Philco, Roger: A Technical Appendix to Postblogging Technology, April 1955

 

Not to be indelicate, but what the fuck happened? 

As Philco ("Philadelphia Electric Company") launches the marketing campaign for its Transac computer line in 1955, it was celebrating twenty-five straight years of leading the American radio industry by volume of sales. Curtiss-Wright, named for Glenn L. Curtiss and Orville Wright, started as a patent pool holding virtual monopoly rights over American aviation, from which foundations came a major aircraft company and one pole of the virtual duopoly of American aircraft engine manufacturing. The Douglas DC-7, currently winning the sales that will, it turns out, end the British airliner resurgence, is flying with four Wright R-3350 Turbo-Compounds, essentially demonstrating that, as far as long distance commercial flying goes in the mid-Fifties, there is basically just one alternative.

Today? There's still a Curtiss-Wright, sort of, but no engines, no computers. And it took barely five years. 

Phil Silvers, not Sergeant Bilko

Postblogging Technology, September 1954, II: Teenagers Out of Control!

R_.C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver, Canada

Dear Father:

So, here we are in Taipei carrying out OPERATION FAN OUT AND TALK EVERYONE OUT OF STARTING WWIII. (It's in capitals because it's official! In a completely unofficial "Everyone is cashiered if this gets to the press" kind of way. The dead hand of the Administration lies heavily on Taipei; there is no-one to take the reins because the President is sulking, Dulles and Knowland are idiots on collision courses, and Radford is an idiot. That leaves Felix, and even Ambassador  Rankin out on a limb. Felix has Ray Spruance's ear, and Spruance out of the public eye in Manila now that the Seato Conference is over, and has been meeting with Frank Gibbs. So, to make a long story short, we might be agents of perfidious Albion.  And everyone of any sense, really. 

We've been to Keelung, doing our best to pass as Koumintang worthies in front of the internees. My impression is that the propaganda line that the Tuapse internees have been abused, is justified. Karl is talking about sending us out to the Soviet blockade flotilla, for lack of anyone who can make an official approach. I don't know what we're supposed to do there. Knowing the Red Navy, I'm sure everyone is eager to be back in Vladivostok. It might not be much, but it's better than an extended cruise on a Soviet destroyer! But the Reds going to need one hell of an excuse to leave, and right now I have no idea what it would be. 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

PS Of course all of this activity is a most excellent excuse for not bringing back Engineering and Aviation Week. 

Postblogging Technology, June 1954, II: We Have Met The Enemy And He Is Us

R_C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada

Dear Father:

And that's the end of my month. If I may dwell on the political for a moment (Moi? Never!), this really is Pierre Mendes France's moment, and I cannot help a smile on my face and a lift to my feet, even more than when the Capital deal went through. (We'll leave aside the question of whether they can pay for their planes.) He has a vision for Europe, and he is going to close out the Tunisian and Moroccan adventures as well as Indo China. Newsweek seems to have capitulated to him, describing him as a Dewey Republican or such. I hope he'll have a chance to apply his vision to France, although the times are running against his economics, with the Anglo Saxons catching up with the Fourth Republic's Government-by-rentiers. On the other hand, Ike seems too sick to run in '56, which means that Stevenson will have a good chance, and we might see the back of the odious Dulles brothers. (Not that the prospect of seeing McCarthy and Allen Dulles tussling doesn't do my heart good.) James is predictably disappointed that there aren't more signs of the party rallying to Kefauver, but I will take what I can get. 

On the other hand, London is a bit giddy right now, so maybe I'm just being infected by the optimistic mood. 

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, May 1954, II: Four Minute Mile

R_. C._,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada




Dear Father:

We are finally caught up with the news from the Empire Games. Roger Bannister has run a four minute mile! Do you realise that he ran the last quarter, some 400 yards, in 56 seconds? 10 seconds is a good sprint time for 100 meters! It tires me out just thinking about it. And while British sportsmen do the country proud, John Foster Dulles keeps up the American side in Geneva by showing how to stick your head where the sun doesn't shine! I understand that he is trying to avoid having America take over from France in the role of "hapless colonial master getting beaten up by the Viet Minh," but I don't think that it is working. At least his efforts in the Middle East seem to be bearing fruit. At least so I think. But what do I know? Apart from that Capital Airlines is going to buy 60(!) Viscounts. I wish I got a commission instead of a paycheque!

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, February 1954, I: Howard and Me

R_.C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada




Dear Father:

We are finally and securely back in London. It is February, James' appointment is a quarter done, and I am pleased to report, as  you've no doubt heard, that I have found part-time work to keep my hand in. Since, unlike some magazines, I can read between the lines, I thought that Aviation Finance would be fun, because if there is a place in Britain where we might have the next "Affair of the Poisons," it will be here. (Don't look it up in the Encyclopedia; read a novel if you're inclined to learn more, and notice that I didn't say "know.") 

Around the old lodgings, the children are flourishing, our host not so much, as he has been taking quite a ribbing for suggesting that the Comet crashed because it is a hunk of junk, and not because dastardly saboteurs blew it up. I have tried not to have an argument with him, and have prevailed on James to do the same, because there is some reason to think that de Havilland has not delivered the soundest of planes, and I guess time will tell, which seems to be the theme around here right now. And also because it is hard to get a place in London right now! Anyway it's probably the it's-not-going-to-be-a-real-recession getting us all down in the dumps about the future. 

At least we'll have tupperware parties to make fun of! (I would make fun of Howard Hughes, but frankly he sounds ill, not eccentric.)

Your Loving Daughter,

Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, January 1951, I: A Whole New Year

R_.C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada




Dear Father:

Thank you again for your hospitality, which I am sorry I am so late, but things in London have been hectic. You may have noticed from the calendar that we flew out of Montreal the day of the Comet grounding, and London was an absolute zoo when we got there. On the other hand the Azores are BEAUTIFUL, which is just as well because renting a car and touring made up for spending a week there.  Or almost did, because why did there have to be an entire class of children aboard that plane? Why? 

All this bad enough before the Britannia accident. And, yes, this should have been in the mail long before the first week of February, but what can I say?  I've been touring James around because we've only the one car and I've had business in the counties, too trying to get the business of assorted people who were trying to move sterling into dollars ahead of the Crash of '54 and don't hold with old-fashioned surface shipping any more. 

So. Late. Sorry. Grateful. Missing you. Busy. Azores nice. Summaries good.  

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 Medico-Technical Appendix to Postblogging Technology, July 1953: Heart-Lung Machines and Autopilots

 

I guess it won't surprise anyone that Port Alice didn't have a movie theatre, so I saw most of the movies that shaped us Gen Xers (more-or-less; technically I belong to the last gasp of the Baby Boom) on TV at a later date. Star Wars IV and 1982's Young Doctors in Love are exceptions, and, of  the two, A New Hope was the better movie. Does Young Doctors in Love even have a life support/heart-lung machine scene? I guess it also won't surprise anyone that I am not going to rewatch it to find out! It's probably not nearly as hilarious as I remember, from the look of the Youtube extracts I watched looking for a heart-and-lunch machine scene. This one's got the surgical theatre-blinking-lights machines, so it will do, and I will preserve my nostalgia for a time just slightly past.