current of electricity was sent to the horse’s mouth, meant to startle the creature into passivity.  

The invention was deemed successful after being used on several “vicious” and “stubborn” horses who, when resisting being shod, were given the shock and immediately submitted.  According to a report by the Superintendent of the Parisian Cab Company, M. Camille, “One horse that was to be shod went so far as to lie down and roll over and over on the ground, all the while struggling, defending himself, and fighting against everything; nothing could subdue him. I then had recourse to M. Defoy’s apparatus, and, on the first trial, much to my surprise, the feet of the intractable horse were lifted without any great difficulty, and on the second trial it was as easy to shoe him as if he had never made the least resistance; the animal was conquered.”

It’s difficult to say whether this triumph of technology over nature should be celebrated or shunned. The article does state that the shock was not enough to benumb the horse (which seems obvious, as a benumbed horse would be of no use), but instead produced an uncomfortable astonishment and a pricking sensation “peculiar to electricity.” However, the “success” of the electric bit then led the same inventor to create an electric riding whip, adding even more discomfort to the horse.

Horses were a necessary part of 19th-century society, and the ability to control the animal was imperative in order to harness it for transportation and labor. While there were certainly other options for training, electricity provided a convenient (albeit uncomfortable) method that has apparently had enough popularity to still be used today—many pet owners use electric collars and fences to help train their four-legged companions. Still, the discomfort depicted on the horse’s face in the accompanying picture presses me to question the morality of using intentional pain (let’s be honest, electrical shocks hurt) to control an animal.

Clearly, not everyone agrees with using electricity to tame horses, and there is even a separate school of horse training known as “natural horsemanship” that aims to work with the animal’s instincts rather than against them. In the end, I wonder whether an invention like the electric horse bit speaks to our ingenuity or our laziness when the discipline of another being has been required.

While acknowledging that all water, when seen at microscopic levels, has some form of "minute living animals," the article pointed to a specific sample taken from the Croton water reservoir (which supplies water to New York City) that contained "monsters." Although the image supplied is a handmade drawing rather than a photograph, there are a few creatures that look strikingly similar to copepods, while others look downright demonic. Unfortunately, there is no information about the origin of the image, so its accuracy is debatable. However, it was alarming enough for the magazine to issue a warning regarding water filtration:

"Nevertheless, the fact is readily and clearly established that the Croton water contains a quantity of deleterious matter, which is arrested by the filters; and, on this account, we cheerfully and heartily recommend the adoption of filters by all who use this water, from either the public or private hydrants. To this end we would call the special attention of our city readers to the improved filters noticed under the head of ‘New Inventions.’"

It turns out some of the supposedly "deleterious" matter was actually helping to keep the water pure, and continues to do so after all these years. Unfortunately, New York City did not make the list of finalists for the U.S. Conference of Mayors Tap Water Taste Competition, the winner of which will be announced this week at the United States Conference of Mayors in Baltimore. Maybe they need to add more monsters?

The imagery of cyclical patterns of struggle and revolution were in the back of my mind when I came across the cover of the February 22, 1913, Scientific American. It featured the famed waterwheels of Hama, the same town so recently hit with violent government crackdowns.

The wheels date from the 12th and 13th centuries. They served to move water from the Orontes river to irrigation channels using the undershot principle, meaning the wheels moved by the flow of water passing beneath. The wheels were a source of pride for the Syrian people, who in 1913 claimed that one wheel measuring about 70 feet in diameter was the largest in existence. They also served as a meeting place for the youth of the city, who, according to the article, would climb the moving wheels and leap off into the stream below to earn a few cents from spectators.

    While they are no longer in use, the wheels still remain an important testament to engineering feats of the Middle East. However, at the time of this article, they were indeed in motion and led the author to comment, "The creaking of the wheels is incessant day and night. They never stop." In retrospect, the poignancy of this statement forces us as readers of the past and members of the present to acknowledge the trauma and progress that accompanies revolutionary ideas, whether they be scientific or political. The photographs from the cover of the magazine made the wheels seem like gears that kept the city moving, yet they also added a sense of pastoral serenity to the landscape. They are a startling contrast to the pictures coming out of Syria today.

It is similar to a semaphore flag system, except that instead of flags homogenetic enumeration uses only the limbs of the body to communicate numbers. According to the Scientific American article from July 9, 1892, it could be used as an alternative to Roman and Arabic numerals which because unlike these systems, it did not depend on written ciphers.

The left arm, used by itself, is moved into different positions to represent numbers 1-9. The right arm is used in the same manner but represents tens, while the left leg represents hundreds and the right leg thousands.  “In order to represent any given number by means of these figures, it is first necessary to divide it into units, tens, hundreds, and thousands. Thus 1892 will not be represented as eighteen hundred and ninety-two, but as one thousand, right leg extended at right angles to body; eight hundred, left leg drawn up to an acute angle with the body and bent to an acute angle at the knee; ninety, right arm from shoulder at an acute angle to the body, right forearm horizontal; and two, left arm at an acute angle to the body.” The article suggests that to carry the series of numbers further, the signaler can stand on his head or wear hats of different patterns.

Figure 2 depicts a pasteboard puppet that could be cut out and jointed with thread and used to solve arithmetic problems. “In fact it may be taught to dance according to arithmetical measure and made to save a vast amount of ciphering, performing in this respect the use of the abacus.” Once you’re comfortable making the puppet dance, you can try it yourself– next time you attempt to pick someone up on the dance floor, instead of asking for his or her number, you can signal your own.

The article acknowledges that the whole homogenetic enumeration system may seem comical and amusing, but that it opens up the question of whether the traditional Arabic numeral system could be improved upon. Judging from the lack of physical movement in places where numbers are prevalent—math class, the bank, the nightly lotto drawing—it seems like Arabic numerals have yet to fall off.

The conformator may look a bit like a torture trap, but it was designed to measure the vertical and horizontal shape of the torso. The instrument consisted of metal rods with numerous thin strips of wood attached, each able to move on its own at a right angle to the rod. The wood strips moved to fit against the contours of the body, much like one of those pin impression toys that encourage one to stick a hand or face into a bed of pins in order to make a relief. The shape made by the body’s contour could be held in place by tightening a nut at the end of the rod, allowing an outline to be traced.

To measure a horizontal plane of the torso, a rectangular frame of the same design was placed around the soldier. Inside the frame, the soldier could be moved up or down on a platform to measure the chest at different heights. Demeny’s conformator was ideal for trainers and physiologists at Joinville looking for defects in symmetry, such as uneven shoulders and hips or abnormal curvature of the spine.

Demeny’s instruments were a true testament to the intersection of science and athletics, and helped to show the importance of treating each soldier as an individual in order to improve his condition and strengthen the military as a whole.

While the article suggests grief to be the culprit of the male gazelle’s suicide, it seems improbable unless their captive lifestyle led to a monogamous relationship. Perhaps the male gazelle also ate whatever made the female expire, and it caused some neurological damage, making him harmful to himself and others. It is certainly hard to deduce from the information in the article. We do know that the male gazelle suddenly sprang forward into a wall. Whether intentional or not, this action seems like the same one performed by gazelles when they are pursued by a predator, known as “stotting,” or jumping into the air with all four legs simultaneously off the ground. Here’s an example:

If this were the case, it is likely that what seemed a suicide may have been the male gazelle’s unfortunately timed response to perceived human predators. However, the romantic in me wants to read this as a Romeo and Juliet situation, and I imagine that immediately after the male gazelle took his own life, the female woke up (not fatally poisoned by what she—in this case—intentionally ate), saw her beloved’s lifeless body, and stotted into the same wall.

While the article probably does not refer to star-crossed gazelle lovers, I’m curious to know if there was any chance this was an actual suicide, and further, whether there is any proof that animals take their own lives. Any animal experts out there care to weigh in?

The July 2, 1892, Scientific American Supplement reported on the use of a device called the theatrophone that had been in use for two years already in Paris. The basic idea was to be able to call into a theater and hear live music being played. One could either subscribe to receive the service in home or utilize one of the theatrophones set up in various locales such as hotels, restaurants, vestibules, and cafes throughout the city.

For 50 centimes, one could listen to five minutes of music. A wicket on the front of the machine displayed the theater from which the music was heard. There was one central station where the Theatrophone Company operated out of, and this was connected to several secondary stations that were placed in the theaters. A series of microphones were set up on the stage and picked up the sound to be transmitted back to the central station.

The theatrophone had 3 cables, 2 used for the transmission of music and the other for an alarm set for 5 minutes, keeping track of the listener’s time and changing theaters at each interval. If a listener happened to catch the live performance as it was ending or during an intermission, he would be wired into a different location for the remainder of time paid for. If all theaters were in an intermission, then the listener would be treated to recorded piano music so his money was not wasted. The alarm wass operated by a crank, seen to the right of the operator. There was a stop mechanism within the alarm so that each revolution of the crank caused the ratchet wheel supporting the disk of names to advance one tooth at a time.

At the time of the article, there were 100 theatrophones installed in Paris running on 11 different lines, as well as a number of private subscribers who paid a fixed amount for a certain number of listenings in the home. “Such is the installation that very recently permitted the Lord Mayor of London to give some guests an opportunity of listening to the opera, and the prefect of Nantes to hear the latest popular songs without having to submit himself to the smoky atmosphere of the concert hall.” It was later reported that the prefect of Nantes canceled his theatrophone subscription once he realized how much he missed crowd surfing and that it was much easier to meet girls if he went out to concerts instead of staying home to listen by himself.

If you need any more convincing, however, maybe you’ll go along with an idea printed in the October 11, 1862, Scientific American.

Just three years before this article was published, one of the first successful oil wells had been drilled under the direction of Edwin Drake near Titusville, Pa., an area where oil seeps had been known to exist for many years.

Almost 150 years later, decisions of whether or not to drill on American soil are still being argued. Whereas the reasons may have changed (we no longer need to worry that using up our oil supply will cause the world to literally stop turning–although maybe figuratively), the need to find alternative energy sources is as clear as ever. I love that the unnamed gentleman is quite certain about his hypothesis, and that the article calls attention to the fact that the exhaustion of the oil supply would not be fixed by any amount of money.

First, I thought it was a petrified human heart or maybe a rotten red pepper. Then, I finally recognized the head of a bird sticking out of whatever that rock-like mound was supposed to be. Of course, I could have just read the caption, “A sparrow stuck in a breakfast roll” and saved myself some guesswork.

The accompanying article states that birds tend to be voracious eaters, often taking in twice their body weight in order to fuel their very high energy levels. Rarely do you see scraps of bread on the ground that aren’t pecked at by a few birds, but this sparrow seemed to have more than pecking in mind.

“It will be observed that this sparrow has eaten his way clear through a large breakfast roll, and out on the other side, only to find at the last moment, when his voracious bill has demolished everything within reach, that he is stuck in a straightjacket of his own making.” The article suggests that if one were to take a moral stance, this would appear to be a “just reward of gluttony.” I believe it was just an honest mistake. If I were presented with a chocolate cake larger than myself, I can’t deny the possibility that I would end up trapped inside after a short period of time.

The lesson to take away from this bird’s accident: If you want to leave scraps for birds, try and make them smaller than the actual birds that may feed on them. If you do see a bird trapped in bread, don’t scold him by saying, “I told you all those carbs were going right to your hips.” Instead, help the little guy out so he can immediately began working off those surplus calories.

When the article was written, the majority of rose essence was made in the Balkans where the high amount of crumbled syenite made the soil very fertile. Both red roses (Rosa Damascena) and white roses (Rosa Alba) were planted, although the red’s fragrance was much stronger. If a garden were properly planted, it would yield about 100 pounds of flowers per day for 3 weeks. The flowers had to be gathered before the sun was too high in the sky, as the buds needed to remain unopened. Then, the flowers had to be taken to a nearby distillery as quickly as possible, as the oil’s fragrance is weakened after 24 hours.

Inside the distilleries, stills that consisted of copper alembics 3 to 5 feet high were arranged in rows and rested atop a furnace built of bricks. Each still held about 22 pounds of flowers (both petals and stem) and 20 gallons of water. The mixture would be heated and drawn up through a condenser tube, which was surrounded by cold water. This was done until 10 liters of rose water had been acquired. The still was then opened and the flowers removed, while the remaining hot water was returned and mixed with cold water to make 20 gallons of water that would be mixed with fresh flowers. The process ran until about 10 gallons on rose water had been collected.

From this 10 gallons of distilled rose water, a little over a tenth was collected and put into a flask while the rest was returned to the distilling process. Within the flask, the oil gradually rose into the neck of the flask and was skimmed off with a small funnel. In Bulgaria, 3000 kilos of rose leaves yielded 1 kilo of attar.

In France, only the petals of the rose were used. Steam stills would be used in order to protect the flowers from being burned, creating purer and stronger smelling rose oil. Attar of rose differs depending on the locale where the plants were grown as well as changes in climatic conditions.

Some distilleries tried to cut the rose oil with other attars from geranium or ginger-grass  and lemon, which devalued the pure essence. To prevent this, many larger buyers of rose oil hired confidential investigators to drop in on distilleries and make sure their processes were not corrupt.

While the article offers several wonderful images of the rose fields and the distillation process, it’s a shame they were not printed in color, or as scratch-n-sniff for that matter.