Saturday, July 22, 2017

Postblogging Technology, June 1947, I: Coffee-Coloured




Reginald C_.,
Royal York,
Toronto, Canada.

Dear Dad:

I'm going to dash this one off and send it via Auntie Grace, instead of putting it in hand in Fort Rupert. Yes, I'm going back there. There aren't many other places where you can put the northwesternmost radar station in the mid-Canada line, so we're going to spend a week or two doing low level surveys 'till we find a place with acceptable radio reception. Problem is, our ship has a dodgy engine --I say, though Chief disagrees with me. So instead of worrying about getting this done while we're trying to fly a new engine from Honolulu to the mud puddle at the end of the world, I'm sending it out now. 

Hope you're not expecting much gossip. Had a nice afternoon at the movies in San Fran. (Great Expectations really lived up to the hype.) Dropped B. at Santa Clara, then V.  at her college on the way back. (Tricky business, as we just missed curfew, and she doesn't want to get called back to Chicago for the summer.) A. hitched a ride to LA, where he had some business with you-know-who. I ragged him about where, exactly, foreign spies end and "liberals" start, but he got all huffy about how it's important to the left as well as the right to get the Communists out of the unions, especially influential ones like SAG. I decided not to push him too hard about exactly how you can tell someone's a Red, because, after all, you and I know they've got some sources there. I hope Mr. Wallace steers clear of 'em. Though, frankly, I don't see what the big deal is with working for the Reds back in the Depression, if that's all A. and his bosses and Hoover have got. 

Yr Son,
Reggie


Thursday, July 13, 2017

God Speed the Plough: "About the ordering of ritual vessels, I have some knowledge; but warfare I have never studied."

Not really  a review, so much as a meditation
We don't really do literary histories of Anglo-Saxon England, any more. The texts are known,  their exegesis secure. It's possible to have a literary controversy over them, but what they are trying to say about the history of Anglo-Saxon England seems more-or-less settled. Mark Atherton isn't the revisionist sort --he's not even a historian-- but he definitely thinks that the texts would benefit from a more serious examination. I've flippantly played with the idea of reading the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles with the same attention given to the Springs and Autumns, and the title is the key quote from the Analects on the Confucian art of war. That is, accepting that Master Kong does not answer Duke Ling flippantly, a true understanding of military affairs begins with the proper ordering of ritual vessels. Get rulership (morally) right, if you want to have a large army, the Sage is bluntly explaining. 

In much of what follows, I am assuming that the "praise and blame" in the Chronicles is there, but carefully disguised, because it pertains to ecclesiastical interventions into secular politics. We wall off ritual from politics and warfare at our own risk. Says Atherton, not me!

Besides picking up Atherton's monograph on the new books carousel at the library the other night, this post is mainly inspired by the Gustafson fire north of 100 Mile House, which has left me just a little pissed with your average global warming denier, of which we have an excess in the country to our south. The night before I began writing this post, the fire prompted the evacuation of the entire town. My sister, nephew and niece had left several days earlier, but it is still an open question whether they will have a home --or even employment to return to. Even family lawyers need some kind of local economic base in which to operate. 

Anyway, global warming deniers are sometimes Americans, and Americans live in the country to the south of Canada, and on 22 August, 1138, on Cowton Moor, near Northallerton, The Most Reverend Thurstan, Archbishop of York, advancing before a caroccio carrying the Sacred Host and adorned with the sacred banners of York, Beverley and Ripon (but not of Durham), encountered David, son of Malcolm, King of Alba, Prince of Cumbria, styled Earl of Northumberland, in arms. His Grace was victorious on the day, but, on 26 September, Cardinal Alberic, Bishop of Ostia, arrived at Carlisle to negotiate a peace in which David was confirmed in Northumberland, his son, Henry, in Huntingdon and Doncaster; and the bishop of Glasgow was relieved, forever, of his suffragen dependence upon York. 



This last bit is the "proper ordering of ritual vessels" part. On any but the most superficial reading, the Archbishop's victory was punished by the King of England. Thrustan was embroiled in the York-Canterbury dispute, which, in his day, turned on the stark difference between Canterbury's twenty-odd suffragen bishops, and York's . . . much smaller number. York had, in fact, only one English subordinate, and its attempts to expand into the north Atlantic world ran into the pretensions of rival bishops [Pirate bishop! Yarr!].  Glasgow was one of Thurstan's legacy suffragens, and losing the See of St. Mungo cost him more than all the gallowglass spears in the world could extract. The question of archiepiscopal status is a question of proper ordering of ritual vessels. (To finish piling on this analogy, there's a parallel with the thesis that global warming denial is a legitimate strategy of Kulturkampf. That is, since all the proposed solutions are "liberal," it is okay for a conservative to mischievously deny the plain scientific facts.) 

Saturday, July 1, 2017

Postblogging Technology, May 1947, II: Unfit to Lead




Wing Commander R. Cook (ret.), OBE,
Oriental Institute,
London, U.K.

Dear Father:

Well, I promised Aunt G. that I'd continue these letters while she's in the bloom of motherhood --Should I spoil it by saying my new nephew or niece's name? No, it's hers to tell! Aside from that, I know Auntie always adds some family gossip, but I've got nothing. I've been spending half my time at the field in Hawaii, wiring the P2Vs that Lockheed's been able to deliver so far, and the other half doing radio proving flights all over the North Pacific. In fact, I'm just down the road from Quatsino, and will be handing this package off to George Wallace in a sec. 

The one advantage of this is that I'm all over the place and get to see everybody. We're flying down to San Fran after we finish up here. Tommy'll get to see his wife and kid, and I'm going to hook up with the old gang. A., is over on the West Coast to meet up with some sources. (If you're wondering, like I was, they're union guys with something to say about communists in the ranks; but with stuff in their background they don't want coming out, for which the FBI has a bit of a reputation), so V. is coming out, and B., too. We'll see a movie, then maybe dinner and some dancing, just for old time's sake. 




/s/, Your Son, Reggie.

A.


Sunday, June 25, 2017

Postblogging Technology, May 1947, I: Chilled and Silly Springs


It was always colder when we were young. In 1947, Britons couldn't heat their homes from May to October.

R_. C_.,
Oriental Club,
London,
England.


Dear Father:

Well, if you won't leave London, I am going to leave this bed, and that will be the last you hear of me for a few months, as I shall have a fourth on hand to go with the three I've already produced. (Really, what was I thinking? Oh! That your son is so handsome and funny. Never  mind. . . It's a girl's weakness.) I am handing the letter over to Reggie, as the Navy is not keeping him that busy this summer. He will forward it to me from Hawaii, and I will act as final editor and perhaps comment on the particular delicates. (For example, it is not true that Fat Chow aimed for the eye. He used that compact parachutist's carbine we procured in '43, and the power of the rifle cartridge popped the man's eye out, he tells me. Although I suspect that he's not averse to it adding to its legend, and I am certainly not looking at monocles for the next time he drives me up to see the Engineer! 

So there we have it, a long-delayed message about the dangers of crossing our family, but unfortunately muddled, as we can hardly stop Italian men of respect from taking credit for it.) And speaking of long-delayed family business, I suppose I should mention that the Engineer's bastard is now the president of his union. He may not be able to make money doing the job, but I have a feeling that he will find a way to make a career out of representing those who can.



"GRACE."

A reimagined Forties novelty song, in honour of this post's technological Next Big Thing --Silly Putty. I'm not sure I like the video. I'm working on the principle that I might as well give a living artist the exposure. If you want to hear something closer to the original "'m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch," go here.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

God Speed the Plough! Recapping Two Collapses of Complex Society in Light of Planting and Hoarding


Lotus bread; Or, actually, a raw bread made with oat flour, sunflower meal, hemp and chia seeds as well as lotus root.  Recipe at Shokuikuaustralia (Current website for Melbourne raw food enthusiasts.)

First off, apologies all around, because Nymphaea caerula, the blue lotus, one of the three species present in the Nile, contains " [an] aporphine having activity as a non-selective dopamine agonist," and it is a controlled substance in the Baltic states. That being said, some people get high by chewing an entire sheet of Zantac, and I kind of doubt that the Early Iron Age had a blue-lotus-related public health emergency going on.

It most certainly did have a problem with people who were tempted to take off into the marshes and get away from it all.

"A happy day, as we go down to the water-meadow
As we snare birds and catch many fish in Two-Waters [Fayum]
And the catcher and the harpooner come to us
As we draw the nets full of fowl
We moor our skiff at the thicket
And put offerings on the fire For Sobek, Lord of the Lake"
. . . I would do as my heart desires
When the country was my town
When the top of the water-meadow was my dwelling
No one could part me from the people my desires and from my friends
I would spend the day in the place of my longing
In the . . and the papyrus clumps
When it was dawn, I would have a snack
And be far away, walking in the place of my heart [Fragment of a New Kingdom poem; quoted in part from Blouin, trans. Parkinson, 1998, but lifted from here; reconstruction indications omitted] 


These are thoughts related to last week's inadvertently meaty post, thanks to Katherine Blouin, who has given us so much to think about. So it's good that I need to get a low-effort post out of the way. (Work on the postblogging posts will coincide with a trip to 100 Mile House for my youngest niece's elementary school graduation. Go Aly!)

The collapse of complex societies used to be big! With drama! Cities left to ruin; economies transformed, technologies changed. None of this dragging-out "secular stagnation" thing for the Ancients, no sir! Lay yourself down a nice "destruction/dark earth" layer, and go off and live in the mountains or the swamp or wherever. 

With some exceptions: Egypt made it through the Late Bronze Age Collapse and the Fall of the Roman Empire well enough. It looks as though the country was uniquely suited to complex society (no need to spell out why, I suppose). It didn't go entirely unscathed, however. Egyptologists divide the Ancient Egyptian past into three periods of high monarchy, and three "Intermediate Periods," although, as the maths of group theory will suggest, one of those Intermediate periods can't have been Intermediate. (The trick is that we don't count the Persian-Ptolemaic-Roman interlude as an Egyptian monarchy; so the Third Intermediate can also be the last period --unless we throw in a brief phase of Egyptian revival in the Classical Period, as we can if we want, for we are licensed historians. 

What made Egypt special, in comparison with, say Roman Britain? My conclusions probably aren't worth the electrons they're written on, but the evidence I rely on is building up, and really ought to be accounted for in a good theory.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Lotus Eaters: Flights and Fragments of the Year 251

Rubens, Consacration of Decius Mus
As the story goes, Publius Decius Mus, consul for 340 BC, was so eager for victory over the Sabines in battle that he consacrated ("dedicated/devoted himself") to the Dii Manes and the Earth.  His life was then duly exacted on the battlefield by the chthonic gods of earth, which seems like a bit of a cheat in terms of assessing the sincerity of his commitment, but at least meant that the gods didn't have to worry about organising a re-battle. This was deemed to be a sufficiently edifying example of old Roman patriotism that it passed Livy's not very high critical standards for choosing old family stories for the History of Rome. Or, he made it up at the behest of his boss, Augustus, as part of the first emperor's programmed of religious reforms disguised as restorations. This seems less likely, but, either way, those old Romans were weird.

The relevance here is that Trajan Decius was Emperor from 249 to 251, and died in battle with an army of Goths invading Rome's Balkan provinces in the last year. This was the first time that a Roman emperor died in a losing battle with a 'barbarian' enemy. It's hard to emphasise just what a cataclysmic event this was. Back in the day chief executives fought battles, they rarely lost, and even more rarely died. Skillful handlers knew how to choose battles, and when to bundle the boss off the field.

On the other hand, what do you do with a chief executive you can't handle? You might notice a big caveat to my generalisation, above. In old English and more recent Moghul civil wars, the losing king pretty much always died. I'm going to suggest that that is because there was a different political dynamic at work in which death-in-battle was part of the succession process, and those handlers stood ready at hand to facilitate the unfolding of political life.
Game of Thrones hasn't yet given us a scene of summary murder on the battlefield, probably because it's anticlimactic, and wild dogs devouring infants has a higher Q rating. 

Exactly that has been inferred about Decius' death.

Thanks to the recent publication of additional restored fragments of a history of the period, we are now positioned for another dive into the moment. A couple of additional pages of the history of an entire empire over a generation are transformative!

It's a little eye-raising that it's still hard to establish who was emperor when in the middle of the Third Century, when we also know the ownership and use of long lists of farms in the districts of the Mendesian theme of the Province of Egypt at the turn of the Fourth Century, about fifty years later. It is true that this has a great deal to do with accidents of survival; but here's the thing. Historians use what they have, not what they wish they had, or what they make up. In a ground-breaking recent study, Katherine Blouin has used papyrus documents from a fiscal archive in that theme to reconstruct a significant juncture of rebellion and social collapse in the northeastern corner of the "triangular landscape" of the Nile delta in a way that might shed some light on the crisis of 250.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Postblogging Technology, April 1947, II: Pluperfect Hell


R_.C.
Oriental Club,
London,
England

Dear Father:

I hope that I find you well. You find me perfectly, perfectly well, because I am wrapped up in a cocoon like the tiniest caterpillar, about to burst . . . Well, men never want to hear about that, and I do not think that you are the one to start. I would share all the news of the extended family with you, but there is a telephone strike on. (Imagine me making my fiercest face.) James somehow avoided being involved in a Gangland shooting in Los Angeles, as it turns out that Uncle Henry's mysterious benefactor at the dam is the same man he fingered for extortion, and the bad blood between them has resumed. He has even become so reckless as to have a Hearst man beaten up for Uncle's friend's colleague. Wong Lee is flying east to seek permission, after which this thing will be resolved once and for all. 

You should see the doll that James brought back from Los Angeles --Not really a doll at all, or, rather, more of a three-dimensional paper doll than anything else. Of course, the attraction is obvious, since once you sell the doll, you can go on selling little doll outfits indefinitely! Very intriguing. . . 


"GRACE."


Already released, even if it won't hit the top of the charts until August

A wish for long life in peach blossom time.

[NSFW Warning: I've included a picture of the Grace Moore crash scene, complete with burned bodies, that I took from Life today, because I think that it's an interesting historical fact that it could be printed, and because it gives a little perspective to the "drop off in air passengers." It's about two thirds of the way down and small, if you want to scroll past it.]

Saturday, May 27, 2017

Postblogging Technology, April 1947, I: Britain's Through




R_.C._,
The Oriental Club,
London,
England

Dear Father:


Thank you so very much for the parcel of books. I am now quite reconciled to another five weeks of bed rest, she lied unconvincingly. The Wang Yang-ming, in particular, is gorgeous, and I cannot believe that you found it on sale in London. (Although Liz-Liz has her eye on it, so I must be vigilant in "preserving antiquity" against a three year-old's ever grubby fingers. ) 

As regards business, you will have heard that the New York price of silver is up on London demand. This is because most of the silver being moved in London for non-industrial purposes is ostensibly going to India, and that little Belgian stunt shows just how much money can be made that way, so I suppose that I should strike through the "ostensibly." Or not. Perhaps it is just feminine caution, but I don't think that we should be calculating on the price differential to hold. I am sure that we are not the only ones to have seized on silver as a way of moving money out of England and into the hard money countries.

It turns out that arrangements for showing your expert around were quite easy to make, as "Miss V.C." is eager to spend the summer on the coast, and thinks that she can fit a tour of ancestral locations into a search for good pulp-milling sites readily enough. I told her that Nootka is not likely to be a good location on account of water supply, but she points out that there are fast rivers running into all of the bays and inlets around the island that fit your ideal description. 

This will place most of the younger generation on the old sealing triangle, with your son on Hawaii and Tommy Wong on detached duty on a radio survey mission for a potential radar network across Canada,   

To round off this survey of your nearest and dearest, I am pleased to report that we are now using the iron lung only two or three times a week, less pleased to report that James has been persuaded to take a tour of Fontana next week while he is the south to meet with the principals of AiResearch and to seek out a doll that your grand-daughter absolutely must have. Uncle Henry will be there with a "very important client," and he has been uncharacteristically restrained about the identity of this mysterious benefactor of his business. I hope that we are not in the way of getting another "opportunity" to invest in West Coast steel!




"GRACE."

Rescue workers preparing to enter 5 Shaft, Centralia, Illinois, 25 March 1947


Saturday, May 20, 2017

Looking Back at the Siege of Britain, I:Small Boats, Small Ports, Small Coals

"Tree-"class minesweeper HMS Bronington, lying derelict in the Mersey
This post should be "Postblogging Technology, April 1947, I;" but my rotation off night shift was marked by a spell of 11 days working out of 13 (some of them in particularly grueling duties), and I was not feeling the motivation over my last two days off. Arguably, I should have just shook it off

Maybe this will help. Although a weekend in might help more.
but that's not how fatigue works. On the other, hand, I did do some things with my weekend, and while I am perhaps reading too much into my random consumption of popular culture.
The backer's-only "O-Chul" story dropped on Monday night. 

it might be that the time has come for a meditation on fatigue, responsibility, especially managerial responsibility, and diligence. 

World War II's longest and most grinding campaign was Grand Admirals Raeder and Doenitz's attempt to choke off the domestic economy of the United Kingdom by the somewhat indirect expedient of stopping the rest of the (free) world, and, ultimately, they were defeated by the world's middle managers, at a terrific cost paid, above all, by the people of Bengal. HMS Bronington, meanwhile, turns out to have a bit of history, having been the WWII-era minesweeper chosen as the Prince of Wales' command in 1976.  While the flaws of Prince Charles' character do not strike me as falling along the axis of irresponsibility, I can think of other leaders and potential leaders of the Free World who might have benefited from a youthful spell in command of a fishing troller.


Friday, May 12, 2017

God Speed the Plough: Swords Into Ploughshares

Because Superman is based on Moses, and Thor is based on, well, Thor. 
At his Temple of A Million Years at Medinet Habu, Ramesses III (r. 1186--1155 BC) celebrates his victory over an enemy who comes from the midst of the sea. No further details are necessary here, since this isn't a discussion of the Late Bronze Age Collapse. What matters here is that some of them appear to be wearing horned helmets.

This isn't a post about Vikings, either. It isn't even about Gaston Maspero, the Paris-born son of Jews of Italian origin, who, after a youth spend assisting a wealthy dilettante seeking the Aryan roots of Peruvian Indian languages, went on to be the long-lasting Director of Antiquities in Egypt and the author of multi-volume histories of the ancient Near East, as well as of an 1881 article that popularised the idea that there existed such a thing as the "Sea Peoples." It's not even about the regional conflicts in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century France about which Maspero was so clearly actually writing. ("Vikings" are "Normans," and there's a big to-do about there being Normans in northern France and not southern France, which shows that the south's relative economic backwardness isn't about policy favouring the north, but rather about race.)

It's about ploughs.



They  had image scraping in 1947, too! I'm sure that this is the Country Life in question. The image comes from F. G. Payne's 1947 article in The Archaeological Journal, "The Plough in Ancient Britain," which is widely available on the Interwebs as a pdf, not that has helped in the slightest.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Technical Appendix: Apollonian Days

I was going to go with "Apollonian Days of Future Past," but too wordy. I'm still going to keep the image of Old Wolverine getting barbecued, even though I'd need to write an essay in this block to explain why. Source
I'm referring to the Armstrong Whitworth Apollo. Two weeks ago, I thought, "Well, before I make a joke about the way that its original name (the Avon) poaches the Rolls Royce "River" theme, I should find out when the Avon [1947/8, as it happens] appeared --and, for that matter, when the themed naming schemes of postwar British engines were finalised." It turns out that naming a plane "the Avon" was perfectly fine in 1947; and, in any event, the plane's name was changed to the "Apollo" well before Armstrong Whitworth slunk away in shame from the "turboprop feeder airliner" market in 1951, leaving this mess on Farnborough airfield for someone else to clean up.

By RuthAS - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34744239
Before I disappear up my own ass, here's my argument and conclusions:

Given that the United Kingdom had bombed out the only viable competition [which is a story about the American engineering industry that hasn't been well told], there was room for its aviation industry to take advantage of first mover advantage and get an effective monopoly on each of the three main types of commercial gas-turbine engines: the turbojet, turboprop, and turbofan. When I started bouncing around after the full story of the Armstrong Whitworth Apollo, I thought I knew the results of this fleeting advantage. It was thrown away in the case of the turbojet,  seized with impressive sales results in the case of the turboprop, and irrelevant in the case of the turbofan, which came after the British lead had evaporated.

This goes to show how little I know about the subject. In my defence, this is a "technical appendix," that is, a hypothesis about an aspect of the history of technology that surprised me as much as I hoped it will you, and which we should keep an eye on as the postblogging series continues.

The inquiry turned up a planned military transport version of the Vickers Valiant, and a proposed commercial variant. The variant, the Vickers VC7, would have been powered by the first viable turbofan engine, the Rolls-Royce Conway. This would have made it the first turbofan commercial airliner by at least a year or two, but it was cancelled in 1955. Questions were asked in Parliament, and the received opinion discovers a "political decision" entangled in the earlier developments. Maybe it's the last moment when the British aviation industry could have been saved. Maybe not.

What can be said is that this brings the British aviation industry's grade down from a gentleman's D (pity marks for the Comet), to a clear fail. It's to be sent down to find a job in the City, where it can laugh at those poor, mucky manufacturers up at least through to Brexit.

So: Is there a profound lesson here about technology policy? Brendan Flynn thinks so. Arguing with someone named "Professor Geels," who has a sociology-of-science explanation about research sites and networks, Flynn proposes that the missing ingredient is state funding. Can Rachel Summers send Kitty Pryde's mind back to the 1980s to put everything right with the one crucial bit of information that a bit more Keynsianism is needed?

 Is this an accurate picture? At this point, who knows?  I'll state it affirmatively, but with mental reservations. I'm really just laying out a programme of research.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

A Very Brief and Non-Technical Appendix About Then and Now

Something I read this afternoon, slightly edited..

"Economists are very worried about the decline in labor’s share of U.S. national income... https://www.bloomberg.com/view/articles/2017-04-24/cracking-the-mystery-of-labor-s-falling-share-of-gdp...For decades, macroeconomic models assumed that labor and capital took home roughly constant portions of output—labor got just a bit less than two-thirds of the pie, capital slightly more than one-third. Nowadays it’s more like 60-40. Economists are therefore scrambling to explain the change. There are, by my count, now four main potential explanations for the mysterious slide in labor's share. These are: 1) China, 2) robots, 3) monopolies and 4) landlords..."
There is, in my view, a fifth—and a much more likely—possibility: the low-pressure economy.

"Rob said...I don't really understand this explanation.There certainly seems to be a secular trend as well as a cyclical effect. Brad's explanation for the secular trend is what? That we've actually been in recession since 2000? That we need inflationary booms to "reset" labour's share? That labour's share is related to inflation in a non-expectations-adjusted way?"
And something that seems relevant.









Postblogging Technology, March 1947, II: The Only Bad Publicity



R_.C_.,
Oriental Club,
London, England.

Dear Father:

I  expected to find you haunting the Reform Club with your cousin. Or perhaps the Royal Air Force Club; but I should have known. Have you kept a membership these long years? Uncle George is always grumbling about keeping up his club fees. Or are you the guest of someone even more adventurous than yourself?

I'm sorry. I'm sure there'll be a story when you get back. I'd tell you of exciting developments here in Santa Clara, but there are none! I'm flat on my back, your youngest is a fortress of solitude far away in Massachusetts as he writes final exams --as is "Miss V. C," who is keeping close to her digs at Stanford, except when she is up to San Francisco to borrow a telephone. (I wonder who she is calling that she needs to use the Chow's line? And, yes, I know what you will say, but you are wrong.)



Fanny is helping Teddy Tso study, I suspect --depending on how you define studying, of course. Vickie, I am persuaded, is improving slowly under professional care, and James is fluttering about trying to make sure that I stay in bed. Bill and David have been up to talk about something about air traffic control that they are feeling out with the Air Force. While it has little money to send their way, it has plenty of inspiration. One of the problems with ground control of aircraft is that you have all of this radio information streaming in, and operators can only look at so much at one time. If only there were a way to store it all, a very youthful Colonel says to them. "Well, actually," they say. . .

We'll see what comes of that. In the mean time, best of luck in England, and I hope that I see you before. . . 



"GRACE."

PS: Only please, for my sake, come back by liner, and persuade your cousin to do the same!


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Further to the Last: New Light, Not Necessarily On The Converting Sacrament

Lameen and Graydon have been bugging me for years to subject my crackpot hypothesis to DNA testing. It may seem like I've been ignoring them, but, in reality, I've been creating elaborate counterarguments in my head, which I would have talked about already were it not for Windows doing a forever update while I lounged around in pyjamas on my Surface. (It's a day off, first of seven. What can I say? Pizza later.)

In retrospect, my time might have been better spent watching the latest episode of Agents of Shield than spinning my theories in my head. Say what you want about Hydra, but they're damn good DNA testers. 



Test this. (The model isn't credited, except presumably on an expired American Apparel page, but the cropped top is Raglan Jaquard.)
Eric Durand, J. Michael Macpherson, David Reich and Joanna L. Mountain are also good genetic testers. But, first, let's look at something cool.

The last column is because this is about a Skeptical Inquirer article about ancient Canaanites being maybe the ancestors of modern native North Americans. Oh, those wacky Mormons. 

The X2a bands show that there's room for future discoveries. We wouldn't even know that there was an X sub-haplogroup present in aboriginal American populations from the Mound City samples alone. That said, we have a pretty solid overall profile of the mitochondrial DNA picture of pre-contact Eastern Woodland Indian populations, thanks to the Hopewell horizon's enthusiastic bone-gathering. This is important, because genetic genealogists trace regional ancestry through three major inputs: autosomal DNA, present in X chromosomes; Y DNA, which is passed purely through the father's line; and mitochondrial DNA, the most recent and most exciting discovery, and present only in the ovum, and thus passed exclusively matrilinearlly.  Of these, autosomal DNA loses Native American flavour after six generations, while Y DNA mutates so slowly that half of Native Y DNA is shared with common ancestors who spread into northern Asia and Europe two Ice Ages back. So if you are looking for Native ancestors in commercial DNA testing, as many people at my stage of life are, it's pretty much mitochondrial DNA you need to look at, and, subject to new research, if you have a Cherokee great-grandmother, you can only prove it genetically by testing with X2a, D, C, B or A haplogroups.  

That being said, I'm a complete amateur at everything but history of science (humblebrag appeal to authority!), so let's look at the testing.

"We find that many self-reported European Americans, predominantly those living west of the Mississippi River, carry Native American ancestry (Figure 3B). We estimate that European Americans who carry at least 2% Native American ancestry are found most frequently in Louisiana, North Dakota, and other states in the West. Using a less stringent threshold of 1%, our estimates suggest that as many as 8% of individuals from Louisiana and upward of 3% of individuals from some states in the West and Southwest carry Native American ancestry. . ."
For African Americans,

[T]he frequency of European American individuals who carry African ancestry varies strongly by state and region of the US (Figure 3A). We estimate that a substantial fraction, at least 1.4%, of self-reported European Americans in the US carry at least 2% African ancestry. Using a less conservative threshold, approximately 3.5% of European Americans have 1% or more African ancestry (Figure S8). Individuals with African ancestry are found at much higher frequencies in states in the South than in other parts of the US: about 5% of self-reported European Americans living in South Carolina and Louisiana have at least 2% African ancestry. Lowering the threshold to at least 1% African ancestry (potentially arising from one African genealogical ancestor within the last 11 generations), European Americans with African ancestry comprise as much as 12% of European Americans from Louisiana and South Carolina and about 1 in 10 individuals in other parts of the South (Figure S8).
Most individuals who have less than 28% African ancestry identify as European American, rather than as African American (Figures 4 and 5A ). Logistic regression of self-identified European Americans and African Americans reveals that the proportion of African ancestry predicts self-reported ancestry significantly, with a coefficient of 20.1 (95% CI: 18.0–22.2) (Table S6 and Figure S9).
The hotlinks don't go to the images, but they do tell you where to find the figures in the article, so I'm keeping them.
And the ancestral connections are sex-biased:

Fitting a model of European and Native American admixture followed later by African admixture, we find the best fit with initial Native American and European admixture about 12 generations ago and subsequent African gene flow about 4 generations ago.
Non-European ancestry in European Americans follows a sex bias in admixture contributions from males and females, as seen in African Americans and Latinos. The ratio between X chromosome and genome-wide Native American ancestry estimates in European Americans shows greater Native American female and higher European male ancestry contributions (Tables 1 and S4). Though we do not observe evidence of a sex bias in African ancestry contributions in European Americans overall, analysis of only those individuals with at least 1% African ancestry reveals 15% higher African ancestry on the X chromosome relative to genome-wide estimates (p value 0.013). This increase suggests female-African and male-European sex bias in European Americans that follows the same direction as in African Americans and Latinos, with greater male European and female African and Native American contributions.
And, of course
We find very low levels of African and Native American ancestry in Europeans with four grandparents born in Europe. We estimate that only 0.98% of Europeans carry African ancestry and 0.26% of Europeans carry Native American ancestry. These levels are substantially lower than the 3.5% and 2.7% of European Americans who carry African and Native American ancestry, respectively.
Finally,
Our results provide empirical support that, over recent centuries, many individuals with partial African and Native American ancestry have “passed” into the white community,79, 80 with multiple lines of evidence establishing African and Native American ancestry in self-reported European Americans (see Subjects and Methods). Though the majority of European Americans in our study did not carry Native American or African ancestry, even a small proportion of this large population that carry non-European ancestry translates into millions of European Americans who carry African and Native American ancestry. Our results suggest that the early US history, beginning in the 17th century (around 12 generations ago), might have been a time of many population interactions resulting in admixture.

So there you go. I'm not completely crazy.  

Gathering the Bones, 19: Sinners In the Hands Of An Angry He Who Wears Human Heads as Earrings


*


It's properly time to for me to be reviewing technology news from March of 1947, but I have some time off this week, and my last post leaves me dissatisfied. I mean, who cares that Veronica is dark and brunette, or that George Washington was a redhead?* She's rich! He's a President! Rich and famous people get away with stuff like being racially fluid. The real question is what this means to a poor redhead like Archie Andrews, who has to worry that other people might get to choose his racial identity for him. (1,2, 3). 

If America was, in its origins, and is, still, a mixed race society that pretends that there is a firm, clear, and unambiguous colour line that just happens to coincide with class, then its central social question isn't goings on in the Lodge lodge. It is, rather, who polices the colour line? Lower class Americans do not have social power. That's kind of the point of being poor. In Latin America, the poor really are victims of a moving race/colour lline. Why on the right bank of the Rio Grande? How do they own their own history in the North? 

The answer is "Religion."  Next week, Postblogging Technology, March 1947, II.

No, wait, video time! 
More specifically, I mean, religious continuity between Eastern Woodland religious practice and the America of small sect Christianity. That's where this spooky, powerful song comes in. It is weighed down by history. Seemingly, a  longer and heavier history than America has had time to accumulate. Even America's historical crimes aren't this old! 

The Shenandoah is the most southerly reach of a series of "carrying-place" linked, approximately north-south rivers above the Fall Line, extending from the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence Basin via Oswego River, the Mohawk, the Susquehanna, the Potomac, and, finally, the Shenandoah. Iroquian-speaking communities extend along the route, from the Neutral Nations in the far north to the Cherokee in the furthest southern reaches of the Shenandoah Valley.



America is older than it says. Not convinced? Here's Alison Krause taking us down to the river to pray.










The datestone says 1752, but Pittsburgh's Old Stone Tavern just must have been built in 1782, because, after all, 1752 was before Braddock's defeat, and Pittsburgh didn't exist yet. Well, there was a town, but it was an Indian town, and Indians didn't make bricks. I mean, they made pots, but that was, you know, long ago. Now they live in wigwams. No, I'm not racist, you're racist. By Lee Paxton - self-madeTransferred from en.wikipedia, GFDL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16994850


Friday, April 14, 2017

Gathering the Bones, 18: Hew Down the Bridge!

Then none was for a party—
  Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor,
  And the poor man loved the great;
Then lands were fairly portioned!
  Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
  In the brave days of old.




The week, and the circumstances, militate for a shorter post. but instead of writing a technological appendix about Fortune's hot take about the bright future of coal, relevant as it is, I find that I have a burr under my saddle. Yes, it is about the last of the race of Uncas the Mohican again. Race matters, after all.

Just to review here, this is about Gathering the Bones. Buried ossuaries are very common in Eastern Woodlands cultural horizons. At least, that is how we have interpreted the remains of buried structures filled with bones, set on fire, and then buried under earthen mounds. European ossuaries, which are sacred spaces filled with bones, next to overcrowded graveyards, have an obvious function which is much less obvious in a Hopewell horizono context --the last thing they were short of, was burial grounds! (Although ground that could be dug with stone tools might have been harder to come by.). In his ground-breaking,perplexing  reinterpretation of the Hopewell horizon, Martin Byers presents an alternative interpretation: bones, the immanent remnants of dead humans, were deemed to have some kind of transcendent power, and various sodalities competed to gather those bones and exercise power over them. Some details of this struck me as similar to the horrifying ritual execution of Jamestown Governor John Ratcliffe in 1607, at the end of which, Powhattan incorporated the man's flensed bones in an ossuary. This adds a bit of the sinister, and of social domination to the process. Gathering the bones is all about seizing power in current social life by appropriating the past: privatising history, if you will. In a long-ago post, I even suggested a specific (and debatable) example, the national monument to the dead of the massacre of the Christian Munsee Indians at Gnaddenhutten, in eastern Ohio. (The specific example is important because this is where James Fenimore Cooper's Chingachgook had "his people" "cut off." (Cooper can never say what he means, so it is not obvious that he intends to be ambiguous in not specifying which of Chingachgook's relatives were killed, but the "cut off" isn't ambiguous in early Nineteenth Century usage, even if the metaphor demands attention.) Speaking of ambiguous, the linked post contains more explicit examples of formerly public cemeteries which have since been "privatised," so that you know that I'm not just straining and making stuff up.

Thus, "Gathering the bones:" American history is constantly under threat of privatisation, as means of both constructing and rendering mysterious the American social hierarchy. In this way, a landed aristocracy can exist in what is constantly described as an egalitarian, freeholder republic obscure. Thrown in something about a guy with adamantium-laced bones with a secret identity, who lives on the Hudson Valley estate of a rich guy with a Dutch name, and there's even a tie-in to the thumbnail image!

So why am I returning to this topic? Because of  an extraordinary article in The New Republic this week, Ganesh Sitaraman announced that the United States is in a constitutional crisis, and that it is due to the fact that the constitution fails to make provision for economic inequality, and that this is because, "in the brave days of old," there was no inequality. America differed from Europe in having no hereditary, landed aristocracy. Various assertions about the fundamental equality of settler farmers and free land in the west follow, like some 1950s paen to the Frontier thesis. (Note: The Homestead Act was only passed in 1862A deep knowledge of American history might even reveal some more profound significance to the year.)

Last week, we were in 1947, and, just to remind everyone, next year's elections are rushing on, as they always are. The Democratic nominee will be the President, because he owns this mess. Seeking to salvage things, and lacking a Vice-President as a successor, he has thrown over a party boss as Secretary of State, with a Virginia tidewater aristocrat, One of his potential opponents is an Ohio-important member of a collateral lineage of another Virginia tidewater clan. This is not a state without a hereditary aristocracy! (And remember that there is a lot we do not know about the origins of this group, due to the not-at-all-accidental burning of Jamestown courthouse in Bacon's Rebellion.) 
But, you say, Virginia is a state, not a country, and the Republican candidate in 1948 will be Thomas Dewey, who, per his biography, paid his way through the first year of college with a summer job, and is rich because he was such an awesome trial lawyer.

Well, yes, but this is Dapplemere, near Pawley, New York,


Friday, April 7, 2017

Postblogging Technology, March 1947, I: Rocket Is For Emergency Use Only


Source.

R_.C_.
Washington Square Hotel,
New York.

Dear Father:

I hope this catches up with you before you board ship for England. I've included a private and confidential from Uncle George, who has been talking to the people behind the Dick Barton serials --this may be the lead we've been looking for. Uncle George is very anxious that it succeed, as he is getting nervous about the possibility of charges being pressed. He only went to England under very firm assurances that bygones with the cousins would be bygone if we got their money out of the country. I cannot for the life of me understand why they would continue to ostracise their daughter now that there are grandchildren, but they also have not reached out to Macau --not a good sign, if the silver "arbitrage" falls through before Uncle George can leave the country. 

As for sweetening the deal with the movie people, James has suggested that they might want to do something with Great-Uncle next. I think he was being sarcastic, as I am really not sure that the market is crying out for Great Uncle just now. Still, it is a property that we can command. Speaking of, one of you might want to hop over to France and have a sit-down with R. I have heard muttering at the Benevolent Society about his recent appearance in New York, and someone might remind him that his association with the family has been long and prosperous, and that he might have a serious think about keeping it that way.

My, I do sound bloodthirsty! Two weeks and counting of enforced bed rest will do that to a girl. All in, then, because, as for making a serial about Great Uncle and the likely response "on the street," the word is that it must be very, very clear, that it is tongue-in-cheek. . . and that it would be best if we made an example, to make it clear that we are not acting out of weakness. Perhaps there are some "open files" where an example might be made? Another week of this and I might just be willing to shoot the Engineer myself. 

I know that that's not very fair --I write it while looking at a very nice flower arrangement that he has sent me-- but in my current mood, best not to draw my attention!


"GRACE."


Saturday, April 1, 2017

Technology Transfers: Fleecing, Disrupting, Honing: A Partly Technical Appendix to Postblogging Technology, February, 1947

HMAS Vampire. One of four Daring-class (1949) destroyers ordered from Australian yards; of which three were completed. Very high tech for the time: Type 275 radar controlling a blind-fire director, STAAG stabilised tachymetric  mountings for the Bofors; high pressure steam boilers; all-welded construction; AC electrics; Squid ASW mortar with associated "sword" rangefinding sonar. All the mod cons. 
It's really not clear to me whether someone, in the first week of February of 1947, was developing the idea that Australia might be a nuclear refuge for entire British industries, or not. The leading article in which I encountered the idea is easily the worst piece of journalistic writing I've ever encountered, and given The Economist's mid-century(?) habit of stringing out long thumb suckers on "worthy" subjects, that's saying a lot. The way the idea was broached, it might be someone reimagining a wartime conversation, a response to stories in the press, or even a serious effort to float the notion.


Sunday, March 26, 2017

Postblogging Technology, February 1947, I: Dreaming Beneath th Bench Grass · Poste Snow





R_C_.,
Shaughnessy,
Vancouver,
Canada.

Dear Father:

You wanted to know at first word about Reggie's summer assignment. He will be attached to VP-M-1 at Barbers Point NAS in Hawaii, where he will be trying to wedge more radio receivers into Lockheed Neptunes than any airplane should have to carry. For "weather reconnaissance." "Weather reconnaissance" is in a bit of an ebb at the moment, but will probably come back in full force when the Russian famine is over and the 1948 election is a bit closer at hand. Who knows? Perhaps he will gather some "weather reconnaissance" that is useful to Mrs. C and her friends in Virginia.

"Miss V.C.'s" plans are in flux, but I expect that she will go east to be near "Mr. A." Perhaps she will try to pick up some hints in advance of her seniors' thesis research next year; she remains convinced that a sinister secret concerning the Oregon Scandal is hiding somewhere in the Junior College's archives.

Uncle George has telegraphed that his flight has arrived safely in Scotland. However, it looks like he will be detained by weather and will not be able to get to London in time for the World Shipping Conference, which is a pity. On the other hand, his friend's business partner is also detained, as he missed his berth on the Queen Mary. So it looks like not much advance business will be done before you arrive in England on the matter of, shall we say, securing industrially-necessary supplies of silver nitrate for any film or photography business we might involve ourselves in, over in England. 

In the absence of Uncle George, James has stepped in to arrange to put the good old Swallow on the Atlantic run. It will make its first berth in Liverpool on 7 April, if all goes according to plan, and James estimates that it has room for six tons of metal in Great-Uncle's old statesroom. Just to give you an idea of what you have to work with. 

In the mean time, I would be most grateful for any distractions you can find, as Dr. Rivers has put me on bed rest until the blessed event. I'm not completely isolated, as I have James and Fanny. Miss J has branched out in her work to assist Fanny, and has been very kind in bringing the twins to see me along with Vickie. I could wish that I saw the same spirit of care and solicitude from Miss M., but she is a fine physical therapist, and not devoid of human kindness. She has even taken to bringing me cookies in bed. Cookies that she baked herself --and I can say no more. At least they are not boring!


"GRACE."