Bootstraps still work

I’m all for mutual aid, but not if it means forgetting that nearly any group of people can pool resources and accomplish at least some small step toward improving their lives. After a disaster hit my community ten years ago, it became instantly clear whose instinct was to step up and whose to bemoan the failure of outside saviors to show up immediately and fix everything.

Not that an astounding number of outsiders didn’t show up; they did. They just weren’t the federal government, for the most part. After several years, some federal money did start trickling in by means of FEMA block-grants to Texas officials, though the effort was mired in red tape at every step. The most obvious and immediate help, however, came from the local power company and its multi-state network of outside power workers, who streamed in as an incredible convoy that had to be housed all over the small general-aviation county airport. The guy in charge of our multi-county region for the power company was aghast when his bosses assumed it would take months to get out power back on. He rallied the troops and got it back on in under three weeks, despite having to replace nearly every power pole and piece of substation equipment in the county. He’s now the commissioner of my precinct, having retired from the power company in the meantime.

The next wave of help was crowds of individuals or couples with Skid-Steers and chainsaws, many of whom used their annual vacation breaks to show up unannounced and volunteer to clear brush for anything from a weekend to a couple of weeks. My county government being helpless to respond to them at the time, they got access to the pastor network and called around until they learned of a community with enough un-evacuated residents and enough self-organization to wave them in, show them where to go (with most street signs down), and provide them with evidence that absent homeowners gave them permission to get to work. We got a lot done in the month or two it took the county to get nervous and start passing some (largely ignored) ordinances obstructing the hiring of any contractors not on an official central list.

The third wave was half a dozen or more well-organized charitable organizations, largely church-affiliated, who started rebuilding homes. Chief among them were the Amish, who came down in rotating busloads every few weeks and did fantastic work. By this time the county had enough sense to leave them alone and let them work. Next up in impact probably was Good Samaritans, who won my complete loyalty and admiration by building many homes for people with no other options. Eventually the Texas General Land Office did some good work rebuilding several dozen homes with grants.

I was reminded of all this today by an article about the experience of a D.C. bureaucrat who moved out to a small rural community and watched his neighbors pass the hat to save a local annual fair after town officials stripped the local budget by fraud, mismanagement, or both.

My ambition for my home communities has always been to function so well that no outside entity is tempted to show up and “help,” even when they already have legal authority to do interfere, which they probably shouldn’t have been granted in the first place. Luckily, they can often be held at bay if local residents can say, “Thanks, we’re good.” At the very least, my neighbors will be in a strong enough position to decline the help with the most obnoxious strings attached.

Wet blankets

The perspective of a German immigrant to the U.S.:

“Germany gave me a lot…. But Germany also gave me something I had to unlearn. A voice in my head that said, ‘Be careful. Do not stand out. Do not dream too big. Do not be too proud. Do not risk too much. And definitely do not say America might actually be amazing.’ That voice was not always loud. It sounded reasonable. It sounded mature, but slowly it made my world smaller. And I did not even notice it until I moved here. That is what Europe does to a lot of people. It does not crush your dreams dramatically. It just makes them feel embarrassing.”

A number of Americans and American institutions are on board pushing the German program as hard as they can. Good news that even this German newcomer can resist their joyless conformity and pessimism.

How Mark Twain Lost His Money

 

Image

For about four hundred years since the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press, typesetting was done by hand.  It was a very labor-intensive process: the piece of type for each letter had to be taken out of its box and placed at the appropriate position in the type galley…then, after the printing was complete,  the type pieces all had to be returned to their proper places for later re-use. With the growth of literacy and the ever-increasing number of publications, it became obvious that a better way was needed.

So it’s unsurprising that when the writer Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain…who had himself worked as a printer and who then owned a publishing company…heard of an invention that could mechanize this process, he was excited and took the opportunity to invest in it…with multiple follow-on investments reaching a large scale. The system, called the Paige Compositor, was a failure, and Twain lost the majority of his wealth.

Yet at roughly the same time, in the 1890s, another approach to typesetting automation was developed under the name Linotype….and it was a great success. Linotypes dominated publishing for a century, from the beginning of the 20th century up through the year 2000 and beyond.

Why did Linotype succeed where Paige failed?

The Paige functioned by closely emulating the work of a human typesetter. For each character entered on the keyboard, the machine would fetch the appropriate type element and insert it into the line.  When the line was complete, it would justify the text…add spaces between words in order to make the entire line length come out even. It did this following the human-typesetter precedent: a selection of spacing type pieces were available, and the appropriate ones would be selected based on the number of words and the number of characters.  This required, first, a mechanical implementation of the mathematical operation of division, and, second, placing one of the selected spacing type pieces between each word and the next one. (The division operation was implemented by a mechanical lookup table, in the form of a 2-dimensional cam)

Finally, after printing was complete, the type elements could be poured into the machine and it would sort them for re-use. It could do this simultaneously with composing new text.

It’s no wonder that Twain was impressed with the idea, and even more so when he saw the machine in action.

But the Paige machine was extremely complex, with more than 15,000 parts and it could not be understood, let alone maintained, by the typical composing-room mechanic.

Meanwhile (1880s-1890s), another system was being developed to solve the same automatic-typesetting problem, but in a different way. It would be called the Linotype. Instead of selecting actual type elements like the Paige, this system selected molds for the characters.  When the line was complete and justified, hot lead was poured into the mold, and a complete line was formed and ejected. It was this molded line that was used for printing, the molds themselves were returned for re-use very quickly.

How did the Linotype do justification? Instead of calculating the needed spacing and then inserting the spaces in the text, Linotype inserted wedges in the spaces between words.  When the line was complete, all the wedges were pushed up as far as they would go, so that the same spacing was applied to all inter-word gaps. This was basically an analog approach  as opposed to the digital approach employed by the Paige’s 2D cam for spacing calculations.

The Linotype still had a lot of parts: 5000 as opposed to the Paige’s 15000, and apparently the Paige could operate faster (when it was working), but the reliability problems were never solved. One of the issues was that the individual type elements of the Paige were apparently a lot less robust than the molds used by the Linotype. Claude explains:

The Linotype recirculated brass matrices — thick, rugged, durable molds designed specifically to survive endless mechanical handling. A matrix’s only jobs were to be a mold and to be sortable, so it could be engineered entirely around those requirements. The Paige machine had to distribute actual foundry type: thin, soft lead-alloy pieces whose primary job was to be a good printing surface. That type had to be delicate enough to print finely, uniform enough to sort mechanically, and durable enough to survive repeated automated handling — competing requirements that made the whole system finicky. A slightly worn or bent piece of type could jam the works or produce bad printing, whereas a brass matrix just kept circulating for years.

Fundamentally, the reason why the Linotype succeeded where the Paige failed was that the second machine tried to emulate directly what a human would do, whereas the Linotype was developed from first principles.  This is analogous to the early aviation ideas based on emulating birds with flapping wings versus the later approach that actually worked.

Some links:

A Scientific American article on the Paige, from 1901

A long article on the Paige and the Linotype

A video from the Mark Twain House & Museum, where the surviving Paige machine is on display

China gets back in the race

China is catching up to Starlink’s mind-boggling success in re-landing rockets safely, and already has outstripped anything the U.S. government accomplished in that area.

In other news covered by the valuable Ars Technica site, SpaceX may launch another mission as early as Thursday of this week. The mechanics will be similar to the last launch, but this time will include 20 real satellites instead of mock-ups. SpaceX’s satellite grid has reached amazing proportions. Lately I’ve noticed that many more of my neighbors are jettisoning Spectrum, which has been one of the few internet providers available in this rural county but is plagued with frequent outages. My neighbors are gradually, in ones and twos, discovering Starlink service, which I’ve been recommending on local social media for 5 years now. Our county government has been mucking about for many years trying to snag grants to install a huge regional fiberoptic circuit, when they’d have done better to get Starlink service years ago. The fiberoptic circuit was planned to serve only government agencies at first, with a promise that eventually private providers would be allowed to plug in via license. So far the project is exactly nowhere. Although  a cable company in recent years has been creeping toward our street, options at our home are still limited to either satellite or extremely iffy local WiFi with a line-of-sight tower connection to iffy cable service in town 10 miles away.

Also on the Musk front: We are at long last the proud owners of a minor amount of SpaceX stock, which we’re slowly acquiring this year on a monthly cost-averaging basis. I hated missing out on the IPO, purely on dramatic grounds, but this is more sensible for small investors like us.

The Washington Post, Saying Grace, and The 1869 Project

I have found the best way to consume traditional media – New York Times, CNN, Washington Post – is not as news but instead as lifestyle outlets for the Left. Enter their domain and you are settled into a comfortable, warm bath of lefty worldviews stretching from politics to culture.

Some of them do it better than others. The Times actually makes a profit, mostly due to its non-news divisions. The Washington Post,  not so much.

So, while waiting for a flight, I decided to take a tour through the front page of the Washington Post.

I finished my tour wondering if I had just read the Babylon Bee or the hometown paper of the administrative state.

Of course the Post’s political coverage is written through the perspective of heroic resistance against Trumpian fascism, using as metaphor either DC undergoing a modern-day London Blitz (as Trump tears down the East Wing and puts his name on the Kennedy Center), or as the center of resistance in a city under enemy occupation. Residents of Georgetown and McLean can experience the cheap thrill of danger as they contemplate Trump’s Gestapo (ICE) roaming the streets, rounding up Resistance figures (aka civil servants and NGO employees), and carting them off to Alligator Alcatraz.

I cannot wait to see the memorial on the National Mall.

A couple things in that day’s Post stuck out.

First up.

“What ‘Little House on the Prairie’ got wrong about America.” So apparently Netflix has produced an adaptation of Wilder’s book and updated it for modern sensibilities. No, they didn’t cast one of the Wilder children as transgender, but as Post writer Monica Hesse lets us know about Wilder’s books:

By modern standards, the series is flawed. Every parent I know who has tried to read the books to their children today describes reaching the passages depicting Native Americans and frantically skipping paragraphs on the fly. And in case anyone was curious: Mid-20s, the age Almanzo Wilder was when he met Laura, is not a great age to start courting a teenager.

“Every parent.” I drew a lot of curious looks at the airport gate when I laughed aloud at that one. I think Ms. Hesse needs to get out more. As far as Almanzo courting “teenagers”, and customs of the time, he wasn’t a sexual predator and Wilder was an adult when they were married.

I wonder what Monica Hesse, the Post’s first “gender reporter”, would say about lefty hero Harvey Milk “courting” teenagers.

Hesse starts to wrap up by telling us what the Netflix adaption is really about:

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this new “Little House” TV series is coming out at the same time as America’s 250th birthday, just like the Gilbert version came out shortly before its 200th. Because the story of the Ingalls family is the perfect story to ponder at major national celebrations. At times that call for us to think about the United States, and our place in it, and whom it’s for and how it’s built.

So “Little House on the Prairie” is being reinterpreted as settler colonialism. Call it The 1869 Project, America’s real origin story.

Moving on.

Read more