Monday, January 18, 2016

Fordite

            This is probably going to be short, as there’s not a whole lot of information on the topic.  It had a very limited window of production, and is gaining in popularity, making it rare, but it’s not really… historical, or a thing that there’s been a lot written about.  There are lots of pictures, so there will be a fair amount here too.  Having grown up and lived most of my life in metro-Detroit, the auto business is everywhere.  This is another one where I’m not sure where I first heard of Fordite, probably on some clickbait article with pretty pictures, to be honest.  But it’s interesting.


            Fordite is a man-made “stone” created in car factories before the 1970s.  It’s also called Detroit Agate, Motor Agate, and paint rock.  The agate moniker comes because of the similarity in appearance to real agates.  Before the 1970s, auto plants painted cars in bays, by hand.  The coats of paint would be heated to harden the paint, and more layers would be added.  Paint would build up in the tracks in the ground, and would also be heated and hardened.  Some of the tracks had up to one hundred layers of paint in them.  The paint would just build up until it became too thick to work around, and then it would be removed.


            James Pease, an auto worker in 1967, “recalls contractors cleaning paint booths during model changes” (1).  An urban legend has it that workers would just bring home pieces for their family members.  Cindy Dempsey, one of the first people to make Fordite jewelry (more on that in a bit), recalled being shown some of this layered paint in the 1970s.  “A family friend who worked for one of the Detroit automakers told her that her vividly painted Pet Rocks … resembled pieces from the plant where he worked.  He brought a chunk and showed it to her” (2).  Cindy “used sandpaper to showcase the paint lump’s colors, then topped the finished stone with varnish.  It became the prototype for her later creations” (3).
            In the late 1970s, the auto companies changed the way they painted cars.  No longer was the process done by hand, and the paint was different too.  The paint nowadays is electrostatically attached to the cars, and there is almost no excess paint sprayed.  Because of this, there’s no buildup of paint on the floor or otherwise.


            Fordite was not unique to Detroit, and the name is misleading: all built up paint from old car factories is called Fordite.  Fordite from Detroit generally has layers of a grey primer between the layers of colorful paint.  In Ohio, where a lot of vans were produced, the colors are more earthy, though there are pops of colors from the 1970s.  In Great Britain, there are more opaque, metallic, and translucent layers (4).  Fordite can be dated by the colors in the pieces: in the 40s there were more blacks and browns, giving way to lots of brighter colors into the 60s.  Fordite collectors and experts can even tell which company or factory the sample came from.


            As mentioned earlier, Cindy Dempsey was one of the first people to make Fordite into jewelry.  Now you can find quite a number of sellers online and, presumably, in shops.  (One website I found, in addition to selling Fordite jewelry, sells jewelry from old bowling balls as well.)  Original Fordite does contain lead, but generally not in levels that are harmful, and not usually unless ingested.  Modern jewelers can recreate Fordite because of it being a finite resource, and so real Fordite is much more valuable.  Fordite is popular for its nostalgia factor and because it is a recycled material and so more eco-friendly.
            So that’s Fordite.  Like I thought, a short article, but pretty pictures!  I’d love to have something made of it, but at the prices it goes for, that’s probably a bit of a long shot unless I save up.  Next week, back to something with a bit more substance!


Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Harold Gillies

            I’m not sure where I first heard about Harold Gillies.  It may have been through a podcast, or maybe in a book I was reading since we’re in the midst of the World War One centenary.  I don’t really know.  But, I remembered him because what he did really stuck with me.  And it turns out he kept doing cool stuff after the First World War!


            Harold Delf Gillies was born on June 17, 1882 in Dunedin, New Zealand, the youngest of Robert and Emily Gillies’ eight children.  Robert was a Member of Parliament and a businessman, but died when Harold was only four.  Because of his positions, though, Robert left his family well taken care of.  Harold followed his brothers to prep school in England, and then to Wanganui College back in New Zealand.  Harold was a skilled artist and throughout school, he was also good at sports, including cricket, golf, and rowing.  After Wanganui, Harold went to Caius College at Cambridge, back in England, and won ribbons for rowing, “despite a stiff elbow sustained sliding down the banisters at home as a child” (1).
            At Cambridge Harold studied medicine and became a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1910, specializing in ear, nose, and throat surgery.  When the First World War broke out, Harold decided to join the Red Cross rather than waiting to be drafted.  In 1915 he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps and went to Wimereux in France.  In France Harold met Charles Auguste Valadier, a French dentist, and Bob Roberts, an American dental surgeon.  Roberts lent Harold a German book about jaw and mouth surgery.  Valadier “was not allowed to operate unsupervised but was attempting to develop jaw repair work” (2).  Valadier was trying early skin grafts on his patients.
            We have to go off on a little bit of a tangent here for a minute and talk about skin grafts and early facial surgeries.  In India, they had been doing a sort of rhinoplasty for centuries, using “crescent shaped flaps of skin … drawn from patients’ foreheads and fashioned into substitute noses” (3).  In the nineteenth century, the French and the Germans “had developed a technique whereby skin could be transferred from one part of the body to another,” “’but appearance was of secondary importance’” (4).  This is probably what was in the book Roberts lent Harold.  Harold saw all this and wanted to make the person look normal, or even better than they looked before.
            Harold left Wimereux for Paris to try and meet Hippolyte Morestin, a renowned surgeon.  Morestin had also done similar surgeries, having removed a tumor on a face and covering it with jaw skin from the patient (5).  After meeting Morestin, Harold returned to England to try and convince “the army’s chief surgeon, [William] Arbuthnot-Lane, that a facial injury ward should be established at the Cambridge Military Hospital, Aldershot” (6).  This ward was quickly outgrown and a new hospital just for this purpose was opened at Sidcup, becoming Queen Mary’s Hospital later on.
            Harold’s artistic abilities played into how he viewed himself as a surgeon, and surgeons in general.  As mentioned earlier, Harold wanted to make his patients look at least as good as they did before their injuries.  He saw facial reconstructive surgeons as a type of artist and plastic surgery as “a strange new art” (7).  In order to have the results he wanted, Harold came up with a number of new techniques for facial surgeries.
            First, Harold made sure to visualize how he wanted the person to look in the end.  He took the time to make drawings on paper, worked with wax, or even made plaster models of his patients.  Secondly, Harold made sure his teams included anyone he could possibly need.  He understood the importance of having a dental surgeon on hand since so much of the facial structure is related to the mouth and jaw.  Thirdly, “because surgery on damaged faces was impossible when a mask was used to anaesthetise the patient, he encouraged anaesthetists to develop alternative techniques, such as using a tube in the trachea” (8).  Harold was also one of the first, if not the first, to document the entire process.  Henry Tonks, a surgeon and painter, helped Harold document both “pre- and post-facial reconstruction cases” (9).
            After the Somme (1916), Harold and his team at Aldershot helped over two thousand men with jaw and facial mutilations (10).  Despite everything he did during World War One, and his fame now for his advancements, “his work during the First World War went largely unnoticed” (11).  Harold was recognized by other countries for his work before he was recognized in England.


            In the early 1920s Harold went to Copenhagen “to treat a number of Danish naval officers and men who had been severely burned in an accident” (12) when a Royal Danish Navy ship exploded.  The Danish government decorated Harold for his services.  Finally, in June 1930, Harold was knighted for his services to England; Arbuthnot-Lane said “Better late than never” (13).
            After World War One, Harold opened a private practice for surgery, gave lectures, taught, and promoted his new techniques.  In 1920 his first book, Plastic Surgery of the Face, was published.  (He would also co-author 1957’s The Principles and Art of Plastic Surgery.)  In 1930, Harold invited his cousin, Archibald McIndoe, to join his practice; McIndoe became well-known for plastic surgery as well, making new advances during the Second World War.  In 1938, Harold and his practice began correcting breast abnormalities, going back to Harold’s wanting to make people look as good or better than they had been.
During World War Two, Harold was called on to be a consultant for the Minister of Health, the Royal Air Force, and the Admiralty; he helped organize plastic surgery units across the country, and trained many Commonwealth doctors in plastic surgery.  After the war, in 1946, Harold was “elected foundation president of the British Association of Plastic Surgeons; he later became honorary president of the International Society of Plastic Surgeons” (14).  In 1948, Norway decorated Harold for his work during World War Two.  He was also made an “honorary fellow of the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons, of the American College of Surgeons and of the Royal Society of Medicine, London” (15).
In 1946, Harold and a colleague performed “one of the first sex reassignment surgery from female to male on Michael Dillon” (16).  In 1951, they performed a male to female sex reassignment surgery; their way of performing this surgery became standard for the next forty years.
Going back a bit, for his personal life, on November 9, 1911, Harold married Kathleen Margaret Jackson in London.  They had four children.  Their oldest son, John, became a RAF pilot during World War Two and spent much of the war as a POW.  Their youngest son, Michael, also became a doctor.  Harold had been good at sports while he was in school, but continued on, becoming a champion golfer.  He also continued with his art, exhibiting at Foyale’s Art Gallery in London in 1948.
In May 1957, Kathleen died, and in November of that year, Harold married Marjorie Ethel Clayton, who had been his surgical assistant.  In August 1960, while operating on the leg of an 18-year-old girl, Harold suffered a “slight cerebral thrombosis” (17).  On September 10, 1960, Harold died at The London Clinic in Marylebone.  Despite his fame and having earned around £30,000 a year between the wars, he only left £21,161 upon his death.  To finish I’m going to quote at length from Sir Heneage Ogilvie, a renowned British surgeon, who wrote in 1962:
“During my life I have only known three surgeons who were undoubtedly first-class.  They were Geoffery Jeferson, Harold Gillies and Russell Brock.  Apart from Arbuthnot Lane, who was before my time, they are the only men in Europe or America who have taken a branch of surgery and by their own effort, by their leadership, their research and craftsmanship, have left it far higher than they found it.  To say that of Gillies is an understatement: he invented plastic surgery.  There was no plastic surgery before he came.  Everything since then, no matter whose name be attached to it, was started by Gillies, perfected by him and handed on by him to lesser men, who have often claimed it as their own” (18).


1, 2, 5, 6, 13, 16, 17 - Harold Gillies

10, 11, 12 - Harold Delf Gillies

Monday, January 11, 2016

Happy birthday, Alice Paul!

I lost track of time this week and don't have a post ready for today.  I will have one tomorrow, but in the meantime...
Happy birthday, Alice Paul!

Monday, January 4, 2016

"They'll say 'Aww Topsy'..."

            When coming up with ideas, for a while I’ve been trying to do people’s births or deaths, or other events, that took place on the date that they would be published.  I haven’t had a lot of success.  At the beginning I wasn’t paying attention and was just picking things (not a bad thing, just a different approach).  When I started trying to pay attention, things that I found interesting didn’t happen on the dates I publish, so I would look close to the date and hope I struck something.  But today we have something that actually happened on today’s date!


            By chance, this topic came up over the weekend too.  My parents were visiting and we put Bob’s Burgers on to watch and to have in the background at various points of their visit.  One of the episodes was the episode “Topsy” where Louise wants to take down her Edison-obsessed substitute science teacher.  The librarian whispers “Topsy” to Louise, causing the kids to look up Topsy.  They watch a video of the elephant’s execution, and eventually there’s a whole musical number about Topsy and Edison being in love…  It doesn’t have all the correct information, but it’s still interesting and has a fun song.  (The song is where today's title comes from.)
            Topsy the elephant was born around 1875 in Southeast Asia.  She was captured by elephant traders and wound up in the United States.  Topsy was sold to the Forepaugh Circus and was billed as the first elephant born in the U.S.  Forepaugh was in competition with Barnum & Bailey over who had the most elephants.  By saying Topsy was born in the U.S., Forepaugh would have a leg up over Barnum & Bailey.  Barnum exposed Forepaugh’s deception though, and so Forepaugh had to stop making the claim.
            Topsy worked for Forepaugh for twenty-five years.  Towards the end of this time, she was gaining a reputation for being a bad elephant; a previous trainer had tried to feed her a lit cigarette – he, or another trainer around this time, was killed.  This reputation would stick with her for the rest of her life.
            Animal trainers at this time were rough with their animals, especially large animals, like Topsy.  Elephants would have hooks used on them near their eyes or elsewhere on their head, to try and get them to cooperate.  Other trainers would use “beatings, hot pokers, and even guns” on the animals they worked with (1).  One of the ways Topsy was promoted was by drawing attention to her crooked tail; the crook in her tail was due to abuse she had suffered.  It’s really no wonder that Topsy grew, seemingly, increasingly violent with all that was done to her.
            In 1902 Topsy was sold to Sea Lion Park at Coney Island.  Around this time, James Fielding Blount was one of the trainers working with Topsy.  He was often drunk and on at least one occasion tried to give Topsy whiskey.  Topsy refused and so Blount got mad and burned her with his cigar.  This upset Topsy even more, and she threw him away from her, causing his death.
Another of Topsy’s trainers, Whitey Ault, had come to Sea Lion Park with her from Forepaugh.  When Sea Lion Park didn’t last, Tospy became part of Luna Park.  Topsy helped move attractions to new locations.  When she didn’t do the work that was expected of her, Whitey got upset and would abuse Topsy.  On one occasion, that we know of, Whitey “prodded her trunk in a ‘savage manner’ with a pitchfork” (2).  Whitey was arrested for “animal cruelty, but later was acquitted because the amount of prodding was deemed acceptable” (3).
On another occasion, a drunk Whitey rode Topsy through the streets of town.  When the police stopped him, he threatened to release Topsy in the streets.  Because of this threat, Whitey was arrested.  Despite all the abuse he had done to her, Topsy was attached to Whitey, and tried to follow him into the police station.  Because she was a ten foot tall, three ton elephant, Topsy got stuck in the entrance and started trumpeting.  Whitey was allowed to take Topsy back to the park, but this was another strike against her.
After his arrest, Whitey was fired from Luna Park.  There weren’t any other elephant handlers around, though, that could handle Topsy.  Frederick Thompson and Elmer Dundy, the owners of Luna Park, wanted to get rid of her one way or another.  Because of her reputation, Topsy wasn’t sellable; they couldn’t even give her away in a raffle.  Thompson and Dundy then decided to kill Topsy, but of course they wanted to turn it into a public spectacle and sell tickets.


When the ASPCA heard about Thompson and Dundy’s plans, they stopped them.  The ASPCA said that tickets could not be sold to such an event.  Thompson and Dundy decided to hold a free event, then, and have press cover it.  How to kill Topsy was another matter.  Luna Park didn’t have a big enough gun to execute the elephant.  Ultimately they decided to try multiple tactics, culminating in Topsy’s electrocution.
Thompson and Dundy, always hungry for a spectacle, advertised the event for January 4, 1903, where “man-killer Topsy would be publicly hanged for her crimes” (4).  The plan was to use “large ropes tied to a steam-powered winch with poison and electrocution planned for good measure” (5).  This, too, was to appease the ASPCA.  Hanging alone was cruel and unusual punishment, they said.  Even New York State had done away with it in favor of the electric chair.
During the 1880s and 1890s, Edison and Tesla (and Westinghouse, backing Tesla) were involved in the “War of Currents”, trying to show if AC or DC was better and safer for use.  During this time, Edison electrocuted a lot of dogs and cats, and even horses and cows, trying to show how dangerous AC was.  Edison’s people even helped develop the electric chair as another way of showing how dangerous AC was.  Due to all this “expertise” the Edison company was called on to perform Topsy’s electrocution.
For Topsy’s execution, her former trainer, Whitey Ault was offered $25 to lead Topsy to the platform where she would be killed.  Despite all their differences over the years, Whitey refused, saying “he wouldn’t do it for a thousand” (6).  Since there was no handler for her, Topsy was very difficult to get into position.  Additionally, she shook off the electrodes that had already been attached to her, and refused to eat the cyanide-laced carrots that were made for her.
Eventually Topsy was able to be put on the platform, and she did eat the carrots (though they didn’t seem to do much on their own).  Once the electrical switch was flipped, Topsy died almost immediately – an Edison worker was electrocuted as well, though he survived.  Despite her having been declared dead, Topsy had a noose strung around her neck for about ten minutes as well, just to be sure.  The ASPCA doctors on hand said it was “the most humane way to kill an animal they had ever seen” (7).
In addition to providing the electricity for the event, the Edison Company also filmed the execution.  Edison probably didn’t attend the event, though his name has been stuck with it for all these years.  It also wasn’t part of the War of Currents, which took place over a decade earlier.  Topsy had fallen into obscurity for about seventy years after her death.  When she was rediscovered, it was false information that has tied Edison to Topsy in such a way.  A lot of places still perpetuate that false information too (including one of the sources I used a bit from, as well as Bob’s Burgers).
After her execution, Topsy’s skin was sent to the Museum of Natural History; her bones were sent to her owner; her legs were turned into umbrella stands (8).  A couple years after her death, Topsy’s three-hundred pound skull was exhumed.  The skull had been buried, pretty much at the spot where she fell, behind Luna Park’s stables.  New elephants in 1905 “sensed her remains and refused to walk in the area” (9).  After the exhumation, the elephants were fine walking over the area.
While Topsy definitely wasn’t the only elephant to have been treated so cruelly by her trainers and owners, the spectacle of her death has made her memorable.  It doesn’t hurt to have her named tied to Edison’s, no matter how tenuously that is.  The film of Topsy’sexecution is available on YouTube (be warned, it is an execution), and there is a memorial to Topsy at the Coney Island Museum.