M
Max Hauser
The intrigue of mysterious, forbidden boxes seems to be timeless. An
ancient precedent probably informed the 1955 US film-noir _Kiss Me Deadly,_
an intense, sinister movie directed by Robert Aldrich, and credited with
inspiring the French New Wave film movement of the late 1950s. (Its
particular Box is vague, radioactive, and Bad News.)
One of the memorable anecdotes in the analog electronics world is an episode
in the late 1960s with another Box, this one benevolent. (It illustrates
the costs of accuracy.) The Box was a US standard voltage reference in use
for the Apollo manned space-flight program.
This particular reference was a registered primary standard cell, requiring
monthly trips to Washington, DC for certification by the US National Bureau
of Standards. (A technology later superseded at NBS, I understand, with the
combination of Josephson junction and Cesium clock.)
A laboratory near Boston used this cell, and monthly a technically skilled
courier carried it to Washington for certification. The cell, actually
cells (triplicate), in their carrier, made up an impressive Box with chrome
and heavy leather strap. It took a separate seat on the airplane.
On this particular run, the courier job fell to an employee who had never
done it before, I'll call him Herb. All was organized in advance; Herb got
instructions. Car will take you and Box to airport, another car will meet
you in Washington, etc.
Herb and the Box were strapped into their adjacent seats on the airplane.
It was a serious, unusual-looking cargo. It could even be mistaken for
something sinister. (For example, what Gert Fröbe, a few years earlier in
_Goldfinger,_ had called a "device.") On a flight to Washington. A
curious stewardess asked what it was. And what of all possible things did
Herb answer? "A bomb."
The flight attendant was professional, said nothing, made the required call;
the plane waited. Police arrived. They looked at Herb and at the Box and
were not reassured. "Come with us, please." Herb balked. He was on an
important mission for the Space Program, he had his duty. Things got tense.
The situation was explained to him more plainly, and Herb came along.
At a room in the airport, they demanded to know what was in the Box. Herb
told them. "OK," they said, "open it up." Herb balked again. (You don't
unseal a registered primary standard cell.) Another standoff. Herb
persuaded them to call his laboratory, where exasperated personnel got in
touch with their own government connections, leading to yet a further
impasse as one set of officials wanted to have their way with Herb and his
Box, and the other to liberate the pair. Eventually Herb was released to
his own officials. (What they thought at the time of his sense of humor I
don't know).
Herb came out of it OK in the circumstances, though with a great deal of
ribbing. The Box resumed its monthly trips; accuracy prevailed. Herb's
first experience escorting it was his last.
Max Hauser
Copyright 2004
ancient precedent probably informed the 1955 US film-noir _Kiss Me Deadly,_
an intense, sinister movie directed by Robert Aldrich, and credited with
inspiring the French New Wave film movement of the late 1950s. (Its
particular Box is vague, radioactive, and Bad News.)
One of the memorable anecdotes in the analog electronics world is an episode
in the late 1960s with another Box, this one benevolent. (It illustrates
the costs of accuracy.) The Box was a US standard voltage reference in use
for the Apollo manned space-flight program.
This particular reference was a registered primary standard cell, requiring
monthly trips to Washington, DC for certification by the US National Bureau
of Standards. (A technology later superseded at NBS, I understand, with the
combination of Josephson junction and Cesium clock.)
A laboratory near Boston used this cell, and monthly a technically skilled
courier carried it to Washington for certification. The cell, actually
cells (triplicate), in their carrier, made up an impressive Box with chrome
and heavy leather strap. It took a separate seat on the airplane.
On this particular run, the courier job fell to an employee who had never
done it before, I'll call him Herb. All was organized in advance; Herb got
instructions. Car will take you and Box to airport, another car will meet
you in Washington, etc.
Herb and the Box were strapped into their adjacent seats on the airplane.
It was a serious, unusual-looking cargo. It could even be mistaken for
something sinister. (For example, what Gert Fröbe, a few years earlier in
_Goldfinger,_ had called a "device.") On a flight to Washington. A
curious stewardess asked what it was. And what of all possible things did
Herb answer? "A bomb."
The flight attendant was professional, said nothing, made the required call;
the plane waited. Police arrived. They looked at Herb and at the Box and
were not reassured. "Come with us, please." Herb balked. He was on an
important mission for the Space Program, he had his duty. Things got tense.
The situation was explained to him more plainly, and Herb came along.
At a room in the airport, they demanded to know what was in the Box. Herb
told them. "OK," they said, "open it up." Herb balked again. (You don't
unseal a registered primary standard cell.) Another standoff. Herb
persuaded them to call his laboratory, where exasperated personnel got in
touch with their own government connections, leading to yet a further
impasse as one set of officials wanted to have their way with Herb and his
Box, and the other to liberate the pair. Eventually Herb was released to
his own officials. (What they thought at the time of his sense of humor I
don't know).
Herb came out of it OK in the circumstances, though with a great deal of
ribbing. The Box resumed its monthly trips; accuracy prevailed. Herb's
first experience escorting it was his last.
Max Hauser
Copyright 2004
