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Invention & Technology MagazineSummer 2001    Volume 17, Issue 1
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NOTES FROM THE FIELD


VIDEODISCS FROM THE 1920s

Records of actual broadcasts from the dawn of television can be watched today
BY FREDERIC D. SCHWARZ

UNTIL RECENTLY, REsearchers into preWorld War II television had only contemporary descriptions and blurry still photos of glowing screens to rely on. Now, however, a Scotsman named Donald F. McLean has managed to extract moving images from television signals that were recorded onto shellac phonograph disks as early as 1927—when most people were still getting used to radio.

The existence of the disks has been known for decades among television historians and engineers. Whenever someone tried to play one, however, the result was unrecognizably distorted. Then McLean, who originally trained as an electrical engineer, analyzed the disks’ content with a computer, which allowed him to store and analyze the signal. The result, which he describes in his recently published book Restoring Baird’s Image (London: Institution of Electrical Engineers), provides a unique and thoroughly unexpected glimpse at how television looked in its paleolithic era.

The disks McLean has restored are of two types. The first set was recorded between September 1927 and March 1928 by John Logic Baird, the Scottish-born television pioneer, who was experimenting at his London studios with what he called Phonovision. Earlier in the decade, Baird had developed a system that divided images into 30 vertical bands (known as lines) and updated them 12Vz times per second. (Modern American television, by contrast, has 525 horizontal lines and 30 frames per second.) Images were scanned mechanically with a Nipkow disc, which had a spiral of lenses around the outer edge of a large spinning wheel. The resultant television signal was broadcast over ordinary radio frequencies.

After Baird had worked out the bugs and formed a company, he investigated the possibilities of recording his television signals. He and his staff made a number of silent test discs, which showed such things as a hand moving in front of a puppet head and a woman talking and laughing. Recorded at a rate of about four frames per second, each disc held about three minutes’ worth of images.

McLean’s second set of disks consists of amateur home recordings, made on aluminum discs, of BBC Television Service broadcasts from the early 1930s. While retaining the 30-line standard, these broadcasts did not use Baird’s mechanical system but instead scanned electronically, as in modern television.

McLean’s book gives extensive detail on how he reconstructed the disks’ content. First he played them on conventional phonographic apparatus and recorded the signal, which he digitized. Next he had to decide where each 30-line frame began and ended, a tricky matter because the signals lack any sort of timing information. He figured that out by laboriously comparing the contents of each frame with the ones before and after and repeatedly adjusting his work to get as close a match as possible. This method was far from foolproof because the contents of a frame can change considerably in a quarter of a second, especially with only 30 lines to go on.

Having aligned the frames, McLean used clever algorithms to strip out extraneous noise (caused by resonances between different parts of the apparatus, for example), restore missing information resulting from degradation of the recording medium, and otherwise clean up the images to give some idea of what a 1920s or 1930s viewer would have seen. To make things even harder, he had to write all the necessary programs himself. Off-theshelf signal-processing software was useless, since something that has the electronic profile of a click or pop on a sound recording may be a legitimate part of a video signal.

Along the way, McLean dealt with such arcana as stylus profiles (an incorrectly designed stylus would distort the playback) and equalization characteristics (instead of the now-universal RIAA standard, which boosts certain frequencies in audio recordings, the recordings use the older Blumlein characteristic, which treats all frequencies the same). Another essential concern was the seemingly simple matter of centering the disk on the turntable: With precise time relations so vital, a small deviation that yields a minor “wow” on audio can virtually destroy a video image. He also learned the importance of using a tangential tracking arm, in which the stylus travels along an exact radius, instead of the pivoting arm found on most audio turntables.

To examine extracts of the videos, visit McLean’s Web site, www.dfm.dircon.co.uk. His book can be purchased through the Institution of Electrical Engineers at www.iee.org.uk.

 
RING OUT THE OLDS
Changes in the automotive market spell doom for a century-old marque
by Michael Lamm

With heavy hearts, car lovers noted the recent passing of Oldsmobile, America’s longestrunning automotive nameplate. Oldsmobiles first went on sale back in 1899, and at the dawn of autodom, when motorcars were still new and brash, the company’s Curved Dash Olds (CDO) taught Americans how to drive. Oldsmobile built more than 19,000 CDOs between 1901 and 1906, outselling any other make. Many owners became so enamored of these simple, rugged machines that they kept them in their barns and garages long after they had graduated to more modern cars. An estimated 1,000 CDOs survive even today.

For its first few decades, Oldsmobile remained in isolation in Michigan’s capital, Lansing, far from the center of carmaking in Detroit. Its vehicles grew from the 650-pound single-cylinder $650 CDO to the massive 1910-12 Oldsmobile Limited, a car that weighed 5,160 pounds and cost $5,000. After that, Olds built a variety of Fours, Sixes, and flathead V-8s.

Then, in the 1920s, Alfred P. Sloan, Jr., the president of General Motors, in keeping with his corporate strategy of “a car for every purse and purpose,” acquired Oldsmobile and made it his centrist line. It stood in the middle price range of GM’s nameplates, between Chevrolet and Pontiac below it and Buick and Cadillac above. Jean Shepherd’s reminiscences of his father, a steel-mill worker, proudly driving an Oldsmobile in The Phantom of the Open Hearth was the perfect casting of an automobile in American family life. The elder Shepherd had upward-mobilized himself beyond GM’s entry-level cars and could now aspire to a Buick or even, someday, a Cadillac.

Oldsmobile and Cadillac were, in the days just before and after World War II, GM’s two most innovative divisions. Olds introduced its semiautomatic safety transmission in 1938 and co-introduced the fully automatic Hydra-Matic in 1940. It also pioneered the modern, lightweight overhead-valve V-8 for 1949 (again along with Cadillac, but in a different engine) and produced the front-wheeldrive Toronado coupe for 1966.

The Olds 88 dominated latemodel stock-car racing from 1949 through 1951 and was the car to beat at stoplight drags. Only a Cadillac could stay with it. In bang-for-a-buck terms, the early Olds 88 had no peers. Throughout the next three decades, Oldsmobile continued to excel in style, performance, and value. As late as the mid1980s, it consistently sold more than a million cars a year.

After that, as Olds’s innovation began to lag, and its image even more so, the sales chart started going downhill (though, as late as 1995, Olds could still introduce the stylesetting Aurora sedan). The beginning of the end may have come in 1990, with the introduction of the slogan “Not Your Father’s Oldsmobile.” Besides seeming to shun one of the most distinguished histories in the automotive industry, the campaign (which featured Ringo Starr being chased by a gaggle of blue-haired matrons) may have alienated many not-so-old car buyers without attracting enough younger ones. By last year, Oldsmobile’s total sales were down to 300,000, and with Sloan’s brand-loyal approach looking increasingly out of place in the fragmented twenty-firstcentury marketplace, General Motors had little reason to maintain the division. Lovers of cars and language alike are left to wonder what might have been if only Oldsmobile had survived and the nowubiquitous phrase “not your father’s” hadn’t.

NOTE: The following was written by Michael Lamm, a frequent contributor to I&T.


 
 
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