Showing posts sorted by relevance for query New York City. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query New York City. Sort by date Show all posts
Friday, August 10, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
1939 by David Gelernter
I’ve been time traveling. I went back to visit the 1939 World’s Fair
in New York. I tagged along with a couple of locals, both
to New York and 1939, Mark and Hattie. I
was looking forward to it because, like me, Mark studied engineering
and is attending the fair for the first time.
I wondered how he might react to the visions of future technology
on display, like the superhighways
anticipated by Democracity
and the Futurama
(which I read about in The Big Roads by Earls Swift). I grew up in an era of Interstates,
commuting, and electrified kitchens, so the even the visions of the future on
display at the fair are the past to me.
Google
I also time traveled to 1995 to take a look
back at the fair with Hattie. I was
reintroduced to her by a computer
science professor. (The professor
was David
Gelernter. This is a review of his
book, 1939: The Lost World of the Fair.) Back then I was starting my career
in Kansas
City, so I didn’t worried about running into myself in New York.
I was fascinated by what I saw of the fair. These people had a vision of the future. It might seem modest to us, but it was big to
them. They dreamed of the good life in
which many more people owned homes in pleasant suburbs, drove to work in their
own cars on broad roads, had enough to eat, and were relieved from drudgery by
electric appliances. Within a
generation, in spite of the difficulties of a major war, they largely brought
their dream into reality, and we have fitfully enjoyed the results.
Gelernter compares the fairgoers to Moses looking into
the Promised
Land (an apropos analogy considering he also writes about what it was like
to be Jewish
in America at
the time). Their vision of a land of
milk and honey is very much the time we live in.
This leads to one of the many points of comparison Gelernter draws
between that generation and ours. They
had drive, even a kind of joy, because they had a goal toward which to strive. The cultural angst that began to show in the 1960s is in part a
sign that we had arrived. Our goals were
achieved and we hand no reason to strive, so we lost our way. We perish for lack of vision.
I find Gelernter to be a pretty good critic
of technology. You might expect a
computer science professor to be enthusiastic about the changes computers have
wrought. He is more impressed with the
improvements made by that older generation.
He looks at roads and refrigeration and the host of other mid- to late-Twentieth
Century technologies and sees that they made improvements to human health
and happiness. The differences made by
computers pale in comparison. I can remember that in 1995, I could cut up
documents with a pair of scissor, tape pieces of them together, mark the mess
up by hand and give it to a person in the office we called a clerk. A short time later, the clerk would bring me
back a freshly-printed, neat document, a final version of what was represented
by my taped-together prototype. The
clerk would even do a little copy editing.
When a computer can do that, I’ll be impressed. In other words, I think Gelernter’s critique
holds water even 17 years later.
Gelernter may be glad that I got the sense of time travel for which he
was going. He might be disappointed that
I didn’t like Mark and Hattie much. I
slipped away from them as much as I felt I safely could. I wanted to see the fair, and though it may
seem hardhearted, I had little interest in the ups and downs of their romance or
their fretfulness over the war in Europe. I think someone could write a good novel about
this couple and how the day they got engaged at the fair became a touchstone
for Hattie even decades later. If I had
expected a novel, I might have liked these characters, but I was expecting a
history, and I found them distracting.
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Stan Lee by Bob Batchelor
Stan Lee
is the face of comic
books to many and has become a sort of celebrity in
his more than 70-year long career as a storyteller.
He began to hone his image on the college lecture circuit in the 1960s while he
created a new type of superhero,
typified by the Fantastic
Four and Spider-Man,
in collaboration with artists including Jack Kirby
and Steve
Ditko. It was a role Lee was ready for; he had been trying out ways to
promote comic books and himself since the 1940s.
Bob
Batchelor presents Lee’s life in Stan
Lee: The Man behind Marvel. Though not a long biography,
it starts with Lee’s childhood in New York City
and runs through his 95th year, when he is still producing ideas for
comics and television.
Lee was present nearly at the beginning of comic books. He started as
an assistant to Joe
Simon and Jack Kirby, the creators of Captain
America. When they moved on after contentions with Timely Comics,
a forerunner to Marvel,
Lee stepped up to become editor while still a teenager.
Lee was ready to quit comics by the time the 1960s. He craved to work
in a respectable field and was tired of chasing trends. The right combination
of opportunity and encouragement from his wife pushed Lee to write the kind of
comics he would want to read, and it became a sensation.
Though Lee will always be associated with Marvel comics, by the 1980s his focus
was shifting to television and film.
It was a rough transition for Lee, but he had some success, especially in the
production of animated
adaptions of Marvel characters that were popular in the 1990s.
Lee has stumbled some in his post-Marvel career, notably the debacle of
new media company Stan Lee
Media. He seems to have recovered somewhat with POW!
Entertainment.
Lee has detractors, which Batchelor acknowledges. Batchelor doesn’t
refute those detractors, but his take on Lee is overall very positive. Lee
appears to be someone who tries not to be tied down by his past, neither
dwelling on his failures nor being content with many successes.
Lee was a central figure in creating some of the most popular
characters and stories in the world. Well into his 90s, he is still working and
coming up with ideas that find their way into print, television and the Internet.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Batchelor, Bob. Stan Lee: The Man
behind Marvel. New York: Rowman
& Littlefield, 2017.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Dreams of Iron and Steel by Deborah Cadbury & The Lighthouse Stevensons by Bella Bathurst
In Dreams of Iron and Steel (New York: HarperCollins, 2004), Deborah Cadbury tells the stories of seven great works that cover over a century of engineering history. Originally published in Great Britain as Seven Wonders of the Industrial World, the book was a companion to a BBC television series. The projects covered vary widely from a sewer built under a metropolis to a bridge that towered above the skyline of its day.
The oldest of these (still standing like all but one of the other projects) is the Bell Rock lighthouse. The Bell Rock sank many ships that sought shelter from North Sea storms in Scotland’s Firth of Forth. Robert Stevenson, grandfather of author Robert Louis Stevenson, designed and oversaw the construction of a tower on it. The rock was a formidable construction site. It sat eleven miles from land. High tide covered it with as much as 16 feet of water. Low tide exposed an area only 250 by 130 feet. Yet Stevenson and his men built a 100-foot, stone tower on it. They did it 200 years ago.
By the middle of the nineteenth century, several wonders were built almost at once. The Great Eastern, built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, was twice the size of any other ship. Though a commercial failure, it set the standard for the next generation of ships.
Brunel launched his ship into a dirty and diseased Thames. Joseph Bazalgette sought to make the river safer for London residents. He built sewers under an ancient city that had grown to 2.5 million people and sprawled over 80 square miles.
In the American West, rival firms raced across the continent to build a railroad that would unite a nation recovering from civil war. In New York, John and Washington Roebling tackled the broad East River with their Brooklyn Bridge. They risked their lives and reputations on the longest span of the day and a material untested in bridges—steel.
The twentieth century inaugurated bigger feats. First proposed in 1879 by Vicomte Ferdinand de Lesseps of France, builder of the Suez Canal, the Panama Canal defeated most of those tried to build it. Even the United States poked at the mountains in futility until John Stevens, a railroad engineer, upgraded the infrastructure and equipment. When Stevens left the canal, a frustrated Theodore Roosevelt put military officers in charge. Lieutenant Colonel George Goethels, an engineer with extensive lock and dam experience, saw the canal through to its completion shortly before World War I.
The final project, America’s “damn big dam”, was build during the Depression. Hoover Dam was huge and constructed under difficult conditions. But construction engineer Frank “Hurry up” Crowe pushed and planned to get it done early and under budget.
Cadbury treats each project separately. However, they are linked by common elements.
Tragedy and setbacks touched each one. Thousands of men, usually poor laborers and sometimes children, were killed or injured to make these huge structures. They were beset by lack of financing, reluctance to try new methods and materials, bankrupt contractors, political opposition, corruption, greed, prejudice, and other human imperfections.
At their best, these engineers and their wonders are linked by the same qualities that appear in the best of engineering today. They had a vision to make people safer, healthier, richer, and freer. They created solutions to immense problems.
Robert Stevenson’s triumph at Bell Rock won the confidence of the Northern Lighthouse Board. It also launched an association between the Stevenson family and Scottish lighthouses that lasted four generations. During their tenures in the office of engineer for the board, Stevenson and his sons dominated the design, construction, and operation of the lights. Bella Bathurst tells their story in The Lighthouse Stevensons (New York: HarperCollins, 1999).
This book has its own kind of variety: technical, professional, and personal. It covers the construction and technology of several lighthouses, the masterpieces of Robert and his three sons. They not only built towers, but also improved their design and the design of the lamps, reflectors, optics, and mechanical systems that operated in them. One even studied the waves that assaulted their works.
It shows that engineering is more than simply design and construction. The Stevensons were also managers, fundraisers, businessmen, public servants, purchasing agents, manufacturers, contractors, and more. Their work included a broad section of what engineers do.
The book is also a biography of these four men that reveals the dynamics of the family. Robert insisted his sons join the family profession and business. Only one, David, seemed to take to it naturally. Only David’s sons filled the next generation of lighthouse Stevensons. Alan and Tom were more inclined to work in literature and the arts. Alan proved himself to be a capable engineer by building a 138-foot light at Skerryvore that could withstand the elements and exhibit a simple beauty. He became so disabled by disease, Bathurst suggests it was muscular sclerosis, that he gave up his work with the lighthouses. He managed to work irregularly as a writer. His works include and encyclopedia article on lighthouses and a translation of Greek poems. Tom shared Alan’s artistic leaning, but not his intensity and focus. He and David eventually divided the engineering work for the Northern Lights.
Not everyone is cut out to be an engineer, of course. As Robert Louis Stevenson said about his internship in the profession, “He is a wise youth, to be sure, who can balance one part of genuine life against two parts of drudgery between four walls and for the sake of one, manfully accept the other.” But some managed to catch what Marion Allen, a laborer on the Hoover Dam, called constructitis. “Sometimes one thinks he is cured,” said Allen, “only to have a relapse when he goes by fresh concrete or catches the smell of fresh sawdust from new lumber. Anyone with this affliction has to start construction of some kind, even of only to dig a hole and fill it up again.”
Order this book here.
The oldest of these (still standing like all but one of the other projects) is the Bell Rock lighthouse. The Bell Rock sank many ships that sought shelter from North Sea storms in Scotland’s Firth of Forth. Robert Stevenson, grandfather of author Robert Louis Stevenson, designed and oversaw the construction of a tower on it. The rock was a formidable construction site. It sat eleven miles from land. High tide covered it with as much as 16 feet of water. Low tide exposed an area only 250 by 130 feet. Yet Stevenson and his men built a 100-foot, stone tower on it. They did it 200 years ago.
By the middle of the nineteenth century, several wonders were built almost at once. The Great Eastern, built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, was twice the size of any other ship. Though a commercial failure, it set the standard for the next generation of ships.
Brunel launched his ship into a dirty and diseased Thames. Joseph Bazalgette sought to make the river safer for London residents. He built sewers under an ancient city that had grown to 2.5 million people and sprawled over 80 square miles.
In the American West, rival firms raced across the continent to build a railroad that would unite a nation recovering from civil war. In New York, John and Washington Roebling tackled the broad East River with their Brooklyn Bridge. They risked their lives and reputations on the longest span of the day and a material untested in bridges—steel.
The twentieth century inaugurated bigger feats. First proposed in 1879 by Vicomte Ferdinand de Lesseps of France, builder of the Suez Canal, the Panama Canal defeated most of those tried to build it. Even the United States poked at the mountains in futility until John Stevens, a railroad engineer, upgraded the infrastructure and equipment. When Stevens left the canal, a frustrated Theodore Roosevelt put military officers in charge. Lieutenant Colonel George Goethels, an engineer with extensive lock and dam experience, saw the canal through to its completion shortly before World War I.
The final project, America’s “damn big dam”, was build during the Depression. Hoover Dam was huge and constructed under difficult conditions. But construction engineer Frank “Hurry up” Crowe pushed and planned to get it done early and under budget.
Cadbury treats each project separately. However, they are linked by common elements.
Tragedy and setbacks touched each one. Thousands of men, usually poor laborers and sometimes children, were killed or injured to make these huge structures. They were beset by lack of financing, reluctance to try new methods and materials, bankrupt contractors, political opposition, corruption, greed, prejudice, and other human imperfections.
At their best, these engineers and their wonders are linked by the same qualities that appear in the best of engineering today. They had a vision to make people safer, healthier, richer, and freer. They created solutions to immense problems.
Robert Stevenson’s triumph at Bell Rock won the confidence of the Northern Lighthouse Board. It also launched an association between the Stevenson family and Scottish lighthouses that lasted four generations. During their tenures in the office of engineer for the board, Stevenson and his sons dominated the design, construction, and operation of the lights. Bella Bathurst tells their story in The Lighthouse Stevensons (New York: HarperCollins, 1999).
This book has its own kind of variety: technical, professional, and personal. It covers the construction and technology of several lighthouses, the masterpieces of Robert and his three sons. They not only built towers, but also improved their design and the design of the lamps, reflectors, optics, and mechanical systems that operated in them. One even studied the waves that assaulted their works.
It shows that engineering is more than simply design and construction. The Stevensons were also managers, fundraisers, businessmen, public servants, purchasing agents, manufacturers, contractors, and more. Their work included a broad section of what engineers do.
The book is also a biography of these four men that reveals the dynamics of the family. Robert insisted his sons join the family profession and business. Only one, David, seemed to take to it naturally. Only David’s sons filled the next generation of lighthouse Stevensons. Alan and Tom were more inclined to work in literature and the arts. Alan proved himself to be a capable engineer by building a 138-foot light at Skerryvore that could withstand the elements and exhibit a simple beauty. He became so disabled by disease, Bathurst suggests it was muscular sclerosis, that he gave up his work with the lighthouses. He managed to work irregularly as a writer. His works include and encyclopedia article on lighthouses and a translation of Greek poems. Tom shared Alan’s artistic leaning, but not his intensity and focus. He and David eventually divided the engineering work for the Northern Lights.
Not everyone is cut out to be an engineer, of course. As Robert Louis Stevenson said about his internship in the profession, “He is a wise youth, to be sure, who can balance one part of genuine life against two parts of drudgery between four walls and for the sake of one, manfully accept the other.” But some managed to catch what Marion Allen, a laborer on the Hoover Dam, called constructitis. “Sometimes one thinks he is cured,” said Allen, “only to have a relapse when he goes by fresh concrete or catches the smell of fresh sawdust from new lumber. Anyone with this affliction has to start construction of some kind, even of only to dig a hole and fill it up again.”
Order this book here.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Rising Tide by James M. Barry
The Mississippi
River is powerful. I’ve seen it. I grew up in the northern tip of the
river’s delta and now live near one of its major tributaries. John M. Barry’s
history
of the 1927 flood of the
Mississippi, Rising Tide, is only
partly about the power of the river. It is more about the power of men,
particularly the political
power of the men who have tried to exert control over the river.
The first political battle related to the river took place in the 19th
Century. It was a conflict between the nation’s military engineering
establishment and their increasingly influential civilian counterparts over who
would control Mississippi River policy.
The principal actors and figureheads for the two sides were Andrew A.
Humphreys, chief of the U.S. Army
Corp of Engineers, and James B. Eads,
St. Louis-based
civil engineer. The Corp largely won this battle, maintaining a controlling voice
in river policy, but the resulting agency, the Mississippi
River Commission, adopted a theory of practice that neither Humphreys or
Eads supported. It would lead to floods on the river becoming increasingly bad.
That conflict doesn’t completely disappear, but it is overtaken by the
greater flow of money, politics, society, and race, mostly
centered in New
Orleans, Mississippi’s
Yazoo Valley,
and Washington,
DC. It is hard to give each player his due in a brief review of Barry’s
book. Barry focuses on Leroy Percy,
who had great influence on river policy before, during and after the flood. He
was a planter in the Mississippi-Yazoo Delta and, briefly, a U.S. Senator from
Mississippi. He was also a relative of Walker Percy,
one of my favorite authors.
The flood made political careers and had lasting effects. President Calvin
Coolidge appointed his Secretary of Commerce, Herbert
Hoover, to lead relief efforts after the flood. The publicity and public
goodwill that accrued to Hoover during this period helped to usher him into the
White House
as Coolidge’s successor. Hoover’s lack of follow-through on promises to black
leaders created a crack between in the relationship between African-American’s
and the Republican
Party that led to a serious split.
Huey P.
Long also owed some of his success to the flood and its aftermath. New
Orleans business leaders promised to provide relief to neighbors who would be
flooded by the dynamiting of levees to protect the city. Afterward, these men
did everything they could to minimize their liability and did not even pay
one-tenth of the cost of damages caused by the flooding. Long rode a wave of
resentment against New Orleans aristocrats into the Louisiana
governor’s office. Once there, he used his position to strip the New Orleans
elite of as much power as he could. As the city elites became more insular and
focused on protecting what they had, rather than growing their businesses and
community, New Orleans lost its position as the leading city of the South as
other more welcoming cities grew.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Barry, James M. Rising Tide: The
Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America. New York: Simon
& Schuster, 1997.
Monday, September 2, 2013
London Under by Peter Ackroyd
London
is an ancient city. The Romans established
a settlement their a thousand years ago, but they weren’t the first inhabitants
of the valley. It sits on soil into which everything slowly sinks. Rivers that
brought life to the valley became choked with filth and were buried. The ground
under London is thick with history,
and the infrastructure
of a modern metropolis mingles with the remains of its ancestors. Peter Ackroyd
describes what is beneath the surface of that great city in London Under.
Ackroyd goes back to the earliest settlers of the area and the archeological
remains of their lives. Their holy places were overbuilt by Roman temples. The temples
dedicated to Roman gods were overbuilt by churches.
Old paths became Roman roads. The filth of
a city covered these roads and turned them back into dirt paths. Modern people
paved them anew with brick,
and later asphalt or concrete. It’s
all still there, though, one thing layered over the other, but often still
following the outlines ancient paths.
As you might expect from a man with who has worked with water,
some of my favorite chapters relate to the rivers and sewers.
London was built around rivers. As the population grew, these rivers became
open sewers, carrying away all manner of waste until they were too filthy and
stinking to bear. These rivers were enclosed and became underground sewers. As
the city grew, it overwhelmed the sewers and turned the Thames into a
stinking mess. Eventually it inconvenienced Parliament
enough that they engaged the problems seriously in the 19th
Century, putting in place interceptor sewers that carried the waste away
from the city. Many of the sewers that are now more than a century old are
still in use.
Another feature of London that fascinates my engineering side is the
Underground. The city has the oldest underground railway system.
The first lines are more than 150 years old. It was built in bits and pieces by
competing private companies, though now it is a unified system. The Underground
has become such a part of London life that a literature related to it has
developed. The tunnels
have been the settings of novels
and the inspiration for poems.
World
War II and the Cold War were
another significant phase of buried construction.
The British government
built many tunnels and bunkers to protect government resources threatened by war. During World
War II, so many people sought shelter in the Underground that the government
was forced to provide shelter space for people escaping the bombs.
Like any modern city, London now has an extensive underground
infrastructure. Pipelines carry drinking water, sewerage, electric and
telephone wires, fiber optic cables and all the other things that connect
people to services in their homes and workplaces. These important systems are hidden
underground, out of site and possibly too often out of mind, where their work
apparently does not disturb the sleeping remains of the many things that had
come before.
If you are interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Saturday, November 11, 2017
The Power Makers by Maury Klein
Maury
Klein’s book The Power Makers is
a history
of power from
the Thomas
Newcomen’s steam engine
to the foundations of America’s electric
grid.
Unlike many historians who look at the history of electric power, Klein
gives a lot of attention to steam. We haven’t had steam engines directly
powering industrial plants for decades, but steam turbines are still central to
the production of most electricity in the United States. Even nuclear
power plants use steam turbines to run their generators, they just use the heat
from nuclear reactions rather than from the combustion of coal or natural gas
to boil water
and heat the steam to more than a thousand degrees.
Klein gives attention to many lesser known names in the history of
power. He shows that Thomas Edison
and George
Westinghouse had rivals other than each other, such as Elihu Thomson.
Nikola Tesla
is well known as the genius who invented the AC motor, but other engineers
helped develop his prototype into a commercial product, such as mathematically
talented engineer Benjamin
Lamme. Many talented inventors tried their hands at making electric
lighting and power systems better. Only some of them had the vision, business
sense, good partners and luck to turn their ideas into successful products. Few
of them are widely known today.
Electrification had clear, direct effects in industry and
transportation. Klein discusses how it’s influence reached into other sectors
of the economy. Corporate management
and finance
changed to meet the needs of a growing new technology.
For instance, Edison General
Electric was able to take advantage of a new New Jersey
law that allowed corporations
to own businesses in other states. Electric companies grew, expanded and
consolidated through numerous mergers and acquisitions. They had a demand for
capital that nearly rivaled the railroads,
another transformative technology that had shortly preceded electric power.
As the availability of electricity grew, certain industries were able
to grow, too. Some chemical and metals manufacturing required abundant electric
power to catalyze chemical reactions or generate the high temperatures of
electric furnaces. Manufacturers flocked to Niagara after a
lager hydroelectric power station started operation there in 1895.
Klein brings the many thread of his story of power together by
reflections on three great fairs: the 1876
Centennial
Exhibition in Philadelphia,
the 1893 Columbian
Exposition in Chicago
and the 1939
New
York World’s Fair. In the first, a giant steam engine that powered exhibits
by means of belts and pulley was a significant attraction. By the second,
electricity was on display, and the White City
fairground was a model for testing AC power systems. By the 1939 fair, large
power utilities of the type we would recognize today were becoming common. By
then it was no big deal to flip a switch or pull a lever and get power so,
unlike the previous to fairs, no dignitary undertook a show of doing it; the
power was on from the start.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Klein, Maury. The Power Makers:
Steam, Electricity, and the Men Who Invented Modern America. New York: Bloomsbury Press,
2008.
Saturday, September 29, 2018
The Girls of Atomic City by Denise Kiernan
World War II
was a time when secrecy was often a necessary part of security. The secrecy surrounding the
development to of the atomic bomb was particularly thick. Since that veil was
lifted, Las Alamos, Nevada, has become strongly associated with
the bomb, as it should be. However, there were other locations critical to the
project. Denis Kiernan discusses one of them, Oak Ridge, Tennessee, in her book The Girls of Atomic City.
The Clinton Engineer Works was part of the Manhattan Project. Its purpose was the enrichment of
uranium to supply the research, development and construction of an atomic
weapon. When it was built, the Army took over thousands of acres of farmland in Tennessee,
displacing the residents. Oak Ridge did not exist before the project.
As the title suggests,
Kiernan focuses on the role of women at the Clinton Engineer Works, as the area
was known when it was a military reservation. The book draws on her
interviews with women who worked at the site; the
experiences of nine particular women serve as guideposts for the story. These
women served in a variety of roles: statistician, chemist, inspector, equipment operator,
nurse, secretary, and janitor. Some became wives and mothers as well during the war years. It was
an interesting time when there was space for women in science, technology and manufacturing, but not a lot.
Kiernan reaches outside
of Oak Ridge to mention other notable women who played a part. German physicist Lise Meitner coined the term nuclear fission; she
had Jewish ancestors and fled to Sweden as the Nazis came to power in her homeland.
Earlier, Ida Noddack was the first to suggest that the
atomic nucleus could split, an idea that was initially rejected by many
scientists studying radioactivity and the inner workings of the atom.
The growth of families
in a place designed solely for one purpose suggested a result that had not been
considered when the Army started to build the Clinton Engineer Works. Oak Ridge
was becoming a community and it eventually became an incorporated city (in 1958 by a vote of the residents after federal and state laws opened the opportunity). Though the population dropped
dramatically from its war-time peak, Oak Ridge remained a center for research
in nuclear energy and the peace-time use of radioactive
materials as it transitioned to civilian control. Today the Oak Ridge National Laboratory continues research in energy and
computing. The city of Oak Ridge continues as well, still connected to its past
as a unique factory town, but in many way a city like any other.
If you’re interested in
this book, you may also be interested in
Kiernan, Denise. The Girls of Atomic City: The Untold Story
of the Women Who Helped Win World War II. 2013. New York Touchstone: 2014.
Monday, November 14, 2016
Empires of Light by Jill Jonnes
In the last decades of the 19th
Century, inventors
and industrialists
battled for dominance in the emerging market of electric energy.
One of the major fronts of this conflict was the choice of DC (direct
current) or AC
(alternating current). Jill Jonnes
explains the history
of this pioneering age of electricity in Empires
of Light.
Thomas
Edison was a major player in the early days of electrification. He is known
for developing a commercially viable incandescent
light. The innovation
that made his light commercially successful was that he developed an entire
system for generating a distributing electric energy to make those lights work.
Edison designed a DC system, and he was a major proponent of DC. A
weakness of his system was distance. He could only supply power over a distance
of about a mile. If large areas were to be lit, a power station would be needed
every mile. This made it hard for Edison to market the system for community
lighting, though he successfully sold many systems to manufacturers,
commercial establishments and very wealthy homeowners. In spite of the
limitations, he built a system to light a portion of Manhattan; his
Pearl Street station began powering lights in 1882.
Though it was not obvious at first, it soon became clear that high
voltage AC could be transmitted over very great distances. The invention of
transformers in Europe
provided a way for voltage to be stepped up for transmission and stepped back
down to levels appropriate for lighting.
George
Westinghouse adopted the AC system. The advantages of AC soon make
Westinghouse Electric Company a major competitor with Edison. Even Edison’s own
salesman began to ask for an AC system to sell, though he was reluctant to have
any involvement with AC.
Edison believed that AC and the high voltage used for its transmission
were dangerous. He also had business and personal reasons to oppose the
introduction of rival systems. He attacked the use of AC. He even went so far
as to aid an AC opponent who successfully lobbied to make electrocution by AC
power the official means of executing condemned prisoners in the state of New York.
Westinghouse pressed on and won high profile contracts that proved the
safety and efficiency of his AC equipment. Notably, he had the major lighting
contract for the White City of
Chicago’s
World Columbian Exposition of 1893. He also won
the contract to build generators for the hydropower plant at Niagara Falls.
The promise of inexpensive power drew major manufacturers to the area before
the plant starting operating in 1895. This
surprised the investors, who had though the city of Buffalo would be
the target market.
Though transformers made AC a very viable system, it had other
technological hurdles, such as difficulty powering motors. Serbian-born inventor Nikola Tesla
solved this problem with his induction motor. Like Edison, Tesla invented an
entire system for supplying electrical power to his motors, which could also
easily accommodate incandescent and arc lighting. The Niagara Falls system was
based on Tesla’s patented technology.
Tesla went on to invent and explore the potential of other electrical
devices, notably fluorescent lights and radios.
Unfortunately, he was never able to create commercial products from these later
works. He fell on hard times and was quite poor for many of the last years of
his life. He died in 1943.
After the formation of General
Electric, which largely pushed him out of the management
of the company, Thomas Edison moved on to other things. His later ventures were
of mixed success, but his work on the phonograph
and improvements to motion
picture helped to launch the American entertainment
industry. Edison passed away in 1931, semi-retired
in Florida.
Westinghouse continued to grow his electrical empire. After the Panic
of 1907, in
which a banking crisis shook the economy,
investors forced him out of the management of Westinghouse Electric. He had
four other companies to run. He didn’t care for the way Wall Street
did business
so he got involved in Progressive politics.
He died in 1914.
Jonnes includes a chapter that is a very good, brief introduction to
the history of electrical science.
She describes the discoveries of William
Gilbert, Stephen
Gray, Andreas
Cuneus, Benjamin
Franklin, Alessandro
Volta, Sir
Humphrey Davy, Hans
Christian Oersted, André Marie Ampère, Zénobe-Théophie Gramme and Michael
Faraday.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Jonnes, Jill. Empires of Light:
Edison, Tesla, Westinghouse, and the Race to Electrify the World. New York:
Random House,
2003.
Friday, December 21, 2012
STEM Books
I’ve reviewed 39 STEM-related
books (and counting). STEM is an acronym
for science,
technology,
engineering, and mathematics. As you may have seen in the news, there is a
push to improve STEM education,
interest students in STEM fields, and grow the number of workers
in these fields. The idea is that these
will be the skills needed by workers of the future. If you’re a STEM educator or a student
considering a career in STEM fields, you might like to take a look at some of
these books.
I’ll confess that I’m not an educator, but I think most of these books
will be accessible to high school and college students, and a few to middle
school students. The list is also a
reflection of my career and interests in engineering, public
health, policy,
and history. Even with these biases, I think it is a good
list for someone looking for STEM-related books.
I was fascinated by robots as a
kid. I enjoyed reading Isaac Asimov’s
robot stories. I longed for the Omnibot
2000 in the Sears Wishbook.
Robots have come a long way. In How to Build an Android, David F. Dufty
describes the short strange life of a very complex robot made to look and talk
like science
fiction author Philip K.
Dick. The robot had a very
sophisticated and lifelike head and complex artificial
intelligence. As with most complex
things, it was the work of many people who had to solve a lot of problems.
If you’re interested in robotics, this is an interesting nontechnical
book. In addition, you’ll get introduced
to some freaky sci-fi. You may even get
as (somewhat) legitimate reason to use the word “Dickhead” (capitalized, it
refers to a fan of PKD, so don’t go using it on anyone).
The Interstate
highway
system in the United States
is one of the most enormous structures built.
Some of the prospective STEM students who read this may actually be
younger than the Intestate system, though in some sense it is never complete
because it needs constant repair and maintenance. The Interstates were completed in the 1990s, but the Federal-Aid
Highways go back to 1916.
Earl
Swift wrote an accessible history of the Interstates in The Big Roads. If you interested in automobiles
or transportation,
it’s a good read.
Deborah
Cadbury describes seven wonders of engineering in Dreams of Iron and Steel. It covers almost a century of history, but
many of the events are concentrated in the Victorian Era. That was a time of great technological
innovation.
Though the book is history, many of the structures still stand. Railways, the Brooklyn
Bridge, the Suez
and Panama
Canals, and Hoover
Dam stand testament to an age of big engineering.
Though the memory of Professor Wragg’s sneer prompts me to not make
this confession, part of my interest in science and technology came from comic
books. Iron Man was
cool. Spider-Man’s
web shooters were very cool. Superhero
comics are full of fantasy,
admittedly, but the strange, unrealistic science and technology they depict
have inspired many to study STEM in reality.
Physicist John
Kakalios uses examples from comic books to explore real physics in The Physics of Supeheroes. Sometimes comics get there science
right. Even when they get it wrong, it
can be instructive. If you know what
people are talking about when they refer to the “New 52,” you may find this
book to be a great introduction to physics.
Here is another confession: I’m not especially interested in math. I endured a lot of math classes to study
engineering. Reading David
Acheson’s 1089 and All That did
not require such endurance. For one
reason, it is a short book. For another,
Acheson doesn’t expect his readers to be mathematicians; it is enough to follow
the outline of the math he discusses.
I recommend this book because so many people have a fear of math. 1089
can be followed by many high school students and older folks with math
phobias. Just take a deep breath, relax,
and follow along as well as you can.
You’ll see that math can be interesting, useful, and even beautiful in a
way.
Judith
St. George’s The Brooklyn Bridge is a short history of and iconic bridge. Written for the
bridge’s 100th anniversary, it is also the story of the engineers
who sacrificed life and health to see it completed: John Roebling and his son Washington. John Roebling was
a German immigrant who built many suspension
bridges and owed a wire-making business. He gave his son
and extraordinary education in bridge engineering for the time, and before
beginning work on the Brooklyn Bridge he served as an officer in the Union Army during the Civil War.
Why should a cutting-edge STEM student read about a
bridge that is almost 130 years old? It’s
because we still use and rely on very successful, centuries old technologies. Improving and rebuilding our infrastructure will be an important part of our economy. As recently as 2010, New York City and the federal government committed $500 million to
repair and repaint the Brooklyn Bridge.
STEM lumps together science, technology, engineering, and
mathematics. Is there a difference
between science and engineering? Is it
important?
Henry
Petroski, a professor of civil
engineering and history and author of The Essential Engineer, believes
there is an important difference. At
heart, science is about increasing knowledge. Engineering is about invention. Of course, new knowledge makes new invention
possible. Just as often, though,
engineering runs ahead of science.
Sometimes science didn’t advance until someone invented the instruments
to conduct new observations and experiments.
The invention of the microscope
made possible the science of microbiology. Steam engines
were built and greatly improved before we had a modern scientific understanding
of thermodynamics. In fact, thermodynamics was to a large extent
born out of desire to understand steam engines. In this sense, it is an
engineering science (study of manmade things) as much as a natural science
(study of natural things) or branch of physics.
Petroski’s focus in the book is the importance of engineering to
policymaking, where it is often overshadowed by science. Policy, science, and engineering play off of
each other a lot. Most of my career as
an engineer has been related to government, policy, and regulatory compliance.
The Ghost Map by science writer Steven
Johnson is the story of the birth of epidemiology. Epidemiology is a medical
science that uses statistics to
help us understand how diseases operate in a population. Using various statistical and geographic
tools, long before we had computers and GIS, physician
John Snow
demonstrated that cholera,
once a recurring plague
that wiped out hundreds of thousands of people in some outbreaks, was a waterborne
disease. This understanding,
initially met with much skepticism, allowed officials to intervene to prevent
the spread of the disease. For those who
say of their math classes, “I’ll never us this,” here is a case where math (and
science and policy) were used to make a great difference.
It is not much publicized today that the Lewis
and Clark
expedition of 1804
to 1806 had a
partly scientific mission. Captains
Lewis and Clark were charges with bringing back samples of the flora, fauna, and culture of the
western territories. It was also hoped
that they would find a water
passage to the Pacific Ocean. In Undaunted Courage, Stephen Ambrose
writes about the scientific mission as well as the policy, diplomacy, and
commercial
hopes the expedition carried.
Of course, what attracts most people to the Lewis and Clark expedition
is that it was a great adventure. There is a place in STEM fields for thoughtful
adventurers and explorers.
A list like this deserves something strange, creepy, and more fun than you care to
admit. Right now, thousands of very
young future STEM workers are catching bugs and snakes, breaking
their toys to see
what is inside, or staring into space with a weird expression
of vacancy and concentration.
Jan
Bondeson’s Buried Alive is not a
morbid book. It is sometimes humorous,
especially in consideration of topic.
From a STEM point of view, Bondeson shows how knowledge accumulates over
time. The fears and activities of our
forefathers may seem strange to us, but they sometimes made sense in light of
what they knew. Buried Alive doesn’t simply play off our fascination with the grotesque and death, though the
book might not have been written if we lacked that fascination, I think it
reminds us to approach our ancestors with a touch of grace and humility. Maybe our progeny will show us the same courtesy.
If you’re looking for something for a younger student, check out this post→
from Joanne
Loves Science or these
recommendations→ from STEM
Friday. By the way, I also write
about engineering, infrastructure and the environment at Infrastructure Watch.
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