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[edit] First Movies
While not a complete history of the early days of motion pictures, this is an attempt to illustrate some of the exciting developments of the infant industry.
Although the idea of persistence of vision (an image remains in our eyes for a fraction of a second) was an established one, it wasn't until the late 1880's that there was an attempt to build a mechanism that would capture the real world with a series of photographs that would appear lifelike when rapidly flashed before one's eyes. Elaborate systems had been used for early animation (they often had a toy-like appearance) and magic lantern slide shows illustrated stories that an audience could follow, but it was goal of these inventors to create a machine that could capture "reality" much like it is seen by the participants. Earlier, Edward Muybridge used a series of cameras to record animal as well as human locomotion. In order to project his short "films" during his lecture tours, he created the zoopraxiscope. Thus, he has been credited by some as the creator of the motion picture.
As is often the case, there were many people around the world working on the problem at the same time. The leader in the U.S.A. was the inventor of the light bulb and the phonograph, Thomas Edison, whose talented assistant W.K. Laurie Dickson originated one of the first practical systems in the late 1880's, which incorporated a motion picture camera he named a kinetograph and a viewing system called the kinetoscope. These devices were patented in 1891. The world's first movie studio, the "Black Maria" was built under Dickson's direction in 1891-92 and many short films were made there, including "Buffalo Bill's Shooting Skill"," Sioux Ghost Dance","Boxing Cats", "The Sneeze", and "Cripple Creek Bar-room" (1899), the first "western". By 1892 these short movies could be seen at Penny Arcades or Peep Shows, or perhaps more appropriately, Kinetoscope Parlors.
A Muybridge motion study. The Black Maria, the worlds's first movie studio. Interior of the Black Maria Cripple Creek Bar-Room (1899). Click for more info. San Francisco Kinetoscope Parlor The Sneeze
Eventually, projectors were made that enabled a showman to present these films to a much larger audience. Movie theaters sprang up around the country (and the world) and were very successful for a time showing these film vignettes, often of city scenes, waves lapping at the shore, and trains coming towards the camera (quite a shocker until the novelty wore off). Actually, the movies appeared to be just a fad until true creative artists, such as Melies in France, began to make films that revitalized the industry. Dream of the Rarebit Fiend (1906). Scientific American Article.
Foremost among the American film makers was Edwin S. Porter, who made a number of successful movies for Edison. His "Life of an American Fireman" (1903) actually told a basic story, and his later "Dream of a Rarebit Fiend" (1906) was both inovative (if imitative of Melies) and amusing.
The next page presents the Porter film "The Great Train Robbery" (1903) with stills taken from the movie. This most celebrated early western--a great hit of its day-- was filmed in New Jersey and featured actors who weren't quite the westerners that we would later expect, but at least the action moved swiftly as it told the classic story about a daring train robbery and the eventual downfall of the gang at the hands of a posse. One of the players went on to be the first western star in numerous short films--Broncho Billy Anderson.
[edit] First Cars
Adam Burlock`s 1960 Renault Dauphine
My first car was a 1960 Renault Dauphine. Remember those? They were the French alternative to the VW bug. Despite that they weren’t bad cars and a lot more comfortable and quieter than the bug.
My parents passed the Dauphine down to me when I was 17. I was driving by then and needed some kind of wheels. Luckily I wasn’t too picky about what they looked like. However, the engine had some problems that needed to be fixed.
I spent that summer overhauling the engine in my back yard and back porch. To pull the engine out, I positioned the back of the car, where the engine was, under our swing set (all iron pipes in those days). After unbolting, my brother and I pulled it out of the engine compartment with ropes.
For the most part, I didn’t really know what I was doing and had to figure it out as I went along. A basic Chilton manual was all I had to guide me. I did the overhaul with minimal tools, mostly a primitive 1960's era metric wrench set (which I still have and use occasionally).
The project was mostly uneventful, except for the cuts to my hands from installing the rings on the pistons. I even attempted the carburetor overhaul, also something I had never done before.
The only error I made, that I was aware of, was when the engine was pulled off the transmission. I didn't keep track of where the balancing washers were placed on the flywheel bolts. I'll never know how much engine damage, if any, may have been done by that mistake.
Toward the end of the summer, I reassembled the whole thing and installed it back into the car. It looked okay, but when I tried to start it, it just cranked and cranked it. I even had my sister tow me behind her car. I let in the clutch and it sputtered and tried to fire, but no dice.
The car sat for awhile in the front yard, both of us forlorn. I kept thinking I must have done something wrong in the reassembly. Then one day a friend of our family, who rebuilt marine engines, came by our house. He took a look at it and said ”I think I know what your problem is.“ He removed the distributor cap wire and unscrewed the little black spark suppressor that was added to keep static out of the radio. He pushed the wire back into the cap and cranked the engine. It fired up like a dream. That was the most exciting experience I had had in my life up to that point.
I used the little car to commute to school that fall and all during my senior year. It had one advantage that no newer cars have. The engine was small enough that it had a hand crank. Yes, I started the engine by hand cranking it when the battery was low. Imagine a teenager doing that now. The crank was also useful for slowly turning the engine to set it to the timing mark. Very convenient.
When I went off to college, the car stayed at home. (I would have brought it with me if the university had allowed freshmen to drive.) My parents sold it to someone who needed an engine for their boat. That’s the last I heard of it. As far as I know it is still out there chugging up and down the Chesapeake Bay.
“I spent that summer overhauling the engine in my back yard and back porch. To pull the engine out, I positioned the back of the car, where the engine was, under our swing set (all iron pipes in those days). After unbolting, my brother and I pulled it out of the engine compartment with ropes.”
Adam Burlock, July, 2005
Ted Morrison`s Ford Falcon(s)
In 1987, I came home from a summer spent with the Canadian Forces Reserves with a big hangover and a bigger cheque.
I was seventeen, and had been itching for a car for quite some time. Since I was 15 I'd been wanting a real classic—perhaps a '64 Mustang or something like a Bel Air, or even an ancient Plymouth Fury ("Christine" had been a hot movie).
However, when I raised the subject with my parents, the terms that came up most frequently were "compact", "economical", and "Honda Civic". Since the Civic of the time was the smallest, least impressive car on the road, it had a cool factor somewhere around bell-bottom jeans or getting kissed by your mum in front of the entire school.
But the spare change from my summer's pay had a destination. As my buddy Scotty (who was Irish) and I hopped off the bus, he said:
"If yez really want a car, you'll come up—see the ol' man. He's about a dozen he needs to get rid of."
My future was about to change.
Scotty's dad was called "Red"—even by Scotty, and he did indeed have a half–dozen cars scattered about the yard. But when he heard my price range, he led me straight to the white–topped, gold–bodied 1968 Ford Falcon.
"Classic." he said.
I opened the hood and tried to look as though I knew what I was doing. The engine didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before. It was long and narrow, instead of the vaguely wedge–shaped thing I'd been expecting. Knowing that the carburator was that thing on top under the roud blue tin box, I peered inside.
"Looks a little black in there." I said.
"Yeah," replied Red, "Prob'ly never been cleaned properly. But that's the beauty of these 210's—easy to get to, easy to work on.
"Still," he continued, "It's amazing—I got her out of a wrecking yard. She'd been run nearly eighteen months without oil."
I pulled the dipstick—as soon as Red showed me where it was—and stared at pure gold. If I'd been more suspicious (or wiser) I'd have sworn that he'd changed the oil once and never run it since.
My mechanical repartee exhausted, I opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. There was that wonderful smell—if you're an old car fan you know it and love it; part gasoline, part sun–baked naugahyde or leather, with a dose of rubber cement. And something else.
"Ugh," I said involuntarily, "What's that?"
"Oh," said Red, "I used to let the dog sleep in the back seat occasionally. Once you give it a quick clean it'll be fine."
It turned out that the dog—a German Shepherd weighing roughly what I did—had been permitted to sleep in the car "occasionally" for almost a year, especially in wet or inclement weather.
The rear fender wells had rusted completely through. On the other hand, a mat of felted mud and dog hair acted as a sort of patch and kept moisture out while not interfering with the passage of cold air.
I looked at the car and considered the money in my wallet. I could insure the car only if he'd sell it to me for $100 less than his $400 asking price.
"I'll give you two hundred." I said, looking him in the eye and waiting for a counter–offer.
"Done." Red replied.
It was some six hours and roughly $400 in price, tax, and insurance (which was available amazingly cheap for an 18–year-old in 1987) later. I had stopped in at a 7–11 to see if any of the local girls were going to notice my brand–new wheels. The back seat was clean, following the removal of enough dog hair to knit a litter of puppies. I wasn't certain what my parents might think, but I was already in love with it.
In my mind it was painted a flaming candy–apple red. The seats had been redone in leather, with a huge red maple leaf across the back bench. The straight six engine had been tuned until it purred, and the windows hummed up and down on power linkages.
I pulled to the gas pumps, and was stuffing the rag back into the tank when an older guy approached me. He was ancient—about thirty–five, wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and boat shoes.
"Say," he said, "Is that a '68?"
I admitted cautiously that it was.
"I've got one at home," he said, "and I'm looking for a parts car. I'll give you $600 for it."
Inside, I was outraged. Hand over my baby for this Philistine to break apart? Over my dead bodywork! Couldn't he see how the crimson paint glittered in the light over the pumps? Couldn't he hear the admiring glances the girls were giving me?
I mumbled a polite no. He didn't stick around, but handed me his phone number, which I threw out as soon as he drove out of the parking lot.
The next day I was on my way to work when the car stopped abruptly and refused to start again, costing me $110 and giving me the rule of thumb I now use on any car older than ten years: Budget 50% of the purchase price for repairs in the first three months. In the next month I replaced most of the underhood electrical components, including the starter, and replaced the same brake wheel cylinder three times.
The brake, it turned out, was exploding because in order to save money I'd started doing my own work. I'd installed the front wheel cylinder correctly, but I'd put the shoes on backwards.
In all, I owned that car for just over two and a half years. It ran on the road for just over twenty–one months. A friend offered to paint it for me, which was why it went into the local high school shop for six months, but he got distracted, leaving me with a grey Falcon with one red and one green (Port and Starboard) fender.
Eventually, a friend who had to move abruptly in the middle of the night—didn't you have a friend like that? Left me a 2–door Falcon with a seized rear end. I jacked up both cars and attacked the spring shackles with a hacksaw.
After my near–deaths under BOTH cars—a result of my failure to understand something about parking brakes, jack stands, and driveways with 5% inclines, I left the cars (one minus rear wheels) in the parking lot of the motel where I shared a room with three other guys.
It was about two weeks later that I was accepted into the Canadian Forces, with orders to report to training clear at the other end of the country. I felt a hard pang as I realized that I'd have to get rid of my beloved Falcon(s).
Worse yet, I had no money to get them towed to a wrecking yard. And since I'd pulled the axle from the one that worked, neither of them could be moved.
When I arrived at home, both cars were gone. Where they had been were some long scores in the pavement and a scatter of broken auto glass.
"Yeah," said my roomie. "Mrs. F had them towed away."
I was so intrigued that I looked up our landlady.
"How did they get the cars out of here?" I asked.
"Oh it was terrible," she said accusingly. "He had to break the window to get the cable through. Then he had to drag it up onto his hoist" (Flat–deck towing had yet to be invented, possibly).
I argued with her about it so vigorously that she offered to return the portion of my rent which was intended to go for parking. For a moment I paused. She had done me a favour, and was offering me money into the bargain!
But some form of morality asserted itself.
"No," I said with difficulty, "It's okay."
In the end, that car didn't owe me a thing, and neither did the landlady.
“My mechanical repartee exhausted, I opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. There was that wonderful smell—if you're an old car fan you know it and love it; part gasoline, part sun–baked naugahyde or leather, with a dose of rubber cement. And something else.”
"Ugh," I said involuntarily, "What's that?"
Ted Morrison, July, 2005
Ted's Morrison is a writer living in New Westminster, British Columbia. Additional information can be found at: http://www.tedm.4t.com
[edit] First Computers
Deja vu
Throughout the history of telecommunications, you find the same patterns played out again and again - but in different technologies and in slightly different ways. Finance and investment : paying for itPublicity poster (IRP1) - held by the BT Archives
Building a network involves a delicate balancing act. On the one hand, the operator has to be careful not to spend all the investment capital on the infrastructure - leaving nothing in reserve to develop and operate the services that customers demand. On the other hand, trying to provide advanced services without good reliable connections to underpin them is a recipe for customer frustration and disaster.
Getting the balance wrong has been the downfall of many companies, from the age of telegraph through to today's cable and mobile networks. Whilst getting it right has led to staggering commercial success.
The huge amounts paid for third generation mobile licences were made in anticipation of a new opportunity for companies to successfully develop broadband services for telephones. But success isn't guaranteed and the payments also represent a new chapter in a long ongoing story. New equals danger : we don't need that... Prestel 'Homelink' publicity
The history of telecomms is littered with the sad stories of people and companies that were too innovative - trying to bring technologies to markets that just weren't ready for them.
The transistor, for example, was first discovered in 1947 - but widespread use in telecommunications did not follow until the 1960s. Until then the invention's main application was the lightweight portable transistor radio. Once transistors had 'proved' themselves in radios, the computer makers started thinking about using them, too.
At each step on the technological ladder, developers tend to encounter 'techno fear' - the reluctance of people to embrace something new - something unknown. Bandwidth drives progress : more demand, more inventionMicrowave waveguide section - a Connected Earth artefact, now at the Milton Keynes Museum
The constant search for greater bandwidth - additional capacity on existing lines - is a recurring cause of new discoveries.
Alexander Graham Bell wasn't originally aiming for the telephone when he started his quest - rather he was looking for a way to send multiple messages down the same telegraph line. Nor were the pioneers of the Internet searching for what they eventually created - rather they were looking for ways to distribute information faster and more securely.
[edit] Volcanoes and Earthquakes
The Virtual Times Recent Earthquakes & Active Volcanoes
Active Volcanoes
- Seismic Data: Current Seismic Events
- Worldwide Seismic Stations
- Interesting Maps and Images: Current world seismic activity maps
- Map of events between 1990-1996
- Earth's active volcanoes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . many images and maps
- Animations, sounds and movies of volcanoes
- Images of volcanoes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . by region, worldwide
- Links to other Earthquake and Volcano sites: The New Madrid Earthquake . . . . .history, predictions and real-time seismograms
- World Wide Volcanism . . . . . . . . . links to more specialized information on volcanoes
- Extensive links to seismic resources
- Volcanoes of the World
- Current Volcanic Activity and Super Volcanoes
- Volcano World
[edit] My Sites
[URL]http://my.arena.ba/grifon[/URL] [URL]http://detc.tk[/URL]
