Category Archives: Humanity Highlights

History Undusted: The CB Radio

You know how your brain fires off random thoughts as you fall to sleep, or combines odds-bods into dreams forgotten as soon as you wake up? For some reason, 10-4 popped into my head in those moments last night. It sent me down the rabbit hole I now present: The history of the CB radio.

The often-forgotten or overlooked inventor of the Citizen’s Band (CB) radio system, along with inventions such as a patented version of the walkie-talkie (originally invented by the Englishman Donald Hings), the telephone pager, and the cordless telephone – all precursors to today’s cell phones, was Al Gross (1918-2000): Born in Toronto, Canada, he grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. The son of Romanian-Jewish immigrants, his love for electronics was sparked when, at the age of nine, he was travelling by steamboat on Lake Erie; he explored the ship and ended up in the radio transmissions room, where the operator let him listen in. Eventually, he turned the family’s basement into a radio station built from scraps. During his higher studies, he experimented with ways to use radio frequencies.

During World War 2, he had some involvement with developing a two-way VHF air-to-ground communications system for the U.S. Office of Strategic Services, known as the Joan-Eleanor system, and after the war, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) allocated a few frequencies for the Citizens’ Radio Service Frequency Band, in 1946. Gross saw the potential and founded the Gross Electronics Co. to produce two-way communications systems to make use of these frequencies; his firm was the first to receive FCC approval in 1948. For more about his other inventions, just follow the link on his name above. For now, let’s focus on the CB:

The CB radio became an international hit back before cell phones and computers became a thing (despite the prevalence of cell phones, CBs are still around; truckers still communicate about road conditions, etc. Its usage was also revived by the Covid lockdown, when people began reaching out to meet and talk to others outside of their own four walls). It was, and is, a way to communicate with others long-distance from home or on the go.

My dad was always interested in the latest technological gadgets; in the mid-70s, we got a laserdisc player, the precursor of CDs, and DVD/Blu-Ray players. I remember watching films like Logan’s Run and Heaven Can Wait on that format. Laserdiscs never really took off, and only about 2% of US households had one (it became more popular in Japan at the time). Around that time, we also got a CB radio in our VW van. My dad had a chart with all of the CB slang words and codes, and I memorised it, fascinated by the lingo. On long road trips, I would get on the CB and chat with truck drivers. My handle (nickname) was Spider-Fingers, as I liked spiders and had long fingers (long fingers has the connotation of thief, so I didn’t want to use that!). Here is just the tip of the iceberg, a smattering of the codes and slangs used by CB radio enthusiasts, truckers and handymen:

There were dozens of slang terms for law enforcement officers: Bear (police officer); bear trap (speed trap, radar trap) taking pictures, also called a Kojak With A Kodak; bear bait (an erratic or speeding driver); bear with ears (listening to CB traffic); bear in the air/flying doughnut/Spy in the sky (helicopter radar traps), baby bear (rookie), fox in the henhouse/Smokey in a plain wrapper (policemen in unmarked vehicles); honey bear, mamma bear or Miss Piggy (slangs for female police officers); Brush Your Teeth And Comb Your Hair (a law enforcement vehicle is radaring vehicles – as if preparing for an official photo). A Driving Award was a speeding ticket. To wish someone Shiny side up meant that you wished them safe travels (keeping the vehicle upright).

There were slang terms for objects or events, such as Bambi, meaning that there was wildlife near the road and to take precautions; a crotch rocket was a fast motorcycle; double-nickels was a 55-mph speed limit area; a fighter pilot was an erratic driver who switched lanes frequently, while a gear jammer was someone who sped up and slowed down frequently; Alabama chrome was duct tape; an alligator/gator was a piece of blown tire on the highway, as it looked in the distance like a gator sunbathing. Convoys had front doors and back doors – the front or back truck in the group that would keep an eye open for bear traps. Motion lotion was fuel; the hammer lane was the fast lane (hammer was the gas pedal, and to hammer down was to drive full-speed). Break/breaker: Informing other CB users that one wanted to start transmission on a channel; a handle might be introduced, or requested if someone was looking for a CB friend. “Breaker, this is Spider-Fingers, over.” Asking for a comeback meant that you couldn’t hear the last transmission or wanted the other driver to talk. Break check meant traffic congestion ahead, slow down. A Bumper Sticker/hitchhiker is a vehicle that is tailgating another vehicle.

Aside from hundreds of slang terms, there was a whole list of codes (I guess you could say that the codes were the precursors of emojis!):

10-4: Agreed, understood, acknowledged

4-10: The opposite – asking for agreement or if a transmission was received.

10-6: Busy, stand by

10-7: Signing off

10-10: Transmission completed, standing by (you’ll be listening)

10-20: Location – What’s your (10-)20? Home-20 was asking for a driver’s home location/base.

10-33: Emergency traffic, clear the channel. CB code for Mayday for trucks and police cars.

10-42: Accident on the road

3s and 8s: Well wishes to a fellow driver. Borrowed from amateur ham radio codes “73” (best regards) and “88” (hugs and kisses).

The lists go on and on! I love the dry sense of humour reflected in the slang, and I think our everyday language could be a bit livelier if we included a few phrases that looked at things from a different perspective. Everyone could do with more 3s and 8s, 4-10?

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History Undusted: Radium Girls

I’ve been thinking about writing on the topic of the Radium Girls for some time now. In our home library, the book by Kate Moore, The Radium Girls – The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women (2017), has been glowing at me (not literally, thank goodness!). The book is a fascinating history of the women who worked in watch-making factories across the States, and the groundbreaking battle for workers’ and women’s rights, which helped shape labour laws that would protect future generations from shameless exploitation.

Curie is the unit of measurement for radioactivity, named for both Marie Sklodowska-Curie and Pierre Curie (co-winners of her first Nobel Prize, in Physics, 1903); Marie went on to win a second in another field (Chemistry, 1911). Their oldest daughter, Irene Joilet-Curie, won the Nobel Prize (with her husband, Frédéric) in 1935, also in chemistry. Marie Curie died from the effects of exposure to radiation on 4 July 1934 (her husband would have had the same fate, but he was killed in 1906 in a road accident). Even today, her papers and even her cookbook are so radioactive that they are stored in lead boxes, and anyone examining them must be fully protected. I could do a whole history of the Sklodowska and Curie families; the women were intelligent, educated, ahead of their time and left their marks on history in several fields of science. [I don’t know if the book would be available where you live, but the youngest daughter of Marie, Eve Curie, wrote a biography about her mother, published in 1937 in several languages (I have the 1938 Swiss edition, in German). The book can be found in e-book formats as well.]

Marie and Pierre Curie experimenting with radium. Drawing by André Castaigne. Notice that they are all handling the radioactive material without protective gear…

Radium, discovered by the Curies in December 1898, caught public fascination; soon, Radium was touted as the cure-all of the new century. It was sold as healthy, as something that would make your skin glow. It was said to cure ailments and recharge your physiological batteries with pure energy. It was put into toothpastes, face creams, soaps, bath salts, makeup, and pure energy drinks. And it was painted onto the face of watches: Each painter would mix her own paints in a small crucible; they each had a camel hair paint brush and were instructed to keep their brushes pointed with their lips: Lip, dip, paint. The girls at the factories would paint their nails and faces with the paint for fun.

And then people started getting sick. Eaten from the inside out, their bodies started disintegrating, and they started dying. And at the time, workers at factories were earning a penny per watch face painted; they were too poor to quit, and too sick to work. And the company big boys denied all responsibility, medical aid or financial compensation. Eventually, though some of the Radium Girls tried to sue the United States Radium Corporation, the company dragged the case on so long that most of the women were bedridden by the time the company forced them to settle out of court. It was too late for those girls and those like them still working in the factories; their bones will glow for a thousand years. But public opinion was already on the side of the women, and it fueled a turning point in protective legislation, not only in America but in Europe as well.

For a fascinating insight into this topic, here are two links:

Radium Girls, Wikipedia

The film: Radium Girls (2020) (1:37)

Oh, and by the way: If you find an old, glow-in-the-dark watch face for sale made any time before 1971, give it a WIDE berth.

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Obsoletusvocabularium…  Up with Archaism!

English is relatively young, as languages go. Like a sponge, it absorbs words and meanings from other languages, then squeezes them out in a similar (or widely different) form.  In other words, English is a survivor; it has survived the attempts to destroy it by the Danish Vikings, the French (Normans, aka Vikings disguised as French), and the Germans. These historical encounters give me high hopes that it will survive the age of the Cell Phone.  With each skirmish, it has come out stronger, more versatile and more flexible.  When the Pilgrims packed up English and crated it off to the New World, it was locked, as it were, in a time capsule. British English absorbed a few bad habits from the French before they thought better of it and distanced themselves during the French Revolution, but in the meantime, contentious pronunciation differences to that time-capsule relative over the Pond had crept in and persist to this day. One example: The American pronunciation of schedule (/skedju(e)l/) is from the original Greek pronunciation, which was used in Britain for onk-years until they took on the fancier French-ified pronunciation of /shedju(e)l/.  For a fascinating glimpse into how Modern English was formed, William Caxton (~1422-~1491) is your man.

While English pilled through the pockets of invaders stealing loose grammar, we also lost a few words along the way:  Some words are known to us in one form but not the other, while other words have been lost altogether due to a more convenient absorption or form arising.  You know of disgruntled (adj.), but what about gruntle (v.) or disgruntle (v.)?  And dis– in this particular case is not used to form the antonym of gruntle, but means exceedingly gruntled.  And I don’t know about you, but conject as a verb makes more sense than “conjecture” to me.  And shall we vote to bring back “Oliphant,” as J.R.R. Tolkien saved it from extinction through his use of it in Lord of the Rings?  What about pash (n.), contex (v.), or spelunk (n.)?  We know of fiddle-faddle, but what about plain ol’ “faddle” (to trifle)?  Some, admittedly, are not missed; toforan is better served with heretofore, in my humble opinion (IMHO).  Needsways is a Scottish word, obsolete in England and America perhaps, but alive and well north of the Border.  There are some deliciously eccentric words which deserve resuscitation, such as loblolly, bric-a-brac, sulter, pill (v., to plunder, pillage – ought to come in handy, that), quib, bugbear, uptake (as a verb), wist (intent), or sluggy.  If Sir Walter Scott can save words such as doff and don from extinction, so can we.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the word archaism, it means “retention of what is old and obsolete.”  So twinge your language to include these mobile words and their meanings, and revelate your intelligence! And if you’re curious, yes, Grammarly and spellcheck were going batship crazy with this post!😎

(Comic from xkcd used under a Creative Commons license)

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History Undusted: Code Talkers

Navajo code talkers, Cpl. Henry Blake Jr. and PFC George H Kirk, who served with the Marine Signal Unit.
Source: Public Domain

Code talkers were Native Americans from various tribes who were employed by the US military during World War 2 as radio operators; their native tongues were indecipherable to anyone listening in, and as a result, their transmissions of sensitive messages were invaluable in allied victories on every Pacific island, including Iwo Jima, as well as in Europe in decisive battles.

Codes were developed based on the languages of the Assiniboin, Cherokee, Cheyenne, Choctaw, Comanche, Cree, Crow, Fox, Hopi, Kiowa, Menominee, Navajo, Ojibwa, Oneida, Osage, Pawnee, Sauk, Seminole, and Sioux peoples. These men could transmit over open radio channels, knowing that the enemy would be unable to break their code. If a military term did not exist in their languages, a phrase was used in its place: A submarine became an iron fish; a fighter plane became a hummingbird; a squad became a black street. In all, throughout WW2, over 400 terms were developed and needed to be memorised by each code talker.

The code talkers continued to be used after the end of the war, which delayed their recognition by the wider public – until documentaries about their service finally began to emerge in the 1990s. In 2002, the U.S. Congress passed the Code Talkers Recognition Act, followed by a similar act in 2008 to honour the tribes who used their languages in the wartime service of the United States.

The use of code talkers was a socially complex one: The languages that were so invaluable to the US military were the very tools that the US government had been trying to eradicate in the name of cultural assimilation. Between 1880 and 1905, boarding schools were established, in which Native American children were taken from their families and educated; they were taught to reject their Native values, languages, traditions and anything to do with their native culture. They were punished, sometimes severely, for using their native tongues; they were forced to dress like the “white man”, and were not allowed to wear their native garments or have any vestiges of their tribes. Some 100,000 Native Americans were forced to attend such schools. Parents who resisted the kidnapping of their children were imprisoned; several from the Hopi tribe were even imprisoned on Alcatraz Island. Though most of these schools had been closed by the 1930s, the cultural and psychological damage had taken its toll on many native people groups, many of whom still struggle with their cultural identities today. At the time these young warriors were called into military service or chose to join after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, many were not even legal American citizens, yet they fought for their land and their families.

With that background in mind, the dedication and ingenuity of the code talkers are all the more astounding. They were often in the first wave of soldiers deployed as they were needed to pass on messages for the strategic planning and execution of driving back the Japanese from the Pacific islands. In addition to the Pacific arena, the European front also benefited from the code talkers’ ability to communicate directly with each other: Comanche code talkers were assigned to the 4th Infantry Division when it landed at Normandy in June 1944. In this context, some of the Comanche substitutes were turtle for tank, a pregnant bird for bomber, and crazy white man was their term for Adolf Hitler – a more insightful term has never been more aptly applied.

For a fascinating look into a history largely forgotten, please click on the following video recounting code talkers telling their stories firsthand as they return to the Pacific Islands with their families and find peace after decades of PTSD. The video is 1:10, but well worth the time when you can take it: Navajo Code Talkers of World War II (2018) | Documentary

Other sources:

https://eji.org/news/history-racial-injustice-cultural-genocide/

https://www.britannica.com/topic/code-talker

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The Fascinating History Behind the Fraktur Typeface

Last Sunday at church, a friend filled an entire room with her late father’s books, setting up an impromptu book shop. I chose several books, most of which are in Fraktur typeface, known to some people as “Gothic” or “Old German”. I enjoy reading such books because they offer a snapshot of a cultural way of thinking. The books I chose were printed between 1877 and 1940. The latter date is significant, as you’ll soon see.

First of all, let’s clarify a few terms: Though many people think of font and typeface as interchangeable, in fact, they refer to two different aspects of a writing style. Typeface refers to a particular style of lettering (e.g. Times New Roman), while font refers to the variations within that style, such as size and weight (CAPS, bold, italic, etc.). Another term we know but may not fully understand is Serif: This refers to the small stroke or line attached to the larger stroke of a letter; an example would be an A with “feet” at the bottom of each down-stroke. Sans Serif simply means “without Serif”.

The first moveable-type printing press, designed by Johannes Gutenberg in Germany around 1440, was based on the ancient Roman design of a screw press used to press wine or oil, which in turn went on to be used to press designs into cloths. He was likely familiar with intaglio printing and may have done some work himself in copper engraving.  These designs and uses likely fermented in his inventor’s mind into what became the revolutionary turning point of literacy. Gutenberg’s original typeface was called Donatus-Kalender; the metal type design was itself a form of Textura (more on that in a moment).

Donatus Kalender
Example of Blackletter (Source: Wikipedia)

This original family of typefaces was known as “Blackletter”, aka “Gothic scripts”, with the height of popularity peaking around the 14th to 15th centuries. The ancestor of the Blackletter was called the Carolingian minuscule, a calligraphic standard of handwriting widely used in the medieval period, when literacy began increasing and a need for books in a wide range of subjects began to be in demand. It is thought to have been developed in the mid-770s by Benedictine monks north of Paris in the Corbie Abbey, famous for its scriptorium and library. The minuscule itself was derived from Roman Uncial as well as Irish Insular script, which was developed in Irish monasteries and spread throughout Europe.

Carolingian Minuscule
Roman Uncial
From the Book of Kells, an example of the Irish Insular script

The family of Blackletter typefaces included Early Gothic, which was a transitional script between the Carolingian miniscule and Textura (the most calligraphic form of Blackletter); Schwabacher was a form popular in early German print typefaces (it became widely known with the spread of Luther Bibles from 1522), in use from the 15th century until it was eventually replaced by Fraktur around 1530, though it was still used alongside Fraktur for emphasis, much like we use bold or italic today.

Schwabacher Typeface
Textura Typeface

Another blackletter typeface developed between 1470 and 1600: Antiqua. This typeface’s letters were designed to look like the handwriting of ancient Roman documents, with the letters flowing together, strokes connecting them in a continuous line, whereas Fraktur was distinguished by having letters “fractured” – separate from one another. The Antiqua-Fraktur Dispute deserves its own article, so stay tuned!

Antiqua Typeface (Source: Wikipedia)
Fraktur Typeface (Source: Fonts in Use)

The Habsburg Emperor Maximillian I (1459-1519) was King of the Romans* from 1486 to 1519 [the title of king was used by the kings of East Francia, the territory later referred to as the Kingdom of Germany, from the time of Henry II (1002) to Joseph II (1764)]. The king commissioned the artist Albrecht Dürer to create a series of woodcut engravings of the Triumphal Arch [Though many are familiar with the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, it is only one example of this ancient Roman architectural feature used as a free-standing structure (rather than the Greek version, which was used within a structure such as a temple).]. These engravings would be used to create what we would recognize today as essentially wallpaper, though its purpose was more of a statement of power or propaganda (read personal marketing) commemorating his nobility, generosity, and military conquests – an incongruous combination, if you ask those conquered… The final composite of printed papers stood nearly 3 metres (12 feet) high and was only one part of a series of three enormous prints commissioned by the king.

Albrecht Dürer’s The Triumphal Arch, for Maximilian I

 The Fraktur typeface was designed in the 1530s by Hieronymus Andreae, a German woodblock cutter, printer, publisher, and typographer closely connected to Albrecht Dürer. The typeface was made to decorate the arch, telling the stories of the figures depicted throughout. The typeface became popular in Europe and was in use in the German-speaking world, as well as areas under its influence (Scandinavia, Central Europe, and some eastern European regions), into the 20th century. Specifically, Fraktur was in use in German until 1941, when it was actually banned (which places one of the books I purchased on Sunday within one year of the end of the era of Fraktur!). The atmosphere that led to that ban arose from the dispute mentioned above. Once the Nazis were defeated, the ban was lifted, but Fraktur never regained its widespread popularity after that, though you can still see it occasionally in pub signs or various forms of ads, like beer brands.

I just pulled two books from my library shelves: One is an English book originally printed in 1895, with my book being printed in 1915; the other is a German book printed in 1892. The typefaces are widely different: The English text likely used the French Oldstyle, while the German book uses Renaissance Fraktur for the text body, while the end pages act as indexes and use a variety of blackletter typefaces, such as Muenchner Fraktur, Antike Kanzlei, and Enge verzierte Altdeutsch. To see examples of the typefaces mentioned here, please click on the link for Fonts In Use.

I hope you enjoyed this jaunt through history! Nearly every name mentioned, every typeface, and every event deserves its own undusting. Next time, we’ll deep-dive into the dispute that lasted well over a century!

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Who’s Who in Quotes: Will Rogers

Will Rogers is one of those larger-than-life characters who seemed to have had his fingers in every pie imaginable: Born in November 1879 as a Cherokee Nation citizen in the Indian Territory now known as Oklahoma, he was the youngest of eight siblings, only three of whom survived into adulthood. His mother died when he was just ten years old. By the time he was 20, he’d begun appearing in rodeos, and in 1902 at the age of 22, he and a friend moved to Argentina to find work as gauchos (a skilled horseman, hired by ranchers in many South American countries). When their adventure failed, and they’d lost all their money, Will couldn’t bear to ask for money from home, so he took a boat to South Africa, where he was hired as a ranch hand. His career as a trick roper began there, as he joined the Texas Jack’s Wild West Circus. From there, armed with a letter of reference from Texas Jack, he moved to Australia and joined the Wirth Brothers Circus as a rider and trick roper. By 1904, he’d returned to the States and performed in the St. Louis World’s Fair, then began using his riding and roping skills in the Vaudeville circuits; he was often billed as The Cherokee Kid. His natural humour hit a chord with audiences, who loved his frontier twang of an accent coupled with his off-the-cuff wit and commentary on current events; he built his later career around that talent.

In 1908, he married Betty Blake, and they had four children; three survived into adulthood, all of whom went on to have careers in the public eye in one way or another.

By 1916, Rogers was a featured star in Ziegfeld’s Follies on Broadway; from there he branched off into silent films; at that time, most films were made in or around New York, which allowed him to continue performing on Broadway. The New York Times syndicated his weekly newspaper column, “Will Rogers Says”, from 1922 to 1935; he also wrote for The Saturday Evening Post; this progressed into books – over 30 of them. He also hosted a radio program, telling jokes and discussing current events with his simple, disarming humour.

Click here to see a short, 3-minute video showcasing some of his amazing rope tricks.

He was an avid supporter of the aviation industry, and he took many opportunities to fly to his various engagements. In 1926, while touring Europe, he saw how much more advanced the commercial services were there in comparison to the States; his newspaper columns often emphasized the safety and speed of travel aeroplanes offered, which helped shape public opinion about the new mode of transport.

In 1935, Wiley Post, a famous aviator of his time, proposed flying from the West Coast to Russia to find a mail-and-passenger air route, and Rogers asked to go with him in order to find new material for his newspaper columns. Post’s plane was modified for the long flight, and floats were added for landing on water. On 15 August, they took off from Fairbanks, Alaska, for Point Barrow, a headland on the Arctic coast. Bad weather hindered their ability to calculate their position, and, after landing in a lagoon to ask directions and taking off again, the engine failed at low altitude and plunged into the lagoon, killing both men. Rogers was 55.

In such a short life, he left a huge legacy in many fields of entertainment and helped shape public perspectives on politics and civil responsibility. He was a household name in the early 20th Century and a trusted voice during the Great Depression, identifying with the struggles of the average American and holding a mirror to politics with his witty satire.

Here are a few of his famous quotes:

  • Be thankful we’re not getting all the government we’re paying for.
  • Even if you are on the right track, you will get run over if you just sit there.
  • Everything is funny, as long as it’s happening to somebody else.
  • I don’t make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.
  • My ancestors didn’t come over on the Mayflower, but they were there to meet the boat.
  • Live so that you wouldn’t be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip.
  • The only difference between death and taxes is that death doesn’t get worse every time Congress meets.
  • The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected.
  • There’s no trick to being a humorist when you have the whole government working for you.
  • This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer.
Will Rogers

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Etymology Undusted: Murphy’s Law

The adage “Murphy’s Law” refers to the idea that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. You forget your umbrella and it will be sure to rain; your computer crashes at the worst possible moment; your worst itch is always where you can least reach it, and so on.

Similar sentiments are centuries old: E.g. Augustus D. Morgan, a British mathematician, wrote in 1866: “Whatever can happen, will happen”; Alfred Holt, an engineer, wrote in 1877: “It is found that anything that can go wrong at sea generally does go wrong sooner or later.” British stage magician Nevil Maskelyne wrote in 1908, “Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

But who was Murphy? And why is it his law? I’d always assumed that Murphy was either a fictional black sheep created to blame everything on, or someone from a century or more ago, much like Hobson of the “Hobson’s Choice” idiom; but Murphy’s Law comes from the 1940s aerospace era.

The “law” was coined by and named after Edward A. Murphy Jr. (b.11 January 1918; d.17 July 1990):  Born in the Panama Canal Zone in 1918, he finished high school in New Jersey and eventually graduated from West Point in 1940, joining the Army Air Corps, serving in the Pacific Theatre of World War 2, and in the Korean War, reaching the rank of major. According to his obituary on findagrave.com, he is credited with design work on crew escape systems for some of the most famous experimental aircraft of the 20th century, including the F-4 Phantom, the SR-71 Blackbird, the X-15 rocket plane, and later the Apache helicopter. He also worked on safety and life support systems for NASA’s Apollo space missions. Although he was apparently chagrined by the namesake, he believed in the concept as a key to good defensive design – that one must always assume worst-case scenarios and work to counter them in thorough planning, engineering and execution of mechanical designs.

Around 1948, Murphy and his team were testing rocket sleds, which were used to test the acceleration of equipment deemed too hazardous to test in a piloted aircraft and also to test missile components without risking actual (more expensive) missiles in the testing. The saying arose when training his engineers to avoid designing missile components that could be confused one for another; he said, “If a part can be installed in more than one position, it will be incorrectly installed in the field.” Perhaps Murphy was familiar with the sentiment of those past engineers, given his background in engineering, but wherever it came from, his name was attached and, as they say, the rest is history.

Edward Aloysius Murphy Jr, in his West Point uniform

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Humanity Undusted: Paris Catacombs and the Les Ux Secret Society

This week’s adventurous tale is a proverbial rabbit hole; diving into it takes us past the problem of Paris’ 18th century dilemma of dealing with the “explosive” issue of overfilled cemeteries, which forced King Louis XVI to take action: Bury them deeper. Following this problem and its solution into the ground, so to speak, leads us into the massive (1.5 km long) ossuary (bone depository) of Paris. Once you reach the ossuary, which contains the artfully arranged skulls and bones of some six million residents (around three times more than the actual population of central Paris, which as of 2023 was 2.1 million…), you aren’t officially allowed to go any further – because above your head is the bustling city of street cafés, boutiques, and historical buildings. And when someone buys a house up there, they are actually also buying the land on which it stands – which includes their section of the underground maze of mining tunnels and caverns; venturing beyond the official section makes you an intruder on private property or breaking and entering an actual shop – but more on that in a moment. The message above the entrance to the ossuary reads, Arrête! C’est ici l’empire de la Mort. (“Halt! This is the Empire of Death.”). That warning doesn’t stop it from being one of Paris’ most popular tourist attractions.

The tunnels, now known as The Catacombs, were originally dug far outside of the small 13th-century city when Lutetian limestone was mined as a local building material (any town or city with a distinctive architecture owes its appearance to whatever was available locally when it was founded – whether wood, stone, thatch or brick). Though no one knows with certainty, as the mining resources were eventually exhausted and the mines abandoned, an estimated 350 kilometres of tunnels undermined the city, which covers some 32 square kilometres beneath Paris… a city beneath a city, as it were.

And yes, buildings have occasionally been swallowed; in 1774, about 30 metres of a street disappeared into a cavern below. This led to the formation of the Générale des Carrières (IGC), an office created in 1777 by King Louis XVI to oversee the mapping and maintenance of the catacombs. During the French Revolution, many things got lost and fell out of collective memory, including the underground map.

Paris Catacombs Map – Inspection Générale des Carrières, 1857, Pulbic Domain

Throughout the years, the tunnels have been put to various purposes, aside from the macabre: Mushrooms were cultivated there; beer was brewed, wine aged, and Chartreuse liquors were distilled down there by monks in the 17th century. The city beneath the city had no prime real estate overhead for businesses, and many took advantage of the free space, making access for their customers through the various access points throughout Paris. It also served the French Resistance during world war 2, even though the Nazis also used a section of the tunnels. Now, let’s go back up out of the rabbit hole for a brief moment.

Remember that I wrote officially allowed? Well, a secret maze of tunnels is too much to resist for the adventurous, called cataphiles. But there is a secret society at large down there, too.

When you think of a secret society, you might think of the Luminati or something else sinister; but the Les Ux would be more akin to Robin Hood. The story goes that in 1981, a group of kids were talking after school, and one of them mentioned that he could break into any building in Paris; in fact, his next target was the Pantheon. They didn’t believe him, and so they all went down together – and found out just how easy it was to go wherever they wanted. The Pantheon, which was the tallest structure in Paris until the Eifel Tower was constructed, vacillated between being a church and a secular building several times over its history, depending on the political regime, and it finally became a secular structure in 1885 under the Third Republic. It now is a mausoleum, with famous residents like Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas and Voltaire; but it is also a museum, an art exhibition hall, hosts school events and lectures, and is linked to a section of the catacombs – which is where the group of school friends began their adventures.

During one of their nocturnal outings, the group stumbled upon a narrow passage full of electrical cables; following those, they found themselves in the basement of the Ministry of Communications. No security stopped them and they were able to explore at their leisure. In a drawer, they found the motherlode: A map of the entire catacomb structure. That changed the course of their lives, and they eventually became known as the Les Ux, short for “urban experiment”. These individuals, unknown to anyone but themselves, specialize in safeguarding Paris cultural goods – stepping in when the government can either not afford to or doesn’t care enough to preserve something of cultural or historical value. They seem to think that, unless it’s a big-ticket attraction like the Mona Lisa, things get neglected. For instance, the mission statement of one branch of Les Ux is to reclaim and transform disused city spaces for the creation of zones of expression for free and independent art.

The group, now a full-fledged underground movement, is divided up into teams with seemingly nonsensical names: The Mouse House (an all-female team of infiltrators), La Mexicaine De Perforation (in charge of clandestine artistic events and underground shows), and the Untergunther (specializing in restorations); they also have teams that specialize in things like running internal messaging systems and coded radio networks, a database team, and a team of photographers.

Some of their exploits include restoring a forgotten metro station, a 12th-century crypt, an old French bunker, and a World War 2 air raid shelter.  One member, likely from the Mouse House, wrote a detailed report about a particular museum’s security, telling them how many ways she could have broken in and stolen had she been so inclined. She then infiltrated the museum and left the report on the desk of the museum’s head of security. He went straight to the police to press charges. They refused to pursue the matter.

They built an entire cinema complex in the catacombs, complete with a bar and restaurant, where they are thought to have held film festivals for several months or even years before being discovered by the police in a random training exercise. When the police returned to remove the cinema, everything was gone except a note which read, “Don’t try to find us.”

Les Ux has held many events within the Pantheon over the years, including parties and art exhibitions – all vanishing, and leaving the place cleaner when they left, before the museum opened the next day. One night, a team member (from Untergunther) decided to take a closer look at the broken Wagner clock, which hangs over a prominent entrance within the building. Their most public restoration (that we know of so far) was, of course, an embarrassment to the management of the Pantheon: One of the members, Jean-Baptiste Viot, was a professional clockmaker; the team snuck in for nearly a year to restore the clock. They built a secret workshop (complete with armchairs, bookcase, and bar, which they nicknamed the Unter and Gunther Winter Kneipe – German for winter boozer!) high up in the dome of the pantheon, and carried out the clock work by night. Once it was done, they knew that the clock would need to be wound regularly to continue working – so they broke protocol and met with the museum director to tell him the good news. He promptly pressed charges… but there are no laws in France about repairing an expensive clock at their own expense, and the case was dismissed with the comment, “This was stupid!” The museum director hired someone to break the clock, presumably to avoid the hassle of winding it up regularly, and also out of spite for losing his case and his face; the person refused to damage the clock, simply deactivating the mechanism. Les Ux snuck back in to let the clock chime over the days around Christmas, then went back in and removed a component to prevent any further damage the next time spite struck. I’ve read that since that time, the clockmaker of Untergunther has actually been hired by the Pantheon to maintain the clocks.

We only know of a fraction of their activities, of course, because they don’t publicise their accomplishments or events. Below are a few links if you’d like to read more on this fascinating topic! I hope you enjoyed this little exploration as much as I did!

Here are a few links to articles, if you’re interested in learning more:

Meet Paris’ Secret Underground Society (Youtube video)

The Fight Between Cataphiles and Underground Police in the Paris Catacombs

Paris’s new slant on underground movies (with a member interview, explaining how they pulled off the cinema complex)

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Filed under Articles, History Undusted, How It's Made, Humanity Highlights, Links to External Articles, Military History, YouTube Link

Who’s Who in Quotes: Alan Ashley-Pitt

If you’re like me, you might come across a good quote and not think any further about the name attached to it; did that person really say that? I’ve seen quotes attributed to one person but which I know were actually said or written by someone else. Sometimes, a quote is drawn from someone’s writings, letters, essays, or journals from the past. Now, with the dawn of AI upon us, algorithms begin to feed off of their own creations—whether the first effort was accurate or not—which in turn disseminates falsehoods so frequently that most people begin to believe them. It’s important now more than ever that we pay attention and use discernment; don’t believe everything you see or read, but test it. This image is a classic case in point:

So who was Alan Ashley-Pitt? “He” was, in fact, a name made up by a greeting card and poster company headquartered in Santa Barbara, CA, in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The company needed a name to quote for the sayings made up by employees for their cards, decorations, and posters. Though the company was out of business by 1974, many of its creations live on in the Ashley-Pitt quotations. In a way, it’s ironically fitting that a made-up persona’s quote should be imposed on the AI-generated image (below); unfortunately, the AI programs I tried couldn’t grasp the concept of a fork in the road with a crowd on one road and a lone man on the other. It just goes to show you that the human imagination is more creative and able to grasp abstract concepts better than any AI… so far!

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Filed under History Undusted, Humanity Highlights, Images, Quotes, Snapshots in History

Community Care Quiz

With the increasing complexity of our world and a political climate of distrust and division being spread recently, I’d like to offer an antithesis by encouraging everyone to do good, to make a difference by responding in the opposite spirit. Below is a short quiz that might spark a few ideas of how you can make that difference:

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME THAT YOU…

  1. …told someone that you appreciate what they do in your community?
  2. …sent a message of encouragement to someone?
  3. …invited someone out for a drink or a meal?
  4. …invited someone new to your home?
  5. …sent a message or made a phone call to someone who’s sick?
  6. …intentionally identified someone who needs encouragement, and then acted on that?
  7. …did something fun with one or more community members (e.g., a neighbourhood party, a bike ride, a picnic, or a fun-raising event)?
  8. …spent time with children in your community? (Sometimes young people need encouragement from older community members.)
  9. …thanked someone for their contributions to your community?
  10. …given a small financial gift (anonymously or known) to someone who really needs a sign that someone cares about them?

If you haven’t done any of the above for a while, plan to do something about it this coming week!

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Filed under Articles, Humanity Highlights, Lists, Psychology Undusted, Quotes