Thursday, February 21, 2013

Ten Things You Might Not Know About Thomas A. Edison


You might know that Thomas A. Edison held more than 1000 patents for such inventions as the incandescent lightbulb and the phonograph, but did you know:

10. Edison had a tattoo. A design of five pips in a pattern resembling a die adorned his left forearm.

9. Edison experimented on himself. He obliterated a fingerprint to demonstrate the life force (the “immortal units” he believed inhabited all humans and animals) asserting itself, and the lines and whorls indeed did reappear as the skin grew back. But one series of experiments nearly cost Edison his eyesight—after he subjected himself continually to X-rays, his focus was off by a foot. (His assistant was not so lucky—Clarence Dally lost both arms to amputation after years of exposure to radiation.)

8. Edison was almost entirely deaf by age twelve, the aftereffects of an early bout with scarlet fever. His deafness allowed him “to work with less distraction and to sleep deeply, undisturbed by outside sounds.”

7. Edison was homeschooled. After a teacher deemed him “addled” (perhaps because of his deafness, insatiable curiosity and hyperactivity), his mother, an accomplished schoolteacher, pulled him out and taught him the three Rs.

6. Edison invented an “electrographic vote-recorder,” the electric car, the pneumatic stencil pen (the ancestor of the tattoo gun), the magnetic iron-ore separator, a vacuum food preserver, the concrete house filled with concrete furniture, and the talking doll. (As Simpsons fans know, Edison’s estate gave the Wizard of Menlo Park credit for the tippable chair and electric hammer Homer invented but left behind at the Edison museum in New Jersey.)

5. Edison and Henry Ford were BFFs. Ford worked for an Edison lighting company as an engineer and met the Wizard at a convention where he explained his gas-powered car. “Young man,” Edison said, “that's the thing! You have it! Your car is self contained and carries its own power plant.” Ford credits this encouragement for motivating him to continue. The carmaker admired the inventor and felt Menlo Park, the first industrial research lab in the US, should be preserved. He reconstructed it in Greenfield Village and named the institute that operates the village and his own museum after his friend.

Ford bought the estate next door to Edison’s in Florida and when Edison became confined to a wheelchair Ford got one, too, so they could race around the neighborhood together.

From The Detroit News:
Together with John Burroughs, naturalist Luther Burbank, Harvey Firestone and occasionally, President Harding, Ford and Edison participated in a series of camping trips…En route to a new campsite on a rainy day, the Lincoln touring car carrying Harding, Ford, Edison, Firestone and naturalist Luther Burbank bogged down in deep mud on a back road in West Virginia. Ford's chauffeur went for help and returned with a farmer driving an ancient Model T. After the Lincoln was yanked from the mire, Ford was the first to shake the farmer's hand.

 “I guess you don't know me but I'm Henry Ford. I made the car you're driving.”

Firestone chimed in, “I'm the man who made those tires.” Then he introduced two of the campers: “Meet the man who invented the electric light -- and the President of the United States.”

Luther Burbank was the last to shake hands. “I guess you don't know me either?” he asked.

“No,” said the farmer, “but if you're the same kind of liar as these other darn fools, I wouldn't be surprised if you said you was Santa Claus.”

4. Edison did not allow clocks in the workroom. “I owe my success to the fact that I never had a clock in my workroom.” He worked a 90-hour week himself and urged his teams of “muckers” to invent something minor every ten days and something major every six months.

3. Edison’s love for telegraphy and Morse code showed up in some eccentricities. He nicknamed his first two children “Dot” (Marian) and “Dash” (Tom, Jr.) and proposed to his second wife in Morse code.

2. Edison suggested many uses for the phonograph besides its primary purpose—business dictation. He foresaw letter writing, phonographic books for the blind, a family record (recording family members in their own voices), toys, clocks that announce the time, and a connection with the telephone so communications could be recorded. The only use he left out was for recording music.

1. Edison was a ghostbuster. Although often called an atheist because he had contempt for organized religion, Edison believed humans and animals were endowed with “immortal units” that survive death. In a 1920 essay he wrote, “I have been at work for sometime building an apparatus to see if it is possible for personalities which have left this earth to communicate with us” and that same year told American Magazine he was working on a device so sensitive it could record communication with the dead. Because no schematic or prototype for such a device was ever found, however, many speculate he was joking.

It's possible, though, that Edison kept his notes and blueprints for such a radical invention hidden until he could announce a successful device to the world, as he publicized only his successes.

Then there’s the article in a 1933 issue of Modern Mechanix that describes a bizarre evening when Edison gathered a group of spiritualists who tried to lure ethereal forms to register their presence on a photo-electric receiver. “It does not matter how slight is the effort, it will be sufficient to record whatever there is to be recorded.” Although nothing happened that night, Edison's interest in the afterlife continued.

On his deathbed he said to his doctor, “It is beautiful over there.” A rack of empty test tubes from his workbench in the Chemical Room sat close to his bedside and were sealed as soon as he passed on. They were given away as memorials and possibly contain some of the life force he believed could never be destroyed.
**
Edison commented frequently about hard work and persistence. In addition to the familiar “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration,” he said, “I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work,” “Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work,” “To have a great idea, have a lot of them,” and the delightful “Hell, there are no rules here–we're trying to accomplish something.” But my favorite has to be, “I never did a day's work in my life. It was all fun.”

Friday, May 11, 2012

Indiana Horror 2012




Available now:: Indiana Horror 2012, edited by James Ward Kirk - includes a story by yours truly, as well as an illustration by John.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Our Trip to the Super Bowl…Village

February 2, 2012
It’s strange to walk down the middle of the downtown streets I’ve known all my life, streets that normally see the most traffic of the city. Familiar landmarks are still there, but look completely different due to the Super Bowl decorations and temporary structures. We can stand in the middle of Pennsylvania Street, in front of Conseco—er, Banker’s Life Fieldhouse. We can hover around the Old Spaghetti Factory on Meridian. It all feels very surreal.

A young father pushing a stroller with twins in it points to a Madonna banner. “Look, girls! Madonna is going to sing at the game!” He gets two yawns. Phineas and Ferb maybe. Or iCarly. Now, that might excite them.

A hulking black man in a brown work jumpsuit is handing out CDs, accompanied by a band mate with a canvas bag crammed full of CDs slung over his shoulder. Very shrewd. Here is an international, moneyed audience that just might take the CD back to the hotel and pop it in for a listen. It made me think we could take advantage of the annual event held in Speedway and pass out true crime CDs to crowds at the track. “Interested in local history? Would you like to learn about Indy’s first serial killer?” Hmmm, maybe not.

Further on an official helper in the familiar blue-and-white scarf is answering questions and distributing fan guides while a gray-haired woman nearby hands out fliers. It turns out she wants to save my soul, not help me locate restrooms. Also a very shrewd move, staying within the distribution-perimeter of an official worker—she appears to be sanctioned and gets spill-over protection from the security guard standing close by. The proselytizers always show up at big events like this. If you go to Georgetown Road the night before the 500, you will encounter a young man bearing a full-sized cross trudging up and down between 25th and 16th Streets, begging you to repent your sins.

An older gentleman with a guitar and harmonica takes the stage on Meridian St. With uncut gray hair, flannel shirt and old jeans, he looks like a relative of actor Steve Railsback. The crowd of young people with babies is unsure what to make of him, especially when he launches into a strange rendition of “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In).” His next song is an original one, he says after finishing to scattered applause, but we don’t wait for it. No need. He’s on the big screen TVs everywhere you turn in the Village.

About a hundred people are standing in front of a shoe store. What event is this? Is it free? Soon the crowd surges forward and a hundred cell phones are raised high. Is it one of the Mannings? Tom Brady? No, it’s the Mile-High Messiah. Tim Tebow and his entourage walk quickly away from the crowd. No autographing Bibles today.

A series of screams makes us turn to the west. It’s the zip line. The screamer is a young man hanging upside down the whole way. People stand in line for as long as 8 hours to be hauled 800 feet 96 feet above the street. T-shirted young men in a tower pull the lines quickly hand-over-hand. Wait a minute. A girl is stuck on line #3, close to the tower at the end of the line. A worker gears up and climbs out to her. He rigs up a tether line, then monkey crawls back to the tower. As the workers haul her in she waves to the crowd below. “It was fantastic!” she burbles to her rescuer. Ah, it’s a meet-cute, not a lawsuit. Good for him.

People everywhere are sneaking cigarettes. My favorite is the girl in the pink trench coat nervously smoking one in an alley on Monument Circle. Who is she hiding from? Or is she anxious about a rendezvous? She looks like a spy in her trench coat (although it is a memorable shocking pink), hair in a French roll, dark eye shadow, miniskirt, and heels. What kind of intrigue is going on in Indy this weekend? The passing of international secrets? Scientific formulae? Dr. Who plots?

I am amazed at the number of young parents with babies. Well, you got to start them early, like Archie Manning did. No babysitter available? Or they’ll get one later, at the hotel, before they go out for the evening. Or maybe this is a family outing. We used to take Eoin everywhere with us, too. A little boy throwing a temper tantrum in front of the King Cole Building makes me smile, too. Been there, done that.

John asks if I want to see a taping of Jimmy Fallon—there’s a crowd in front of the Circle Theatre waiting for tickets. Naw, that’s OK, I tell him, we’ll just tape the show tonight. Meanwhile a small jet keeps buzzing Monument Circle. Is it an AWAC sentry? What’s going on? Is there a threat? It’s circled over a dozen times now but other people don’t seem to notice it. We duck into Arby’s for lunch, cross our fingers it doesn’t crash nearby, and call it a day.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Designated Un-Birthday?

November 28th is not a likely candidate for “favorite day of the year.” It’s never Thanksgiving Day (the closest it can ever get is the Saturday after) and the post-holiday let-down has settled in like the leaden dark meat making its slow trek through your lower intestines. You spent the holiday with relatives you can’t stand and the ones you wanted to call, didn’t. You were forced to go to the mall when all you wanted to do was watch football and then the teams you had money on lost.

All the leaves are down and sitting sodden on the lawn, there are less than four weeks until Christmas and you haven’t started shopping yet for anyone, New Year’s is less than five weeks away and you realize you kept none of your resolutions—again.

So what’s to get excited about? Sure, the holiday is over. But sometimes getting back to the grind is a relief. It feels “normal,” not like the four-Sundays-in-a-row the Thanksgiving weekend feels like.

The turkey is down to the bone. Now you can go back to eating “normal food” (Taco Bell, McDonald’s, etc.) and forego consuming Turkey Day leftovers out of “prosperity guilt.”

All right, you had to put up with Uncle Huck. But wasn’t he impressed with your story about seeing the guy from “How I Met Your Mother” buying furniture at Sam’s Club? And sure, you forced a smile while choking down Aunt Hattie’s tomato aspic salad—but was there not some satisfaction in watching her dip chip after chip in your homemade humus? She doesn’t have to know what’s in it.

Yes, the leaves are all on the ground. Let ’em stay there. Let ‘em soak up snow and ice and rain and make good compost as they break down come warm weather. The lawn will be all the better for it. And as for Christmas coming in less than four weeks—that means you have twenty-six days before you simply must start your shopping. You can worry about those resolutions on Dec. 31st. (They’re the same every year, anyway.)

The best that can be said for Nov. 28th is, it’s probably your un-birthday. Unless you’re Jon Stewart or Judd Nelson or Berry Gordy, Jr. (turning 49, 52, and 82, respectively.) Or Ed Harris (61) or Randy Newman (68). Or Friedrich Engels Engels (191). It’s the 47th anniversary of the Shangri-La’s “Leader of the Pack” hitting #1 and the 17th of Jeffrey Dahmer getting killed in prison. Willie Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway were married 429 years ago today. I keep track of these things and send such trivia along with a few quotes and jokes to various and sundry people every Monday to start the week off with a smile. If you’d like me to include you in this nonsense, leave your email address at http://www.3amblue.com/contact.html. Enjoy

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Friday, March 4, 2011

You Can Tell a Book By Its Cover—sort of

Bookstore browsing was a family affair for us—Eoin would wander the entire store, not just the children’s section, I’d aim for the True Crime shelves, and John would scour technical books and psychology tomes. Once surrounded by books about serial killers, mass murderers, mad bombers, and assassins, I’d blissfully spend a half hour scanning volumes until I found one I just had to add to my collection. I didn’t realize it but I would skip over any that did not have red and black in the cover. If pressed to put my unconscious thoughts into words, I would say: “Where’s the blood?”

Pretty shallow, right?

But perhaps my prejudice isn’t so irrational. Because, despite the old adage, you can determine a lot about a book from its appearance. Publishers work with psychologists and market-study companies to design books that appeal to a specific audience. They know that after years of reading, shopping for, and assessing books, you, the reader, can tell almost at a glance if you’re interested in a specific volume or not. Various factors of a book’s design register with you and steer you unconsciously toward or away from it.

Is it hardback or paperback? A paperback may fall more within your target price range, but a hardback implies there’s something inside to recommend it; after all, the publisher thinks she can make a profit on it, expensive as it is. Check the clearance table for older hardbacks, and track the release dates of your wish list in paperback.

What size is it? 11.5x18, 8.5x11, 6x9? A 3.75x5 silly joke book may be just what you’re looking for, but any art book that does justice to its contents should be at least 8x10. Note the spines as you walk around: skinny or thick? Small size and a thin spine may indicate the publisher is trying to get away with skimpy content (particularly if the cover is thick). To get your money’s worth you expect a paperback novel to be at least 4x6, to be printed in a font size of not less than 10 and not more than 12, the print to fill up the pages, and a length of at least 200 pages.

What’s the color scheme? You won’t often find multiple, bright colors on the cover of a classic, a law reference, or a volume of serious poetry. A jacket with pink dominating indicates “For girls only.” As noted, crime fans look for a color-message that conveys: “There’s blood in here!”

Do the fonts appeal to you? You are not going to consider a title in screaming bold if you want an old-fashioned romance novel, and a hard-boiled detective fan is not going to pick up one in elaborate script imposed on a scene of muted colors.

All this data registers with you and influences your window-shopping selections before you are even close enough to read the actual titles. And once you do see the title, author, and publisher—

Does the name of the book pique your interest? Does it give a fair indication of what’s inside?

Is the writer someone you’re familiar with? One of your favorites? (I take a “Got it, need it” list for the very prolific Christie, Francis, and Sanders when I go mystery shopping to avoid buying duplicates.) Or do you want to take a chance on a “new” (to you) writer, perhaps someone recommended by a favorable reviewer or a friend? (Fair warning: when the author’s name is bigger than the title of the book, the publisher is counting on the author as a name brand to sell the book regardless of the quality of the content inside.)

What’s the publisher? Does it have a good track record?

Then, finally, another look at the cover–is it appropriate to the presumed content? A size-color scheme-font-content mismatch indicates the publisher is confused about what the book is, and results in no sale.

All this happens before you even look at the blurbs, back jacket, flaps or inside back cover, flip through the pages, scan review excerpts, or read a random passage!

I didn’t realize I was prejudiced against true crimes that did not sport red and black covers until one afternoon John showed me a volume with an orange and blue jacket he pulled from my favorite section. Pffffft. How could it be a valid true crime book? I thought. (Where’s the blood?) I took a look anyway. It was Never Let Them See You Cry by Edna Buchanan, a compilation of stories from her days as a crime beat reporter in Miami. It turned out to be a terrific read. (And the orange and blue colors on the cover are very appropriate for a book about Miami, as any fan of “CSI: Miami” can attest.)

Just as sneaking a peek at the ending of Cujo before I was halfway through cured me of that practice, I no longer dismiss a book out of hand because the cover “feels” inappropriate. (If I did, I would have missed Buchanan’s next book, Nobody Lives Forever, with its purple and green cover—another good read.)

Publishers are very aware of what resonates with you as a reader even before you discover what a book is about. Next time you’re browsing, notice your own reactions to what influences you to consider one book and not another. You may have to set them aside to find a gem.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Tales of a Woman Scorned



"Fidelity" by Ash Krafton
"Saving Alice - The Brotherhood" by Neil E. Leckman
"Maggie's Wedding" by Nandy Ekle
"The Thing About Hate" by Flo Stanton
"Don't Speak" by Charlotte E. Gledson
"Scorched" by Nate Burleigh
"Blood Will Tell" by Ken L. Jones
"Model Behaviour" by David Bernstein
"Fairytale" by Christopher Hivner
"Eat Your Heart Out Lorena" by Nathan Robinson
"Deer Gap" by Thomas M. Malafraina
"Popsicle for Emmy" by Terrie Leigh Relf
"Red Riding Hood Bites" by A. E. Churchyard
"Gargulax" by John C. Lewis
"Sex, Lies and Death" by S. E. Cox
"Prince of Tortured Hearts" by Kimberly Graham

Interior artwork by John Stanton

Buy a copy here