The great technological minds of the 20th century were certainly entitled to their share of clowning. Though seriously starched, Bell Labs—the research octopus of AT&T—had some oddballs walking, and in one case unicycling, its endless corridors. Satellite inventor John Pierce once strolled into a mathematician’s office and shut himself inside a locker, as if grabbing a moment of empathetic darkness for all the nerds who would be involuntarily stuffed into future lockers before growing up to invent things both great and terrible. He freed himself and left the room without a word, hanging a big fat Huh? on his colleague’s face.
There were others. Radar man Jim Fisk—who once said his senses were sharpened by “man-eating flies”—was pretty good at vanishing down nonexistent stairs, an illusion later refined by Austin Powers. (It’s all in the knees.) Transistor pioneer Bill Shockley had a wrist-activated bouquet up his sleeve. Computer visionary Claude Shannon was the unicyclist.
You can happily join this egghead circus in The Idea Factory: Bell Labs and the Great Age of American Innovation, Jon Gertner’s fascinating history of the phone company’s R&D brain from its inception in 1925, on West Street between 11th and 12th in Manhattan, to its federal dismemberment in 1984 and present legacy in your iPhone. At Bell Labs, a sense of humor, not to mention patience, was required during a period that Shockley described as “the natural blundering process of finding one’s way.” The path to lasers, radars, satellites, and decent phone service was full of all manner of unplanned genius and gee-whiz. Bell Labs had to keep “inventing ways to invent those things,” writes Gertner, also a science writer for the New York Times.
Before the first 80-pound mobile phone, there was a robot finger to simulate dialing and a Dropping Machine to gauge “the violence of impact” when hanging up on bad news. A Flintstonian Woodpecker Machine was created to test the resistance of wood finish on telephone poles. Noise was an invasive species in the Bell System. The company diligently gopher-proofed its underground cables and filtered out the ancillary racket that infested conversation, sound effects that did little in discouraging the notion that long distance calls were routed through outer space. A thing to come later, anyway.
In 1921, the federal government exempted AT&T from antitrust regulations, allowing Bell Labs to pursue—as Gertner has it—a “mission to connect all of us, and all of our new machines, together.” (At the time, Russia seemed to take this mission a lockstep further, establishing the Central Institute of Labor laboratory, “machine-human complexes,” as descriptions of the era put it, for bioengineering the “perfect electric man.”) With dibs on the latest innovations, both military and civilian, the feds were wise to grant AT&T, and by dint Bell Labs and its manufacturing division, Western Electric, this elastic courtesy. By 1941, when Bell Labs president O.E. Buckley was heading the National Defense Research Committee, the lab itself had relocated from Manhattan to an expanded facility in Murray Hill, N.J.. The windows were painted black, barbed wire curled inward, and nearly 75 percent of research went to the war machine.
The Idea Factory rightly concentrates on Jim Fisk’s radar research as one of Bell Labs’ most important wartime contributions, instead of, say, Jim Fisk’s proposal to install a swimming pool in the basement of a biscuit factory to study the “propulsion system of sharks” for naval warfare. (I’ve often imagined a visit to Bell Labs in the ’40s being similar to dropping by Q’s MI6 lab.) Bell Labs busied itself with bazookas, magnetic mines, a camera that photographed bullets, and my favorite, the Water Heater. This acoustic torpedo was equipped with a 500-watt speaker that popped out of its nose and played “tactical sounds” to decoy enemy ships, and then, like all the rest, self-destructed.
I learned about the Water Heater from Ralph Miller, a Bell Labs crypto-engineer who successfully arrived at his 105th birthday this month. During the Cold War, Miller carried his underwear and toothbrush in a steel briefcase, in the event of being unexpectedly summoned to work on nuclear subs stationed in Guantanamo Bay. As Gertner may attest, it’s hard scaring up clear living minds from the vacuum-tube generation, and the research behind The Idea Factory is astonishing, drawing from interviews as well as collections and declassified material. Free of online leakage, much of Bell Labs’ military work would not be cleared until long after World War II.
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