Bleubug

February 24, 2009

Humming Along: The Bulova Accutron

There is a fantasy sub-genre called “Transistorpunk” but it doesn’t seem to be that popular. Unlike the charming Vernian pseudo-Victorian creations of Steampunk artists I can’t find anything constructed of multi-color banded resistors or staid black and silver transistors popping out of stiff green circuit boards. That era, where being able to carry a radio seemed like a technological miracle, must not stir imaginations as much as the gilded age. Still, I doubt even if a t-punk tried that they could beat the oddness of the Bulova Accutron Spaceview shown here.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the world’s first all electronic watch. My father wore an Accutron and as I was growing up hearing the soft hum of the tuning fork against my ear was comforting in some way. Certainly it was one of the oddest and most unexpected noises to ever come out of a wristwatch. The story of the hum is really the story of the Accutron itself.

It was what many people consider the greatest invention of the 20^th century, the transistor, which made the Accutron possible. In 1953 a Swiss engineer named Max Hetzel took an early low-power CK 722 transistor and used it to keep a turning fork vibrating at a constant rate electro-magnetically. The newfangled transistor not only allowed for electricity to create a magnetic field which at just the right moment gave a little push to keep things moving but also the unbelievable (for the time) compact size. Working for the Bulova watch company he designed the first production tuning fork movement, the Accutron Caliber 214 (used in the watch here). For the next 17 years they improved the technology making the movement simpler, smaller, and more accurate. This technology was also licensed to more prestigious Swiss watch firms who came out with their own models.

So how does it work with a tuning fork? It’s the same basic principle as any other time measurement device: Watch and clock mechanisms use a reliable repeating event to allow them to track time. Much like how a day can be marked from sunrise to sunrise a swing of a pendulum or the oscillation of a quartz crystal reports to the greater mechanism the passage of one unit of time. If you know how many of these discrete events add up to a second, congratulations, you’re a watch or clock! In the Accutron a tuning fork that resonates at 360 times per second (360Hz) is the heart of the watch. The byproduct of this is the emission of an audible frequency like the tuning forks you might have played with in music class as a child (but not quite as pretty sounding).

One of the most prized versions of this watch is named the Spaceview. Calling it that evoked the US space program even though this watch never went into space (as the Omega Speedmaster did). It wasn’t all marketing, though, since the watch movement was used as instrumentation on equipment that went to the moon. Spaceviews have no dial but a straight “view” to the front of what was the most advanced personal technology you could have in 1961. What is called a “chapter ring” is on the outskirts of the exposed movement and gives you some idea of what the hands are indicating. The tuning fork is right out front with its base at the 6 o’clock position and the tines flanking the 12 o’clock locale. A few other nifty things like the gear train, transistor, resistor, and a capacitor catch the eye. All this on a weird turquoise plastic background! It’s both period and pretty (to a geek).

Advancements in this technology ended with the introduction of low cost quartz watches. The crystal in these could vibrate at 32,768Hz at lower power draw than the Accutrons. The advantage of accuracy, lower production costs, and longer battery life brought an end to the wonderful and unique saga of the watch that hums. Well, not for me. I’m keeping the ones I have going if only to hear them sing once in a while.

February 22, 2009

A Child’s Flighter of Fancy

Just now an old post by a friend made me think once again about my first fountain pen. I always envy those with vivid memories of the past; it’s something I’ve never had. Those people in my imagination have a mental scrap book with strong, saturated vignettes of their lives which they can flicker on some inner projection screen at will. In my case I have jerky, gauzy images that have to be willed to come to the forefront of my consciousness.

This is my grandfather’s house through a child’s eyes and a man’s sieve like recollections: Sheer curtains in the front room which channeled light into shafts that made suspended particles do a slow, delicate dance. Doilies, seemingly on every flat surface, yellowing as if that was a side effect of purposelessness. Velveteen armrests with the pile worn down to the backing like a taupe crew cut. Incandescent fixtures that somehow gave off less light than made sense. White enamel appliances that glowered at me with beady black knob eyes. A smell of oddly pleasant mustiness. A dark hall, its woodwork lightly coated with grease that had floated there from the kitchen. It was the physical manifestation of old to me when I’d scrape it off with my fingernails. And the big desk with an amazing sheen and smoothness that I loved to run my hand across over and over creating little banks of dust on either side of my finger’s path.

It was that big desk at the house on Cornwall Ave. that first made me think about fountain pens. On it was a glass inkwell and pen rest which made me wonder where the items were it was designed to support. Their absence created a void I wanted to fill and so on the next visit an inquiry was planned. I waited with the question as my grandfather slowly made his way to his favorite chair. He used a walker at the time and that journey was always an eternity to an impatient young boy. When he was finally settled I rushed up to him and simply asked the logical question “Grandpa, do you have any old fountain pens around?” This kind of pen was known to me since I had already asked the purpose of inkwells and had marveled how something could be so different from a ballpoint pen. I expected an affirmative answer from him, after all there was a huge pile of old junk around. Grandpa had always seemed to be the primary source of unfathomably odd ancient items accumulated in his work. Even in old age he continued to be a typewriter repairman, a job which seemed to be as palpably antique as the curio cabinet filled with dusty Dresden figurines in their crinoline finery. I was surprised when he told me, after a few seconds to take in the unexpectedness of the question, “Sorry, Tommy, I don’t have any of those now.” My certainty turned to confusion and resentment at that answer. The general discomfort children seem to harbor when faced with geriatric adults and their environs was within me and I felt my hopes for a pen to keep me occupied for the visit had just evaporated.

A week or two later my father came to me with a box. My Grandfather had kindly purchase me a blue Parker 45 fountain pen. It was what I had wanted but I wasn’t happy. In the interim I had visited a stationer and fell in love with a Parker 45 Flighter in stainless steel. Much like a magpie I was entranced by a shiny object. The subject of my displeasure was broached and action was taken to make the spoiled only child happy. Soon the blue pen was returned and I found myself in possession of my first fountain pen, all brushed stainless.

Eventually my Grandfather had a stroke and we bought a house in the suburbs where he could live with us. The big lacquered desk was moved to my room where I enjoyed sitting in it and pretending to be a businessman with my cards, files, and fountain pen, of course. That pen was eventually lost, although I don’t remember when or how, but the ink well and pen rest from my Grandfather’s still sits on a desk here fully populated. Years after that loss on a wedding anniversary my wife surprised me with another Parker 45 Flighter to replace the from my youth. Older and at least appearing wiser I don’t plan on this pen inadvertently leaving me again.

February 20, 2009

A Flexible Sheaffer Snorkel: Future Past

In the optimistic days of the 1950s a race developed to improve simple processes by throwing as much confusing gadgetry at them as possible. With flying cars and home based nuclear reactors around the corner consumers wanted a taste of that future now. Autos got “Hi-Way Hi-Fi” under dash record players, “Autronic Eye” headlight dimmers, and “Torsion-Aire” suspensions. Appliances self-cleaned, self-defrosted, and self-timed. It was only natural that fountain pen technology would embrace the space age as well.

Sheaffer’s Snorkel fountain pen is the premier example of fixing something that isn’t broken. The idea was that dunking the nib and section of a fountain pen into ink to fill it was messy (it was) and a terrible plague on humanity (which it wasn’t). The pen engineers at Sheaffer knew they could combat this terror and took their current stylishly svelte fountain pen called the TM (for “Thin Model”) added some length and a mess of internal parts until it became the famous Snorkel filler. That name was based not on recreational divers but the snorkel technology used by submarines to keep air flowing into diesel engines at shallow depths. In the case of the new pen, however, it didn’t keep liquid out but sucked some in. The procedure for filling it was a bit like using a Rube Goldberg contraption: You first twisted the blind cap at the back end to extend a long tube from under the nib. This tube went into the ink keeping the nib and section squeaky clean (and your fingers as well). The next step was to pull up the blind cap extending another larger tube backwards. Reversing this with a smart push down was the last step and caused high air pressure to collapse a rubber sac in the pen which was suddenly released when the tube traveled far enough to reach an air escape passage. With no more pressure in the barrel the sac expands and sucks up the ink, Q.E.D. It’s no surprise that with a filling system this blingy Snorkels became wildly popular and eventually were made at the Sheaffer plants in Canada, England, and Australia as well as domestically.

Despite the complexity Snorkels are well built pens that are usually problem free and enjoyable to use when restored. There was a myriad of colors and styles to select from and a large range of nib types. Overwhelmingly these pens show up with traditional open or conical Triumph nibs in fine and medium points even though more interesting alternatives were offered including flexibles and italics. That fact makes it all the more satisfying when you come across a unique Snorkel nib.

In order to hunt the rare and little seen nibs the following facts can be helpful: English and Australian built snorkels have a higher chance of having nibs with more flex. It is not true that a Triumph nib cannot be flexible, there were some flex versions made. Oblique italics and stub italic nibs came in all the nib styles and materials. Lastly, on some of the flexible nibs it looks like they were not finished on the normal production line due to some minor discrepancies. These nibs do not have a groove that usually marks the delineation point between the platinum plated front and the gold back possibly because that would be a weak point when flexed. Slightly sloppy masking at the edge of the platinum is also seen. Possibly handwork was needed to complete them due to the low number produced in comparison with the more popular nibs.

Sheaffer had a bewildering array of model names based on the style of nib, nib material, cap material, clip style, and guarantee so not every Snorkel is created equal. The example pen shown here is a Saratoga model with 14k Australian made flexible stub nib. Its shows a good amount of line variation in use due both to the flexibility and the shape of the tip. It always seems that the ink flow in pens from the era where flex was out of style is skimpy creating the “ink on,” “ink off” nightmare of skipping. In this pen I removed the thin hard rubber feed that runs the length of the snorkel tube and increased the depth of the channel in the center. Now the pen has a very good flow and writes quite wet.

So, hopefully this shows that Snorkels don’t have to be dull and stodgy. A good nib makes this a fun pen and the elaborate filling system will give you a different experience than found in one of those old timey fountain pens.

February 19, 2009

Ghost Rider: The Clip

If you want to seem worthwhile being associated with a precious metal never hurts. When you have a golden moment or see the silver lining that’s good. Fool’s gold and golden oldies I’m going to pretend don’t exist for the purpose of this example. So it’s no wonder that it can take only a tenuous link to get something slapped with a mostly incorrect moniker. A cherry bomb isn’t going to taste like it just fell from the tree and a moon pie isn’t going to shine over Miami. So is the case of German Silver, a metal that has nothing much to do with silver and only a little with Germany.

Initially developed in the Far East during the early 18^th century what is also called Nickel Silver is usually an alloy of copper, nickel, and zinc. By the time a few German factories developed large scale production techniques many metal items began to be cast in the alloy such as cutlery, musical instruments, jewelry, and watch cases. Silvery trade names abounded for it including Silverine, Silverode, Silveroid, and Silverite in order to give consumers a feeling of value. Odder names such as Brazilian Silver, Afghan Silver, Potosi Silver, and Venetian Silver provided the feeling of exotic locales where they apparently smelted metal as well as doing vaguely romantic foreign things. The commercial names never do really stop for this substance as shown by the ones that begin with the letter A: Albata, Argentan, Alpakka, Alpaka, Argentum, Argentium, etc.

Early in the 20^th century many fountain pens did not have integrated pocket clips and systems of metal pockets (such as Swan made) or friction fit clips became an accessory item. Even then no one wanted an ink filled pen loose in a shirt pocket! The clips came in many varied shapes and materials (often German Silver) to the point that a hobby could be made out of just collecting examples. Eventually writing instrument manufacturers got the idea that putting a permanent clip on the majority of their pens was a good idea and fewer and fewer third party clips were made.

I didn’t see this clip first at an online auction site; it had to be pointed out to me. Once I did see it I knew I had to have it. I’m not sure who the intended market was for this design (Pirates? Evil geniuses? Sorcerers?) but it certainly stands out. Its current home is a Wahl Tempoint eye-dropper filled pen that was bereft of a clip. It’s now the writing instrument of choice for those days when you feel like wearing black and scowling a great deal. Maybe a walking stick with a silver skull handle would be a nice accessory? Of course like the clip the handle would have to be made out of German Silver.

February 18, 2009

Pen, Interrupted: A 1933 Pearl and Black Sheaffer 5-30 Fountain Pen

Sheaffer 5-30 Balance fountain pen in pearl and black.

I’ve always been interested in the life of objects. A pattern of wear, an inscription, or an old picture glued inside a back cover can give clues to the long, winding road a utilitarian object has had over the years. Once something achieves the status of antique you can usually be assured it has passed through different hands, sat in different places, and took part in events of import to the owner. But what if that didn’t occur? What could be the story of an aged item that never quite got out of the starting gate? That’s the question I have about the fountain pen shown here, a 1933 Sheaffer Balance 5-30.

I can tell its had a long but little used existence due to what stands out on the barrel of the pen: a price sticker. On its battered surface the only words still legible are “K5-307C”, “semi-fine”, and a dollar symbol with partial number that began the price. It should have been removed or been worn away long ago with normal use making this a mystery of underutilization. We’ll probably never know the details of who purchased it (or why it was never purchased) and where it sat unused all those long, lonely days but we can talk a bit about its birth.

In 1927 Sheaffer was the first major manufacturer to introduce writing instruments made of a nitrocellulose plastic called Radite. The year this pen was made DuPont was the major supplier of this plastic under their trade name of Pyralin. Made of plant fibers dissolved in sulfuric and nitric acids and then molded with heat and pressure it was lighter, stronger, and more colorful than previous materials like hard vulcanized rubber. The downside of this early plastic was flammability when exposed to an ignition source and discoloration as it aged. The 5-30 in question would have come from plastic rod stock delivered from DuPont to the Sheaffer plant in Fort Madison, Iowa where it would have been lathed into the tapered shape known by the model name “Balance”.

The nib would have been an in-house production. Sheets of 14 karat gold possibly from Alaska, California, or South Dakota (the top gold producing states of that era) would have arrived to Fort Madison and had nib blanks stamped out of them. Then skilled workers would have formed, tipped, slit, and ground these blanks into the final product. Higher priced pens had nibs stamped “lifetime” which reflected Sheaffer’s lofty guarantee of service length. The “5-30” nib on the Sheaffer we’re discussing initially reflected a price of $5 and a guarantee of “only” 30 years.

The rest of the pen assembly would have included fabrication and installation of the metal parts such as the gold filled trim and the lever assembly. This pen has a pin for the lever to pivot on and sometime in late 1930 Sheaffer started replacing these with an internal snap ring that served a similar function. Possibly this barrel was from some old stock being depleted before the newer style would be utilized. The hard rubber parts, such as the section, feed, and inner cap were lathed and cut from rod stock most likely from Akron, Ohio which was the center of the U.S. rubber industry. Adding a rubber sac to the section supplied the rather unavoidable need for an ink reservoir. After that the price sticker we discussed was placed on the barrel and it all was shipped out to a retailer.

So then, what did happen after that? The pen has been used, old ink attests to that, but few lines were ever written with it. It came to me from a seller near Etowah, TN who bought it at some auction or yard sale. If geography is taken into account the 5-30 could have been purchased from a stationer in the nearest city of Cleveland, TN. After that it might not have suited the purchaser and hibernated for 75 years. Was it thrown into an old drawer to hide out the intervening years until a descendant of the first owner found it? Possibly. Was it a demonstrator used to lure customers to purchase a fine pen and when the store closed was chucked into a crawlspace or back room with other dusty items until found today? Could be. We’ll never know why or where the pen sat as the clock ticked and dust settled. The story is probably a dull one but I like to think that it involves robbery, mayhem, and star crossed lovers. One can always hope.

So let’s talk a bit about this pen as it is today sitting next to me on a desk. I originally purchased it because of the label and the pleasantly even cream color the pearl patches had discolored to over the years. The legend “Semi-Fine” led me to have hopes that might indicate it was a semi-flexible fine nib which would be less common than the usual sturdy, unyielding ones that Sheaffers are known for. When I received it I quickly discovered that this was not the case. The nib is a smooth and reliable fine, no semi or flex about it. While not a connoisseur’s nib it is one built for accurate line and long use like the pen itself. After a new sac was installed the old pen wrote fine with no further need of tweaking or adjustment and will for some time to come.

The interruption of purpose for this pen is now over and it is putting down ink as intended. I hope in some future time this old Sheaffer will be able to look back on good service as a pen, finally.