Postblogging Technology, September 1953, II: Sweetness, Thorazine, and the Madness of Howard Hughes

R_.C_.,

Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada

Dear Father:

You will be pleased to hear that Reggie's paper went well, with none of the security-related theatrics that scuttled the conference's most anticipated paper, the Avro reply to George Schairer on pods. (I think pretty much everyone knows that the paper was considered far too embarrassing and dangerous because it discussed the extraordinary frequency with which B-47 engines explode, and J47s by extension, but the face-saving story is that it couldn't be given because the Vulcan is still on the Secret List, or something like that. 

Aside from attending conferences and sad associated"wine and cheeses," I have been enjoying London, although that must come to an end next week when I head out to the studio and find out what they've been doing with our money. Hopefully there will be a convincing explanation and some wonderful film is in the can, and I will spend the day enjoying out-takes and what passes for British food, which is even worse than Californian. 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, September 1953, I: Scupper me Skull-and-Crossbones!

R_.C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver, Canada

Dear Father:

It was so good to see you in London, and you were so sweet with Nat. McGraw-Hill certainly didn't where it is by paying its correspondents too much! now I know why they were so slow to admit that the Russians had a hydrogen bomb. Actually, no-one has a hydrogen bomb! I suppose I shouldn't be any more clear than that, lest I reveal the big secret here in my secret letters.  

I'm still mad that you couldn't stay long enough to take in Farnham. I do understand. You're only back in the land of your disgrace on Her Majesty's Secret Service. I hope you will find Vancouver well and that you will listen to  your doctor, no matter how badly that is working out these days for someone taking the new wonder drugs, and have a good long rest. 

I would to, but I'm in London! 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

A Technological Appendix to Postblogging August 1953: Aspheric Lenses

 

Nothing particularly complicated here: Aspherical lenses. What's up with that? And how about Lawrence of Arabia for a pop-culture reference?

It's the music that seems old-fashioned. 

Gathering the Bones, XXIX: Nose to Tail

 

So while I ordinarily don't work very much Christmas week because my contract guarantees me two stat days and my work place is closed on Christmas Day, it has not often been the case that my schedule is written to allow me to enjoy my holiday with holiday visits, and I have plenty of well-spaced time to write during the holiday week. That is not the case this year, and I am off to Vancouver Island tomorrow morning, back on Wednesday. Happy holidays to everybody! However, to satisfy my OCD and discuss an interesting thing which  has come up, here is a somewhat culinary, somewhat technological/economic thing which has come up. 

A Somewhat Technological and Completely Bananas Appendix to Postblogging Technology, August 1953: Fire!

 

Of course Celtic Women covered it. 

Someone once said that J. H. Hexter would have been a better known historian if he hadn't been like the horse that only ran when it had a burr under its saddle, in his case  this being historians with an excessive bent for synthesis, particularly Marxists. I understand, Jack, I understand. For me, it's Correlli Barnett. Audit of War comes out of an era of intense British self-loathing, building on Fordism, with all its Fascist tendencies. Practically everything American is better, and there's a neat convergence between supporter and critic, where the American factory is better for Barnett, while his critics defend laggard British per-person productivity by pointing to the vast floor space possible for American factories.

  Of course the factory is big. It's America! 

Here's another big factory:

Postblogging Technology, August 1953, II: One, Two, Many Bombs

 

R_.C_.,

Oriental Club,

London,

England

Dear Father:

Here we are, coming down to the end of summer and preparing for our trip to London. By which I mean, finally making our bookings. I would love to fly, and have a bit more time in Nakusp, but it seems quite impractical with a baby and a toddler in hand, and so we are embarking in Montreal on the 1st of September and so leaving Nakusp on the 26th, which means that I will be finishing this letter on the train, probably in the boring bits. There's only so much Saskatchewan scenery you can take!  

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, August 1953, I: Snack-bars, Milk Bars, Baby Booms

R_.C_.,

The Oriental Club,
London,
England




Dear Father:

This letter finds you from a delightful summer vacation with Reggie and Uncle George's arrival on the Minto last week to enjoy August before we leave for London from Revelstoke on the 3rd. We've now made housing arrangements. We'll be rooming with  Nat McKitterick! It's very strange to think that we will be living across the hall from the man I've quoted in these letters so many times, but he finds he has space to spare and the dollar is starting to go a little less distance in London these days. He says, anyway. I hope we won't arrive and find that he's gone to booze and seed  like the dissipate journalist I hope he is! However, the connection was made through one of Uncle George's Glenn Martin friends, who has not steered  him wrong before. It certainly won't be the kind of palatial quarters we've been enjoying here in Nakusp, and I do wonder about the food, but we're to be in London for two years as Reggie does his vaguely defined liaison duties which are absolutely not cover for developing the "carcinotron" and flying it into Russian radar stations to see what's up over there. I'm not sure what I think of poking the bear when the bear has atomic bombs, but at least they're not hydrogen bombs, and I am told that Lockheed and the CIA have a swell trick that the Communists can't beat in a month of Sundays. 

Sure. Absolutely. Anything the Dulles brothers touch is sure to turn into something. 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie