Memories Of My Atomic Youth

Some of my most vivid memories from the late 1950s and early 1960s involve the old Civil Defense (CD) program. White it seems like utter lunacy in retrospect, quite a few Americans and government officials devoted a lot of time, energy, and money back then to planning how to survive a nuclear war with the Soviet Union. Seriously.






The theory behind CD was that most deaths in a nuclear war would come from radioactive fallout instead of the bomb blasts themselves; while the poor folks in New York City or Los Angeles would be reduced to cinders, people in the hinterlands could retreat to underground shelters for two weeks until the radioactivity levels dropped to safe levels and people could move about safely above ground. To house large numbers of people, "fallout shelters" were established in the basements of large buildings such as schools and office buildings. I even remember visiting Tuckaleechee Caverns in Tennessee back in 1961 or 1962, and seeing that a couple of the cave's rooms were being used as fallout shelters!

These "mass storage" fallout shelters were stocked with cots, blankets, medical supplies, and food, such as these appetizing-sounding "survival crackers":


As you might expect, radiation detection equipment was also standard in "mass storage" fallout shelters:


In addition to public "mass storage" shelters, Civil Defense encouraged people to build and equip their own fallout shelters. CD did this the time-proven way: they scared hell out of people:








Civil Defense published several booklets detailing plans for building home fallout shelters, which more resembled home prison cells. Look at those cramped dimensions; can you imagine spending two weeks inside one of them without going stark, raving mad??












And, as the Civil Defense literature helpfully pointed out, living in a home fallout shelter for a couple of weeks would present some interesting challenges not faced by Ward and June Cleever:


Civil Defense thought the following items would be adequate for stocking a home fallout shelter. Looking it over, I can't help but wonder: uh, shouldn't a rifle, shotgun, or other firearm be on that list? Something tells me life in a post-nuclear war world would be chaotic and dangerous, and a weapon of some sort could come in very handy:


During a nuclear attack and its aftermath, the CONELRAD system is how people were supposed to get official information from the U.S. government. This system would have allowed radio broadcasts on just two AM radio frequencies, 640 and 1240 kHz, with transmissions switched between different stations so Soviet bombers could not use the broadcasts for direction-finding. Or at least that was the theory:


Station WBT in Charlotte was selected to participate in the CONELRAD program, and here's a link to a story about WBT's "fallout shelter" from which CONELRAD broadcasts would be transmitted.

Yeah, it all seems so crazy now. But fifty years ago people took all of this very seriously.

Forty Years Ago Today

We were young, and we were fearless and, after all, nobody had ever told us young engineers that we couldn’t successfully land humans on another planet. So we did it.-----Sy Liebergot, electrical, environmental, and communications mission control officer, Apollo 11 mission.

There was a time when the United States could accomplish the impossible. There was a time when heroism and accomplishment were celebrated and honored in this country. It dreamed big, and a lot of those big dreams became reality.

What the hell happened to the United States??

Where did it all go wrong??

Forty years after arguably the most magnificent achievement in human history, our most remarkable accomplishment today is the debt we're running up with the Chinese. We are now much better at denying we have problems, or avoiding facing reality squarely, than we are at solving problems.

What the hell happened??

I feel lucky that I was alive when the United States was at the height of its power and glory. And I feel lucky I will be dead by the time China passes the United States as the world's dominant economic, political, military, and scientific power.

And the next visitors to the moon will be Chinese.

Memories Of Las Vegas

Now that Di and I are headed "home" to Las Vegas, I'm getting nostalgic about my first period of residency in Las Vegas.

My condo was in the northwest corner of Las Vegas, in the La Posada section of the Summerlin development. My condo faced west, toward Red Rock Canyon State Park, which was located about five miles away. I loved visiting this park; the colorful rock formations were surreal in the light of a setting sun:



My first visitors after moving to Las Vegas were my LLH partners, Carol and Jack Lewis. Here they are in Red Rock Canyon:


As you can see below, poor Carol was all tuckered out after her busy, busy day in Las Vegas, and feel asleep in my living room:


In May of 2003, a very angry thunderstorm moved into Las Vegas from the west. Looking at it from my condo balcony, I noticed a very distinct wall cloud and "elephant trunk" funnel cloud descending from it. By the time I located my digital camera and booted it up, the funnel had started to dissipate. If you look at left below, you can see the remains of the funnel cloud:


Las Vegas is in the desert, but it is also a center for watersports thanks to Lake Mead. Di and I would sometimes rent a boat from a Lake Mead marina and cruise out to the middle of Lake Mead. It was like having our own private lake for swimming, sunbathing, etc:


The desert around Las Vegas is populated by wild burros. These hardy critters descended from the burros used by miners and prospectors, and do quite well in the harsh desert climate. If you travel the back roads around Lake Mead or Red Rock Canyon, you'll eventually see a burro like the one below on the roadside:


I'll be returning to Las Vegas by air and I know it will be a physically grueling trip; fortunately, I think my new painkillers will help and I'm no longer too proud to admit I need a wheelchair for long distances. But emotionally I am really jazzed about returning to Las Vegas. As I've written before, the story of Di and me began in Las Vegas and it should end there------Las Vegas is "our" home. And anything beats sitting around here and waiting to die. I'm looking forward to one last adventure!

Rin Tin Tin Toys

When I was five years old, it was easy to find me at 4:00 pm Monday through Friday. I was in front of our television, eagerly awaiting a new episode of The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin. The show starred Rin Tin Tin, the smartest, bravest German Shepherd in the known universe, and Rusty, a schlubby little kid who I had to envy because Rin Tin Tin was his dog. The show was set in the Wild West; Rusty and Rin Tin Tin lived at Fort Apache, a U. S. Army outpost in hostile Indian. . . . . . .er, I mean Native American territory. I always looked forward to those episodes in which Rusty was kidnapped by Apaches. Those episodes would end with a ne'er-do-well savage holding a knife over Rusty, getting ready to plunge it down, when suddenly Rin Tin Tin would leap into action, biting the savage's wrist and causing him to drop the knife. Rin Tin Tin would then lunge for the Native American's throat, and I would giggle hysterically at his death screams. It was perfect entertainment for a wholesome, innocent age in which everyone respected President Eisenhower.

Like many Baby Boomers in the 1990s, I became possessed with an urge to collect pieces of my childhood, and naturally Rin Tin Tin was at the top of my collectible list. One of my prize finds was this Fort Apache playset; it included Rusty and Rin Tin Tin figures, as you can see below:


I think Rin Tin Tin was one of the first kids' shows to derive more income from merchandising than from syndication fees. Among the items available back in the 1950s were stuffed Rin Tin Tin stuffed animals, jig saw puzzles, pennants, board games, "magic" writing slates, etc. Here are some examples I found:






As a kid, I owned the item below. The "pictures" were on plastic-coated paper and the "crayons" were soft and putty-like. When I colored the pictures, the colors were more smeared on the pictures instead of being drawn. The colors did wipe off quickly with a paper towel, but I remember getting quickly bored with this toy:


Numerous Rin Tin Tin books and comics were produced, as you can see below. Note the book in the upper left corner; it was from the 1920s and was published in conjunction with the movies of that era that starred the original Rin Tin Tin. I have videos of those 1920s silent films, and I have to admit the original Rin Tin Tin was a genuinely remarkable dog------many of his stunts are mindboggling, and he was incredibly athletic.


For my fifth birthday, I got a Rusty playsuit for a present. I put it on and spent several happy weeks pretending I was Rusty. It should be no surprise that I was thrilled to locate the mint Rusty playsuit below. It was still in its original factory wrapping and even had the same smell when I opened the box that I remember from my fifth birthday.


I have greatly downsized my Rin Tin Tin collection; I'm trying to leave Di without much to sort through after my death. It was fun to once again own this stuff, and I'm glad the items above now resides with other Rin Tin Tin fans.

My Old Buddy Rick McFadden

Above is a photo of my friend Rick McFadden and his wife Laura. Rick and Laura currently live in Madison, WI with their sons Britt and Brian, both students at the University of Wisconsin.

In junior high and high school, Rick and I were tighter than a pair of thieves. We lost contact with each other when we moved to different parts of the country to pursue our respective careers, but thanks to Google and the internet we've managed to re-establish contact with each other. And that has unleashed a flood of memories. . . . . . .

. . . . . . . like camping out in the woods when we were in junior high. Or like the endless rounds of basketball games------sometimes one-on-one, sometimes five-on-five------in our respective backyards. We raced each other to see which one of us would be the first to get our driver license. (I honestly can't remember who "won.") And I especially remember the basketball games involving Duke, Davidson, North Carolina, etc., that we would see in Charlotte at the old Charlotte Coliseum on Independence Boulevard. And after the games, we'd pull into a Shoney's drive-in for a few late night greaseburgers, followed by a rambling late night drive back home through the back roads of the Carolinas.

It was a lot of fun having Rick as a friend, and it was even more fun when we re-established contact a few weeks ago. I have a lot of great memories of the things we did together, and I'm enjoying recalling them in our frequent e-mails.

A Visit From My Old Friend Hugh McCallum

The photo above shows me (at right) with one of my oldest and best friends in this world, Hugh McCallum (at left). We're on the beach at Corpus Christi Bay with the aircraft carrier USS Lexington behind us.

Hugh and I tried to figure out how old we were when we first met, and we finally determined we must have been four or five years old. That means we have known each other for over 50 years, not a bad record for two people who are not blood relatives.

Hugh lives in Los Angeles and works as a grip in movie and commercial production. You can see a credit for Hugh in the closing credits for such films as Casino, The Doors, True Lies, and, of course, the beloved Charles Bronson revenge drama Murphy's Law. Hugh kept Di and I well entertained with stories of the actors and directors he has worked with (and he had something good to say about almost everyone), and he and I also did some heavy duty trips down memory lane to the people and places of our boyhoods.

It is impossible for me to describe how much good a visit from an old friend does me these days. It's weird that at the time when I am physically collapsing that my heart is happier than it has been in years. The visits and e-mails from people in my past mean so much, more than I ever can put in words.

Hugh is the walking definition of a "good man." He has been a true and loyal friend over the decades, and it is a great honor to have him for a friend.

A Visit From My Friend Forrest Mims

My old friend Forrest Mims and his wife Minnie visited me a few days ago; the photo above shows Forrest at left and me at right. I have known Forrest since July, 1979, and he has been one of my closest, and most wise, friends since then.

I first met Forrest when I was a technical writer and editor in Radio Shack's technical publications group at their Fort Worth, Texas headquarters. Forrest was bringing in the "manuscript" for his book Engineer's Notebook. The manuscript was actually a set of mylar transparencies on which Forrest had carefully hand-drawn each figure and word, much like an actual engineering notebook. Forrest and I spent a hot July afternoon spraying clear lacquer on each transparency to protect the lettering, and in that three hours or so a lasting friendship was forged. And Engineer's Notebook went on to sell over 750,000 copies, each a tribute to Forrest special genius when it comes to explaining electronics technology clearly and simply.

Since then I have served as Forrest's editor at various publishers, including HighText/LLH, and have shared all manner of experiences and ideas with Forrest. Forrest's mind is encyclopedic and far-ranging; he is a disciplined, focused thinker whose work has appeared in such publicatons as Nature and Scientific American in addition to his books. It is a shame that many of Forrest's readers are unaware of his wicked sense of humor!

During my cancer, he has always been there for me with supportive words and a sympathetic ear.

Forrest is a loyal and true friend, and I am grateful for his friendship over the years!

Friends I Miss

Okay, so technically these people are not "family." That doesn't mean I can't miss our former neighbors when Di and I lived on the Bar Nothing Ranch.

Below are Sherrie and Leslie. They were the queen bees of the "Loop" (as we referred to Pine Valley Loop, the road on which they and we lived) and were organizers of the social scene. Sherrie is a sales engineer for Teology in Austin, and Leslie was the realtor who represented the original owners of the Bar Nothing Ranch. Like us, Sherrie and Leslie owned and rode horses, and the four of us spent many nice weekend afternoons riding along the trails in the area. They swore that had seen the "ghost donkey," a pure white donkey/ghost supposedly seen by some along the Loop on moonless nights (they were absolutely serious in claiming this). Sherrie and Leslie also hosted the annual Super Bowl Loop party, and this Sunday's game has me thinking about them and all the people who will be gathered there. Sherrie and Leslie were also the best damn pair of lesbian cowgirls in the entire state of Texas, IMHO. I gave them my 4-inch refractor telescope as a going-away present last May; I hope they are using it to stargaze under those wonderful dark skies.


Another great couple on the Loop was Wanda and Stuart Schoop, shown below. Wanda is a survivor of ovarian cancer, and was an invaluable resource when I first was diagnosed back in April, 2006. There is no one who can give you the straight, unexpurgated truth about cancer like another cancer patient; Wanda was more informative about the effects of radiation and chemo, and how to cope with them, than any of the medical professionals I dealt with back them. Stuart was extremely helpful because he continued to interact with me as he always had, never slobbering over me with pity or even acknowledging I was sick. And I loved that, because when talking with Stuart I was "Harry" again instead of "Harry the cancer patient." When I spent time with Stuart, I could almost forget that I had a big problem and felt semi-normal again.


Wanda and Stuart often held get-togethers at their home, a place they called "Sloppy Pines." It had a wonderfully eclectic decor, featuring plenty of signs and posters, Japanese pinball machines, an al fresco bar room, etc, Below is a photo of Stuart and me being goofy one night at their place; my "lobster face" is the result of some radiation treatments the previous week:


The get-togethers also produced some of my favorites photos of me and Di, like the one below. I am being goofy, while Di is being cute. I like this one because it shows Di wearing her glasses instead of her contacts, and I know using this photo will really piss her off good:



When you reach the point in life that I'm now at, your friends------past and present-----become very, very precious to you. The memories of the good times you shared with them sustain you on dark days. I have been very lucky to have known people like Sherrie, Leslie, Wanda, Stuart, and, most of all, Di. And there are many more I need to mention on this blog-----I'll get to it. But until then, I say THANK YOU to everyone out there that I have been fortunate enough to have counted among my friends!

"This Is. . . . . . Cinerama!!"

The most incredible movie experience of my life happened in the summer of 1962 when my parents and I went to see This Is Cinerama. Even 46 years later I can recall the impact of the opening roller coaster shot and how I literally had the physical sensation of motion------including up and down movement-----during it. More contemporary big screen formats, like IMAX, pale in comparison to Cinerama. It was as close to "virtual reality" as motion pictures have ever come.

Cinerama's astonishing visual impact was based on a simple idea: to capture and reproduce the same image normal human vision would see of a scene. That works out to a field of vision equivalent to 146 degrees. This meant Cinerama could approximate our peripheral vision------what we see out of the corners of our eyes. Since peripheral vision is responsible for our visual perception of motion, balance, and depth, the Cinerama picture could produce those perceptions in the audience.

To achieve this wide field of vision, the Cinerama camera simultaneously exposed three roles of film using a common motor drive and shutter for uniform focus. The camera used three lenses offset from each other by 48 degrees; each filmed one-third of the final Cinerama image. To reduce "flicker," Cinerama movies were filmed (and projected) at a speed of 26 feet per second (fps) instead of the standard 24 fps used for 35 mm film.

When Cinerama films were shown, the filming process was reversed. Three spools of film were simultaneously projected using a common motor drive to synchronize the three parts of the image. To enhance the peripheral vision effects, the screen was curved so the left and right parts of the image were closer to the audience. The image below is one I scanned from a This Is Cinerama souvenir program, and shows the layout of a typical Cinerama theater:


In the image above, note the speakers behind the screen. Cinerama's sound system was just as revolutionary as its visual system. It was recorded on a separate 35mm magnetic tape at a speed of 29 inches per second (ips); this was at a time when tapes used to make phonograph records were recorded at a speed of only 15 ips. Sound was recorded in seven separate channels, with five of the channels behind the screen, one to the side of the audience, and one behind the audience. The system was 100% analog, meaning it could reproduce sound more accurately and clearly than today's 100% digital CDs and MP3 files. The recording and audio playback equipment used vacuum tubes, which likewise produced better sound than today's solid state audio gear. (Don't take my world for it; ask any professional musician who still uses a tube-based Marshall amp, for example.) Acoustics were a key design element for all Cinerama theaters. All of this is why I am much less than impressed with today's theater audio systems, like THX. Their harsh, overly processed sound is much less realistic than what I remember from Cinerama.

What was it like to be in the Cinerama audience? Here's an image I scanned from a This Is Cinerama souvenir postcard. It gives a good idea of what the screen looked like from your seat; the picture was overwhelming:

Cinerama was the brainchild of Fred Waller, a jack-of-all-trades inventor with over 1000 patents to his credit (his other great invention was water skis!). Cinerama grew out of his work in World War II to develop an aerial gunnery and bombing trainer for pilots. The system he devised used five separate 35mm cameras and projected the image on a spherical dome screen. Students were able to move around inside the dome to simulate tracking and firing upon enemy fighters. And those students raved about how realistic the training was; it was easy to transfer their skills to actual aircraft.

Waller incorporated Cinerama, Inc., in 1946 to adapt the system for commercial motion pictures. And it's here where things get controversial. Waller claimed the three projector Cinerama system was solely his idea, but a similar system had been briefly used by French director Abel Gance at the end of his 1927 epic Napoleon. Gance wanted a spectacular conclusion to his film, and the final five minutes of the movie, featuring enormous battle scenes and Napoleon's pet eagle soaring overhead, were filmed with three separate, overlapping cameras and then projected with three separate, overlapping projectors on a wide screen.

I had the opportunity to see a restored print of Napoleon in 1981 at New York's Radio City Music Hall, and the effect in the closing sequence was eerily like Cinerama. There was a pronounced sense of depth and motion (something I have never experienced in any other black and white film, especially a silent one!). Gance was a well known director when Waller began his career, and Napoleon had played New York during the time Waller lived there. I have not found any quote from Waller, or in Cinerama's promotional materials, acknowledging Gance's pioneering work with a three camera/three projector process, but it's difficult for me to believe Waller was unaware of Gance's technique-----the similarities are just too numerous and immediately obvious to even casual observers. Thus, I think Gance deserves just as much credit for Cinerama as Waller.

Cinerama was conceived as a way movie theaters could compete with television, and Cinerama movies were intended to be exhibited much like Broadway plays-----one performance nightly, matinees on weekends, reserved seats, souvenir programs, an intermission, and premium ticket prices that were three or four times the admission of ordinary movies. A Cinerama movie was intended to be an event! Below is a souvenir program for This Is Cinerama I have in my collection:


This Is Cinerama had its world premiere in New York City on September 30, 1952. Despite playing only three months at one theater, This Is Cinerama was the highest grossing film of 1952. In the years that followed, new Cinerama-equipped theaters opened around the country and world. The high water mark was reached in 1963, when over 130 theaters worldwide were equipped for Cinerama.

But Cinerama never became the commercial success its backers expected. One problem was the lack of a plot in 1950s Cinerama movies. Cinerama, Inc., was a movie technology company, not a movie company, and its films reflected a total lack of storytelling skill. Cinerama movies were glorified travelogues in which the "plot," such as it was, involved people traveling around the world to gape at incredible sights or to take high speed trips aboard airplanes, trains, speedboats, etc. The titles reflected their content: Cinerama Holiday, South Seas Adventure, Seven Wonders Of The World, Search For Paradise, etc. They all seemed like home movies of a vacation to exotic places, except for being filmed in Cinerama instead of 8mm. And the audiences for each film declined from the previous one. By 1960, Cinerama, Inc., was struggling to stay afloat financially.


Cinerama got a reprieve in 1961 when it entered into an agreement with Metro Goldwyn Mayer to produce new feature films in Cinerama. Two pictures emerged from this venture: The Wonderful World Of The Brothers Grimm, a biographical film of the two fairy tale authors that featured plenty of special effects, and How The West Was Won, a sprawling historical/adventure epic with stars such as Jimmy Stewart. Below is a scan from the latter's publicity materials; it gives you a good idea of what it was like to be inside a Cinerama theater:


Unfortunately, MGM discovered Cinerama to be too costly a process to justify its continued use and ended its association with Cinerama, Inc., in early 1963. Unable to find another filmmaking partner, Cinerama stopped making new movies altogether. They felt the name "Cinerama" still had value, however, so they developed an alternative to three camera/projector Cinerama. This, dubbed "Ultra Cinerama," used a single 70mm camera and a "squeeze" lens to compress a larger image onto the film; a special 70mm projector "unsqueezed" the image, producing a widescreen image that had the same aspect ratio (that is, height and width) as an original Cinerama image. However, its field of vision was only 80 degrees instead of the 146 degrees provided by original Cinerama. This was too narrow to simulate the effects of peripheral vision, so the result was a much less spectacular visual experience than original Cinerama. In many ways, Ultra Cinerama is much like IMAX; both produce large images but without the field of view or resolution that made original Cinerama so remarkable.

Cinerama licensed Ultra Cinerama for use in various movies (the most notable being 2001: A Space Odyssey) but it was not enough to keep the company solvent. In 1978, Cinerama, Inc. was acquired by Pacific Theatres, and they were mainly interested in the theater properties Cinerama owned and not the Cinerama filmmaking process.

Today, only three theaters in the world are still equipped for Cinerama and still show films made in original three camera/projector Cinerama: the Pictureville Cinema at the National Museum of Photography, Film, and Television in Bradford, England, the Seattle Cinerama in Seattle, WA, and the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood, CA. Ironically, the latter was built by Cinerama, Inc., to show Ultra Cinerama films and showed no three camera/projector Cinerama films until it was renovated in 2002!

It's a shame no Cinerama theater is operating in a place that receives a ton of visitors, like Las Vegas. But if you ever find yourself in Los Angeles, Seattle, or Bradford and a Cinerama film is playing, by all means see it! It will be the greatest movie experience of your life.

"White Thang" Was One Bitchin' Auto

When Elsevier bought out LLH back in 2001, I-----like many other entrepreneurs who get lucky-----immediately ran out and bought a new car. But my dream car was not a Porsche or BMW. Instead, it was a car that could take me places where other vehicles feared to go. I wound up buying a fully tricked-out Toyota 4Runner that I christened "White Thang."

White Thang was not a SUV used for driving to the office or the golf course. Instead, I used it for its original purpose, namely to travel on roads that would spell doom for any normal 2WD passenger car. Yes, it had 4WD. And a special off-road suspension. And skid plates. And a locking differential. And a heavy duty alternator. And an oil cooler. And. . . . . . you get the picture; it was a tank with four tires instead of two treads. It was roomy. I could fold down the rear seats and had plenty of room for my sleeping bag and foam pad. Yeah, it really drank the gas, but I didn't care. I had places to go and things to see.

Here's a photo of Wild Thang in its natural habitat. It's in Death Valley National Park, at the start of the road to "The Racetrack," and as you can see the warning sign said only 4WD vehicles with high clearance should proceed. White Thang didn't blink for the next 20 miles, and The Racetrack was easily reached:


White Thang was made for Death Valley. Here's a photo of it in Titus Canyon, at the site of the ghost town of Leadfield, California:


Death Valley is surrounded by mountains with much cooler high altitude campgrounds. I often enjoyed camping in such places, and White Thang got me to them. Mahogany Flat was the start of the summit trail to Telescope Peak, the tallest mountain in Death Valley National Park, and White Thang is parked under the sign indicating the elevation. If you're trying to figure out my license plate, "AK6C" was my ham radio call sign when I lived in California; my call sign in Texas is now W5HLH:


Here's one of my "camp sites," namely White Thang parked in isolated open country. This is near the Eureka Sand Dunes in the Saline Valley section of Death Valley National Park, and it can't be reached in your Honda Accord or Toyota Corolla. In places like this, I was dozens of miles from the nearest power line or electric light. It's hard to believe how dark the night sky is from a place like this, and I'll never forget the 2001 Leonids meteor shower from a similar location in Death Valley!


White Thang was also a great vehicle for exploring the mountains. Below is one of my favorite mountain camping places, a location known as "Badger Flat" in the Inyo Mountains along the California/Nevada state line. In the background is the Sierra Nevada range. Sunrises were spectacular here, with the first rays of the sun hitting the peaks of the Sierras while the sky was still dark; the tops of the Sierras would have a ghosty glow against the dark sky, and then the illumination would work its way down the mountains. And, thanks to White Thang's ability to get me to such isolated areas, I would usually have such places and views all to myself. The quiet, peace, and beauty were awe-inspiring, and I consider myself lucky to have been able to enjoy them:


When we bought the Bar Nothing Ranch in 2005, White Thang was traded in on a Toyota Tundra pickup truck------hey, we needed it to haul hay, horse feed, the horse trailer, etc. While White Thang is gone, it will always live on in my memory. I suppose many people only saw a gas-guzzling SUV when they saw it, but to me White Thang was a ticket to places and experiences I otherwise would have missed out on. I really miss that car!