PRIME PERFORMANCE
The shortcomings of early electric cars are part of the reason the Tesla Roadster is so noteworthy. It seems to address all of the old problems: it’s completely electric, it’s easy to recharge, it looks great, and it accelerates as quickly as many lesser sports cars.
That latter quality especially is what the Lotus Company, which makes the Tesla, is banking on as its ace in the hole. The Tesla may be environmentally friendly, but it’s not bank-account friendly. A fully loaded Tesla, delivered to your door, will set you back $100,000, although a $30,000 model is supposedly in the works. Lotus hopes to offset resistance to the price tag with the Tesla’s cash savings (in gas) over time. On the other hand, Martin Ebehard, former chairman of Silicon Valley–based Tesla Motors, told the New York Times in 2006 that the way to get a new product into the mass market is to sell it to rich people. “Cell phones, refrigerators, color TVs, they didn’t start off by making a low-end product for [the] masses,” he said. “They were relatively expensive, for people who could afford it.” The companies that sold those products at first, Ebehard continued, did so, “not because they were stupid and they thought the real market was at the high end of the market,” but because that was how to get production started.
TESLA OR “TOM”?
The car’s name is a nod to Nikola Tesla, a onetime employee of Thomas Edison and the man who came up with the idea of alternating electric currents. It was Edison, however, who spent a lot of time trying to create electric batteries for horseless carriages. Maybe we should nickname these sexy new sportscars “Toms.”
AN AWARD ORIGIN
MacArthur Genius Grant: John D. MacArthur made millions as the owner of several insurance companies in the 1930s and 1940s. His wife, Catherine, held board member positions at many of her husband’s firms. When John MacArthur died in 1978, most of his fortune was used to start the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation. The major work of the charity is the awarding of the MacArthur Fellowship, or “Genius Grant.” Between 20 and 40 Americans each year—nominated by a small selection committee—receive $500,000 dispensed over five years as an “investment in a person’s originality, insight, and potential.” Among the more than 700 winners are historians, writers, scientists, artists, musicians, and inventors. Writer Thomas Pynchon, paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould, and critic Henry Louis Gates are all MacArthur fellows.
THE LI’L SPEED RACER AWARD
Toy Cars
They’re fun to run on a track or along a sidewalk. They’re
fueled by fantasy or based in reality. Either way, they’re
at the top of the heap for childhood memories.
CAR WARS
Some debates are so classic that they can’t be resolved: The Godfather vs. The Godfather Part II. Who’s stronger, Superman or the Incredible Hulk. Or which toy cars are better—Matchbox or Hot Wheels?
To understand this fight fully, it’s essential to understand the differences between the two lines:
Matchbox: Introduced first in Britain in 1953, and then in the United States in 1954; manufactured realistic play versions of cars kids would see on the street.
Hot Wheels: Introduced in 1968; created fantasy-oriented cars that included racing stripes and flame decals, along with realistic versions of American muscle cars.
When Hot Wheels were introduced, Matchbox saw its sales plummet. The public seemed to prefer Hot Wheels’ sporty, colorful line. But that’s hardly the end of this story.
ROUND AND ROUND
Matchbox began in 1953 when Jack Odell, co-owner of a die-casting company called Lesney, developed a toy car for his daughter. She liked to take spiders to school in matchboxes, so he made her a small toy to take instead. The first car his company produced was based on a toy steamroller it was already making in a larger size. A mini dump truck and a cement mixer followed for an initial offering of three different Matchbox vehicles. The model cars were a hit, and other makes and models were soon introduced. For the next 15 years, Matchbox dominated the market, selling more toy cars than any other company. But in 1968, a competitor entered the scene and shook up the race.
MEET THE COMPETITION
A year earlier, one of the founders of Mattel Toys, Elliot Handler, had an idea to design model cars with low-friction wheels that made the toys race at speeds that would have equaled almost 300 miles per hour if they were actual size. Reportedly, Handler remarked, “Wow, those are hot wheels!” after seeing one perform, and a brand name was born. Mattel soon patented the design.
While Matchbox focused on creating exact (sometimes painstakingly so) replicas of real cars, Hot Wheels generated fantasy cars—with some realistic replicas, particularly of racing cars, thrown in. The split between philosophies split buyers as well.
THE FINISH LINE
The Matchbox and Hot Wheels competition raced through the 1970s, with some kids fiercely loyal to one brand. Most, however, mixed and matched sets, collecting both and using the accessories interchangeably. The early 1980s, though, brought economic tough times to Britain and forced Matchbox into bankruptcy. The company was sold to Universal Toys, which a decade later sold the company to Mattel—maker of Hot Wheels. The competition between the two brands would never be the same.
Since then, the toy car market has continued to produce faster and better cars. Now they are made of tough molded plastic instead of cast iron, but they’ve broken new records in speed, including some models that would exceed 500 mph if they were life sized.
QUITE A COLLECTION
The toy car market is a specialized industry. Its serious collectors are passionate about their hobby and make note of each car’s ratio to actual size. The most popular size with collectors is 1:24; other popular sizes include 1:64 and 1:87. Remote-control cars and video games have cut into the market somewhat, but toy cars remain a more than $2-billion-a-year business.
In 2008, Hot Wheels celebrated its 40th year, which coincided with the manufacture of its four billionth toy car. In honor of its success, the company created a car covered with $140,000 worth of jewels to be auctioned off for charity. It is cast in white gold and loaded with black, white, and blue diamonds—rubies take the place of headlights.
That’s just one of the thousands of collectible cars that have been produced over the decades. Collectors pay top dollar, or tens of thousands of dollars, for the rarest ones, and Web sites and magazines are devoted to the hobby. They help collectors locate the hard-to-find models that have come and gone through the years. From a small idea so many years ago to a giant hallmark of childhood for so many, toy cars have gone around the track and come out a winner.
KIDDIE BOOK AWARDS
• Newberry Award. John Newberry was an 18th-century publisher who specialized in children’s books. It’s believed he was the first publisher to specialize in kid lit. Since 1922, the American Library Association has presented the Newberry Award annually to the author of the best novel written for children. Some Newberry winners: Hugh Lofting (The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle), Esther Forbes (Johnny Tremain) , and Katherine Paterson (Bridge to Terabithia) .
• Caldecott Medal. Randolph Caldecott was an English illustrator in the 19th century. He drew pictures for books, including The Babes in the Wood and The House that Jack Built. Like the Newberry Award, the Caldecott Medal is a prize for children’s literature presented by the American Library Association, but this one awards only the illustrators. Caldecott-winning titles include Ezra Jack Keats (The Snowy Day), Chris Van Allsburg (The Polar Express), and Maurice Sendak (Where the Wild Things Are).
THE MR. LONELY AWARD
Fire Lookouts
Incredibly solitary but vitally important, fire spotters live
above the fray and keep an eye out for everyone.
MOUNTAIN HIGH
From its 2,571-foot peak high above San Francisco Bay, the Mount Tamalpais Fire Lookout Station in Marin County has a magnificent view over 200 miles, 25 counties, and nine bodies of water. Since 1921, f
ire lookouts have been surveying this horizon for evidence of destructive wildfires.
Once upon a time, fire control wasn’t necessary, because it cleansed and renewed land and vegetation as part of a natural and regular cycle. Fire removed old, dead matter and made room for healthy, new growth. But as humans moved into areas like the thickly forested Marin County and built homes, schools, and stores, a way was needed to control the fires.
SMOKE OF A DISTANT FIRE
Fire lookout stations are not new. The oldest known station dates back about 2,000 years. It was located on Mount Masada, in what is now Israel, and was built by King Herod’s army to protect his empire against enemy burning.
By the time the United States Forest Service was founded in 1905, many communities had already recognized the need for fire lookouts. But it was “the Big Blowup” of 1910—still the biggest recorded forest fire in U.S. history—that forced a more regulated approach to forest fires. During that disaster, 3 million acres across Washington, Idaho, and Montana burned, and sent smoke as far east as Washington, D.C.
However, most of the country’s lookout stations (about 8,000 in all) were built during the 1930s as part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program. And the golden age of fire lookouts was from 1930 to 1950—before technological advances made them less necessary. (The only state never to have had a fire lookout is Kansas, because its flat landscape makes them unnecessary.) Firefighters, though, have found that in many areas and situations, there is no substitute for the human eye in detecting smoke.
BIRD’S-EYE VIEW
Fire lookouts have to be in high places with clear views on all sides. Sometimes that means a sturdy, one- or two-story windowed building high on a peak—like the Mount Tamalpais Fire Station. Other times, it means a very tall structure on stilts, with several flights of stairs that climb to the top.
The lookouts spend anywhere from a few days to a few months at a time at their stations, which are also usually in the middle of nowhere—getting to them can mean a long hike or even a helicopter ride. Some stations have amenities like electricity and running water, but others are much more primitive. A husband and wife who manned Idaho’s Gisborne Station in the 1970s had to haul water every day, so they conserved the use of water for meal preparation and ate foraged greens and berries, which they dried on the station’s steps.
THE BEAT GOES UP
Several well-known writers were fire spotters at one time or another, including environmentalist Edward Abbey and Beat poet Gary Snyder. But the most famous fire spotter and the only one who used his experience in his work was Beat novelist Jack Kerouac.
Kerouac spent the summer of 1956 as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak in the North Cascades, between Washington State and British Columbia. His 63 days in the simple 14’ x 14’ structure provided him with material for The Dharma Bums and Desolation Angels. He wrote:
When I get to the top of Desolation Peak and everybody leaves on mules and I’m alone I will come face to face with God or Tathagata [one Buddha’s titles] and find once and for all what is the meaning of all this existence and suffering and going to and fro in vain but instead I’d come face to face with myself . . .
Desolation Peak’s lookout station is closed to visitors, so Kerouac pilgrims who manage the 4.7-mile, 4,400-foot climb won’t be able to sit at the desk where he penned some of his most famous passages, but they can look in through the many windows.
SIGHT LINES
A lot has changed since Kerouac wrote The Dharma Bums, but the job of fire lookout hasn’t. Lookouts still monitor the weather (lightning strikes can start fires), confirm fires, and help firefighters to determine the extent of a blaze. For example, smoke is generally bluish—when it turns black, the fire is growing.
The lookouts still use the Osborne Fire Finder, a tabletop device developed in the 1920s by William “W. B.” Osborne, a National Parks Service employee. The Finder consists of a topographic map of the lookout’s area with two sighting apertures a user moves until he can center the crosshairs on the fire.
Their equipment may be simple and from decades ago, but a fire lookout’s task remains important. In 2007, 16 countries besides the United States had active fire lookouts. In the United States, there are about 155 fire lookouts, a combination of volunteer and paid positions. Modern techniques, especially the use of planes in fire prevention and spotting, have helped, but when it comes to fighting fires in the wilderness, there’s nothing as effective as a pair of human eyes.
WANTED: FIRE LOOKOUT
A real ad: “This is a full-time seasonal paid position, which begins as soon as the snow melts . . . and ends when the snows fly in the fall (typically 5 days per week, May–October). Built in 1934, Fence Meadow is a 30’ metal tower with a 14x14’ wooden live-in cab, powered by electricity and comes furnished with a single bed, stove, refrigerator, lights, heater and a fine-by-any-standards double-head outhouse. The lookout is located off of paved roads . . . The lookout is in the process of being refurbished (already newly painted on the inside and carpeted). Carpentry skills and smoke monitoring experience a plus!”
THE UNSOLVED MYSTERY AWARD
D. B. Cooper
This man on the run has been puzzling investigators for nearly 40 years.
The subject of countless books, movies, TV shows, and endless
speculation, he is also now the recipient of our
best unsolved mystery award.
INTO THIN AIR
In today’s post-9/11 society, the possibility of an airliner being hijacked by a lone criminal who escapes without ever being caught or positively identified is both deeply disturbing and highly unlikely. But on November 24, 1971, before the days of airport metal detectors and other stringent security regulations, one polite, well-dressed man did exactly that.
What’s more, his apolitical and “stick-it-to-the-man” motivations, relaxed threats, and willing release of innocents earned him a community of supporters who deemed him a modern-day Robin Hood. And, at the time, antiestablishment types were in vogue. Thirty-five years later, with no new leads, the FBI is still trying to uncover the true identity of “Dan Cooper,” the man behind the only unsolved commercial skyjacking in U.S. history, a man who seemingly vanished into thin air.
FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS
On a rainy afternoon at Oregon’s Portland International Airport, a middle-aged man wearing a dark suit with a slim tie and mother-of-pearl tie clip purchased a one-way ticket on Northwest Orient Airlines to Seattle, Washington. He paid $18.52. The name on the reservation was Dan Cooper. After taking his seat in the last row of the Boeing 727 aircraft, he ordered a bourbon and Coke from an attractive flight attendant, 23-year-old Florence Schaffner. Then he lit a Raleigh filter-tip cigarette and settled in for the ride.
According to the flight staff, Cooper was cordial, tipped generously, and had a smooth demeanor. In fact, when he handed Florence a piece of paper to let her know that he was toting a bomb in his briefcase, she slipped it into her pocket unopened, assuming he’d simply passed along his phone number, as many male passengers before him had done. But Cooper urged her to open the note. The note threatened to blow up the plane if Cooper’s demands weren’t met:
$200,000 in unmarked $20 bills, four manually operated parachutes (two chest and two back), and a fuel truck waiting in Seattle to refuel the plane.
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Northwest Orient president Donald Nyrop instructed the pilot to cooperate, and the FBI scrambled to meet Cooper’s demands, while at the same time preparing to apprehend him. When the plane finally landed in Seattle, Cooper released all 36 passengers and two flight attendants, leaving only himself and four airline employees onboard as the plane was refueled. Bags filled with the cash, weighing a total of 21 pounds, were delivered as promised.
As the plane left the runway, this time in a heavy storm, Cooper gave the pilot specific instructions: Keep the plane under 10,000 feet, wing flaps at 15 degrees, and speed under 200 knots. He
then ordered everyone into the cockpit, strapped the money to his waist, put one chute on his chest and one on his back, opened the plane’s rear door, and plunged into the darkness somewhere over the dense pine forests and deep canyons of the Cascades in southwestern Washington.
GOING ON A MANHUNT
The search for Dan Cooper, or any shred of his whereabouts, was on. For several weeks, the FBI scoured miles of forest for a body or any evidence of a landing—successful or otherwise. But the case, code named NORJAK, offered investigators precious few clues.
They knew that Dan Cooper was an alias. But police brought a man named D. B. Cooper in for questioning shortly after the hijacking and alerted the media, who confused his name with the name used by the jumper. Although D. B. Cooper was quickly ruled out as a suspect, his name would be forever linked with the crime.
The FBI also worked with a composite sketch and personality profile of the suspect, based on flight crew accounts, and—decades later—a DNA sample from his tie (he took it off before he jumped), obtained in 2001. The number of suspects totaled close to 1,000 over 30 years. Many who couldn’t possibly have been Cooper falsely confessed to committing the crime, often just before their final breaths. Of the handful of suspects who were seriously considered, Kenneth Peter Christiansen was a favorite. To many, Christiansen seemed to be an obvious match.
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