Margaret Brownley

Scams, advertisements and demands from Prince “Wants Your Money” from some foreign country:  Sound like your e-mail? You’re close. Only back in the 19th and 20th centuries it was called the telegraph.  Not only did the telegraph create a quicker way to get junk mail, it changed the way Victorians lived, did business, received news and yes, even fell in love.

In his fascinating book, The Victorian Internet, Tom Standage tells us that there really is nothing new under the sun.  Meetings, chat rooms, games, and illicit affairs were just as prevalent 150 years ago as they are today.  And what, for that matter is a text message but a telegram, forcing people to be brief and to the point? (Tell that to your teen!)

If you think acronyms such as LOL and BTW are a modern concept, think again. Telegram security was an issue and secret codes were devised.  Government regulators tried to control this new means of communication, but failed. Sound familiar?

Though the telegraph was first conceived in the 1600s and an optical one developed in the 1700s, it took a tragedy to make the dream of fast communication over long distances a reality.

Samuel Morse: A Love Story

Samuel Morse was an artist commissioned to paint a portrait in Washington. Upon receiving a letter informing him of his wife’s sudden death, he returned to his New Haven home as quickly as possible, but he had already missed her funeral.  This had to be very much on his mind seven years later when he in a chance conversation aboard a ship he learned that electricity could travel along any length of wire almost instantaneously.  Unaware that others had tried and failed to create a fast way of communications using this method, he immediately set to work.    

What Hath God Wrought?

It took Samuel Morse 12 years to perfect his invention and many trials and tribulations, but he was convinced that this new way of communicating would allow a husband to reach a dying wife’s bedside or save the life of a child.  He thought it might even prevent wars.  His hard work and perseverance paid off.  On May 24, 1844, he sent the telegraph message “what hath God wrought?” from the Supreme Court chamber in the Capitol in Washington, D.C., to the B & O Railroad Depot in Baltimore, Maryland.

No longer was it necessary to communicate solely through trains, mail or horse.  Even Morse himself couldn’t have imagined how telegraphic communications could change society.

Boon and Bust for Outlaws

Then as now, the first to embrace the new technology were criminals. The first telegrams sent were horse bets and lotteries.  A man named Soapy Smith opened a fake telegraph office in Skagway, Alaska during the gold rush of 1897. The wires went only as far as the wall. The telegraph office obtained fees for “sending” messages from gold-laden victims. Though outlaws such as Butch Cassidy routinely cut wires or jammed telegraph keys to prevent lawmen from tracking them down, the telegraph eventually helped put an end to the train robberies that plagued the west. 

Wired Romances

Western Union might have been the first equal opportunity employer as women telegraphers were prevalent.  The ratio of men to women in the New York office in the 1870s was two to one.  Women operators were often chaperoned but that didn’t stop women from forming relationships with partners in distant offices.  As a result, wire romances bloomed and one couple even married by telegraph. However, not all online romances had a happy ending.  In 1886, The Electrical World magazine ran an article titled The Dangers of Wired Romances. That same article would no doubt be just as timely today.

Tom Standage writes that time traveling Victorians arriving in today’s world might be impressed with our flying machines but they would be unimpressed with the Internet. They did, after all, have one of their own.

A Lady Like Sarah in Bookstores now

Leave a comment and you might even win a copy.

www.margaretbrownley.com

On our recent trip north to visit our niece Katie and hubby John in the Lake Tahoe area, we paused to take in the sites and history of Sacramento including the mansion  of Leland Stanford (1824-1893). Stanford wore such hats as California governor, railroad baron, university founder…and race horse owner. One of the video displays at the mansion shows his search to settle one of the hot debates of the 1870’s: Is there a moment in a horse’s gait when all four hooves are off the ground at once?

There is a legend that Leland Stanford bet $25,000 that it was true. Common reaction at the time nixed the idea. After all, if God wanted horses to “fly”, He would have given the creature wings.  But determined to settle the question, Stanford hired celebrity photographer Eadweard Muybridge (1830-1904) to prove it.

Actually Muybridge was born Edward Muggeridge in Kingston-Upon-Thames, Surrey, near London. He adopted the more dramatic moniker, believing it to be the true Anglo-Saxon spelling. However, he soon shortened it to Helios and became one of San Francisco’s most celebrated landscape photographers, taking more then 2,000 photographs with 20×24 inch negatives. His 1867 photographs of Yosemite Valley brought the valley…and himself…almost mythic status.

He accepted Stanford’s challenge in 1872 and came to “the farm” in Palo Alto. (It now is Stanford University.)  After a bit of a detour –Muybridge went on trial for killing his wife’s lover— he found it wise to spend some time in Mexico and Central America even though he was acquitted on the grounds of justifiable homicide. Here he did photography work for Union Pacific Railroad, one of Stanford’s companies. In 1877 Muybridge came back to Palo Alto and continued his experiments in motion photography, using 12 to 24 cameras and a special shutter he developed that gave an exposure of 2/1,000 of a second. 

Muybridge’s first attempt indeed captured Stanford’s horse, Occident, silhouetted against white sheets with all four feet off the ground. Although these original pictures didn’t survive, Muybridge continued to work with Stanford to develop techniques in the “science of animal motion.”

In 1878, he succeeded in photographing a sequence of frames produced on wet plate with 12 cameras that proved the “flying horse.” The slow wet plate collodion process produced images that were mostly silhouettes, but they showed something never before seen by the human eye.

Scientific American and other prominent publications featured articles on Muybridge’s accomplishment. However, Stanford invited his close friend, horseman and medical physician  Dr. J.B.D. Stillman to produce a book analyzing the horse-in-motion. Stillman used Muybridge’s photography without crediting the photographer. Interestingly, when Muybridge sued Stanford and Stillman for copyright infringement, he lost his suit.

Eadweard migrated to the University of Pennsylvania after that where he developed sequences of human figures, both clothed and naked (including himself unclothed). This important collection helped scientists and artists study human and animal movement, and many of the sequences were published in 1887 in a portfolio,  “Animal Locomotion, An Electro-Photographic Investigation of Consecutive Phases of Animal Movement.”. To simplify, imagine the “flip books” of your childhood. And actually, Muybridge’s sequences are available for kids in just this format in the mansion gift shop.

For all these reasons, and for the big one — the zoopraxiscope—Eadweard Muybridge is often called the father of the motion picture. To illustrate his lectures, he developed the’scope; its lantern projected images in rapid succession onto a screen. The images came from his photographs, printed on a glass disc. From the rotating disc came the illusion of moving pictures.

Muybridge’s zoopraxiscope display, an important predecessor of the modern cinema, was a sensation at the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago. Muybridge continued to promote his photography and publish his work until his retirement in 1900 at which time he returned to England. “Animal Locomotion” is still in demand by art students today.      

I’m always amazed at the progress and prowess of people who came before. What a debt we owe to their ingenuity, their resilience. In honor of Eadweard Muybridge’s legacy, what are your favorite motion pictures?

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Hi y’all.  Happy Labor Day!  I hope you’re able to take advantage of the holiday to kick back and do something relaxing or fun or, better yet, both!

My latest project had a deadline of Sept. 1^st and after a number of very late nights getting it polished up and ready to send in I’m kicking back a bit myself before I dive into the next project. 

But on to the current post.  I was recently doing a bit of research to see if it would be possible for someone in Texas in 1890 to have access to ice in the middle of summer.   I knew, of course, that in the northern parts of the country, folks would harvest large blocks of ice in the winter and store them away underground or in some other manner that would ensure they would have ice available for most of the year.  But here in the south it is rare that the ponds and lakes freeze over, even during the coldest parts of the year. 

So, I started digging around for info, and in the process I discovered a few interesting little tidbits.  Though some pioneering efforts into artificial ice manufacturing were already in place in the first half of the nineteenth century, the application was very limited and “natural ice” was still the most common source.

Before the Civil War “natural ice” was shipped from points north to the south via rail and ship.   In fact, ice from New York was shipped as far away as India.  (Who would have thought ice would survive a trip like that?)

The change from the use of natural ice to that of manufactured ice was slow in coming.  Many folks distrusted ice created in the crude factories, believing natural ice was healthier and cleaner (despite the questionable sanitary conditions of the water sources and collection procedures).  The push to accept artificial ice was ultimately accelerated by those in the south who grew tired of having to rely on the north for their supplies.  This grew more pronounced with the advent of the Civil War, when the south was almost entirely cut off from their ice suppliers.  It was at this time that enterprising and inventive men stepped forward to develop alternatives. 

Texas and Louisiana, it appears, played a large role in the early work here in the United States relating to the development of commercial ice manufacturing. 

In 1865 Daniel Livingston Holden made several improvements on the Carre absorption machine, a device patented in France, and installed it in San Antonio.  Within two years three of the eight ice manufacturing companies in the US were located in San Antonio

In 1868 the Louisiana Ice Manufacturing Company of New Orleans opened the very first large scale artificial ice manufacturing facility – a plant with a sixty ton capacity.

Charles Zilker, who moved to Austin, TX from Indiana was another early entrepreneur in the ice-making arena.  In 1884, after working in and operating ice plants for a number of years, Zilker built his own plant and made a number of design improvements.  He established his first plants in Austin and San Antonio.  Later he constructed facilities in any area where he could find a sufficient supply of cooling water for the compressors and enough people to allow him to turn a profit.  By 1928 he owned plants raging from Texas to Atlanta to Pittsburg.  He eventually sold these for $1 million.

By 1900 there were over 760 ice plants in the US.  Texas was home to 77 of these, the most of any state in the union.  Beginning in the 1920s there was a gradual decline in commercial ice plants with the greater use of home refrigerators.

So there you have it – a short history of the ice industry in the United States.  Wherever and however you’re spending this Labor Day, when you raise those glasses of iced tea or soda, you can thank those enterprising fellows in Texas for helping to develop and improve on the technology that brought those nice cubes of ice to your glass.

 I wrote this blog some time ago, before my fair homeland of Southern California exploded in flames.  Although I live on a coastal plain far from the burning hills and valleys, the sky miles away is filled with visible “pyrocumulus” clouds of smoke that resemble nuclear blasts. Nearly 200 square miles have burned. The only good thing, if a good thing can be found:   the “devil winds,” the hellish Santa Anas aren’t blowing.  The hell would become Armageddon  if that were so.

My hubby spent his professional career chasing this kind of wildfire. He’s retired now, but I remember those panic-stricken days glued to the TV set, not knowing exactly where in the state he was, or how long he’d be there. Or worse, if I’d ever seen him again.  In fact, when we were dating, if I got stood up it wasn’t personal. I’d turn on the TV and sure enough, there was a wildfire somewhere, and he was out in the thick of it. Tragically, a pal of his died in a firestorm on Monday. He  remembers “cutting line” –removing stubborn brush and growth in a path around something to save it –with Ted on the same winding, treacherous mountain  ridgeline where Ted, a fire captain, died.

Right now, let’s bombard heaven for the safety of the men and women fighting these infernos, for the folks having to evacuate and leave behind most of what they hold dear, and for the precious wildlife and domesticated animals, so terrified and displaced. We made a donation today to the SPCA to help feed the sweet animals they have sheltered.

Now, on a happier note, throughout those 34 years as a firefighter, my hubby received a ton of unique fire-related gifts from family and friends.  He’s got a crystal liquor decanter shaped like a fire hydrant, reproduction antique cast-iron toy engines, a framed collage of all his cloth patches,…and a whole caboodle of “fire marks.” 

Fire mark? Whazzat?

The fire mark, a cast iron plaque about a foot large, originated in England long ago. British fire insurance companies used these plaques to identify properties they’d insured because each company had its own fire brigade. A private firefighting team would put out a fire only when it saw its employer’s mark on a property! Yikes. 

Not here in America! Volunteer fire companies existed here long before the fire insurance companies.  In fact, groups of volunteer firefighters in many large cities organized their own insurance companies, most of which issued fire marks. However, the “badge,” was never necessary for firefighting purposes.  Firemen put out your fire no matter what. The fire mark was simply an advertising tool.

In 1736, Benjamin Franklin founded the Union Fire Company, America’s first volunteer fire company, in Philadelphia, and in 1752, his insurance company was the first to issue a fire mark. Six of the company’s  twelve directors had every inducement to reduce fire loss—they were volunteer firefighters as well as mutual policy holders. The fire mark identified properties that would be financial losses for them, and saving those properties became a high priority.  

However, no volunteer company refused to protect a burning home or business that didn’t  display a fire mark. In fact, volunteer fire companies raced each other to be “first water” on a fire. Competition among companies was fierce, rivalry intense. It was huge to be first at a fire.

 But researcher Robert M. Shea has found rumors starting in the 20^th century that claimed volunteer fire companies let structures burn if there were no fire mark. Not true! In 1929, the Franklin Fire Insurance Company in its 100^th anniversary history stated that in Philadelphia’s early years, all fire companies would respond, but only the company whose “badge” was displayed on the structure would fight the flames.  A 1938 article by W. Emmert Swigart stated that  “If no insurance fire mark was seen, the free-lancers [volunteers] would often declare a false alarm and calmly walk away from the scene, much to the chagrin of the uninsured owner of the burning building.” Not true!

No sources exist, no records, no newspaper accounts or most of all, no public outrage, indicate that volunteer fire companies ignored their firefighting duties unless the property had a fire mark. Like with most anything, a snippet of falsehood often seems more intriguing than the truth, and I myself believed the stories for years until I researched this blog.  It does appear true, however, that some fire marks indicated an insurance company that paid rewards up to five dollars to the first engine company that arrived to a fire with its equipment in good working order.

Fire marks in America were definitely not required for firefighting. Their main purpose was a sign that the property was insured in addition to good advertising for the insurance company. One insurance company took to heart Benjamin Franklin’s theory that trees attract lightning and voted not to insure houses with trees in front of them. Its mark was, appropriately, a tree.

Indeed, the fire mark was one of the longest ad campaigns in America. The use of fire marks reached its peak from 1850 to 1870 as a result of the westward expansion of established companies in the East, and the smaller new companies of the Midwest..

The heyday of the “badge” was over by the 1890’s, By then, the era of modern firefighting, with full-time trained men and high- power steam engines had begun.. And of course, printed advertising material for an insurance company was cheaper and easier to dispense than the heavy cast-iron “badges.” 

However, the Baltimore Equitable Society still issues fire marks to keep the tradition alive and well.               

So how about  you? Is “fire mark” a new term for you today, or have you seen ‘em before?  Anyone ever visited a fire station?  Ridden in or on a fire truck? Any other “fire-y” tales to share?   

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Last weekend I lost my favorite wristwatch.  I’d noticed earlier that the band was beginning to show signs of wear and had planned to take care of it ‘soon’, but like most other things in my life these days, I put it off until it was too late.  I do have other watches, several in fact.  I collect ones that reflect different aspects of my mood and personality.  I have one with a dragonfly on it and one that is for ‘dress up’ occasions and one that is very bold and colorful for when I’m in a fun mood.  But, while this particular watch was not an especially showy or expensive piece, it did have a lot of sentimental value and was the one I wore most often.  My mom gave it to me as a Christmas gift about eighteen years ago and I have treasured it ever since.

As luck would have it, I was about 300 miles from my home when I discovered my watch had gone missing.  Since I’m lost as a goose without a watch, I immediately rushed out to the nearest department store and picked up a replacement.  And because this has become such an indispensible accessory for me, it got me to wondering about just when folks started wearing timepieces on their wrist.  I did a bit of research and it turns out that, historically speaking, wristwatches have not been in general use for all that long.

While there are some examples as early as 1500, and Queen Elizabeth I was supposedly given one as a special gift, they were few and far between and were specially commissioned pieces most often for royalty until the mid to late nineteenth century.

Even then men still clung to their pocket watches, viewing wristlets, as they were called at that time, as a feminine and somewhat faddish adornment.  In fact, men were quoted as saying they would  “sooner wear a skirt as wear a wristwatch”.

The established watch making community was partly to blame for this.  They looked down on them as inferior timepieces.  Because of their size, few believed they could achieve an acceptable level of accuracy and the vast majority of those being produced were made as decorative pieces with delicate fixed wire or chain link bracelets.

That began to change when soldiers discovered how useful wristwatches could be in battle situations.  Military men found pocket watches difficult to handle while engaged in physical combat and began to fit them into makeshift leather straps to wear on their wrists. Not only did this leave their hands free for other things, but being able to check the time at a glance instead of having to dig through pockets gave soldiers a strategic advantage over those less well equipped, especially when synchronization of activities was critical.  

Officers in the South African Boer war (1899-1902) were among the first to use wristwatches extensively and the veterans were not afraid to sing their praises both during and after.  By World War I, the military not only encouraged the use of wristwatches but began to demand them for the soldiers. 

By the 1920s, wristwatches had become the most popular type of personal timepiece among both men and women.  Rolex is credited with creating the first water resistant watch, a model of which was worn in 1927 by a female channel swimmer.  Both Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh wore wristwatches for their celebrated transatlantic flights.  Today, wristwatches have become as much a symbol of status and style as a utilitarian instrument to tell time.

As for my own lost wristwatch, I still cling to the hope that I’ll find it wedged down in some nook or cranny in my car or purse or some such.  In the meantime, I’ll use one of the others I own.

So what about you?  Do you select your watch(es) for their function, or do you look for one that reflects something of your style and personality?

And just a quick note – To celebrate my very first day at Wildflower junction as an official filly I’d like to give away a signed copy of my March release, The Hand-Me-Down Family (or one of my backlist if you prefer).  I’ll be drawing a name of one poster sometime Monday evening.

Howdy! When the fillies invited me a few weeks ago to toss my name into the Stetson as a permanent blogger at Wildflower Junction, I tingled with joy and nerves both. There I was, asked to join a stable of award-winning authors who inspire me, whose books I read and treasure. At a site that recently got its millionth hit and, on a daily basis, reaches hundreds of viewers. 

Writers and readers and cowgirls, oh my. Then came the decision on what to post first. Oh, I’ve done some guest blogs at the Junction that were well received. So I reckoned I had to devise some topic to eclipse those. 

Should I feature locales near my Southern California homestead where Western movies are filmed and totally evoke the inner cowboy in anybody who drives by on a busy freeway?  Here’s Rocky Peak, one of my favorite places.

Should I orate on the marvelous coincidence that both Pam Crooks and I have daughters with the same name getting married imminently? Share a sneak preview of The Dress? Nope. Had to nix that. Top Secret. The groom has been ordered to check out this blog today.  

Preview my book Marrying Minda that will be released in a few weeks?

Then of course, there’s always my toddling grandson about whom I can emote endlessly. And who I believe has romance cover-model potential in about twenty years.

Ah I can handle all of that later on. For when the clouds parted, I realized what my inaugural Filly post should be about. 

Chocolate!

My mainstay, my dear love. The ruin of my waistline, hips, thighs and every pound of flesh in every direction. And how to tie my vice, my guilty pleasure, into a Western blog?

The Mason Jar.     

Said jar was actually invented as the first canning jar in 1858 by John Landis  Mason. However, it was Frenchman Francois Nicolas Appert, a pickler, brewer, chef and distiller who established the principles of preserving food in hermetically-sealed glass containers in 1810. 

In 1858, John Mason developed a shoulder-seal jar with a zinc screw-cap. Check the name and date on the yellow jar. Ten years later, he inroduced a top rubber seal above the threads and under a glass lid.

So why do most Mason jars come marked with the name Ball? 

Let me digress. I have an antique Mason jar of my very own, the blue jar shown below. It’s been displayed in each one of my domiciles starting with my college dormitory. Why? Well, during my years of higher education in Nebraska, I often spent weekend with my roommate Bel at her family farm in Fairbury. My overly-protective father had allowed me to leave my California home because it was a church college and You’ll Be Safe There.

 Oh I loved those long leisurely weekends. I loved farm life so much I stumbled downstairs one morning about ten o’clock stating I’d love to marry a farmer. Her dad, who had been up for five hours, had just come inside for his quick mid-morning coffee. I still hear his shouts of laughter as his wife started on cooking her second big meal of the day before I’d even wiped the sleep dust from my eyes. 

These darling folks happily sent me exploring the farmstead to acquire souvenirs to take home. Old rusty tractor gears decorate my patio to this day. And I found my Mason jar all by myself in their old-fashioned  disused wash house. It’s one of the ten things I’d save if a tornado was coming. Well, make that an earthquake.

My treasured Mason jar displays the name Ball and the date  1906. Because John Mason’s patent expired in 1879 , the name changed. When the market opened for competition in 1884, the Ball brothers swooped in and started a manufacturing company in New York State. However, three years later, Ball Brothers Glass Manufacturing Company moved to Indiana.

In 1909, the first Ball Blue Book was published, full of tips on home canning. I am certain my gramma and mom used this book. You see, my brother found ancient Mason jars of canned peaches a few years ago when we started cleaning out mom’s old garage. We reckoned they were left from the Cold War years when you expected a nuclear blast and had to store up indestructible food to survive it.

But for the Balls, it wasn’t all about the jar.  Frank, Edmund, George, Lucius and William Ball endowed a small college in Muncie that later became Ball State University. Even more impressive, their company did not lay off a single worker during the Great Depression!

After 88 years as a family business, the company went public in 1972, and the Ball mason jar celebrates its 125h birthday this year. Through August 23, the exhibit Can It! 125 Years of the Ball Jar is going on at Minnetrista Cultural Center in Muncie. Details at minnetrista.net 

All right now. Lesson over. Can’t help it. I am a former teacher. But what does all this have to go with chocolate?

SAND ART BROWNIES!                                 

They’re easy to make and lovely to look at. Layers of cocoa, brown sugar, chocolate chips and other goodies in a Mason jar make this a gift to remember.

I’ve made these jars for all my neighbors at Christmas, and it’s a sweet homemade gift for first-day-of school, a thank-you or hostess gift. Cover the lid with red and white gingham cover tied with a blue bow and you’ve got a perfect treat for a Fourth of July BBQ.This recipe makes one gift jar using a wide-mouth quart Mason jar.  Cover the top with a circle of gingham and tie with a pretty ribbon. And don’t forget to attach the directions.

For 1 jar:

2/3 t. salt
1 1/8 c. flour, divided
1/3 c. cocoa powder
2/3 c. brown sugar
2/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. chocolate chips
1/2 c. white chocolate chips
1/2 c. walnuts or pecans

Instructions:

In  a clean, dry canning jar, layer the ingredients as follows:

2/3 t. salt
5/8 c. flour
1/3 c. cocoa powder
1/2 c. flour
2/3 c. brown sugar
2/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. chocolate chips
1/2 c. white chocolate chips
1/2 c. walnuts

Close jar, add fabric circle and attach the following directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease one 9×9 baking pan.

2. Pour the contents of the jar into a large bowl and mix well.

3. Stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla, 2/3 cup vegetable oil and 3 eggs. Beat until just combined.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes. Cool and enjoy! Or if you’re like me, eat warm. Hot, even.

Now, the big questions of the day:

1. Have you ever canned anything using a Mason jar?  (I myself am terrified of the process. I never married a farmer and am fairly helpless in the kitchen.)

2. What is your favorite way to eat chocolate? 

Thanks for stopping by today. To celebrate my first day at Wildflower Junction as an official filly,  I’ll be drawing the name of one poster to receive a pretty pressed wildflower bookmark! 

(Sincere thanks to  Country Living magazine, May 2009, Canning Pantry,  and Minnetrista for the fun facts.)

I finished a book yesterday! It’s a June Harlequin Historical for next year, and it’s tentatively titled Her Make-Believe Husband. I almost blogged about breweries in the 1800s, part of the research for my book, but then I decided to share how I celebrated last night. I bought five beachfront properties, a couple of mega casinos, fifty chain guns, a couple of getaway cruisers, and then I wiretapped the cops and robbed a couple of five-star hotels, putting them out of business. What a night.

I’m talking about a game, of course. Remember your first computer? If you can really stretch way back, you might remember when Apple came up with a few games on floppy disks and they were revolutionary! Schools even used Oregon Trail for the elementary kids.

And your first real computer, remember how it came with solitaire and minesweeper? Land o‘mercy, who could have anticipated the games that were to follow, and even online games?

I used to play hearts. And an occasional game of spider solitaire. And one of my computers came with a really addicting game where you lined up matching rocks to make them disappear – sort of like Bejeweled, but I liked it better. I was never able to find that game again. I do play Bejeweled occasionally.

I’m not a big game player, but I do go through periods where I play something to unstress, and it’s most often late at night. I didn’t realize until I asked around, but Facebook has a lot of game applications, like Poker, Risk and others. I have a friend who is addicted to Fashion Solitaire. Most of the kids I know play some type of online game, like Tunetowns, Millsbury, and of course the online pets.

I was never really HOOKED until my daughter talked me into trying a My Space application called Mafia Wars. Oh, my goodness. It didn’t take me long to climb the ranks in the mob. Once you join, you need members for your mafia, and there are all kinds of people out there whacking each other with tommy guns and crow bars and robbing each other’s convenience stores who are more than willing to join your mafia.

You start out as a street thug and earn your way up by doing jobs and fighting other gangs. You buy property and getaway vehicles and earn loot in heists. I own more bulletproof vests and body armor than I will ever use in a lifetime.  And, of course, you snuff the occasional bad guy. And every once in a while when someone beats the tar out of you, you add him to the hit list. Revenge is sweet.

There are other My Space applications, and my family has tried a lot of them, but this is our favorite. We played Fashion Wars for a while—too girly—and right now we’re also playing Pirates.

Do you have a secret—or not so secret—obsession with a game? Which ones test your skills? Do you play a few hands of solitaire before you go to bed? How about Word games like Scrabble?

If you confess a passion for a game today, I’ll add you to a drawing for an advance copy of my June book, The Preacher’s Wife. Come on, spill it!

Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I have an illegal poker game to run.

Oh, and if you play Mafia Wars, come find me. I’m Bad Bama.

Before the Civil War, most businesses were small with only a few dozen employees, and a clerk was most often a young fellow starting out in a business by keeping records and transcribing letters. The 1870s and 1880s brought the growth of corporations and trusts and employment for tens of thousands of workers. Management and labor divisions were created, and paperwork flourished. None of my research showed this, but I couldn’t help wondering if the growth in record keeping was also partly due to the influx of former slaves suddenly being on payrolls.

The idea behind the typewriter applied Johann Gutenberg’s concept of movable type developed for the printing press to a machine for individual use. Descriptions of such mechanical writing machines date as far back as the early eighteenth century. In 1714, a patent something like a typewriter was granted to a man named Henry Mill in England, but no example of Mills’ invention survives.

In 1829, William Burt from Detroit, Michigan patented his typographer which had characters arranged on a rotating frame. However, Burt’s machine, and many of those that followed it, were cumbersome, hard to use, unreliable and often took longer to produce a letter than writing it by hand.

The typewriter began at Kleinsteuber’s Machine Shop in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1868. A local publisher-politician-philosopher named Christopher Latham Sholes and his fellow workers spent hours tinkering on a machine to automatically number the pages in books. Someone suggested a similar device to print the entire alphabet. An article from Scientific American was passed around and a machine that printed the alphabet resulted. It even had the QWERTY keyboard we still use today. The prototype was eventually sent to Washington as the required Patent Model.

Sholes licensed his patent to famous gun maker Remington & Sons of Ilion, New York. In 1874, the Remington Model 1, the first commercial typewriter, was placed on the market. No more than 5,000 were sold, but the invention founded a worldwide industry and brought mechanization to time-consuming office work. The original still exists, locked in a vault at the Smithsonian. Probably a couple hundred or so survived time, and those are valued from $1000 for a black model to $5000 for an ornately decorated model on a treadle stand.

Remington and his sons were already in the sewing machine business, as well, and in fact the early typewriter models with stands look like sewing machines with the same iron scrollwork. The Remington type writing machine was first displayed to the public at the Philadelphia Exposition of 1876 along with Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone, Heinz Ketchup, the Wallace-Farmer Electric Dynamo, precursor to the electric light, and Hires Root Beer.

The Franklin Typewriter was a make popular around the turn of the century. Its type bars stood erect at the front of the machine and swung down to the platen. Its radical semi-circular keyboard characterized this down strike machine. Many survive today.

Other models were created and patented over the years, some which struck the back of the paper to print. Some had two complete sets of letters – uppercase and lowercase. Funny that double-keyboard promoters thought it was confusing to have to press two keys when you wanted capitals. The Smith family of Smith Premier later became Smith-Corona. It was the longest-lived name in the typewriter business.

After this practical invention became widely available, typing became a more specialized skill, requiring training other than that of a company manager moving through the ranks. New positions developed in the forms of stenographers, file clerks and typists, and the jobs were quickly seen as women’s work. In 1881 the Young Women’s Christian Association (YMCA) offered typing training.

Based on Sholes’ mechanical typewriter, the first electric typewriter was built by Thomas Alva Edison in the United States in 1872, but the widespread use of electric typewriters was not common until the 1950s. The electronic typewriter, a typewriter with an electronic “memory” capable of storing text, first appeared in 1978.

So there’s everything you always wanted to know about typewriters, but didn’t think to ask. I always enjoy learning that something I thought was a more recent discovery had actually been around for far longer.

Milestones:

1714 The first patent for a ‘writing machine’ was given to Henry Mill of England

1829 William Burt of the US patented his typographer machine

1868 Christopher Sholes, Carlos Glidden and Samuel Soule patent type writing machine

1872 Thomas Alva Edison builds first electric typewriter

1873 Remington & Sons mass produces the Sholes & Glidden typewriter

1978 Olivetti Company and the Casio Company develop electronic typewriter

I did my first writing on a Smith-Corona portable. When I think back on the changes I make by using White Out – what a nightmare. But it was easier than writing by hand, and the finished pages were far easier to read. When I got an IBM Selectric, I thought I had hit the big time. No more White Out because it had an eraser tape! Whoo hoo! We didn’t realize that those were the dinosaurs of the inventions to come, did we? Hey, they were better than anything we’d known previously.

Author and friend Victoria Alexander collects old typewriters, and she has some really awesome specimens in her office. Will anyone else admit to having written or typed letters on a standard typewriter? Do you remember the strikers getting crossed when you went too fast?

I have a rule for myself here on Petticoats and Pistols.  All western all the time.  I’m breaking it this week.  Well, kinda. 

Like every other writer probably, I’ve thought more than once about doing a time travel romance.  I even wrote a proposal twenty years ago with two other authors.  It was going to be a joint project–a collection of novellas–based on the premise that a magical, mysterious, legendary carousel sends the heroines and/or heroes through time to see great loves that are themselves worthy of legends.  My contribution was to be, of course, a western.

Alas, no publisher at the time was interested. And then came along Jude Deveraux’s “Knight in Shining Armor,” and I put away the thought forever. Who could compete with that?

But through the years, the idea still pricked at me, mainly, I think, because I wanted to take a 19^th century cowboy from, say, 1866, and set him firmly in the then 20^st century. I wanted to see his awe, his wonder, his ability to cope in a world he could never contemplate in his wildest dreams.

I watched in wonder myself as we progressed from black and white TV to today’s HD interactive television, from typewriters to wireless computers, from huge radios to the tiny E-Pods, from the first telephones of the mid 1900’s to today’s “do everything” cell phones.

Since technology accelerates with every advance, I’ve wondered for the last forty years what would come next. I’m rarely disappointed.

Except for the flying car. I haven’t been able to understand why no one had developed a flying car. After all, the Jetsons managed to produce one. And who can forget Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. For decades, I’ve been lusting for a helicopter bicycle or flying car.

I’ve often thought about looking upward and watching all these people fly by, rather than clogging the roads, and I wonder exactly how traffic would be controlled. There obviously are not lanes in the sky.

I was about to give up, though. I’d been waiting for decades, all to no avail.

The technology of personal flying motor vehicles seem to defy innovation.

And then, by golly, I heard a snippet on a cable news show. The fantasy of spy novels and science fiction films is at last becoming reality with several vehciles which can turn from car to aircraft.

Off to the internet to do some research, and the results are fascinating. People have been actively trying to develop a flying car since the 18^th century when one would-be inventor attempted to develop a gliding horse cart. Obviously it did not succeed. There is no footnote on what happened to the horse or cart. There are nearly 80 patents on file at the United States Patent and Trademark office for various kinds of flying cars. Some have actually flown. Most have not. And all have come up short of reaching the goal of mass-produced flying cars.

Until, maybe, now.

After a century of unfulfilled promises, flying cars my fill the skies in the next few decades. There are still obstacles to overcome, including receiving approval from te FAA, but the cars are close to being produced.

Here’s several of them:

The TerrafuglaTransition is, according to the Times Online, the ultimate off-roader and is coming to an airstrip near you. The Transition is a two-seater plane that at the touch of a button converts into a road-legal car. It is scheduled to hit the showrooms by next year.

“It’s a like a little transformer,” says Carl Dietrich, the Terrafugia boss. “This is the first real integrated design where the wings fold up automatically and all the parts are in one vehicle.” It has one simple folding wing, and that means the Transition takes just 15 seconds to switch between flying and driving.

The company president promises that the plane will be quicker than cars for intercity commuting, fit into a normal garage, and even run on plain old premium unleaded. You drive to a runway and take off.

It has taken orders for 40 vehicles and plans to begin delivery in 2010.

Price tag: $194,000.

And then there’s my favorite, the Skycar, which being developed by Paul Moller. It’s a four-seat vehicle powered by eight rotary engines that are housed inside four metal housings called nacelles, on the side of the vehicle. There are two engines in each nacelle so that if one of the engines in one of the nacelles fails, the other engine can sustain flight.

The plane will be completely controlled by computers using GPS satellites, which the company calls a fly by wire system. In case of an accident, the vehicle will release a parachute and airbags, internally and externally, to cushion the impact of the crash. The big advantage to the Transition, though, is it takes off and lands vertically.

Price tag: $1,000,000 initially but it’s expected to come down to as low as $60,000 once it begins to be mass produced.

And finally there’s the SkyRiderX2R being developed by MACRO in Huntsville.

This aero car will also be able to take off and land vertically. Sky Rider incorporates the interior design of a two-seat sports car with the mobility of a helicopter or airplane. The company said it is also developing 5 and 7 seat models that should fit in most two-car garages. The navigation system here would also be controlled almost entirely by GPS satellites and cellular services. What’s even better, though, its fuel mileage is comparable to that of a medium sized car and can use gasoline, diesel, alcohol, kerosene and propane. You can always stop at a bar if you run out of gas.

No price tag here or availability found.

There are others, but these seem to be ahead of the pack. So now I know that in my lifetime – hopefully – I can look up and see all those flying vehicles I’ve been imagining for four decades. Maybe I’ll even own one.

I wonder what those cowboys would think if they were transported in time and saw flying stagecoaches that land vertically and drive down that fourteen-lane freeway.

For photos and more information on flying cars, go to:

http://auto.howstuffworks.com//flying-car.htm

First of all, please take a moment to thank me, Mary Connealy, for NOT using a bunch of the pictures I found. So icky. I stumbled upon lobotomies while doing research for…… what? I can’t remember? If they were still doing lobotomies, they would totally be coming for me. Ick.

We talk about all things western here but there have been some great posts on historical medicine, like this one from Kate Bridges on the contents of a Surgeon’s Bag. Though lobotomies are outside the historical western era, it’s just one of those things. I start doing research and one step leads me far afield. Here are some facts, some so horrific that I just immediate thought of our loyal P & P readers. (Poor babies!)

Lobotomies were used in the 20th century to treat a wide range of severe mental illnesses, including schizophrenia, clinical depression, and various anxiety disorders, as well as people who were considered a nuisance by demonstrating behavior characterized as, for example, “moodiness” or “youthful defiance”. After the introduction of the antipsychotic drug Thorazine, lobotomies fell out of common use and the procedure has since been characterized “as one of the most barbaric mistakes ever perpetrated by mainstream medicine”

In 1890, psychiatrist Gottlieb Burckhardt removed pieces of the frontal lobes of six patients.

Psychosurgery was not publicly attempted again until 1910, when Estonian neurosurgeon Ludvig Puusepp operated on a few patients.

Then, in 1935, Portuguese physician and neurologist António Egas Moniz pioneered a surgery he called prefrontal leucotomy. The procedure involved drilling holes in the patient’s head and destroying tissue in the frontal lobes by injecting alcohol. He later changed technique, using a surgical instrument called a leucotome that cut brain tissue with a retractable wire loop. Moniz was given the Nobel Prize for medicine in 1949 for this work

This is where it gets REALLY ICKY! On Jan. 17, 1946, a psychiatrist named Walter Freeman launched a radical new era in the treatment of mental illness in this country. On that day, he performed the first-ever transorbital or “ice-pick” lobotomy in his Washington, D.C., office. Freeman believed that mental illness was related to overactive emotions, and that by cutting the brain he cut away these feelings.

Freeman, equal parts physician and showman, became a barnstorming crusader for the procedure. Before his death in 1972, he performed transorbital lobotomies on some 2,500 patients in 23 states.

 Walter Freeman believed that this surgery would be unavailable to the patients who needed it most: those that lived in state mental hospitals with no operating rooms, no surgeons, no anesthesia, and very little money. Freeman wanted to simplify the procedure so that it could be carried out by psychiatrists in mental asylums, which housed roughly 600,000 American inpatients at the time They’d advertise that Freeman was going to be in the area and put lobotomies on sale and do many of them in one day.

The Freeman-Watts prefrontal lobotomy still required drilling holes in the scalp, so surgery had to be performed in an operating room by trained neurosurgeons.

Freeman decided to access the frontal lobes through the eye sockets, instead of through drilled holes in the scalp. In 1945, he took an icepick from his own kitchen and began to test the new surgical technique on cadavers. (if you can stomach it, go to Google Images and type in Lobotomy. Yikes!) A hammer or mallet was then used to drive the ice pick through the thin layer of bone and into the brain. This new form of psychosurgery was intended for use in state mental hospitals that often did not have the facilities for anesthesia, so Freeman suggested using electroconvulsive (that means they’d zap the patient with a bolt of electricity to knock them out-I believe thanks are in order) therapy to render the patient unconscious.

By the mid-1940s, Freeman was touring the country performing dozens of ice-pick lobotomies each day. Sometimes, for kicks, he’d operate left-handed. This is a picture of Freeman, he often had reporters watch the process and welcomed spectators of any kind.

At Cherokee State Hospital in Iowa, he accidentally killed a patient when he stepped back to take a photo during the surgery and allowed the ice pick to sink deep into the patient’s midbrain. Oops! My Bad!

As Freeman conducted more lobotomies, he advertised his dramatic results, promoting his technique as a 10-minute medical marvel. Nearly all his procedures included press coverage and before-and-after photo ops. In 1952, he made headlines by performing 25 lobotomies in a single day. His staff timed him as he tried to set speed records for performing the lobotomies. Freeman soon enjoyed celebrity.

Freeman performed his final lobotomy on Helen Mortensen.  It’s her third lobotomy by him.  She died from a brain hemorrhage following the procedure.  Freeman was banned from operating again.

Between 1939 and 1951, over 18,000 lobotomies were performed in the US, and many more in other countries.  It was often used on convicts, and in Japan it was recommended for use on “difficult” children. 

There have been a few famous cases over the years.  For example, Rosemary Kennedy, sister to John, Robert, and Edward Kennedy, was given a lobotomy when her father complained to doctors about the mildly retarded girl’s embarrassing new interest in boys.  Her father never informed the rest of the family about what he had done.  She lived out her life in a Wisconsin institution and died January 7, 2005, at the age of 86.  Her sister, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, founded the Special Olympics in her honor in 1968.

Concerns about lobotomy steadily grew. (You THINK?!) By the early 1970s the practice had generally ceased. About time.

I know what you’re all thinking.

You can’t HANDLE the lobotomy–think Jack Nickolsen in A Few Good Men, NOT Jack in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest where he was given a lobotomy. And now that I’ve shared this with you, if you want to buy my books still… (I’ll understand if you’re afraid-there are no lobotomies in my book, I promise) …click on the books below and it’ll take you to Amazon. Even if you’ve had a lobotomy you can handle that!!!!!!!!!!!!

There are still many people living today who had lobotomies. One guy, Howard Dully (ironic name, huh? Dull?) wrote a book about his and got pretty famous for talking about his lobotomy, given at the request of his step-mother when he was twelve.  Okay, a couple of things.

1) If you’ve had a twelve year old, you can sympathize.

2) Hello wicked Stepmother

3) If the guy could write a book, how badly was he really hurt, c’mon!

Anyone ever heard of this? Know anyone who had one? (And no, I don’t want any ex-husband jokes here-unless they’re really funny)

So, how much of the weird medical science they’re doing today will be banned in a few years. And yes, I do include Michael Jackson in that question.