Sunday, August 16, 2026

Tinkertoy to Dexion: A Technical Appendix to Postblogging Technology, April 1956

By susiq5555 - ebay #120137669430,

permission granted [1], CC BY-SA 3.0,

 

"Tinkertoy" is the title because it is what comes to mind when I think about the building sets of my earliest childhood. (Next up are my rich cousins' Lego sets, please don't tell them I called them "rich.") I do not, however, have much of a sense of a Tinkertoy set, as opposed to oddments at the bottom of a toy chest. Tinkertoy Construction Sets are an American product dating to 1914. Their signature feature is the use of wood, which makes it easy to implement wheels and pulleys with child friendly components, but there were lots of wood construction sets. The issue here, it tuns out, is the non-wood one.

The departure point for today's appendix is  the use of Dexion components for field repairs of DC3s. 


 Dexion turns out still be a thing, although such is the state of Google Search today that you won't find them on the main page. essentially A "slotted angle steel strip construciton system," it rather reminds me of the various aircraft-building systems of the Twenties and Thirties that often had their origins in prefabricated steel building sets. But we did Nissen huts around here a long time ago. Dexion seems like an everyday product with a primordial use case and a secure  business plan, so I was a bit surprised to learn that  "it ran into difficulties" and "eventually ceased trading" story, in 2003. The Dexion trademark was bought out, by Swedes, perhaps, and the product is now made in factories in Germany  and Romania. 

The other inciting even this week is that quaint Danish general strike over the forty hour week. Not only is this sure to lead to a wage-price spiral and inflation, but now Britain's supply of butter and bacon is in trouble! And since there isn't much going on in Denmark to my knowledge except bicycling, which they have to share with the Netherlands, and Lego, we might as well go there. And the ever worthy Meccano, of course.

Sunday, August 9, 2026

Postblogging Technology, April 1956, II: Colonial Inertia

R_.C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada




Dear Father:

A bit of Flight for you, and a whole bunch of British politics with Miles Thomas' resignation and conformation of the Canadian Pacific order for five Britannias. I'm not sure how that came out in the end? I may have egg on my face over this in the end, but it really does seem to me that the case against the Proteus has pretty much been made. I guess it's the shareholder's money, after all.

Extravagance or not, though, I see worrying signs of the opposite problem. Is the financing of the Aswan High Dam going to fall through? Tony Eden wants to go for Nasser's throat at the best of times, and I have my doubts about how long Jean Mollet can restrain himself from bombing Radio Cairo. I just hope that Nasser doesn't give them the excuse by clearing the Israelis out of their little wall around Gaza if the Dam's financing is withdrawn. 
A man in a business automation ad. Sign of the times


Look at me worrying about world politics when girls should be about fashion and fun!


Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Sunday, August 2, 2026

Postblogging Technology, April 1956: Mirage Rising




R_., C_.,

Shaughnessy,

Vancouver,

Canada


Dear Father:


It is, of course, my fault that I forgot some issues while packing for our trip to Honolulu, but in my defence, they are small and easily missed! Perhaps all the advertorials in the lost numbers of Aviation Week will seep out into the air and into the minds of possible buyers. It's not like anyone would ever read them anyway.

Your son is a great deal more upset at the sudden apparently universal decision that the lesson of Kefauver's win in Minnesota is somehow that the Democrats will suffer for nominating a progressive in '56, unless, for some reason, it is Averill Harriman and not Kefauver specifically. As he points out, farm voters defecting from the GOP isn't a sign that the party needs to nominate the man who looks the most like the President they're defecting from!

On the other hand, it looks like Stevenson is going to win in California and go into the Convention on a winning note. On the other other hand, it will all be over soon, at least for eighteen months or whenever we start worrying about '58, and we can all agree to worry about something else, like WWIII starting in the Middle East.  

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Saturday, July 25, 2026

The Iron Age Revival of the State, XXVII: Towards an Economic History of the Trojan Women

 

"That the topless towers be burnt/And men recall that face,/Move gently if move you must/In this lonely place./She thinks, part woman, three parts a child,/That nobody looks; her feet/Practice a tinker shuffle,/Picked up on a street./(Like a long-legged fly upon the stream/Her mind moves upon silence."



In spite of a good faith (says I, and would I lie?) effort, I woke up this morning, the last day of my vacation, without the spring numbers of The Economist, Flight, or Aviation Week. (Or Fortune, for what it's worth.) The library informs me that the situation is now remedied for Aviation Week, but it's a bit late to start working on April postblogging at this point! Oh, well. For a change I still have a full week of the month left. 

Fortunately, I am still digesting Robert Morrissey, and that Dark Knight guy has a movie out about Helen of Troy and her supporting cast. You might have heard about it. You might have seen Eric Cline dining out over it. You might have heard that the Late Bronze Age Collapse is in the news.

As usual, the Iron Age Revival of the State isn't in the news. Helen wasn't dancing the next morning. It might not be poetry to match widening gyres, but they still say that women's work is never done.

Saturday, July 18, 2026

Gathering the Bones, XXVI: Philadelphia and Conestoga.

 Conestoga wagon at the National Museum of American History
By Daderot - Own work, CC0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26706952

 The Susquehannock were an Iroquoian-speaking people living in the lower Susquehanna valley. Successful in the early stages of the Beaver Wars, in which they fought, amongst others, the nascent colony of Maryland. From the 1680s the population collapsed, not least because a large number, designating themselves as the Conestoga, moved into a town settlement somewhat misleading known as their reservation, in Lancaster County, on the Conestoga River immediately above its junction with the Susquehanna that creates the ferry to York, Pennsylvania. The timing and extent of the Conestoga's population decline is not a matter of careful attention from the historians of colonial Pennsylvania, but must have been late and extreme for there to have been a flourishing town in the 1820s and  only twenty-odd victims of two massacres during the Paxtang Boys rebellion of 1764. 

The Conestoga is a characteristic but folk design associated with western American roads. 

Sunday, July 12, 2026

Gathering the Bones, XXV: Iron, Butchery, And An Ecotone

 

Look what they found at Hattusa in 2015! It is unfortunately Galatian rather than Early Iron Age, but it's definitely a saw. I'll throw in a 17th C BC bronze saw below, but as an insight into my method, if the Blogspot automatic pagesetter leaves ugly spaces. I'm not fixing them!


I'm thinking about saws in connection with butchery rather than carpentry today, which means that I'm also thinking about pemmican, so I'm going to start by retelling the story of Fenimore Cooper's 1843 Wyandote: Or, the Hutt'd Knoll, which I may have talked about before here. (I'm holding it in my mind that I have, as an incentive to the brevity I find so impossible.)

Wyandote is a frontier novel, and a Western, "Indian" novel, as they said at the time. It is also a difficult one for American readers. Cooper was an Indian lover who supported Removal, and a champion of the uniqueness, originality, and value of American culture at a time when Americans of culture were hopeless in thrall to European norms, but at the same time a man of strictly hierarchical values who often suggested in his fiction that he would be much more strongly opposed to the Revolutionary settlement if he thought he could get away with it. The villains in Wyandote are the frontier farmers who live as tenants on the land ("patent") of a retired British army officer. At the outbreak of the American Revolution, they ally with some Indians and stage an "Indian" attack on their landlord in an attempt to convert their tenancy into freehold at the expense of massacring the officer, his wife, daughter, Maude, adopted daughter, and loyal retainers, because eggs, omelets. The "Wyandote" of the title, is introduced to us as the shiftless, drunken Indian, Saucy Nick, who in spite of his overt status on the page, flirts with  protagonist status, being omnicompetent off page, carrying off various adventures, and then, in what would be the climax of the fight, single-handedly defeating the enemy in desperate battle in the dark. Yet he also murders the British officer, to all appearances his friend, in cold blood shortly after declaring himself "Wyandote," and no longer "Saucy Nick." At first glance it is an almost perverse plot development, not that we'd expect any less of Cooper, who, after writing a romance explicitly pairing cousins, brings a brother and adoptive sister together.

And the perversity doesn't end there, as often in Cooper romances, the plot makes much more sense with a bit of added history and some race mixing. substitute Joseph Brant for Saucy Nick and one of Sir William Johnson's daughters for Maude, and it all makes sense, even the romance. Maude, is, under Indian law, the officer's daughter right up to the moment when she repudiates that status in order to pursue her relationship with his son. This instantly restores her uncle, Nick/Wyandote's, status as a Tuscarora sachem and her guardian, and her ownership of the patent. The contradictions between Indian and English inheritance are, as always, reconciled by marrying the Indian heiress to the English,and the murder becomes instantly understandable in a class and status-conscious society as a tragic clash of cultures. (And also because the officer had idiotically inserted himself into a rescue mission even though he is too old for the work.)

As an interpretation of the plot, I am hanging a great deal here on the patent itself, "the hutt'd knoll." Or, rather, on Nick/Wyandote's references to it in terms of its ability to sustain beaver. It is a natural hillock showing above a hundred-acre beaver pond, itself the centre of a disc of good land about the size of the officer's thousand acre patent, in the wilderness of the upper Susquehanna not far from Binghamton. It used to yield (maintain?) four beaver a year, but no longer does, and the local Indians are willing to sell, Nick tells the officer, "clearing" the patent of Indian claims, as required by New York law. The quality of the drained land under the pond is praised immoderately in the text. The soil is, of course rich, but years of decay under the pond have freed it of the stumps and roots that troubled frontier farmers. The hillock, a natural rocky eminence in the middle of the former pond, recalls a beaver lodge and is the natural place for a fortified manor, the "hut" of the title. This is why the tenants covet it, and why Nick darkly warns that it held beaver in the past, and might again. Of course, if Nick is using "beaver" in the  vulgar way that you might expect of Shakespeare, but not a Regency writer, that's exactly what happens. It used to maintain Maude's mother, and when Maude, a mature woman and mother, returns to New York as the wife of a major-general, and finds Nick (his crime never to be known by anyone but the reader) and the other retainers living in retirement at the knoll, it is still "maintaining" her, only with rents instead of pelts. 

Okay, yes, blah blah blah, Cooper the secret key to early American history, get over it, can't you, Lund? The dynamics of the fur trade are very simple. People go out to do very hard work on the trail and trapline. They have to be fed with a portable and durable food. That's your pemmican, and parched corn. Their work is thus based on the land, and we can ask ourselves how many acres and farmers are needed for each coureur de bois. The answer is "not a lot of land" for the corn, and "Hunh?" for the pemmican, because buffalo are just there. This here article I found with Google says that a 90lb bag of pemmican was the standard unit, and accounted for two buffalo. Which brings me to Robert Morrissey's People of the Ecotone: Environment and Indigenous Power at the Center of Early America, which is a book in the UW Press's Weyerhauser Environmental Books Series, because this is 2026. Blogspot spellcheck doesn't recognise "Weyerhauser," by the way. Forgetting is the best greenwashing! Also, if you go to the link, you will find that the fabled forest products company characterising its "work" as managing 40,000 square miles of "timberland" in Canada and the United States. It's a giant landlord! (The fine print notes subsidiaries that are still in "wood products.")

Sunday, July 5, 2026

Postblogging Technology, March 1956, II: Delta Goes, Nixon Stays

It's too bad that there was no use or market for a high-speed delta wing fighter in the late Fifties and Sixties, and, if there was, Saunders-Roe was the ideal 
contractor to deliver it, since they were due for a win.  
By The Trempe See: http://www.1000aircraftphotos.com/Contributions/Trempe/TrempeInfo.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1785669



R_.C_.,
The Lakehouse,
Nakusp, B.C.
Canada




Dear Father:

As March melts into April here in the Bay City, I am bound to work when we are not tittering over the disaster overtaking Richard Nixon, as who doesn't want the worst for jumped-up L.A. parvenues? Do not get me wrong; I am sure that he will be the Vice-Presidential nominee in 1956 and he will probably be the Presidential candidate in 1960, but when Ike --IKE!-- stabs you in the back, what is there even left to say?

Which is quite enough politics, and since I have exhausted myself on family matters under separate cover, I will simply sign myself 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie