“This difficulty was overcome by the use of the train staff and ticket system, in which printed tickets were used as the authority to proceed. The engineer of the first train was shown the staff, which indicated to him that a train could not be travelling in the reverse direction, as it was not carrying the appropriate staff.
“Having seen the staff, he was given a printed ticket, taken from a locked box. One such box was at each end of the section, and the staff to the section was the key to the box.
“The printing on the tickets usually was to the following effect: ‘To the engineer. You are authorized, after seeing the train staff for the section, to proceed from station A to station B, and the train staff will follow.’ The engineer of the last train of the series would take the staff and not a ticket.” [I would argue that the represention by the baton of the idea that the track is clear, and the further abstraction of a printed chit representing the baton, makes this a “medium.” Consider: if station A and B had a reliable, instant means of communication between them, say, you could simply see all the way down the line, or if the stations were within hollering distance, then there would be no need for the baton or the chit.] “Although this system is still in operation on unimportant branch lines, where traffic is light and fairly regular, there are possibilities of delays and inconvenience, and there is always the difficulty that the staff may be at one end of the section and the train waiting at the other end.” [The solution to these difficulties was to have two machines which could issue keys, linked by telephone lines. A train traveling from station A to B had a key issued from station A. Until the train reached station B, it was impossible to issue a key from either machine.] [Bruce Sterling remarks: There are fascinating conceptual links here to telegraphy, flag signalling, and even token-ring computer networks, but let’s face it: doesn’t a telephone line render all this baton business irrelevant?]
Source: Popular Science Mechanical Encyclopedia: How It Works by Ellison Hawks (1941)
Optical Telegraphy; Heliography
From Mike Antman
“In 1791, hooves pounded and coaches lurched over the dirt highway near New Brunswick. ‘Not less than twenty expresses have passed through this city within one week,from New York to Philadelphia and back,’ a wondering newsman reported, ‘They travel with uncommon speed, from which it appears that something of great importance is carrying on.’ The newsman hardly imagined that he was witnessing the origins of what would one day be the world’s most efficient capital markets.
“Philadelphia, the financial heart of the nation, in 1790 had established the first stock exchange in the United States; yet, New York, a more easterly port, was first to receive news as ships arrived from Europe. The speeding coaches that clattered from New York to Philadelphia carried speculators and stock-jobbers, agents of foreign investors, and inside traders with privileged information that could move the market, and make their fortune at the expense of the Philadelphia merchants.
“The coups scored by these early commuters led a group of Philadelphia brokers to set up signal stations on high points across New Jersey. The signalmen watched through telescopes as coded flashes of light brought news of stock prices, lottery numbers and other important information.
“Relayed from station to station, the information could move from New York to Philadelphia in as little as 10 minutes, more quickly than any coach horse could run, so the system sharply narrowed the advantage of New York speculators. It remained in use until the arrival of the telegraph in 1846.
“Such bold strokes of innovation have characterized the Philadelphia Stock Exchange from its inception.”.
“As exchanges originally operated, a large part of the value to their members was access to secret information. In order to keep it secret, the exchange levied a fine of twenty-five cents on any member going out and returning during a session, fifty cents if he took his sales book with him. Although all partners of a firm were allowed to depart as a body, provided they not return during the session, if only one member left it cost him fifty cents. Passing notes to the outside was also forbidden and punishable.
“The coming of the telegraph, and in 1884 the ticker, made many of these rules obsolete. However, as late as the 1900’s the exchange coffers waxed rich with the contributions of members who cursed, spat, or refused to address their peers as ‘Mister.’”.
“As the world financial community becomes more sophisticated, the Philadelphia Stock Exchange is focusing on creating new products and new financial instruments promising to change the way businesses do business. The Philadelphia Stock Exchange is also developing faster techniques for executing and reporting trades, knowing that some day the cutting edge computerized trading systems that we now use will seem as primitive as the earlier method of lights and mirrors. This is as it should be, because continued success comes only with a willingness to build further on the foundation of past achievements and in this process, we must keep the courage to change the future.”
Source: A Blueprint for America’s Free Markets: The History of the Philadelphia Stock Exchange
Train Token Signals System
From Mark Schubin
The flagged-baton medium may no longer be used on trains but it’s very much alive with some highway repair crews. A few years ago, in Wyoming USA, we waited in line to go over a lengthy, curved stretch of highway that had been reduced to one lane by construction work. As the last car coming from our direction, we were given a baton with a flag to hold out the driver’s window as we negotiated the section. When we got to the other end, the crew there relieved us of the baton and held it for the last car on their side. Last year, in a similar situation in Colorado, we were followed by an official vehicle, which then turned around for a return trip. I think the baton is much more efficient.
Token signals were still in use for freight trains in New South Wales, Australia, up until the 1990’s. A recent poster shows a freight train stopped at a signal box with the driver hurrying across to pick up his token, in this case an embossed metal card.
As far as I know, the token system is still very much in use in India (and Pakistan, and Bangla Desh, Sri Lanka, etc. etc.) There the ‘token’ looks like a big tennis racket (without wire), the token itself being a brass ball kept in the handle with leather straps. The ‘racket’ (for the past section) is thrown on the platform from the locomotive cab, while the driver (or his assistant) extends an arm outside and picks up the (next section) ‘racket,’ which is held up by the station master (or his assistant). The brass ball is needed to lock/unlock signals and points in the signal cabin. Quite a sight!
Source: personal experiences
Ramelli’s Book Wheel
From Dan Howland
Agostino Ramelli (1531-1608?) was an Italian engineer who served under King Henry III of France and Poland. Many of his inventions were military in nature, scissoring battering rams, mechanical bridges, and screwjacks to force apart bars of a castle’s portcullis, for example. In this book of nearly two hundred engravings, there is only one data access device: the Book Wheel.
Ramelli says: “This is a beautiful and ingenious machine, very useful and convenient for anyone who takes pleasure in study, especially those who are indisposed by gout. For with this machine a man can see and turn through a large number of books without moving from one spot. Moreover, it has another fine convenience in that it occupies very little space in the place where it is set, as anyone of intelligence can clearly see from the drawing.”
The drawing shows a gouty scholar sitting before what looks for all the world like a Ferris Wheel with eight lecterns in place of seats. As he spins this huge device (perhaps six feet in diameter), a series of gears attached to the axle keeps the lecterns upright.
It surely is a neat gadget, but perhaps someone of intelligence can tell me how it could be justified as a space-saver. A bookshelf in the background of the illustration holds twenty-three books, and most of them appear to be within arm’s
reach of a seated man.
“Ramelli may have been the first to design a workstation for scholars, something that the Internet is now bringing us. In 1945 Vannevar Bush, Director of the Office of Scientific Research and Development in the United States during World War II, published a seminal article that described a Memex, another version of the Scholar’s Book Wheel. While his design relied on microfilm, the goal of having a library at your fingertips is the same.
Source: The Various and Ingenious Machines of Agostino Ramelli (Le Diverse et Artificiose Machine Del Capitano Agostino Ramelli) Translated by Martha Teach Gnudi; Annotations and Glossary by Eugene S. Ferguson. Scholar Press and Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976 Reprinted by Dover Books, 1994 (ISBN 0-486-28180-9)
The Camera Obscura
From Richard Kadrey
“The Camera Obscura “In 1038 AD, an Arab scholar named Alhazan described a working model of the camera obscura. Literally meaning dark chamber, the camera obscura was a room or box lit only by a small hole that admitted sunshine. Light rays poured through the hole, eerily assembling an image of the outside world on the opposite wall.
“Although Alhazan did not actually construct the device, his work would influence a medieval tinkerer named Roger Bacon. In 1267 AD, Bacon created convincing optical illusions by using mirrors and the basic principles of the camera obscura. Later, he used a camera obscura to project an image of the sun directly upon an opposite wall. “It was not until the Renaissance that the instrument was widely used as a drawing tool. Although Leonardo Da Vinci is popularly credited for using the camera obscura to draw, that is only partially true. A student of physiology, Da Vinci built a small camera obscura to test his theories about the workings of the human eye and the concept of perspective. Da Vinci never used the camera obscura to draw. Without a lens, the camera was not a very effective or portable tool for viewing the world.
“The introduction of the orbem e vitro, a kind of primitive biconvex lens, revolutionized the utility of the camera obscura. Like the lens that C.C. Harrison and J. Schinitzler would perfect in 1860, the orbem was constructed of two convex lenses. The design reduced distortion and increased clarity. Although no inventor is known, the lens was first mentioned by Girolamo Cardano, a Milanese mathematics professor, in the 1550 edition of his scientific encyclopedia.
“In 1558 the Neapolitan scientist Giovanni Battista della Porta suggested the camera obscura would make a wondrous aid to artists. In his Magiae naturalis, he discussed the applications to portraiture, landscapes, and the copying of other paintings. With the lens, he wrote, ‘You will see everything clearer, the faces of men walking in the street, the colors, clothes, and everything as if you stood nearby.’
“Though some, including Joshua Reynolds, warned against the indiscriminate use of the camera obscura, others, notably Algarotti, a writer on art and science and a highly influential man amongst artists, strongly advocated its use in his Essays on Painting (1764): “’The best modern painters among the Italians have availed themselves of this contrivance; nor is it possible that they should have otherwise represented things so much to the life. Let the young painter, therefore, begin as early as possible to study these divine pictures.
“’Painters should make the same use of the Camera Obscura, which Naturalists and Astronomers make of the microscope and telescope; for all these instruments equally contribute to make known, and represent Nature.’“. “Gerolomo Cardano (1501- 1576), an Italian mathematician, introduced a glass disc in place of a pinhole in his camera, and Barbaro also used a convex lens. “The first cameras were enormous. Anastasius Kircher [sic] (1601-1680) in a book written in 1646, described one which consisted of an outer shell with lenses in the centre of each wall, and an inner shell containing transparent paper for drawing; the artist needed to enter by a trapdoor.
“Other versions also appeared. Sedan chairs were converted, and tent-type cameras were also in use, even up the beginning of the nineteen hundreds. Then smaller, portable ones were made. Thus the camera obscura, as it came to be known, became a popular aid to sketching.”
“Another notable improvement came in 1568 when Daniele Barbaro, a Venetian nobleman, described a camera obscura outfitted with a lens and diaphragm. This forerunner of the aperture could be made progressively smaller so the image would become ever sharper. With continuing improvements in optics, the camera obscura no longer needed a large, stationary room to create an image.
“In 1572 Friedrich Risner constructed a small hut that could be carried around the countryside and used to make topographical drawings. Camera obscuras began to shrink in size and improve in optical quality. By 1657, camera obscuras were small enough to be carried under one arm.
“During the latter half of the 17th century, they proliferated across Europe, with uses as varied as painting, architectural drawing and spying.
“As remarkable as the instruments were, they didn’t fully satisfy the needs of artists. While canvas painting is a vertical pursuit, many artists preferred to sketch a scene on a laptop pad. In 1676, Johann Christoph Sturm, a professor of mathematics at Altdorf University in Germany, introduced a reflex mirror. Mounted at a 45 degree angle from the lens, the mirror projected the image to a screen above. This elegant configuration is at the core of modern single lens reflex cameras.
“In 1685, Johann Zahn, a monk from Wurzburg, solved the final piece in the optical puzzle. Improving upon Sturm’s design, he introduced lenses of longer and shorter focal lengths. Scenes as wide as a landscape or as close as a portrait could be viewed with a simple change of lens.
“He also painted the interior of his camera obscura black to avoid internal reflections. Excepting a mechanical shutter, Zahn’s invention was the prototype for today’s camera. Yet it would be over one hundred and fifty years before the camera obscura and photosensitive chemicals were combined to make permanent photographs.”
Parisian Shadow Theatre
From Bruce Sterling
[Bruce Sterling remarks: This wonderful book, which draws on the obviously extensive holdings of the Zimmerli Art Museum, was published to accompany a “Spirit of Montmartre” art exhibition. The book contains five long art-historical essays, plus two appendices and a bibliography. This is dead media scholarship at its finest! We have a provocative media thesis, which proposes an alternative geneology for cinema: not in cameras and persistence-of-vision optical toys, but in French black and white silhouette illustration. This impulse moves through drawings, to photomechanical printing, through puppet theater, and, finally, into a now-forgotten gigantic 20-man media gizmo in the most notorious dive of Bohemian Paris, the Chat Noir “theater of shadows” of Henri Riviere (1864-1951). Cate’s article offers names, dates, shadow-theater plot summaries, and enough technical detail so that a determined hobbyist could probably re-create Riviere’s shadow-theater out of klieg lights, curtain runners and tin cans. [What we in Dead Media do not have in this series of quotes from Cate are the many compelling illustrations in this book, which emerge straight from the heart and gizzard of Lautrecian fin-de-siecle French poster art. The art in this book is stunningly effective. As a substantial bonus, one can learn the personnel, histories, and countercultural intrigues of a panoply of Bohemian avant-garde cults, including the Hydropaths, the Incoherents, the Bon Bockers, the Fumistes, the Hirsutes, the Zutistes, the Decadents, and others even less probable. Dead media just doesn’t get much better than The Spirit of Montmartre.]
“In the nineteenth century, guignols, or puppet-theater performances, were popular, domestic forms of family entertainment; one could also regularly encounter groups of small children watching Punch and Judy puppet shows in the public gardens of the Luxembourg and Tuileries.
“In the fall of 1885 George Auriol and Henry Somm constructed a small puppet theater in the Chat Noir’s third-floor Salle des Fetes. the performances were not for a children’s audience. The setting of Somm’s one- act Berline de l’emigre is a family-run public toilet. This s
illy play, with its childish overindulgence in toilet habits and its sequence of fumiste puns, in- jokes, and racial slurs, is echoed sixteen years later in Jarry’s second Almanach du Pere Ubu.
“The guignol existed a relatively short time at the Chat Noir before it was converted to a shadow theater, another traditional form of family entertainment. After one of the early performances of La Berline de l’emigre, Riviere put a white napkin over the opening of Somm’s puppet theater; then, after making small cardboard cutouts of policemen (sergents de ville), he placed them behind the white screen, creating silhouettes that he moved across the screen as Jules Jouy sang his popular ‘Chanson des Sergots.’ This was the birth of the Chat Noir’s famous shadow theater.
“It was not by chance that Riviere discovered the shadow theater. The climate was certainly right for investigations into the artistic effects of silhouettes. Thanks to the newly developed photomechanical relief- printing processes, which easily and inexpensively reproduced high-contrast black-and-white drawings. artists and writers of the Chat Noir group were collaborating on publications related to Riviere’s aesthetic interests.
“Less than two months earlier, Paul Eudel, who by coincidence lived directly across the street from the Chat Noir, published his important study on shadow plays entitled Les Ombres chinoises de mon pere [My Father’s Shadow Theater, Paris, Editions Rouveyre, 1885.] Cohl and Ferdinandus, Chat Noir regulars and Incoherents, created many of the silhouette illustrations for the book. Riviere was obviously aware of Eudel’s publication just as he was surely aware of Henri de Sta’s humorous books, such as La Chanson du colonel [La Chanson du colonel, operette pare Albert Millaud et Hennequin, Paris, Leon Vanier, 1882] which were illustrated by de Sta entirely with silhouette images.
The Dead Media Notebook Page 49
