Bert Singer
My blogs
| Introduction | I was born 17 years after Kitty Hawk. We had no telephone until I was eight. My father made our first radio with plywood, wires, and real cat's hair. A boy’s rite of passage was to start an automobile by hand-cranking the pistons with a bent steel rod. There were no red and green lights, and highways were two lanes. Telephones, as large as milk jugs, had separate ear and mouthpieces. An operator placed your call and cranked a handle to ring the phone. To use a typewriter, you hit the keys hard. Copies required carbon paper. Newsreel cameras were hand cranked. House wiring was insulated with woven cotton, with one electric outlet per room. One light dangled from the ceiling was lit by a yank on the chain. Screw-in fuses protected the house. Fast delivery took a week to ten days. Overnight delivery meant it came from your neighbor. If you bought a car, you looked at the floor model but waited for the factory to ship it. The flu pandemic stopped killing millions. Wilson's League of Nations was sputtering into frail existence as the "War to End All Wars" reached a truce. I had been born on the edge of the New World and a New Century. |
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