A Technological Appendix to Postblogging Technology, December 1949,II: Fun with Uranium

As we've been hearing, during a 1 November 1949 television interview about, ironically enough, the need for more atomic secrecy, Senator Edwin Johnson's 1 told the world that America was developing a "super bomb," a thousand times more powerful than an atom bomb. It's evidently not as big a deal as that time the junior Senator from Colorado called Ingrid Bergman a floozy on the floor of the Senate, but apparently he's the guy who set the world on the path to the hydrogen bomb. Although considering that he is also known for a statement that is very hard to interpret as anything other than a threat of pre-emptive atomic war, it's not a hundred percent clear to me that the Russians would have eschewed the pursuit of  megaton-range weapons even in the absence of IVY MIKE. 

There's also Robert Barker's Aspatron to consider. (I notice that I have him as "Parker" in my precis. I'd have to (shudder) reread the Engineering article to be sure whether the error is mine or the editor's although past experience suggests that it was me. The point is that the Popular Science blurb is much more lively and lucid than the  turgid Engineering piece, so I'm going with that one.)

The story of the Aspatron occasions the question: What, exactly, were people making of Johnson's comments between November and the official announcement of the H-bomb programme on 31 January?

Postblogging Technology,December 1949, II: Blue Christmas

(Swapped for "Blue Christmas" below, because I have a legit excuse to lead off with Lead Belly.)

R_. C_.,

Shaughnessy, Vancouver,

Canada.

Dear Father:

Once again I find myself writing a Christmas letter that, given the terror of First Year Law final exams, I'm more likely to be handing to you at the door as I stumble through!

Be gentle, and say nothing about my hair. NOTHING.

. . . Or so I said at the head in the long-ago time before Contracts final. (It's okay. I did fine, down in the mush middle of the "As," a little short of the high flyers, but good enough to probably make moot court.) 

Ahem. Allow me to dig myself out of multiple digressions and back to where I am. I started writing this letter way back on the 16th, pending the arrival of my subscriptions. And Contracts, next day. I was feeling a little self-conscious about my hair, but all ended well when Uncle George paid for an appointment on the 20th. I know I say that I don't like to take family charity, but I make an exception for new cars and my hair. 

St. Botolph. Fascinating. No word on central heating.

To continue this convoluted chronology that only some learned medieval  monk could unravel, I am writing this now, and bringing you up to date, on the train on the 23rd. Allowing that I pull into Pacific Station on time, you will have it in your hands by 7. HOWEVER, one of my magazines is bringing out an issue on the 30th. 

It is, of course, Engineering, which exists solely to crush my soul. I am PROPOSING to give it whatever brief due it is worth on my return to campus. I will send that, as an addendum, to you, by the start of classes. You will be charged with assembling the whole, reading it, if you are so inclined, and then forwarding it to the Earl. 

And now that I've explained all of that, Reggie's in the Pullman, so Merry New Year,  Jolly Epiphany, or whatever's right by the time you read this. 

Yours Sincerely,

Ronnie

(And that's how you deal with a contagious case of mumps)

Postblogging Technology, December 1949, I: Down Canberra Way

R_. C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada

Dear Father:

I am glad that this finds  you home in the heights above Quilchena Park, for you are venerable and past the day when you must be forged in the furnaces of academe into a LAWYER. 

Ahem. Sorry, that was a bit of a reach, but the Christmas issue of Fortune is a bit slight, to make room for the giant gift catalogue in the middle, but there's lots of nice Hudson Valley-related paintings reproduced in the middle under the title, "Painters of Industry," and the one of workers pulling a cannon out of a furnace is credibly "technological." 

Also, I am being FORGED right now by Contracts review. I think I am getting this! Your son continues to prepare to Occupy Taiwan, although he also has a very hush-hush job testing something he describes as "the cancer of the skies," which might have something to do with beating radar?

Mrs. C. sends her thanks for your kind gift.

Yours Sincerely,
Ronnie

Postblogging Technology, November 1949, II: Atom Bombs, Radars and GREEN MACE

In November of 1949 we saw a bit of an "AA" renaissance. Wartime AA chief, Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Pile (Bart)'s book-length version of his war's end communique, Ack-Ack; and American technocrat Vannevar Bush's Modern Arms and Free Men manage to make it into the back pages (sort of) of the periodicals we follow.

Our apologies to whatever second-rate archaeological dreck or wartime reminiscence that Time and Flight, respectively, would otherwise have covered. Thanks to that forebearance, we know that Pile was robustly enthusiastic about AA in the new nuclear age, whilst Vannevar Bush thought that it was actually now possible to defend against the nuclear terror weapon. While we're a long way from the Reagan-era high flowering of Star Wars, that day is perhaps peeping over the horizon. 

So it seems like a good week to stop and contemplate ABM, a sort of recurrent fever or  species of social contagion, not entirely unlike other moral and other panics that periodically infect us. 

This isn't to say that such things are entirely futile. Runaway cold virii sell a lot of garlic, ginger and onions, the green grocer knows, and vast schemes of antiballistic defence may produce electronic (and other) spin-offs.

Postblogging Technology, November 1949, II:

R_. C_.,
The Alexander Young Hotel,
Oahu,
Hawaii.

Dear Father:

Hopefully this reaches you before you leave Hawaii. Not that it is terribly critical. We welcomed Mrs. C. and Fat Chow's plane last Friday, and reclaimed their children from the Wongs. Heartwarming. I don't even mind being the only driver, on account of  the Wong's old Ford needing a new everything and Reggie's Jeep not being exactly suitable for toddlers. It's almost enough to make me think that James has a point about "practical" cars. 

On second thought, pish-posh. Dinner at the Tang Garden which has moved to the old Perfumed Garden's space across the street from the Benevolent Association, now that they've moved uptown. This meant that Wong Lee felt that he could join us. (Why, yes, I did get that lecture about being more careful myself. So glad you thought to ask!)

Sorry. But I've been hearing a lot of that kind of thing this "Horror Week," which, right now, I am putting behind me as we plan a Thanksgiving fit for our conquering heroes. I don't know. Does creating an American pipeline for Tibetan gold count as "conquering?" Well,, I don't care. As criminal enterprises go, it's a lot better than some of the business we could be involved in! 

Yours Sincerely,
Ronnie.

A Technological, Agricultural, Financial and Entertainment Appendix to Postblogging Technology, November 1949, I: Ranking Postwar Economic Policy

*

So. Oscars night. I'm pretty much a third-person spectator, since I haven't seen any of the nominated movies. I was prepared in advance for a travesty, as 1917 beat Parasite for Best Picture. Needless to say, it didn't happen that way, but the argument for 1917 in advance --that it was British/-- rang a little bit off when I was simultaneously reading the wall-to-wall coverage of the Rank Organisation's disastrous 1949. The dolorous refrain of "the government has no place in business" resonates to the Newsweek reader, at least, with its marquee economic educator/analyst carrying on a rotomontade on the gold standard. We'll get a tiny taste of Henry Hazlitt's ongoing goldbuggery  next week, but it won't really do his literally months-long freak out justice. 

The common theme here, which gets to food and turbojets to round out the post, is that, after 70 years, this stuff hasn't aged very well. Perhaps and this is just me spitballing here, maybe, just maybe, government does have a place in the boardrooms of the nation?

Postblogging Technology, November 1949, I: After the Atomic Monopoly

R_. C_.,
79 Av de Harmonia,
Macao

Dear Father:

I'm so glad that you were able to come to an arrangement with the Incarnate Deity and General Chennault, who probably thinks he is, too. Incarnate enlightened teacher. Whatever. I'm also glad to hear that all that gold they have up there in Tibet won't have to just reach the world through Pakistan anymore. And needless to say, the dacoits are going to very pleased with their red envelopes this year! 

Now, as for the matter of keeping Chennault and the Soongs apart, I can offer you no guarantees that will last even as long as it takes you to cruise all leisurely across the Pacific. Are you sure you can't fly? I understand that the air palls after the trip from Shigatse to Kai Tak. I can only imagine! But if Mrs. C. can fly, can't you? 

However you choose to make the crossing, we'll greet you warmly and show you the sights of our Bohemian city. Or, you know, tag along with your expense account. Reggie may not be a student anymore, but he is still a subaltern! 

Sincerely, 

Ronnie