I hope everyone enjoyed my little SHOT Show recap last week.
Between recovering from a nasty cold (which I picked up in Vegas)
and being a bit tired of talking guns, this morning is going to be
all linky, no thinky.
-- Over at theGeek With A Gun blog, there is a discussion
about my recent post on safety rules. He doesn't entirely agree
with me, which is okay - the important thing is that he's THINKING
about the rules and their effect on those who hear them, rather
than doing the knee-jerk "the four rules are immutable" routine.
The more people who understand that any rule which requires people
to pretend something is doomed to failure, the better off we'll all
be.
-- As you may know, I've become a fan of the Forgotten Weapons
blog. This morning I checked my RSS feed to find that they have an
article on theHotchkiss Revolving Cannon! (Hey, it's a revolver -
it's topical for this blog!)
-- There was an interesting article published in TheJury Expert,
which is the journal of the American Society of Trial Consultants,
back in September of 2009. In it, Glenn Meyer did a little test on
theeffect of firearm appearance on the opinions of a
mock jury. The results were a little
surprising.
A couple of months ago I brought you the news of the saddeath
of Dennis Ritchie, the co-developer of the
Unix operating system. As it happens, his death occurred just
before the 'official' anniversary of the birth of Unix - the
publishing of the first Unix manual in November of 1971.
Spectrum, one of the publications of IEEE (the Institute of
Electrical and Electronics Engineers), has agreat article of the birth and impact of
Unix. It's a must-read for
anyone interested in computers or the history of technology.
One thing in the article struck me: that an original copy of Unix
did not exist until it was recreated (and only then after great
effort) by some software engineers. It's interesting to think that
a vital part of technological history was essentially lost, and
might have remained that way had someone not cared about it.
Electronic creations are fleeting; they're jettisoned wholesale
when new and better creations are introduced, and nowhere is that
more true than with software. We upgrade our software and throw out
the old versions; the media deteriorates or the ability to read it
is lost. It's hard, for instance, to find an actual copy of any
early software for any computer, let alone the more obscure stuff.
Software is planned obsolescence in its highest form, and one where
the old literally disappears permanently at a keystroke to make
room for the new.
The topic of preserving our technological heritage is one I think
about frequently. There are many early and important computers
which no longer exist; in a few rare instances, like the first
version of Unix, enthusiasts have taken it upon themselves to build
replicas. The Colossus project in England is a perfect example,
without which we would have no record of the pioneering machine or
the people who built it.
There is only one SAGE - the largest computer ever built - left in
existence, and it is non-functional. These and many more
achievements, and the people who made them, are fading into
obscurity.
This is of particular interest to me as an author. My work here on
this blog (and the rest of my site) exists only as ones and zeroes
on a computer somewhere. At some future point all of what I've done
will simply disappear; electronic copies of my book can disappear
too, no longer left to future discovery on the dusty shelves of
some thrift store.
Nooks, Kindles and iPads may in fact be the future of reading, but
I'd still like to see paper books available if for no other reason
than to serve as a marker to future generations: we were here, this
is what we did, and you don't need to restore some ancient device
(if it's even possible) just to read them.
'Ephemera' is the term used to describe things that weren't meant
to last, things that were never expected to leave an imprint on the
world. If we're not careful, everything we do - and our very
existence - will end up in that category.
I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving weekend - ours was filled
with windstorm destruction and a blown head gasket on my primary
vehicle. My spare time for the next couple of weeks will be filled
with hauling debris and fixing an engine. Why can't these things
happen in summer, when it's nice to be outside working?
---
Thanksgiving weekend seems these days to be filled more with
thoughts of football than of peaceful coexistence with one's fellow
man. Here in Oregon we had our annual Civil War Game - Oregon State
University versus University of Oregon, the prize being the
opportunity to play in another game of some sort. (No, I don't
follow college football - does it show?) I personally find it
rather sad that folks can tell you who's playing, why they're
playing, who the head coaches are, and even the names of a couple
of ousted coaches from a college clear back in Pennsylvania - but
can't name five of the top physics programs in the country.
(Just for the record, this is not age-related curmudgeonliness - as
my siblings will gleefully tell you, I had precisely the same
opinion as a kid.)
---
Someone (could have beenTam, but I’m not
absolutely positive) recently turned me on to a cool gun
blog:Forgotten
Weapons. Lots of great stuff about
guns you may not even know existed, presented with a decidedly
scholarly bent. Immediately became one of the few in my daily RSS
feed.
---
A couple of days ago I found out that my new book, TheGun Digest Book of the
Revolver, is being sold in the U.K.
by Amazon. As of this morning the folks across the pond only had
two copies left, which sounds as though it's a big seller over
there. Then again, they may have only ordered three copies total -
this realization serving to keep my ego in check!
Many years ago I was sitting in a small room at the Eastman Kodak
Marketing Education Center near Rochester, New York. In that room
were a number of movers and shakers in the photographic industry,
talking with some Kodak VPs about the state and future of the
business.
At one point they asked us what we felt was the biggest threat to
photography. When my turn came, I told them that in ten years
photography would cease to exist, to be replaced by what we then
called electronic cameras. My belief was based on the fact that
video cameras had, in less than five years, destroyed the home and
serious amateur movie business. I reasoned that the same would
happen to film photography, and for the same reasons.
The Kodak folks were nothing if not self assured, and they told me
I was dead wrong in both my analysis and predictions: "people will
always want to hold their memories in their hands", said one
executive, and another chimed in that "real movies will always be
made on film."
I was wrong about the timeline - it took twice as long for digital
photography to take hold as I had thought, and the last bastion of
silver halide on acetate as a common imaging medium has in fact
been the movies. But that, too, has changed. Another era is ending
before our eyes.
That’s because the major makers of movie cameras - Arriflex,
Panavision, and Aaton - are now focusing exclusively on digital,
and are no longer making film cameras. These companies have
discontinued the production of all film cameras simply because no
one buys them anymore. The rise of HD video, and their immediacy
coupled with lower production costs, is making video the dominant
form of movie production today.
There is certainly a place for film, and film production itself has
not completely disappeared, but the used market is glutted with
16mm, 35mm, and even 70mm cameras - enough so that the makers of
these things,according to an article in at
collider.com, have decided that there is
no longer any need for new examples to be produced.
President Reagan was given that nickname during his tenure in
office, but all Presidents before and after have needed to stay in
touch with the world around them. Lots of stuff to deal with when
you're the CEO of a superpower, and being able to reach out and
talk with anyone and everyone is pretty high on the priority
list.
Seems simple in the days of cel phones, but it's not. The President
needs fault-tolerant communications that work even where he can't
get any bars on his iPhone, which is why he’s usually
accompanied by a communications team. Back in the 1960s, that team
- and their huge amount of radio gear - took up an entire rail car.
And then some.
These pictures, from the JFK library and hosted at
cryptome.org, are of the Presidential
train communications car shortly after President Kennedy's
inauguration. The White House Army Signal Agency, which in 1962 was
eliminated and its functions transferred to the Defense
Communications Agency, was responsible for the operation and upkeep
of the assets.
Known as the General Albert J. Myer Car in honor of thefirst commander of the Army Signal
Corps, it contained all of the
radio and telephone equipment needed by the President and his staff
while on the train. When stopped at a station the car’s
switchboard was hooked into the local telephone exchange. While
underway, all communications were handled via high frequency (HF)
radio. It even had a separate (locked, of course) cryptography
room!
Presidential train travel had effectively ended during the
Eisenhower administration, and I was unable to find out of the
equipment was ever actually used by Kennedy's staff. The Myer car
was still being held in a ready state in Harrisburg, PA as late as
1970, but its fate beyond that point is uncertain.
It was reported to be awaiting restoration at the Gold Coast rail
museum in Florida when Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992, and later was
rumored to have been transferred to the custody of the National
Park Service's Steamtown historic site. Today no one seems to know
where it is or even if it still exists.
(To correct a piece of misinformation: the train itself was NOT
called the Ferdinand Magellan. That was the name of the President's
private Pullman car, which was sold to the Gold Coast museum in
1959.)
It is a fascinating glimpse into state-of-the-art communications in
the early '60s.
Down in Florida's Everglades, well hidden from casual view, is the
remnant of an idea: to build solid fuel rocket motors for the
Apollo space missions.
In 1963 the decision between solid or liquid fueled boosters for
what would be the Saturn V rocket had not yet been made, and there
was stiff competition between supporters of the two ideas. General
Tire Company, which had a subsidiary named Aerojet General, was
solidly (pardon the pun) on the side of solid fuel.
They put their money where their mouths were, investing millions to
build a rocket assembly and test facility in what was the middle of
nowhere. They built facilities to make the fuel and assemble the
rockets, a 150-foot-deep silo to test fire the motors, and even a
canal to transport the finished rockets through their swampy
surroundings to the Atlantic ocean.
The Aerojet-Dade facility, as it was known, built and tested only
three motors -- but they were the largest and most powerful solid
fuel rocket motors ever made. Liquid fuel was eventually chosen for
the Saturn V, and in 1969 the facility was abandoned. Aerojet
walked away, leaving everything behind -- including the third
rocket still sitting in the test silo!
I've worked on many Colt Police Positives in .32-20, and it's a
cartridge which has always intrigued me. I'm not one to believe
that it would make a good defensive tool, but there is more to
shooting than just that!
I've often thought that I'd like to have one of the
long-discontinued Marlin 1894 CB in .32-20; it would make a great
farm & varmint cartridge in the hotter loadings, and loaded to
moderate velocities would make a dandy squirrel gun.
Tempering this is the realization that I don't need yet another
cartridge to reload, having too many as it is. The thing about the
.32-20 is that it's just so darned (pardon the expression) cute. I
don't know why this is, but the cartridge reminds me just a bit of
the scraggly tree in the old Peanuts Christmas special: "all it
needs is a little love."
I’d pretty much gotten over my lust for that gun (oooooh,
look at the half-length magazine tube!) in that caliber when, just
a few days ago,The FIrearms Blog put up an article on the .32-20
cartridge.Now the madness will start
again; the voices in my head are already tempting me.
Pardon me while I channel my inner Shatner:
Must...resist...urge...to...buy!
Seriously though, it's a great article about a neat cartridge. Go
read.
On more than one occasion here at the Revolver LIberation Alliance
I've griped that all of the 'cool stuff' seemed to exist back east.
("Back east", for a child of the west such as myself, might mean
anything from ‘east of the Mississippi River’ to
‘all lands to the right of the Rocky Mountains’. Take
your pick.)
I've lamented about the old subway tunnels we don't have, to the
gigantic industrial machines that are absent from our part of the
world. It turns out, though, that there is a very cool place darned
near in my backyard: the last operational vintage steam powered
sawmill in the United States lies right here in my own Willamette
Valley!
Hull-Oaks Sawmill was built in 1938, a time in which steam was
still a most viable way to power any large machinery. The main
steam engine which powers the gigantic bandsaw blade, is an Ames
Iron Works twin cylinder that was built in 1906. It's still running
strong, and according to the mill's owner suffers fewer breakdowns
than any other piece of equipment in the mill. So famous is this
particular engine amongst steam aficionados that there are
companies sellingworking models and kits.
There is agreat story about the mill at
thisiscarpentry.com. Lots of pictures! There
are even multiple videos on Youtube of the mill in action - like
the one below. Yes, I'm planning to visit the mill as soon as the
weather warms up!
TheM-1965 Field Jacket, to be precise. Or, if you
prefer, the ever-so-GI nomenclature of "Coat, Cold Weather,
Field."
I'm not a general fan of, or expert on, military stuff. There are
people who are, and more power to 'em, but I'm only interested in
the gear to the extent that it benefits me. The M-1965, fondly
called the "M65", benefits me greatly!
The M65 was the standard issue coat for the United States military
from 1965 until 2009. It was the result of several redesigns to the
original M-1943 field jacket that served our troops in WWII. The
M-1943 got a makeover in 1950 and again in 1951, but in 1965 it
attained the form we know and love today.
The M65 has four large pockets, all of which close with heavy-duty
snaps. The cuffs close with Velcro tabs, which are my only
complaint about the jacket. (You may recall me saying that I hate
Velcro!) That's easily remedied by the installation of a couple of
brass snaps, a modification to the original that I highly
recommend. Other than the Velcro, the rest of the coat is pretty
much bombproof.
I don't know how well it served our troops, but I can tell you that
it makes the perfect knock-around farm coat. It's incredibly
durable, wind resistant, and with the optional button-in quilted
liner is very warm. The only real downside is that they're not
terribly water resistant. The cotton in the fabric blend absorbs a
lot of water, but a can of silicone waterproofing spray
significantly improves the situation. This is especially important
in the rainy climate of western Oregon!
One of the best things about the M65 is the freedom of movement it
affords the wearer. I'm a short guy whose shoulders are broader
than average for short guys, and I have trouble with arm movement
on many coats. Extending my arms forward usually tightens the
material on the upper back, while the sleeves slide up the forearms
and the cuffs bind enough to severely limit the reach. This
combination results in extremely uncomfortable movement, but the
M65 is cut in such a way as to allow for that kind of athletic
activity. If you have to actually do things outdoors, as opposed to
standing around and looking pretty, the M65 is what you need.
The coat was originally made in olive drab, later in woodland camo,
and finally in desert camo and the new digital (ACU) patterns. My
favorite is the old OD color with the heavy brass zippers, though I
have a couple of early woodland examples as well. I wear them for
any dirty or rough outdoor activity, from building structures to
cutting trees, and I have yet to wear one out.
The quilted liners, being of light and fluffy nylon construction,
don't usually fare as well. That's not a problem, because liners
are readily available on the surplus market and are cheap; I bought
a very large box full a few years ago when my local surplus store
had them for a buck apiece!
M65s are commonly available at your local surplus store and are
still made and sold new on the civilian market by government
contractorAlpha Industries.
It has become something of a trend amongst the latest hipsters to
declare an interest in the fountain pen. It might be said that I
find this whole business a tad amusing, not because I think the
fountain pen to be out of date but because my interest in them
often goes back further than some of these newcomers have even been
alive.(Get off my lawn!)Wait long enough, and
everything comes back into fashion.
I received my first fountain pen as a high school graduation gift
in the late 1970s. It was a Cross Century and came in a set with a
matching ballpoint and a pencil. What happened to the latter two
pieces is a mystery, but I still have that fountain pen. In fact,
I'm looking at it as I type this. I've added more to my collection
as time has progressed, but I still have that one.
Over the years I'll admit to not being completely faithful to the
fountain pen, but in the last few years I've gone back to it as my
primary writing instrument. My handwriting these days is all in
printed letters (I long ago forgot how to write in longhand), and I
don't do as much of it, but I still scribble notes and fill
notebooks with bits of information, ideas, the occasional drawing,
and sometimes a shopping list. I have perhaps four pens that I use
regularly, and several more in storage that I ink up and use only
occasionally.
Why a fountain pen? For me, it's the fact that they require no hand
pressure. The nib of the pen simply rests on the paper, and no
additional force is needed to get ink to flow. As I near the
half-century mark I find that the joints of my fingers are not
standing up to the kind of abuse they used to, and anything which
reduces the wear and tear on them is most appreciated!
There is another aspect to the fountain pen, though I fear putting
too much emphasis on it lest I be labeled as a closeted
environmentalist hippy. (Tam and her eco-friendly bicyclecurrently have
that schtick sewn up like a hemp shirt, and heaven forfend I should
intrude!) The fact is, however, that disposable writing instruments
are wasteful. A quality fountain pen is a lifetime purchase that
needs only a supply of ink to keep working. Nothing ends up in the
landfill or gets thrown away (except the ink bottle, which is
usually glass and easily recycled.)
Of course, for a gadget freak like me the fountain pen provides
limitless opportunities to indulge! There are perhaps a hundred
(maybe more) fountain pen manufacturers around the world still
making pens, with price points from a buck (I'm not kidding) to
several thousand dollars. You can find nibs (the part that touches
the paper) in sizes ranging from extra fine to broad; no matter how
or what you like to write you can find a line width to suit. There
is also a large quantity of vintage pens available should one
prefer the ultimate in recycling with a retro flair.
Ink makers? There are probably fifty brands of ink that come in a
literal rainbow of colors. I'll bet you never knew that black ink
isn't just black, did you? Yes, black ink comes in shades. There
must be a couple hundred different blue inks, more blue-black inks
than you could probably ever use, forests full of various greens
and browns, and reds that range from blood to fire - and everything
in between. If you want the perfect ink to match your personality
or mood, you can find it for your fountain pen.
There is, truly, something for everyone in the fountain pen
world.
I'll leave you with some pen snapshots I did a few years ago. The
first is a couple from the German maker Rotring (probably my
favorite pens), the second is of a Duke (one of the better Chinese
pen makers), and the last is a no-name pen that my wife likes (yes,
she’s into them as well. Makes gift giving around our house
easy!)
In 1791, the French Assembly decided that the purpose of capital
punishment was to end a miscreant's life, not to cause him
unbearable pain. A committee was formed for the purpose of devising
a pain-free method of execution that was suitable for both upper
and lower class undesirables. How egalitarian of them!
One of the committee members was a Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin.
While he was opposed to the death penalty, he believed that making
it more humane would lead to its abolition. (The logic behind this
escapes me, but apparently doctors often have this failing: one Dr.
Richard J. Gatling, inventor of the gun that bears his name,
believed that the creation of a terrible weapon would inspire
people to no longer entertain the idea of war. Didn't work for him,
either.)
The French committee eventually came up with a beheading machine,
and because of the good doctor's promotion of the new "humane"
method his name was associated forever with the contraption.
But just how humane is the guillotine?This article at Damn Interestingraises all kinds
of questions about just what happens at the instant one's head is
separated from its support mechanisms. Personally, I hope to never
find out!
I'm fickle, in that my favorite things change frequently depending
on what's in my hands at the moment. "This my favorite! No, THAT'S
my favorite! Wait - that one is REALLY my favorite!" Fountain pens,
.22 rifles, hats, revolvers (of course), and cameras.
Especially cameras. It's hard to pick just one.
What I do know is that I've shot more frames through one model than
any other, by a wide margin: the Pentax KX. I'm not talking about
the modern digital incarnation, but the original, all metal,
mechanical, manually operated film camera. It was, to my mind, one
of the best products ever to come from Asahi Optical and one of the
best 35mm SLRs that I ever used.
Images courtesy of
Turbof
(http://adsl-065-013-121-247.sip.pfn.bellsouth.net/camera_collector/pentax/k/k.html)
The KX is one of those machines that turned out to be a lot more
than the manufacturer probably intended. Introduced in the mid-70s,
during a time when many other legendary cameras were being
manufactured, the KX proved to be a worthy "semi professional"
camera of great durability and superb image quality. It was
competitive with and contemporary to the Canon FTb, the Nikon
Nikkormats, and the upper portion of the Minolta SR-T series.
The KX was a medium sized camera, and its features were common for
the day: depth-of-field preview, mirror lock-up, 1/1000 second
shutter, aperture display in viewfinder. What set it apart were a
couple of things that its competitors didn't have: shutter speeds
displayed in the viewfinder and a new, sensitive but linear silicon
blue meter cell.
The only camera that really compared to the KX was the Nikon FM,
introduced at the end of the KX model run. It was as if Nikon had
taken direct aim at the KX, for their new model had features to
rival the Pentax veteran (except, surprisingly, the mirror lockup.)
The only advantage the new Nikon had was the MD-11 (later MD-12)
motor drive. Even with that they were behind the curve, as Pentax
had made a special edition of the KX that took a drive as well: the
rare KX-Motor body.
Images courtesy of
Turbof
(http://adsl-065-013-121-247.sip.pfn.bellsouth.net/camera_collector/pentax/k/k.html)
The KX-Motor was exactly like the plain versions, with the addition
of the mechanics and circuitry necessary to run a slightly modified
version of the attachable motor from the Spotmatic MD model dubbed
the Motordrive II. There was no external indication, other than the
baseplate, which indicated that this was a special-order-only
camera. Since the entire KX model line was only made for three
years, that makes KX-Motor one of the rarer Pentax products.
I owned a number of KX cameras, and was fortunate to count two
KX-Motor bodies among them. At the time I knew they were uncommon
but only now realize how rare they actually were!
KX bodies came in both chrome and black finishes. The black bodies
were enamel over brass, which was the common construction method of
the time. I once stripped the worn enamel off the brass pieces of
one of the bodies, polished them until they were mirror bright,
then applied clear lacquer to keep tarnish away. The result was
stunning and I became known as "the guy with the gold camera." I
later sold that body to a friend to fund my move to Olympus OM
equipment...a story unto itself.
In use the KX proved to be a true photographer's tool. Controls
fell perfectly to hand, everything worked smoothly, and the silicon
blue meter was accurate down to ridiculously low light levels. Of
course the quality of Pentax lenses was never in doubt, and the
images produced by the combination of body and optics were always
superb.
None of that would mean much if the camera didn't hold up. I admit
to being rough on gear, to the point that the guy who repaired my
cameras regaled his customers with stories about damage sustained
by my cameras in various mishaps. Twenty years later he’s
probably still telling them!
The KX was incredibly rugged even in my hands, and it's one of the
very few cameras that I was never able to break to the point that
it wouldn't function. I've broken many others, but despite the
heavy use to which I put them never had a KX fail. (Wish I could
say the same for Pentax's "pro" camera, the LX.)
KX bodies accompanied me on both personal and professional
assignments, from standing in the middle of rivers to crawling
around the dirty confines of a foundary and everything in between.
I knew that I could always rely on them to bring back the images I
needed. They weren't the flashiest or most impressive bodies (save
for my special gold model), but they always delivered top notch
pictures.
At one time I was a devoted fan of Leica rangefinder cameras. I
owned many of them over the years, culminating with a beat-up
example of the much maligned M5 (2-lug) model. Like many
photographers I held a special place in my heart for the legendary
Leica M3, though mine was the less desirable (and thus cheaper)
double-stroke version. One could say that I was something of a
Leica snob, and that wasn't too far from the truth.
This makes my favorite rangefinder seem somewhat odd, because it
wasn't a Leica.
At one point I picked up a Kodak Retina IIIS rangefinder for next
to nothing, largely because I thought it would be a nice decoration
on my bookshelf. Along with it came a 50mm f2.8 Schneider Xenar, a
superb 35mm f2.8 Schneider Curtagon, and a 135mm Schneider
Tele-Xenar. The camera and lenses were in near-mint condition,
having been traded in on a more modern 35mm SLR with zoom
lens.
The Retina series of cameras were made in Germany by the
Kodak-owned Nagel Camerawerk. Most of them were small folding
cameras, but the IIIS was unique: it was a solid body rangefinder
with interchangeable lenses. It was a large, heavy camera compared
to the Leicas (or the rest of the Retina series), but it boasted a
large, bright viewfinder with automatically changing framelines and
parallax correction!
The viewfinder was terrific, but the really great thing from my
perspective was the shutter. The IIIS had a between-the-lens leaf
shutter sourced from Compur, which meant that it could flash synch
at all shutter speeds. More importantly it meant that the shutter
was quiet. Very, very quiet. Next to the IIIS, a Leica M3 sounded
like a bomb going off. Those who know the Leica cameras and their
reputation for stealth might be amazed, but it was true; even the
photographer often couldn't hear or feel the Retina shutter
fire.
This made it ideal for surreptitious shooting, but especially for
such things as concerts and plays. While the lenses weren't
terribly fast, thus limiting their indoor capabilities, it was
possible to make very good available-light shots with the camera. I
did so on many occasions.
I also loved the depth-of-field indicators. They were two red
pointers on either side of the focus point mark, and as the
aperture was changed they moved in or out (in sync, one moving left
and one moving right) to indicate the zone of acceptable sharpness.
This was similar to the way the lenses on the Hasselblad cameras
worked, and to this day I miss that unambiguous display.
Over time I grew away from the rangefinder in general, finding the
newer compact SLRs to easily take their place. Except for the
noise, of course. Today I'd love to have a good digital rangefinder
camera, but the only one currently being made is the insanely
priced Leica M9. (A solid contender, the Epson RD-1, was recently
discontinued and the prices have skyrocketed well past
"reasonable." There are some others that boast add-on digital
viewfinders, but they stink. The viewfinders, I mean!)
Citing diminishing use and rising costs as the reason for the
shutdown, this comes as sad news for those of us who cut their
teeth on newsgroups. While there are other servers still hosting
Usenet traffic, the closure of the Duke server is a sign that the
end is near.
I spent far too much free time on Usenet in the '80s and '90s.
Before the World Wide Web, Usenet was THE source of information and
interaction on the 'net. If you know what DoD stands for, you spent
a lot of time on rec.motorcycles; if you know who the KoTL is, you
spenttoomuch time there!
There are people I "met" on Usenet with whom I still correspond. I
first encountered Ed Harris, whose name should not be unknown to
readers of this blog, on rec.guns. That was more years ago than
either of us care to recount, and despite never having been
face-to-face we've exchanged ideas, shared projects and even
collaborated a bit on a training manual for emergency
communications. There are others whose names would mean nothing to
you, but mean a great deal to me.
With so many ISPs dropping Usenet access, people for whom the WWW
is the whole 'net don't see the loss. For those of us who remember
FidoNet gateways andbang
pathsit's like losing an old
friend.
I found this on Digg a few days ago, and thought it was intriguing.
There is much about the Mayan civilization's technology that we
still don't know, and this is opens up another set of
questions.
Makes the dream of time travel all the more tantalizing.
The XE-7 is one of the cameras I've admired from afar, but never
actually owned. This wasn't because of any lack of the camera
itself, or of the superb Minolta lenses, but simply because it had
been discontinued several years before I got involved in
photography. The XE-7's successors weren't nearly as interesting,
and their lack of a reliable "pro" camera throughout their history
meant that there was no upgrade path. That left the XE-7 sitting on
its own little photographic island.
But what an island it was!
Photo courtesy of Stan
C. Reade Photo, http://www.stancreade.com
The XE-7 was rumored to have been developed "in conjunction" with
E. Leitz, the makers of the famous Leica line of cameras. I'm not
sure that was the case, as a tear-down reveals significant
similarities to the XK model, introduced in 1972, and both preceded
the rebranded Leica R3 version by several years. That assertion
does, however, give one a good feel for just how well the XE-7 was
built.
The shutter, sourced from Copal, was quiet and accurate. Film
advance was as smooth as anything ever made in the 35mm field.
Metering was predictable and accurate (as long as the aperture
follower, which coupled the meter to the lens, stayed clean - a
common weakness of all Minolta MC/MD mount cameras.) The camera was
just a joy to use, and those times I took to the field with
borrowed XE-7s were magical. The camera was responsive and easy to
adapt to; the images were clean, clear, and had wonderful
contrast.
Part of the stellar performance was, of course, due to the Minolta
Rokkor lenses. Minolta produced some of the very best optics to
ever come out of Japan; to this day, knowledgeable photographers
wax poetic about the color rendition of their designs. (They were
good enough that Leica bought several Minolta lenses, with no
change other than mounts, to round out the lens line for their SLR
cameras.)
The camera proved to be fairly rugged, the aperture follower issue
notwithstanding. One of my colleagues had a pair of them that he
used extensively while working as a photojournalist, and they
looked like they'd been through a war zone. They still worked
perfectly despite the abuse.
Sadly, the XE-7 was discontinued in 1977 to make way for the more
modern XD series of cameras. While the XDs were certainly smooth,
nicely functioning machines, they weren't the photographer's tool
that the XE-7 was. It was because of the lackluster XD that I
generally ignored Minolta, despite their uncompromising
optics.
-=[
Grant ]=-
P.S.:Regarding
Minolta "pro" cameras - yes, I know all about the XK and the XK
Motor. I also know, far too well, how unreliable those cameras were
in actual use. The XK Motor, in particular, was perhaps the least
reliable "pro" camera I've ever seen, with many examples making
multiple trips to Minolta for repeated repairs. I liked the XK, and
to this day feel the XK Motor to be one of the nicest-handling
large SLRs ever made, but they just didn't have what it took in the
durability department. More's the pity.
I just returned from a visit to Virginia Beach, where I attended
theCombat
Focus ShootingInstructor Development
(CFSID) course. I've been searching my brain for a one-word
description of what the class is like, and this is the only thing
that even comes close:
OhHolyCrap.
We spent 4 days and just shy of 60 hours learning the ins and outs
of Combat Focus Shooting so that we could accurately and
efficiently communicate the program to students. We spent the first
of those day on the range...no, that's not quite right; for any
other course itwould havebeen the first day, but for
us it was roughly half of the first day, as the entire session ran
well past 9pm. The rest of the week was spent not on becoming
better shooters, but learning to be better teachers.
We studied a little of everything: anatomy, physiology,
neurophysiology, psychology, philosophy, and more. By the end of
the fourth day, which is when testing was done, my brain was fried.
I don't even remember the final written test, but I do remember
nearly passing out somewhere on page three (serious blood sugar
drop, complete with tremors and sweating.)
Apparently I finished it. At least, I think I did!
This isn't like most other instructor courses. Most of the time, an
instructor certificate is a matter of showing up, shooting well,
and having your check clear. CFSID is different;Rob
Pincusis committed to producing
good teachers, not just good demonstrators. That showed in the
caliber (pardon the pun) of the people who were there, as I'd be
confident in recommending any one of them as a competent and
knowledgeable instructor.
There's a reason that, historically, less than 50% of Combat Focus
Shooting instructor candidates pass the course. It's that tough,
and takes a phenomenal amount of mental discipline just to make it
through.
----
As it happens, my return trip routed me through Chicago, where I
spent nearly three hours waiting for my next flight. Turns out
thatTam was in Chicago at the same
time. Wish I'd known, I'd have
loved to finally meet her.
----
We also got to study some (unintentional) modern art, courtesy of
an ancient video projector that refused to hold a sync signal with
Rob's new MacBook:
Yes, that's Rob Pincus getting all Warhol on his students.
----
I don't usually plug local businesses, but this one deserves
it.
The day before I left, I discovered that my old camera had died. It
powered up, but none of the controls worked. (It will still take
pictures, but the exposure control is fried and the autofocus
appears to be only sporadically active.) We had planned to upgrade
our camera later this year, but this forced our hand: we needed it
now.
I spent that day not packing, but running all over Western Oregon
to find the camera I'd decided on. I finally found the body, but
the lens I wanted wasn't in stock anywhere. I decided to pick up a
used optic as stopgap measure, while I waited (and recovered
financially) for the one I really wanted. Trouble is that none of
the camera stores I called carried much (or any) used equipment.
About that time I remembered seeing a yellow pages ad for a little
one-hour photo place located in a small town fairly close to us. I
had it in my mind that the ad said something about used cameras,
and since phone calls are free I dialed their number. A pleasant
young lady answered the phone and said that yes, they had used gear
and that they had several suitable lenses for me.
What I found when I walked intoFocal Point
Photographyblew me away. This is a tiny
shop, located in a small farming community in a rural area, and it
is filled with photo gear. From Speed Graphics to the Canon EOS 5D
Mark II, these folks have a little of everything. Piles of used
gear (literally), a surprising selection of lighting equipment new
and old, even darkroom stuff, all stuffed (literally) into a
two-story building in little ol' Dallas, Oregon. It was like going
back in time, to what camera stores used to be before the age of
big-box homogenization. I don't know if they do mailorder, but
they're so accommodating I suspect they would. If you're looking
for just about anything photographic, particularly if it's out of
production and now hard to find, give them a call: (503)
623-6300.
I have no affiliation other than as a satisfied, if somewhat
amazed, customer.
I woke up this morning, completely sure in my mind that it was
Thursday. As everyone else knows, it's actually Friday, which means
I owe you a blog post, late though it may be.
TIME recently ranthis great slideshow of old computer
hardware, photographed in a way you
might not expect. Very nice work, and some detail of a rapidly
disappearing past. Enjoy, and happy Friday!
Once upon a time, two geeks met in college. They had some neat
ideas about the world of computers, and were anxious to put their
ideas into production. They started a little company.
Shortly after they incorporated, they introduced a new computer -
one that was more accessible, more flexible, and under the control
of a single person. They didn't make many of them, and very few
exist today, but with it they changed the face of computing
forever.
No, I'm not talking about Jobs & Wozniak. I'm thinking of Ken
Olsen and Harlan Anderson, and the company they founded -Digital Equipment Corporation. DEC, as it would come to
be known, introduced what was really the earliest commercial
incarnation of the personal computer: the PDP-1.
The PDP-1 certainly didn't look like what we've come to expect of
the PC. Nevertheless, it started the downsizing of computing power,
and introduced a concept critical to the modern PC: user
interaction, as opposed to batch data processing. This shift was
the necessary step to creating true personal computers, and DEC got
there first.
Interactivity opened up huge new vistas for the computer. The PDP-1
has the distinction of initiating things we now take for granted:
text editing, music programs, and even computer gaming. (The very
first computer video game, 'Spacewar!', was written for the PDP-1.
Yes, you have DEC to thank for your Wii.)
Back in '51, the Atomic Energy Research Establishment in
Oxfordshire welcomed a new member to their staff: a computer. Today
we don't even bat an eyelid when a new PC shows up in the office,
but back then computers were a Big Deal. (After all, how many new
staff members get their own office - the largest one in the
building?)
The
Harwell Computer, later to be known as
"WITCH" (Wolverhampton Instrument for Teaching Computing from
Harwell), now occupies a unique position in computing history. It
holds the distinction of being the world's oldest surviving
computer withelectronically-stored data and
programs. All the original parts are
present and it is capable, in theory, of being operated.
Though it hasn't been switched on for over 35 years, it is
nowbeing restored to operational statusat the Museum of
Computing at Bletchley Park. They expect the restoration to be
completed next summer, at which point the WITCH will be able to
claim another title: oldest operational computer, beating out
theFerranti Pegasuswhipper-snapper at London's
Science Museum.
Way back in the mid-70s I was a geeky high school student whose
career dreams were split between playing trumpet in the Stan Kenton
band, or designing optical systems for spy satellites. Kenton died
in 1979, which quashed my first ambition, and a dismal showing in
differential calculus (don't ask) convinced me that engineering
wasn't my forte, either.
(What happened between then and now is a long story...)
Anyhow, back to high school. Our science teacher was an ex-JPL
scientist who'd taken early retirement and ended up in our small
Oregon town. This was a major score for a backward mountain
community, and he was a wealth of information. I took every
advanced physics and chemistry course our little school
offered.
One day, he presented to the class what was then a very recent
scientific find: the existence of a natural nuclear fission
reactor. That's right, a nuclear reactor where atoms were split
without human design or interference, and long before humans walked
the earth. At the time, despite learning all the details, I found
it hard to believe that such a thing had happened. I understood
that it was theoretically possible, but it seemed fantastic that
just the right physical conditions necessary to sustain natural
fission had occurred anywhere.
Portland, Oregon has for years had one of the highest numbers of
movie theater seats per capita. Oregonians, it would appear, can't
get enough of the silver screen. (Save for this Oregonian, who sees
one theater movie every five years or so whether he needs to or
not.)
It seems to have always been this way. Portland had a large number
of neighborhood movie theaters up through the '60s, and many of
those buildings are still standing. The theaters were converted to
other uses, and some of them actually retained some of their former
features. Finding and exploring those old locations is a hobby for
some, an obsession for others.
Back in the early '80s, when I was doing some moonlighting as a
commercial photographer, I was retained by an older gentleman to
photograph the abandoned Egyptian Theater in northeast Portland.
The theater, originally built as a vaudeville venue, had been
converted to the newfangled "moving pitchers" in the early '30s. It
operated until 1962, when it was closed and used as overflow
warehousing space for the chemical company which had purchased the
location.
The gentleman who hired me was a serious movie buff, and was
writing a book on old Oregon theaters. He wanted me to shoot
pictures of the interior of the Egyptian. (I got the job because i
was the only photographer he found who could light an entire large
interior without benefit of electrical outlets or a generator. The
power in the building had been shut off for years, the wiring
having been declared a fire hazard. I'll leave you to guess how I
pulled it off.)
Once in the building we found many of the seats still in place; the
entire balcony was intact, as were the Egyptian-motif decorations
and appointments throughout. There were torn ticket stubs littering
the floor and even remnants of coming attraction posters in the
lobby.
When theater closed, the awning (shown in this 1933 photo) was
removed, and the front of the building simply covered with a false
wall. The ticket booth and original doors were still there!
It was a surreal experience, as if the building was simply waiting
for the janitors to arrive to clean up for that evening's
business.
The building was torn down in 1989; sadly, the book never
materialized. I had a good time, though.
What brought this to mind wasthis article at WebUrbanist about abandoned movie
theatersacross the U.S. (Somewhere
in storage I have my shots of the Egyptian, but exactly where is a
mystery. Until I can find them, you'll have to make do with
WebUrbanist's article!)
If you're under 40, the nameDouglas Engelbartprobably means nothing to
you. It should, though, because a huge amount of the machine on
which you're reading this sprang from his fertile mind.
Engelbart (yet another product of Oregon, having been born in
Portland) worked at Stanford Research Institute (SRI) before the
dawn of the personal computer revolution. Many of the things we now
use without a second thought were developed by him, or made
possible by his work: bitmapped screens, the graphical user
interface (GUI), hypertext, and networking. The very birth of the
internet occurred when his lab at SRI and it's counterpart at UCLA
networked their computers to become the first two nodes ofARPANET.
His greatest moment would have to be his "Mother of All Demos" in 1968. In that
presentation, he introduced to a stunned world the early working
implementations of video conferencing, teleconferencing,
interactive text, email and the aforementioned hypertext. It is,
perhaps, the single most important event in the history of modern
computing.
One of his inventions revealed for the first time at the Demo was a
new invention: the computer mouse. It would take over a decade
before his now-common pointing device finally reached the market
(attached to the ill-fated Xerox 8010 Star Information System), and
several years after that before it came to the notice of the
general public (as an integral part of the original
Macintosh.)
(John C. Dvorak, computer pundit, wrote in 1984 of the new Mac and
Engelbart's invention : "The Macintosh uses an experimental
pointing device called a 'mouse'. There is no evidence that people
want to use these things." Dvorak is not known for his prescience,
which surprisingly fails to deter his continued employment.)
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Alliance! The blog about revolvers,
training, self-defense, and shooting in general (along with an
occasional surprise!)