Part 21
Closely akin to this is another electrical development most pleasing to consider. Years ago, electricity was considered the luxury of the rich. Now electric light is coming to be shed on rich and poor alike. Little by little the shops, factories and dwellings of more humble inhabitants are provided with electricity, so that cleanliness, safety and comfort are by no means confined even to the well-to-do or the more comfortable homes.
One great factor in this change has been the decreasing cost of electricity. Within the last decade, the cost of almost all necessities of life has ascended with leaps and bounds, so that a dollar now, expended in ordinary household goods, will purchase hardly more than what thirty cents would in 1890. But all this while, the cost of electricity has steadily decreased. With centralized generating plants, improved machinery and better lamps, one dollar today will buy eighteen times as much electric light as it would in 1884. With such facts before us, it is fairly easy to predict the still further electrical development of all important centers. There will be more and better light in homes; there will be more and better light in offices and factories, thus greatly lessening the chances for injury or eye-strain. In all industry, great and small, laborious hand processes will be replaced by safely operated electric machinery, while wider use of electric labor-saving appliances will extend into the home.
Hospitals, by aid of electricity, will be able to increase still more their splendid work for the relief of suffering, while cleaner and safer ways of living will serve as a preventive of disease. One can easily say that with increasing electrical development the country will come to be still greater, a country where electricity shall provide for the safety and well-being of all its people.
* * * * *
How is Die-Sinking Done?
Die-sinking is the art of preparing dies for stamping coins, buttons, medallions, jewelry, fittings, etc. The steel for the manufacture of dies is carefully selected, forged at a high heat into the rough die, softened by careful annealing, and then handed over to the engraver. After the engraver has worked out the design in intaglio the die is put through the operation of hardening, after which, being cleaned and polished, it is called a “matrix.” This is not, however, generally employed in multiplying impressions, but is used for making a “punch” or steel impression for relief. For this purpose another block of steel of the same quality is selected, and, being carefully annealed or softened, is compressed by proper machinery upon the matrix until it receives the impression. When this process is complete the impression is retouched by the engraver, and hardened and collared like the matrix. Any number of dies may now be made from this punch by impressing upon it plugs of soft steel.
The Story in the Making of a Magazine[19]
The printing of a few thousand copies of one of the great American magazines would not be a difficult feat for any large first-class printing plant. The putting of the pages into type and running them through the modern job presses could easily be accomplished. But when, instead of a few thousand copies, millions of copies of the magazine are printed, and these millions are produced unfailingly, week after week, month after month, in a quality of printing rivaling the production of but a few thousand copies, then, indeed, is it marvelous how results are attained.
Obviously, one of the first necessities towards such quantity production is extra speed. This is secured to a certain degree by feeding the paper into the presses from rolls instead of sheet by sheet. But as the quality of the print must be retained, there is a limit in this speeding beyond which it is not safe to go. Some other method of increasing the production without lowering the quality of the printed sheet must be resorted to--and this is duplication. By the process of electrotyping, plates of metal duplicating exactly the printing surface of the type and engravings in the original page, can be made. By providing as many presses as may be needed, and by supplying each press with duplicates, or electrotype plates as they are called, the problem of vast quantity requirements has been solved, so far as the actual printing is concerned.
But there are other factors to be considered. For example, the printed sheets, as they come from the press, must be folded to the size of the magazine. This is done in two ways. Machines which take the sheets, one by one, from the completed pile, and fold them to the required size, are used on some publications, while on others a folding machine and a binding attachment are included as integral parts of the press itself. The paper, as it comes from the printing section of the press, is mechanically folded, cut apart, the previously-printed cover sheet wrapped around it, and the whole stapled together with wire stitches. Thus the white paper, which enters the press from the roll in one long ribbon, is delivered at the other end of the press printed, folded and bound up into complete magazines at the rate of sixty each minute. Issues of a magazine of thirty-two, forty-eight, or even more pages, are produced in this manner.
Many magazines, however, have more pages than this. Then it is necessary to print on separate presses the various sections, or signatures as they are called, which, when combined, will make up a complete magazine. If only a few thousand were printed, these signatures could be collected together by hand, and then fed into the wire-stitching machine, also by hand. This method of collecting the sections and binding them together was the one used until editions became so large that mechanical methods became necessary.
Now, however, the various sections which go to make up the magazine are piled in certain troughs of a binding machine, which, with seeming human intelligence, clasps one copy of each section in turn, and combining them with a copy of the cover sheet, conducts them all, properly collated, into the wire-stitching device, from which they are ejected into orderly piles. Some magazines are bound together in a different manner, however, and are not stitched with wire, but have the inside pages and the cover glued together, and an ingenious binding machine has been perfected which does this automatically.
Another marvel of the periodical of our day is the printing of some of the pages in the full colors of the original paintings. To get this result, it is necessary to print the sheet in four colors and to have each printing in exactly the correct spot on the sheet (a variation of only a hundredth of an inch being detrimental). The process would normally be quite slow--too slow, in fact, for the tremendous quantities necessary for the large editions of the modern magazine. Both of these objections have been overcome, however, by arranging four small cylinders, each printing its designated color--yellow, red, blue or black--so that as the sheet of paper travels around a larger cylinder it is brought into contact with the four printing cylinders in rapid succession.
Many magazines print two colors for covers and inside pages, instead of full four-color printings. Presses of a nature somewhat similar to those explained above are used.
So much for the principal mechanical problems and their solutions, in producing millions of magazines of a high quality each week. But there must be some force that keeps this maze of machinery constantly at work, so that all the parts properly co-ordinate. A slip-up at one spot might cause such a delay as would result if, for instance, hundreds of thousands of the inside pages were printed and ready for binding, but lacked the printed covers. To prevent any such calamity in the work rooms, there is usually prepared a daily schedule which plots out what operation, on each issue of the magazine, is to be completed that day; and if by chance any operation is not up to the schedule, immediate steps are taken to speed up the work until the production has been brought back to where it should be.
And this schedule reaches out into the shipping and mailing departments, so arranging it that the first copies off the press are speeded to the far sections of the country. In this way all the copies as they come from the presses are dispatched, so that the man in San Francisco and the man in Philadelphia find the magazine on the news-stand on the same day.
* * * * *
How did the Ringing of the Curfew Originate?
The word “curfew” is derived from the French “couvre-feu,” meaning “cover fire.”
The ringing of the curfew originated in England by William the Conqueror, who directed that at the ringing of the bell at eight o’clock all fires and lights should be extinguished. The law was repealed by Henry I in 1100, but the bell continued to be rung in many districts to modern times and probably may still be heard.
The name was also given formerly to a domestic utensil for covering up a fire.
In the United States an ordinance establishing a curfew, with the purpose of keeping young people off the streets, has existed in Salem, Mass., since Puritan days.
Similar ordinances have of late been adopted in other cities, in general providing that children under fifteen shall not frequent the streets after nine o’clock in summer and eight in winter.
The Story of America’s First Horseless Carriage
Mr. Elwood Haynes tells an interesting story of his first “horseless carriage:”
In 1890 I became interested in the natural gas field at Greentown, Ind. My work took me through the country a great deal, and I drove a horse, of course. The great trouble with the horse was his lack of endurance, and this became more apparent day after day.
One afternoon, or night, rather, while driving home after a hard day’s work, I thought to myself that it would be a fine thing if I didn’t have to depend on the horse for locomotion. From then on my mind dwelt a great deal upon the subject of a self-propelled vehicle that could be used on any country road or city street.
I planned to use the gasoline engine. Even the lightest engines made at that time were very heavy per unit of power, and rather crude in construction.
My work was confined to Greentown, Ind., in 1890 and 1891. In the fall of 1892 I moved to Kokomo, and the following summer I had my plans sufficiently matured to begin the actual construction of a machine. I ordered a one-horse-power marine upright, two-cycle gasoline engine from the Sintz Gas Engine Company of Grand Rapids, Mich.
This motor barely gave one brake horse-power and weighed 180 pounds. (It is interesting to note in this connection, that an aeroplane motor of the same weight readily gives forty horse-power.) Upon its arrival from Grand Rapids, in the fall of 1893, lacking a more suitable place, the motor was brought direct to my home and set up in the kitchen.
When the gasoline and battery connection were installed, the motor, after considerable cranking, was started and ran with such speed and vibration that it pulled itself from its attachments to the floor. Luckily, however, one of the battery wires was wound about the motor shaft and thus disconnected the current. In order to provide against vibration I was obliged to make the frame of the machine much heavier than I first intended.
The machine was built up in the form of a small truck. The framework in which the motor was placed consisted of a double “hollow square” of steel tubing, joined at the rear corners by steel castings and by malleable castings in front. The hind axle constituted the rear member of the frame and the front axle was swiveled at its center to the front end of the “hollow square,” in which the motor and countershaft were placed.
The total weight of the machine when completed was about 820 pounds. July 4, 1894, when ready for test, it was hauled into the country about three miles, behind a horse carriage, and started on a nearly level turnpike.
It moved off at once at a speed of about seven miles per hour, and was driven about one and one-half miles farther into the country. It was then turned about, and ran all the way into the city without making a single stop.
I was convinced upon this return trip that there was a future for the “horseless carriage,” although I did not at that time expect it to be so brilliant and imposing.
The Story in a Sausage[20]
Away back in the dark ages, even before the Christian era, a Chinese husbandman, so we are told, made a wonderful discovery--that pork was good to eat. No one had ever considered the possibility of eating pork, for in those days pigs were pets, and just as every family today has its dog “Rover,” so then, every family had its pig “Scraps.”
One day the house of Char-Lee was burned to the ground. The cause of the fire is unknown. Char-Lee was filled with remorse and, as he walked about among the ruins of his home, he felt that the gods of Good Luck had indeed turned their backs on him. As he was thus bewailing his misfortunes, he stumbled over a charred timber and fell flat on the ground. In lifting himself to his feet, he burned the fingers of his right hand, and, as does a child, he immediately proceeded to suck those fingers.
Imagine his amazement to find clinging to his fingers a substance most luscious to the taste, and most gratifying to the palate! He looked to see what it could be, and--behold, he saw that it was the remains of “Scraps,” who had been lost in the burning house and roasted as perhaps never has a pig been roasted since.
Eager to further enjoy this new delicacy, Char-Lee proceeded to feast himself, and it was then he found that pork not only pleases and gratifies--but satisfies. Desiring to share his new delights with his friends and neighbors, he called them together and they had a wonderful feast. From that day to this we have eaten roasted pork.
It was many, many years later that a Roman farmer, living on a beautiful little farm at the mouth of the Tiber, formed the habit of putting fresh pork in a covered pan and burying the whole deep in the cool sands by the water’s edge. But one day he put the pan too near the edge and at high tide the salt water from the ocean came up, filled the pan, and so smoothed the surface of the sands that he was unable to find the place where he had buried the container.
After several fortnights he accidentally found his meat again. He examined it carefully and was surprised to find that it had seemingly kept in perfect condition, the only trouble being that the water had gotten into his pan and his meat was all wet. So he carried it to his house, and, putting a long skewer through the piece, he hung it high above the fire in his open hearth, to dry it off before he should wish to roast it.
Later in the day he set out with two companions for a two-days’ hunting expedition in the woods. As the party returned, laden with the spoils of the hunt, his cook was preparing a meal for them. As he walked into the house, he thought of his piece of pork. You can readily imagine his astonishment when he found that the smoke from the smouldering embers, while he was away, had turned the meat a deep cherry hue, and that the fire, built up to prepare the home-coming feast, had broiled the piece to a nicety. It savored of an aroma so rare that it was given preference over even the choice pheasants which had been prepared.
This was the first time a cured and smoked piece of pork had ever been eaten, but could you have seen how delighted these men were with the result of this accidental preparation, you would have known from their enthusiasm that cured, smoked pork would one day have a very great popularity.
Later, a farmer and his family decided that they would like to eat meat even during the summer months when the activity of haying season made it impossible to prepare it in the usual way, and so, in March, or during some other convenient cool period, he would kill the pig which had been fattening all winter, and dissect the carcass into hams, shoulders, bacon sides and mess pork.
These parts were cured by different methods; one very popular way was to put the hams and shoulders on about an inch of salt in the bottom of a barrel, keeping these parts around the edge so as to leave room for the mess pork and bacon sides in the center. Each part would be carefully rubbed with salt before it was packed away, and slits were cut from the surface of the hams to the bone, so that one might force salt in them, thus keeping the meat from turning sour. The top of the meat was sprinkled with sugar and saltpetre. A small barrel head was laid on the top of the meat and a heavy stone placed on the head so as to hold the meat firmly in place. At the end of a week just enough water was added to cover the barrel head.
Lard Type Hogs]
Another way was to make a very strong salt brine. To this brine would be added a little sugar and saltpetre, and, after packing the meat the same as in the other case, enough of this brine would be added to entirely cover the meat. By not letting the brine get old, or by keeping plenty of salt on it, the meat could be kept in this way for several months, but would be available for use at any time.
Hams and shoulders were always smoked at the end of about two months. When getting ready to smoke some pieces, the farmer would first soak them twenty-four hours in clear, cold water. By tying a string through the shank of a ham and running this string up through a hole in the bottom of an inverted barrel, he could secure it by tying to a small stick on the outside of the hole. Under the barrel he would build a small fire, sometimes of corncobs, sometimes of hardwood and sawdust. It was the task of the small boy of the family to start this fire in the morning and maintain it all day, the idea being to keep a fire which was not too hot but which would give off plenty of smoke.
At the end of three days the meat was considered thoroughly smoked, although some men liked it smoked much longer. After it had cooled off from the smoking it was hung in a cool, dry place or packed in a barrel of oats, so as to keep it from getting a damp mold and spoiling.
When a farmer had killed a hog, he would render out certain of the fats in an iron caldron. He would take certain parts of the meat and make his home-made sausages, but further than that, by-products were practically unknown.
The foregoing might be considered a short synopsis of the pork-packing industry up to the point which we will call the Modern Era.
This period had a small start back in the early days when a small dealer would kill a few hogs, sell the sausage and lard and cure and smoke the parts, carrying them as far into the summer months as he could, selling them out to his trade. Various methods were resorted to in order to keep mold and insects from spoiling the product. Perhaps the most generally used of these methods was to sew the piece of meat in a canvas sack and paint it with barytes. This gave them an airtight container for the meat and enabled them to keep smoked meats all during the summer months.
The advent of refrigeration, however, really marked the beginning of the modern packing era. When men learned the control of temperature it became possible for slaughter houses to assume such proportions as to warrant scientific research for the best possible methods of carrying on the business.
The story of the development of these methods would be almost endless, but a trip through an up-to-date packing plant of the present day will show what time has brought about.
As the hogs come in from the farmers and shippers they are received by the live stock department, where they are carefully sorted and graded, and then run into holding pens, to carry over until they shall be driven to slaughter. These pens must hold thousands of hogs, for although the stock is held two or three days at the most before it is slaughtered, we must remember that the more important of the packing houses kill thousands of hogs each day, so these pens must be more or less gigantic affairs. The more modern of them are constructed of concrete and brick, and are a picture of cleanliness and sanitation. They are well protected by substantially built roofs and side walls so that the animals are not exposed to the weather at any time of the year.
Veterinarians in the employ of the government examine all the hogs that come into these pens, and any that seem to be at all sickly, or for any reason unfit for food, are held out.
On the killing floor a small army of men is engaged in the business of cleaning and dressing the carcass of the hog. Each man has his particular part of the work to do, and to this end the hogs are conveyed around the room past the various workmen by means of an endless chain and trolley, so that each butcher’s work is put right before him and he does not have to make any unnecessary moves. The whole department works like one vast machine, and each man is a very definite and necessary cog in the whole scheme of procedure.
Perhaps the most wonderful thing about this department is the perfection that they are able to reach in cleaning the carcasses. The hogs are first run through a great machine which takes all but a few stray hairs from them. This machine contains a number of rotating beaters and high-pressure streams of water.
As soon as they come out of the machine, the men on the rail finish the job of cleaning the carcass and each animal is then run through a high-pressure washing machine so that it is absolutely clean before a single incision is made in it.
The workmen all stand on high benches, up from the floor, and under the hogs we find troughs to keep any scraps from getting under the workmen’s feet. The floors at all times are kept as clean as can be, and the meat is taken away quickly so that there is no chance of contamination of the finished product with the hogs which are just coming from the slaughter house.