What hath Alexander Graham Bell wrought?

I remember so  well  -- about 80 years ago, sitting in a room in a house in Darlington, Indiana visiting with my grandmother, Nellie Weliever.  She was "Central" --  the telephone operator.  The little switchboard was in someone’s house.  There was a bathroom and bed there so the operator could rest at night – she was often on call all night – but things closed down after 10 or so unless there was an emergency.  My Grandmother could talk to me, sitting beside her,  with interrupted sentences as she answered the incoming calls and pulled cords and plugged them into holes and routed them -- usually by name instead of number. It went something like this --  “Tomorrow is Sunday and --   “Yes Mary.  Here’s the drugstore,”  and we are having fried chicken” – “ Charley, that line is busy.  Try again later.  – How does that sound to you?” She could talk to two people at once and never miss a beat with either of us.

Those old crank phones were the first general popular use of the new telephone.  Then, in larger towns, we had the operator system with a girl – no guys back then – sitting with a row of other girls in a big room.  They were much less personal as they efficiently routed calls around towns all over the country.  One would lift the receiver and wait for the word “operator”.  You gave the number and your call was quickly sent to the proper place.  This gave rise to the “party line”, with W’s and J’s to delineate the difference.  The limited number of  private lines were reserved for special folks – like policemen and firemen and politicians.

Next were the “dial” phones, which was a miraculous achievement.  Now one could do one’s own connecting to whomever they choose to call.  No operator needed.  That is, all except long distance.  That required an operator. And that required an extra charge – sometimes a fairly large amount.  The charge was usually per minute after the first three minutes.

I distinctly recall the first “direct dial” call I made in the early 60's.  I could not believe I could pick up my phone in south Texas and call folks in Indiana by just dialing an “area code.” No operator.  Automatic charge. What  progress!  It still works, today!

Yes,  I have seen the survival of the fittest in the evolution from those crank phones all the way to the cell phones of today.  So what? So, what has it come to today?  Robo Calls – that’s what.  It’s Those pesky calls we all get several times every day – at all hours and from who knows from where. And the number duly recorded on our phone screen is from where?  Maybe next door?  -- certainly in our local area – right?  Wrong.  It is called "spoofing". I have had a call from my own phone number.  Now how does that work?  Sometimes I call back the number to see where it came from.  It is either a non working number or someone who did not call me and thinks I am stupid for asking if they did.  And sometimes I miss or hang up on a legitimate or important call, thinking it is a robo call.  That is not good.

In the unlikely event that I do press 1 as directed to get a zero rate on my credit card – or a swinging deal on health insurance – I get “This is John Smith”, which comes out like “Yon Smeet” in an East Indian or Hispanic  dialect.  And if I question his motives or ask silly questions, sometimes  I get a “F*** you”, over and over until he gets it out of his system and hangs up on me. In the past, I loved to play with these folks, but I am tired of playing with them and I no longer play their game.  It is no longer fun and is getting serious now.

So why am I concerned about these calls?  First of all,  they are a scam. They are from a foreign country. And, they take up my time and use up my phone minutes and usually come at a bad time and try to sell me something I do not want or need.  But more important, they seem to have the computer program to grab anyone’s phone number at random with no consequences.  If they can do that, maybe they get to our private information or bank accounts?  The “do not call” list is useless and does no good at all.  They sometimes admonish us to press 2 and they will not call again – That is BS! They are making us all grouchy when the phone rings.  I find myself barking at everyone who calls – even friends or the drug store or the Doctor’s office and having to apologize.  I have become unfriendly on the phone.  It really has gotten to a ridiculous level and needs to be addressed.

The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) is in charge of phone companies and radio/TV station licenses.  In the years I was a broadcaster, the FCC was GOD!  They would ride herd on us like an old mother hen.  We all had to study, take a test and get an FCC license.  We must never fail to read our transmitters every half hour, or give our station call letters and location on the hour.  Our broadcast logs were kept in perfect order.  Why?  Because the FCC folks might come to town and rent a motel and listen to the radio station for a day or two, then come to the station unannounced and look over your shoulder and check on all these entries – and they better be up-to-date and your logs match up with what they heard or there was hell to pay and one might lose one’s job pretty quickly. A serious infraction could lose the station's license.

So that begs the question – why does this fussy, demanding FCC not crack down on these robo calls that use telephones illegally?  I actually wrote to the FCC and asked that question.  I have received no response.  I cannot believe that there is no way to stop these calls.  I have heard they are "working on it". As we are wont to say “If we can fly to the moon, why can’t we stop robo calls?

From the heart of Olaf Hart

Cousin Bernie

My cousin Bernie died a couple of days ago.  It brings up some funny memories of the movie in which "Bernie" had died and was hauled around by friends, as though he was alive.  I think Bernie would have laughed at that – because Bernie laughed at many things.  When he laughed, he laughed all over his body.  He loved to laugh. His laughter was contagious.

I have known Bernie – or Bud , as he was called – since he was born – and that was probably more than 80 years ago.  Bud was not one to stick strictly to the facts sometimes.  (That trait was given to him by his father – most of us agree – who spent his entire adult life as a sailor; serving all during WW II in the heat of battle sailing around the world aboard a ship).  But it matters not which genes this trait might have come from – we all agreed that Bernie liked to expand the truth just a bit in order to make a good story even better. He loved a good a good story.  Nothing wrong with that – we all do that, a bit, don’t we?  I do.

But Bud had a serious side.  He was deeply religious.  I know not which brand to which he subscribed, but which ever it was, he believed in it faithfully and completely.  He wrote religious books for children and religious books for adults. He conducted an on line bible study for many years and had quite a following, I am told.

In the face of a not so happy life some years ago, he happily shared his positive  beliefs with others.  His first wife and a child had died young.  His sister died young. But he moved on and married Donna and had a son, both of whom he adored.  But his faith carried him on in his life until a couple of days ago.

Those who know me know that I am not a religious person. I have my own thoughts and beliefs which did not match Bernie’s.  We talked about this some years ago and agreed to leave that to ourselves.  But I did not criticize him nor he me.  Here are my thoughts about one’s beliefs.  What ever one may believe about religion is what they mandate will take place.  Bernard Albertson devoutly believed he needed to teach others about his beliefs and did so.  He believed he would go to heaven after death – And so it matters not what I think -- he will.  Have a safe and swift journey to heaven, cousin Bernie….  from the heart of Olaf Hart

Lest We Forget

I wonder if those who recalled Lincoln’s assassination remembered exactly where they were when they heard about it?  Or what about the surrender of the Alamo to Santa Anna?  I would wager they did recall.  “Remember the Alamo.”  That battle call still exists. Those world-shattering events seem to burn their memories into our brains and into posterity, don’t they?

Where were you when Kennedy’s assassination happened in Dallas?  I remember precisely.  I was shopping in a super market in Bloomington, Indiana.  I was a post grad student at IU and had a family to feed, so I was shopping for some groceries.  The PA system was playing music from an FM radio station for some background music.  The announcer broke into the music and said, “here is a bulletin.  President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas.  More details as we get them.” I ran home as quickly as I could, turned on the TV and watched it for two days non-stop.  The University was closed and I and the rest of the world watched in disbelief.  I will never forget.

Now the obvious question – where were you and what were you doing on September 11, 2001 at about 9 AM?  I was living in West Palm Beach with Jeri at her town house.  I typically watched the business news on CNBC  -- which was before Fox Business Channel came into being.  I was standing in the bedroom, having just returned from walking Jeri to her job a short distance away and doing my morning jog as I came back home.  The reporter was relating the latest financial news when his attention was diverted by a colleague.  He was momentarily frustrated by the diversion, but quickly got his news face back on and told his audience, “A small airplane has apparently hit the twin towers here in lower Manhattan.  We will have more details shortly.”  Then within a very few seconds, he returned to the air and corrected himself – telling me and his vast audience that it was not a small plane but an airliner.   I knew this was really important, so  I immediately called the doctor’s office where Jeri worked and where the break-room had a small TV.  I gave her the quick version of the story and told her to turn on the TV. That was the beginning of hours of coverage that we all watched non-stop.  The second air liner into the towers – then a third at the Pentagon and forth headed to the White House but heroically diverted and taken over and brought down by its passengers  in open country in PA.  That was a frightening time, embedded into our memories forever.  And today is the anniversary of that terrible day in our history.

I wonder if those back in Lincoln’s day mocked and tried to under play the seriousness of his death?  Probably.  That was nearly 150 years ago.  Maybe enough time has passed that we can joke about weather Mrs. Lincoln enjoyed the play.  But our tragedy, the death of the twin towers by Muslim extremists, is only 18 years old.  There is no justification for minimizing its importance and seriousness.  Those who would fluff it away are either totally misinformed or some sort of young radical bigot with an agenda,  who has no business living in this country and enjoying its fruits and great opportunities.  That terrible morning in 2001, 18 years ago will never leave my memory.  And its cowardly perpetrators will go down as the worst mankind has to offer.  To forget is to drop our defense.  To forget is to stop thinking about all the hundreds of innocent folks who burned like a roasted chicken left on the grill too long – and all the firefighters and cops and citizens who gave their lives trying to rescue people.

I am not a flag waver.  Although I am very patriotic, I do not normally write about such stuff.  But – like General Eisenhower commanded after rescuing the Jews and others from the concentration camps after WW II – He told the world that he ordered pictures and films made for posterity so this would never happen again and no one would ever forget and say it didn’t happen.  I would say the same about 9/11.  It did happen and it was awful.  Let us never forget.

From the heart of Olaf Hart………

Marble marbles

It all started with an e mail from my old Air Force buddy – Paul Crawford -- who lives in Colorado.  He is retired, just like me.  We sometimes have time on our hands and began to dream up things to occupy our minds.  Well, somehow the story of a little town in the Colorado mountains got to be the subject of our electronic conversation.  The town is called “Marble.”  It has that name because in its heyday it quarried marble stone slabs from its hills and made a nice profit.  The Lincoln Memorial is made from Marble quarried marble.  But, it seems, the marble business was not able to keep the little town going and it was headed for ghosthood . 

And so, more recently, the town was revitalized with the purchase of the marble quarry.  So, there is now an influx of funds and the modernization of the machinery and the resurgence of its industry – the sale of marble.   Marble even boasts workshops in sculpting, nowadays.  Things are really moving in this little Colorado mountain town.

This little factoid prompted all sorts of inquiries – the looking up of web sites – the reading of articles -- all in the quest of more information about marble.  This often happens when  -- in the face of boredom – one has an active and intelligent mind and one has too much time in a given day on one’s hands.

Well – one of us – I don’t remember just which one – happened to ask the obvious question – “Are marbles made of marble?”  And that opened the flood gates.  We had to know more about marble and marbles.

We concluded that marbles are a fraud.  They are not made of marble at all – but are probably glass – poured into a mold with some colors added and – bingo – marbles that look like marble.    

Now Paul and I could not leave that factoid alone.  We needed to know more about those little critters.  Back to the computer.  Websites were sought – articles were read and memories were dug into.  As I recall from my life in rural Indiana – growing up in a small town – at some age, all little boys had in their possession, their bag of marbles, probably hooked to his belt and guarded with his life.  This collection consisted of quite a number of small “playing” marbles.  Some, I recall, were called “aggies” and were more valuable. These were used to play the game – they were expendable.  But also in the bag was at least one or more “shooters.”  These were prized possessions and were sometimes traded with friends like gold coins.  They were much larger and used to shoot at the other guy’s marbles during the game.  The play commenced after a circle was drawn in the dirt with a stick and marbles were put in the circle.  The shooter was flipped with the knuckles down on the ground – the object being to knock the opponent’s marbles out of the ring with one shot. Once that was done – the marbles were yours.  The rules were mostly made up on the spot but that is the gist.

I don’t actually recall my age when this game was played – but certainly elementary school.  I don’t remember any girls playing, so this was, doubtless,  during the “pre girl” stage in a young boy’s life.  Boys played marbles. Girls played “Jacks.”

Paul and I learned, through our research, that a version of this game was played many centuries ago in biblical times.  Marbles were made of clay, or alabaster and even fine jewels.  The question is – do boys play marbles these days?  I doubt it.  This is actually a gambling game.  There are losers in this game and we can’t have that can we?  I don’t know what happened to my marble bag.  I guess I just lost my marbles…

From the heart of Olaf Hart ….

The Loaf of bread rule

When I was a lad --back in the 40's -- my dad was a factory worker.  He worked for a regular hourly wage -- probably less than a dollar an hour.  He was occasionally given a small raise -- usually five or ten cents an hour. But when he came home and announced that he had been given a raise, he followed up this good news with "Now the price of a loaf of bread will go up, you just watch."  And sure enough, that is exactly what happened.  

I have been watching the Democratic presidential debates with some interest, some entertainment and some trepidation.  They all have offered lots of free stuff -- lots and lots of free stuff -- with no apparent way to pay for it.  When pinned down, they all agree that the way to foot the bill for all this good stuff is to tax the "big corporations and the wealthy folks."  They assure us that middle class and poor people will not be affected with this cost of these freebies.  "Taxes will pay for it," they say.

Since I am retired and on social security (which, by the way I paid for over my lifetime of working), I am very much aware of the cost of things like groceries and gas and things I need to exist and stay alive.  Living in Florida, I shop for food mostly at Publix Supermarkets.  From my observation, which is not at all scientific, but fairly reliable, my grocery bill has gone from around $50 per shopping day , to around $70  for the same amount of food and stuff one buys at a grocery store.  A box of Publix  brand cereal was $1.64 a few weeks ago, is now $1.94.  So what is my point?  When faced with an additional expense -- whether it is a tax or an increase in wholesale cost -- Publix will add it to their price of cereal and everything else they sell.  And so will General Motors or Toyota or a big Pharma or -- you name it.  And so did the little grocery story where my dad bought his loaf of bread way back in the 40's.  Take a look at your cell phone bill.  Why do we  have all those extra little  charges added on each month?  Verizon is certainly not paying for taxes or fees or anything else they are charged -- you are!  The consumer always eventually pays. That is just the way the economic and business world works and always has. 

I am reminded of the story of how economics works in the mind of a five-year-old.  When told she could not have a certain item she wanted, the little girl was admonished by her father that he just could not afford that little trinket because he did not have enough money.  Whereupon the little girl told him to go to that machine at the bank and get some money.  She told him that machine had plenty of money.  All he needed to do was get some of it. And so I ask you.  Do these Socialistic  Democrats think there is such a machine?   I think they do. 

 From the heart of Olaf Hart

The REAL Heroes

It is good to see and hear about some of our old WW II heroes. We should never forget them. I just saw an article about the "Flying Tigers".  What a bunch of heroes they were.  I was not very old when WW II began and ended.  I was about 7 when Japan bombed Hawaii and Pearl Harbor and plunged us into war.  I do remember that famous announcement made on the radio (no TV back then) in December 1941.  And I saw the war come and finally end with those two big bombs dropped on Japan.  But something that grabbed my attention recently was the news item that the last living Doolittle raider died in his late 90's.

Jimmy Doolittle was the leader of a group of pilots and crews that volunteered to fly B-25 bombers on a raid on Tokyo long before the war was over.  Now let me explain.  These B-25 bombers were NOT jets.  They were old prop driven airplanes.  And these bombs were not little things.  They were tons and tons of weight inside these bombers.  Taking off on solid ground was quite a task.  These old work horses had two engines, each about the size of a VW beetle and so loud one could not hear their fellow passengers shouting at the top of his voice.  Everyone had to wear head sets. But they were powerful engines.  They had to be.

I had the pleasure(?) of riding in a few of these B-25's several times, during my tour of duty in the USAF.  No, I was not a pilot, nor an engineer, nor any part of the crew.  I was just a passenger.  Our AF Band flew around to various venues to entertain the troops and participate in local parades, etc.  And we had to get there somehow.  So the AF sometimes flew us in these old relics just to keep them in working order and give the pilots something to do and get some flying time for their records.  The point is -- I had some experience flying in  these little loud-mouthed, B-25, monsters.

But, back to Jimmy Doolittle and the raiders (sounds like a rock group).  I mentioned that they were barely able to take off on solid ground.  But there wasn't much solid ground close to Japan that we could use.  And with such a heavy load of bombs, it took lots of fuel and they needed to have enough fuel left to get back.  So -- how about a floating runway, closer to Japan, in the Pacific Ocean?  How about an aircraft carrier?  Great idea.  Just take off with a really short runway with a load of explosives in the belly; and have this little short runway bobbing up and down with the waves.  If that works, how about the return home to that carrier?  Now we have this airplane designed to have a nice, flat solid. long runway to land on -- but now that runway is the size of a postage stamp, bobbing along, twisting and turning down below.  And you need to hit it just exactly right and then stop on a dime just to stay dry and get back alive and well.  That was the impossible task.

Well, that did not stop Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders.  They did all this.  And some even had been hit over Japan  with anti aircraft fire and had part of their B-25 bomber missing and not working real well.  But they did the impossible, day after day. These pilots and crews were among some of the great WW II heroes. Not all of them made it back.  But they were determined to drop those bombs on the enemy, and deplete their resources enough that when we did finally get those two big bombs ready to drop and eventually end a war that Japan swore they would never surrender;  the way was cleared by these raiders.  And the last of these heroes is now gone. Now -- RIP -- finally --  every single one of you famous Doolittle Raiders.  We owe you...

From the heart of Olaf Hart

Where do we go from here?

This morning I was watching the news on TV and something struck me, and prompted me to write this blog.  In the Broadcast business, we call this a tease.  Stay with me -- I will reveal this mystery in a few paragraphs.

Back in 1439, a guy named Gutenberg invented a device which completely turned the world upside down.  It changed the way we communicated forever.  His device was -- the printing press.  He used it to print bibles -- lots of bibles ---- much to the chagrin of the church.  They didn't want bibles printed because the general public could begin to read for themselves and the priests would be out of a job.  It was thought that bibles in the hands of the ignorant, downtrodden, would cause a revolution in the church's liturgy and the church would lose control.  But -- That is the subject of another blog.  Suffice it to say this printing press that Gutenberg invented, started something really, really big.

As time went on, the printing press was improved upon and it became quite easy to duplicate hundreds and even thousands of posters and messages to the public.  Newspapers came about pretty quickly, and we all know what the effects of that was.  News was disseminated  -- these printing presses were improved -- movable type --  mechanical lino-type setters -- the web press which could whip out thick newspapers in a flash  Advertisers jumped on board real fast.  As time went on -- huge improvements happened -- computerized printing and digital photographs'  We've seen it all.

Gutenberg's little invention started a revolution in dispensing information, unlike the world had ever seen.  And it is still going.  Even though I spent most of my career in the broadcasting business (we broadcasters like to pretend that newspapers are the scourge of the earth) -- The printed page still has its important place in today's news and advertising world.  We still call all the news organizations "The Press," don't we?

So, what is this big deal I saw on TV this morning? ....  

They are going to "print" an entire rocket ship on several gigantic printing presses!  That is right -- no joke.  The latest technology is 3-D printing of large objects -- like rocket ships.  They have been doing this with small objects for a while.  And printed circuits have been around for years.  But Rocket ships?  I can't wait to see what they are going to print next.  Maybe I will order five or nine  copies of  -- ME -- with good eyes and without the sore muscles and wrinkled skin and high BP, of course.  Hey -- don't laugh -- I never thought they would print a rocket ship -- did you?

Ole Gutenberg is somewhere out there -- smiling  -- I'll bet.

From the heart of Olaf Hart ......