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A failed launch during IGY saw the Vanguard malfunction in December 1957.

In 1957-58, 64 nations from both sides of a Cold War that would continue for three more decades came together to perform large-scale scientific research as part of an alliance known as International Geophysical Year. It was an unprecedented display of global information sharing, with satellites launched and knowledge of space travel gained. Life magazine covered the outset of the project with the article, “The World Studies the World.” An excerpt:

“Through the top of a strange sheet-metal shack at Ft. Churchill, Manitoba, a powerful research rocket last week streaked into the upper air to perform one of the first major experiments of the newly launched International Geophysical Year. While the rocket is radioing its data from 160 miles up, a team of seismologists deep in a Chilean tunnel were taking data from earthquake recorders. A pair of oceanographers on the remote Pacific island of Jarvis were collecting samples of ocean water. And in the South Pole Americans were observing the fluctuations of a rare red aurora.

Japanese stamp commemorating IGY.

In hundreds of other places and ways, 8,000 scientists of 64 nations were starting history’s most ambitious scientific research program. In the IGY, says Dr. Joseph Kaplan, chairman of U.S. IGY committee, ‘scientists of the world are going to take a long and special look at our earth –at its wrinkled crust, its hot heart, its deep seas, its envelope of air, its mighty magnetism, its relationship to outer space.’

IGY, which will last for 18 months through December 1958, will cost half a billion dollars. Its end results should be of extreme practical value; vastly improved communications, more accurate navigation for ships and planes, billions of dollars and many lives saved with improved weather forecasting, and further progress toward mastery of polar regions and outer space.”

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Donald Fagen sings a hopeful 1982 song which he wrote from the vantage point of those involved in IGY: “Here at home we’ll play in the city / Powered by the sun / Perfect weather for a streamlined world / There’ll be spandex jackets, one for everyone.”

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You remember Ayn Rand. She was that novelist who believed a woman should not be President. Mike Wallace  interviews her in 1959. (Thanks Open Culture.)

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And then it celebrates. (Thanks Singularity Hub.)

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Hungarian architect Ernő Rubik discusses his famous puzzle in 1981:

“Of course you can’t give the exact time of an idea’s birth, it seems impossible to me, to me particularly, for who time, from this point of view, has very little interest. It can have been in spring, 1974 that the idea came to me, as a noteworthy possibility. I have a nature attached to experiences, so, since the beginning, I studied variations of a 2x2x2 cube. I was immediately struck by the wealth that could be sensed only from this start. The final technical solution, which is the simplest form 3x3x3, the most easily workable in models, after a few tries, came to me toward the end of autumn, 1974. Several models ready to work were made for me and my friends, it has been exciting to play with them for the first time. We were all surprised to discover gradually that we had made something original, new.The question of the patent of the invention was immediately raised, so I began the necessary process the 30 January, 1975. Almost at the same, sensing something of the importance of the invented game, of its possibilities and of its real value, I began searching for a partner for the manufacturing and by an extraordinary chance, I indeed found one. The following is rather simple : after its launch on the market (1977) the game became, rapidly and as if by magic, very popular in Hungary, then, from 1980 in the whole world. I feel like the story only begins, and that we can’t predict the end, as well as nobody, I think, could have guessed its future.”

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Fun short 1976 documentary about Lillian Schwartz, an artist who was an early adapter of digital technology and pioneered a merging of computer graphics and fine art.

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A beautiful passage of the late folkie, Karen Dalton, who was something of a Billie Holiday for the coffee-house set and was sadly plagued by many of the same demons as Lady Day. (Thanks to The Documentarian.)

From the 2007 Guardian article, “The Best Singer You’ve Never Heard Of“: “Dalton turned up in Greenwich Village in the early 60s. She had left behind her husband in Enid, Oklahoma, and arrived with her 12-string guitar, a banjo and at least one of her two children. She began to sing at the pass-the-hat folk venues that were flourishing at the time and played with Bob Dylan, Fred Neil and Richard Tucker. Dylan recalls her as ‘funky, lanky and sultry.’ ‘My favorite singer in the place was Karen Dalton,’ he remembers in Chronicles. ‘Karen had a voice like Billie Holiday’s and played the guitar like Jimmy Reed.'”

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From “World’s Largest Wooden Structure,” a photo essay on Yatzer.com about Seville’s recently completed Metropol Parasol, which was designed by J. Mayer H. Architects:

“The Metropol Parasol scheme with its imposing timber structure offers a range of attractions and amenities to be used by the public.  Such functions include an archaeological museum, a farmers market, an elevated plaza, and multiple bars and restaurants underneath and inside the parasols, as well as a panorama terrace on the upper level of the parasols. Realized as one of the largest and most innovative bonded timber-constructions with a polyurethane coating, the parasols grow out of the archaeological excavation site into a contemporary landmark, thus defining a distinctive relationship between the historical medieval city and the contemporary city beat!  Metropol Parasols mix-used multicultural program sets off a dynamic development for culture and commerce in the heart of Seville and beyond.”

The great Gil Scott-Heron, being critical of Space Race myopia back in the day.

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Immanuel Velikovsky’s theories about our planet’s history, which came into vogue during the 1970s, are catastrophist nonsense but a whole lot of fun if you recognize they’re fictional. Philip Kaufman realized this and used them to forward the plot of his excellent version of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, which was released in 1978, the year before the scientist died at age 84. Below is an amusing 1972 BBC doc about the Velikovsky phenomenon.

A 1950 Popular Science note about Velikovsky: “Astronomers at Harvard consider the sensational theory of Dr. Immanuel Velikovsky that the earth stood still a couple of times in Biblical days sheer nonsense.”

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Start smiling this instant or else. (Thanks Reddit.)

The opening of “Mind vs. Machine,” Brian Christian’s recent Atlantic article about the author’s particpation in the Turing Test, an annual event in which computers compete to exhibit intelligent behavior that can pass for human:

“BRIGHTON, ENGLAND, SEPTEMBER 2009. I wake up in a hotel room 5,000 miles from my home in Seattle. After breakfast, I step out into the salty air and walk the coastline of the country that invented my language, though I find I can’t understand a good portion of the signs I pass on my way—LET AGREED, one says, prominently, in large print, and it means nothing to me.

I pause, and stare dumbly at the sea for a moment, parsing and reparsing the sign. Normally these kinds of linguistic curiosities and cultural gaps intrigue me; today, though, they are mostly a cause for concern. In two hours, I will sit down at a computer and have a series of five-minute instant-message chats with several strangers. At the other end of these chats will be a psychologist, a linguist, a computer scientist, and the host of a popular British technology show. Together they form a judging panel, evaluating my ability to do one of the strangest things I’ve ever been asked to do.

I must convince them that I’m human.

Fortunately, I am human; unfortunately, it’s not clear how much that will help.” (Thanks to The Electric Typewriter.)

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Retro-Futurist expert Matt Novak uses his amazing PaleoFuture site to catalog wild predictions from the past that never panned out. For instance: The article below from a 1937 San Antonio Light opined that advances in chemistry would make gigantic babies a reality in the near term. Sadly, that hasn’t happened. Not yet, anyhow. It seems like anything we dream, no matter how unlikely, can come true given enough time. (Thanks Marginal Revolution.)

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“Giant Baby” by Ron Mueck:

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The likley future of phones and tablets. (Thanks CNET.)

Willie Mays, one of the five best players in baseball history, probably made many catches and throws as good as the one he made in the 1954 World Series on a fly ball by Vic Wertz. But on the grand stage of the Fall Classic, it became legend. Say hey.

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Retronaut dug up this fun print ad for the first commercially successful laptop microcomputer, the 1981 Osborne 1.

From the ad copy: “The guy on the left has two file folders, a news magazine, and a sandwich. The guy on the right has the Osborne 1, a fully functional computer system in a portable package the size of a briefcase. Also in the case are the equiva;lent of 1600 typed pages. stored on floppy diskettes. The owner of the Osborne 1 is going to get more work done–and better work done with less time and with less effort.”

Very cute neurowear in action. (Thanks Reddit.)

“King Leer” has a casual chat.

From his 1992 New York Times obituary: “Benny Hill, the English television comedian whose mischievous grin and cherubic looks somehow made him a master of double-entendre, British bawdy style, and ultimately gained him a kind of international cult status, was found dead last night at his home in southwest London. He was 67 years old.

While the cause of death was not determined, Mr. Hill’s chronic heart condition had been well publicized in the London newspapers. The police in Teddington, his hometown, discovered the body after neighbors grew concerned after not seeing Mr. Hill for two days, a spokeswoman for Scotland Yard said last night.

Mr. Hill’s humor, a cross between a leer from W. C. Fields and the naivete of Charlie Chaplin, with a large dose of the Keystone Kops thrown in, found a devoted audience in England, at least among those who confessed to having an appetite for his madcap sight gags and for the young women in skimpy outfits in most of his routines. Though he became a television star in England in the 1950’s, it was not until 1979, when a series of variety specials appeared as a half-hour series in the United States, that Mr. Hill gained worldwide acclaim.”

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"The curiosity was bagged for further use in the dime show."

Manhattan’s Grace Church has had some unusual events in its storied history, but the Grace Church in Providence, Rhode Island, had a strange one of its own in 1887. On February 6 of that year, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reprinted the following story about the house of worship from the Providence Journal:

“One of the early occupants of Grace Church on Sunday afternoon fit in in an unusual and surprising way, although common to its kind. When the janitor had about prepared the house of worship for the reception of the rector and the congregation he was startled by something aloft–a something that made his eyes open and caused wonder in his mind. There was a wide range, and a most propitious one, for the fancy of a sprightly monkey up in the high cornices, arches and the extensive organ loft that mark the architectural beauties of the edifice. The janitor was in a quandary. It was about church time, just before 10:30, when the morning service is celebrated by Rev. Dr. Greer.

The lively brute would not ‘come down,’ as he was commanded, and he took advantage of his short spell of liberty. He swung from one arch to the next, and when his would be captor had bestirred himself and succeeded to frightening the fugitive from one place to another, a quick, silent contemplation of the scene below would follow. The janitor grew angry as the minutes flew by and the time was approaching for the hour of worship. Then he bethought himself of the police, and he resolved to call for an officer. That was done and more than one came. That janitor was fully confident that it would take more men and a good deal of coaxing to rid the church of the unwelcome visitor before Dr. Greer opened morning prayer.

"Constable Handy proposed that he should try his skill at marksmanship right in Grace Church and with the elusive monkey for a target, but the police officers suggested cookies and coaxing."

The fugitive curiosity stayed on high; he’d swing this way and that by his prehensile tail, and jumped from one place to another, always going in the direction where least expected, and usually going higher up when the officers expected him to come down. His antics were well calculated to vex all his pursuers, and it was thought that every plan, of which the officers had but one or two, was useless. Constable Handy proposed that he should try his skill at marksmanship right in Grace Church and with the elusive monkey for a target, but the police officers suggested cookies and coaxing. No shooting was done and no bloodshed was caused. Then the crowd of the pursuers took up a retreat and the fugitive monkey swooped down from a lofty pier in a rectangular course and seemed to seek a closer inspection of the operations of the police. The monkey came down closer and closer, and finally, by strategy and an adroit movement of the whole force of captors moving in a semi circle, the curiosity was bagged for further use in the dime show. It was an exciting hunt, and it is admitted by all the pursuing party that the unwelcome visitor at the Grace Church just slightly escaped being present at divine service, when doubtless he would have caused great consternation in the congregation, if he did not disperse the whole gathering.”

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The best science book I read during the aughts was Alan Weisman’s 2007 theoretical tome, The World Without Us. Weisman, a journalist not a scientist, imagines what would happen to all we’ve built if human beings suddenly disappeared from the face of the Earth. What would become of oil wells and subways and bridges and apartment buildings if they were untended? Weisman’s findings are fascinating.

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An excerpt about New York City sans people from the book: “In the first few years with no heat, pipes burst all over town, the freeze-thaw cycles move indoors, and things start to seriously deteriorate. Buildings groan as their innards expand and contract; joints between walls and rooflines separate. Where they do, rain leaks in, bolts rust, and facing pops off, exposing insulation. If the city hasn’t burned yet, it will now. Collectively, New York architecture isn’t as combustible as, say, San Francisco’s incendiary rows of clapboard Victorians. But with no firemen to answer the call, a dry lightning strike that ignites a decade of dead branches and leaves piling up in Central Park will spread flames through the streets. Within two decades, lightning rods have begun to rust and snap, and roof fires leap among buildings, entering panel offices, filled with paper fuel. Gas lines ignite with a rush of flames that blows out windows. Rain and snow blow in, and soon even poured concrete floors are freezing, thawing, and starting to buckle. Burnt insulation and charred wood add nutrients to Manhattan’s growing soil cap. Native Virginia creeper and poison ivy claw at walls covered with lichens, which thrive in the absence of air pollution. Red-tailed hawks and peregrine falcons nest in increasingly skeletal high-rise structures.”

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Borman: Felt the scorn of the longhairs.

I never knew until recently that astronaut Frank Borman, after completing his Apollo 8 mission in 1968, became a target of anti-authority campus radicals. A post-mission tour of American universities didn’t go splendidly for Borman, and Carl Sagan apparently didn’t help matters when the spaceman made his way to Cornell. An excerpt from Collect Space about the ill-fated meeting:

“After Borman returned from Apollo 8 NASA sent him on a good will tour of colleges and universities across the country. Borman took his wife Susan along so she could share in the event. At Columbia no sooner than Borman started to talk, the audience started pelting him with marshmallows and two students dressed in gorilla costumes climbed onto stage with him to reenact the opening of the movie 2001.

But as Borman said, ‘Then there was Cornell.’

At Cornell Borman and his wife Susan were guests of Carl Sagan. Sagan invited them to his house for the evening so that they could meet some of the students from Students for a Democratic Society. Sagan explained that he was their faculty advisor.

As Borman explains it, they spent the evening sitting on the floor of Sagan’s living room where Sagan orchestrated an attack, egging the students on when they asked questions such as, ‘Col. Borman, were you aware that on such and such a date American troops massacred hundreds of helpless Vietnamese woman and children? Just what is your opinion of this heinous atrocity? Surely you must have some thoughts on the subject!’

I always wondered why Sagan (a very well-loved man) set Borman and his wife up like that. The best answer I have been able to come up with is Sagan saw Borman as a trespasser. Sagan made no secret of the fact that as a university professor he saw himself as superior to any military officer.”

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Apollo 8 crew reads biblical passages from space on Christmas Day 1968:

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Millard Kaufman's first novel.

From “First at Ninety,” a 2007 New Yorker article about the debut novel of nonagenarian Millard Kaufman, by the always excellent Rebecca Mead:

“Kaufman grew up in Baltimore. After graduating from Johns Hopkins, he moved to New York and became a copyboy at the Daily News for thirteen dollars and seventy cents a week. When the Second World War broke out, he enlisted in the Marines, with whom he participated in the campaign to win Guadalcanal and landed at Guam and Okinawa. ‘I weighed a hundred and eighty-two pounds when I went overseas, and when my wife met me afterward she didn’t recognize me—I weighed a hundred and twenty-eight,’ Kaufman said. ‘I had dengue fever and malaria, and I didn’t really feel like I could spend the heat of the summer or the cold of the winter in New York anymore.’

He moved to California, where he took up screenwriting, winning an Oscar nomination in 1953 for a movie called Take the High Ground. (He was nominated again two years later, for Bad Day at Black Rock.) He lent his name to Dalton Trumbo, who had been blacklisted, for a movie called Gun Crazy. ‘The only time I ever met him was at a meeting of the Writers Guild,’ Kaufman said. ‘It was such a bore, and I left and went into a bar at the hotel, and Trumbo was there. We met because some guy was standing between us who was fairly drunk, and he said, ‘What’s all that noise?’ One of us said, ‘It’s a writers’ meeting.’ He said, ‘What do they write?’ and we said, ‘Movies.’ He looked aghast and said, ‘You mean they write that stuff?” Kaufman’s most enduring contribution to entertainment, at least thus far in his career, is as co-creator of Mr. Magoo, whom he modelled in part on an uncle. ‘That is what we thought the character was based on until, twenty years later, we were accused of being nasty about people with bad eyesight,’ he said.

Kaufman began the novel after his most recent screenplay, which he undertook at the age of eighty-six, came to nothing. His alliance with McSweeney’s was a product of circumstance. ‘My literary agent, who was younger than me, had died suddenly, and I had nobody,’ Kaufman said. He is now writing a second novel. ‘Years ago, I was working in Italy, and Charlie Chaplin and his family came from Switzerland,’ he recalled. ‘We were at a beach north of Rome, and it was a very foggy day and the beach was lousy. At about three o’clock it cleared up, and Chaplin said, ‘I’m going back to the hotel. Unless I write every day, I don’t feel I deserve my dinner.’ That made an impression on me.’

Kaufman writes longhand and has a secretary type up his work. ‘The only promise to myself that I have ever kept was no more typewriters,’ he said. ‘I hate the damn thing.’ (When it was suggested to Kaufman that he might want to check his Amazon ratings after Bowl of Cherries comes out, he said that he wasn’t sure what Amazon ratings were.)”

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Mr. Kaufman:

Mr. Magoo:

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They were songwriters. One still is. (Thanks Reddit.)

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Orson Welles picked up some wine money for his participation in the 1975 documentary, “Who’s Out There.” It features cool interviews with Americans who were scared to death by Welles’ famous radio hoax about an alien invasion, War of the Worlds. Welles also explores, with the help of Carl Sagan, among others, whether actual extraterrestrials exist.

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Sign: "Frank Lava Gunsmith. Revolvers Bought Sold Repaired."

The apartment above the Frank Lava Gunsmith shop on Centre Market Place was pretty much the perfect locale to live in if you were New York City’s leading crime photographer, as Arthur “Weegee” Fellig was from the 1930s through the 1950s. This classic 1937 photo of Weegee (photographer unidentified) shows the street-smart shutterbug during the daytime, but it was the graveyard shift when he worked and dominated. From a 2008 New York Times piece about Weegee by John Strausbaugh:

“Weegee’s peak period as a freelance crime and street photographer was a whirl of perpetual motion running from the mid-1930s into the postwar years. Ceaselessly prowling the streets during the graveyard shift, he took thousands of photographs that defined Manhattan as a film noir nightscape of hoodlums and gangsters, Bowery bums and slumming swells, tenement dwellers and victims of domestic brawls, fires and car crashes. He gave it its enduring nickname, the Naked City.

‘Weegee captured night in New York back when it was lonely and desolate and scary,’ said Tim McLoughlin, editor of the Brooklyn Noir anthology series, the third volume of which has just been published by Akashic Books. ‘He once said he wanted to show that in New York millions of people lived together in a state of total loneliness.’”

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“You push the button and it gives you the things you want.”

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Most amusing. (Thanks Singularity Hub.)

"They can loft enormous payloads." (Image by AngMoKio.)

From “Is There a Future for Airships?a new Scientific American article wondering whether the past can become prelude:

“The notion that airships represent the future of air cargo is being revived by a new generation of entrepreneurs some 75 years after a catastrophic fireball brought the industry to a screeching halt.

Far safer than the Hindenburg, whose tragic 1937 docking remains an icon of aerospace gone wrong, these modern airships are a hybrid of lighter-than-air and fixed-wing aircraft. They can loft enormous payloads without requiring the acres of tarmac or miles of roadway necessary for conventional air and truck transport. And they do so at a fraction of the fuel and cost of aircraft.

Airships ‘give you access and much larger payloads at much lower costs,’ said Peter DeRobertis, project leader for commercial hybrid air vehicles at Lockheed Martin’s Aeronautics and Skunk Works division in Fort Worth, Texas. ‘It’s also a green aircraft; you’re not polluting.'”

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Famously haunting summation by Herbert Morrison: “Oh, the humanity.”

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