So far in this series, we’ve talked about man-made byproducts — Fordite, which is built-up layers of cured car enamel, and Trinitite, which was created during the first nuclear bomb test.

But not all byproducts are man-made, and not all of them are basically untouchable. Some are created by Mother Nature, but are nonetheless dangerous. I’m talking about fulgurites, which can form whenever lightning discharges into the Earth.

It’s likely that even if you’ve seen a fulgurite, you likely had no idea what it was. So what are they, exactly? Basically, they are natural tubes of glass that are formed by a fusion of silica sand or rock during a lightning strike.

Much like Lichtenberg figures appear across wood, the resulting shape mimics the path of the lightning bolt as it discharged into the ground. And yes, people make jewelry out of fulgurites.

Lightning Striking Again

Lightning is among the oldest observed phenomena on Earth. You probably know that lightning is just a giant spark of electricity in the atmosphere. It can occur between clouds, the air, or the ground and often hits tall things like skyscrapers and mountaintops.

Lightning is often visible during volcanic eruptions, intense forest fires, heavy snowstorms, surface nuclear detonations, and of course, thunderstorms.

In lightning’s infancy, air acts as an insulator between charges — the positive and negative charges between the cloud and the ground. Once the charges have sufficiently built up, the air’s insulating qualities break down and the electricity is rapidly discharged in the form of lightning.

When lightning strikes, the energy in the channel briefly heats up the air to about 50,000 °F, which is several times the surface of the Sun. This makes the air explode outward. As the shock wave’s pressure decreases, we hear thunder.

Of Sand and Rock and Other Stuff

Fulgurites, also known as fossilized lightning, don’t have a fixed composition: they are composed of whatever they’re composed of at the time of the lightning strike. Four main types of fulgurites are officially recognized: sand, soil, caliche (calcium-rich), and  rock fulgurites. Sand fulgurites can usually be found on beaches or in deserts where clean sand devoid of silt and clay dominates. And like those Lichtenberg figures, sand fulgurites tend to look like branches of tubes. They have rough surfaces comprised of partially-melted grains of sand.

When sand fulgurites are formed, the sand rapidly cools and solidifies. Because of this, they tend to take on a glassy interior. As you might imagine, the size and shape of a fulgurite depends on several factors, including the strength of the strike and the depth of the sand being struck. On average, they are 2.5 to 5 cm in diameter, but have been found to exceed 20 cm.

Soil fulgurites can form in a wide variety of sediment compositions including clay-, silt-, and gravel-rich soils as well as leosses, which are wind-blown formations of accumulated dust. These also appear as tubaceous or branching formations, vesicular, irregular, or a combination thereof.

Calcium-rich sediment fulgurites have thick walls and variable shapes, although it’s common for multiple narrow channels to appear. These can run the gamut of morphological and structural variation for objects that can be classified as fulgurites.

Rock fulgurites are typically found on mountain peaks, which act as natural lightning rods. They appear as coatings or crusts of glass formed on rocks, either found as branching channels on the surface, or as lining in pre-existing fractures in the rock. They are most often found at the summit or within several feet of it.

Fact-Finding Fulgurites

Aside from jewelry and such, fulgurites’ appeal comes in wherever they’re found, as their presence can be used to estimate the number of lightning strikes in an area over time.

Then again there’s some stuff you may not necessarily want to use in jewelry making. Stuff that can be found in the dark, dank corners of the Earth. Stay tuned!

It’s been said that the best way to stifle creativity by researchers is to demand that they produce immediately marketable technologies and products. This is also effectively the story of Bell Labs, originally founded as Bell Telephone Laboratories, Inc. in January 1925. As an integral part of AT&T and Western Electric, it enjoyed immense funding and owing to the stable financial situation of AT&T very little pressure to produce results. This led to the development of a wide range of technologies like the transistor, laser, photovoltaic cell, charge-coupled cell (CCD), Unix operating system and so on. After the break-up of AT&T, however, funding dried up and with it the discoveries that had once made Bell Labs such a famous entity. Which raises the question of what it would take to create a new Bell Labs?

As described in the article by [Brian Potter], one aspect of Bell Labs that made it so successful was that the researchers employed there could easily spend a few years tinkering on something that tickled their fancy, whether in the field of semiconductors, optics, metallurgy or something else entirely. There was some pressure to keep research focused on topics that might benefit the larger company, but that was about it, as the leadership knew that sometimes new technologies can take a few years or decades to come to fruition.

All of this came to a rapid stop following the 1982 court-ordered breakup of AT&T. Despite initial optimism at Bell Labs that things could remain much the same, over the following years Bell Labs would be split up repeatedly, with the 1996 spinning off of Western Electric into Lucent Technologies that took much of Bell Labs with it being the first of many big splits, ending for now with five pieces, with Nokia Bell Labs (formerly Lucent Bell Labs) and AT&T Labs being the largest two. To nobody’s surprise, among all these changes funding for fundamental and theoretical research effectively vanished.

Ultimately Bell Labs would seem to have been at least partially a product of unique historical circumstances, especially the highly specialized field of telecommunications before the same transistors and other technologies that Bell Labs invented would make such technological fields something that anyone could get started in. It’s possible that even without court order, AT&T would have found itself facing stiff competition by the 1990s.

The short answer to the original question of whether Bell Labs could be recreated today is thus a likely ‘no’, while the long answer would be ‘No, but we can create a Bell Labs suitable for today’s technology landscape’. Ultimately the idea of giving researchers leeway to tinker is one that is not only likely to get big returns, but passionate researchers will go out of their way to circumvent the system to work on this one thing that they are interested in. We saw this for example with [Shuji Nakamura], who cracked the way to make efficient blue LEDs, despite every effort by his employer to make his research unnecessarily difficult.

If there’s one thing that this world needs more of, it are researchers like Nakamura-san, and the freedom for them to pursue these passions. That, ultimately could be said to be the true recreation of Bell Labs.

You consider yourself a power user. You’ve got lots of files, and damn it, you like to keep them backed up. Around a decade ago, you gave up on burning optical discs, and switched to storing your files on portable hard drives. One local, one off-site, and a cloud backup just to be sure. You’re diligent for a home gamer, and that gets you done.

The above paragraph could describe any number of Hackaday readers, but what of bigger operations? Universities, businesses, and research institutions all have data budgets far in excess of what the individual could even imagine. What might shock you is that some of them are relying on optical media—just not the kind you’ve ever heard of before. Enter Sony’s Optical Disc Archive.

Not A DVD

Historically, tape has been a very popular backup medium as it provides a great deal of storage at a low price. In these applications, the linear nature of tape and the resulting slow seek speeds don’t really matter. However , tape has another problem—that of longevity. Plastic tapes covered in magnetic particles just aren’t that hardy when you start talking about timespans measured in decades or more. To that end, Sony wanted to develop a more durable archival and backup solution as an adjunct to its popular Linear Open Tape storage systems.

The result was the Optical Disc Archive, an optical component of Sony’s broader PetaSite data archive system. It’s considered an ideal solution for storing large amounts of media for long periods of time. Sony cites broadcaster archives as a prime use case, where it’s desirable to store footage for easy access for many decades. The fast seek time of the optical media allows for its use as an online or nearline archive, something which tape doesn’t do anywhere near as well.

Released in 2012, it drew from BluRay technology, using the same 405 nm lasers to burn data on to write-once discs. Generation one cartridges held 12 single-sided optical discs and could store up to 1.5 terabytes per cart, with read speeds of up to 137.5 MB/s. Smaller carts were available with capacities as low as 300 GB, and some early media was rewritable.

By generation three, released in 2019, Sony had pushed storage up to 5.5 terabytes and speeds up to 375 MB/s, using 11 discs per cartridge with three layers on each side. The current generation technology comes in at 500GB per individual disc. From generation two media onwards, all media was write once.

While desktop drives are available, it’s not the typical use case. Discs are typically stored en masse in large stacker units that combine one or more drives and many storage cartridges. One typically starts with a master library unit, to which one can add up to to five expansion units each holding more drives and cartridges. The units contain robotics to load and unload cartridges in the available drives. It’s possible to create a 42U rack untit that stores 535 cartridges with one drive and a total of 2.94 petabytes, according to Sony. Alternatively, if you wanted more drives and less carts, you could build a similar sized rack to store 375 carts and four drives for up to 2.06 petabytes instead.

Using the optical format has multiple benefits to longevity. The discs are read without any sort of friction which can wear away the media, quite unlike tapes which make contact with the reader head. The polycarbonate media is also resistant to water, dust, changes in humidity and temperature, and electromagnetic radiation, within reason. Sony claims a media life of 100-years-plus—this has obviously gone untested in real time. There’s also the in-built benefit of using write-once media—this makes the discs themselves essentially immune to viruses, intentional erasure, ransomware, or cyber attacks—outside of some edge case where a hacker figures out how to overspeed the drives and destroy the discs. Don’t hold your breath.

All this sounds wonderful, right? There’s just the sad note that this wonderous optical technology is already on the way out. Click around Sony’s website, and you’ll find that most of the Optical Disc Archive hardware has been discontinued. Indeed, when Sony announced it was cutting production of writable optical media, we took notice—mostly thinking about CD-Rs, DVD-Rs, and BD-Rs. But an additional consequence was that it would end the production of Optical Disc Archive carts as well, and with no new media, there’d be no need for new drives, either. As to why, the answer was simple—money. As reported by TechRadar:

“The growth of the cold storage market has not reached our expectations, and the performance of the storage media business as a whole continues to be in the red,” a Sony Group spokesperson said. “We have determined that it is necessary to review the business structure to improve profitability.”

For months before liftoff, the popular press had been hyping up the fact that the Polaris Dawn mission would include the first-ever private spacewalk. Not only would this be the first time anyone who wasn’t a professional astronaut would be opening the hatch of their spacecraft and venturing outside, but it would also be the first real-world test of SpaceX’s own extravehicular activity (EVA) suits. Whether you considered it a billionaire’s publicity stunt or an important step forward for commercial spaceflight, one thing was undeniable: when that hatch opened, it was going to be a moment for the history books.

But if you happened to have been watching the live stream of the big event earlier this month, you’d be forgiven for finding the whole thing a bit…abrupt. After years of training and hundreds of millions of dollars spent, crew members Jared Isaacman and Sarah Gillis both spent less than eight minutes outside of the Dragon capsule. Even then, you could argue that calling it a spacewalk would be a bit of a stretch.

Neither crew member ever fully exited the spacecraft, they simply stuck their upper bodies out into space while keeping their legs within the hatch at all times. When it was all said and done, the Dragon’s hatch was locked up tight less than half an hour after it was opened.

Likely, many armchair astronauts watching at home found the whole thing rather anticlimactic. But those who know a bit about the history of human spaceflight probably found themselves unable to move off of the edge of their seat until that hatch locked into place and all crew members were back in their seats.

Flying into space is already one of the most mindbogglingly dangerous activities a human could engage in, but opening the hatch and floating out into the infinite black once you’re out there is even riskier still. Thankfully the Polaris Dawn EVA appeared to go off without a hitch, but not everyone has been so lucky on their first trip outside the capsule.

A High Pressure Situation

The first-ever EVA took place during the Voskhod 2 mission in March of 1965. Through the use of an ingenious inflatable airlock module, cosmonaut Alexei Leonov was able to exit the Voskhod 3KD spacecraft and float freely in space at the end of a 5.35 m (17.6 ft) tether. He attached a camera to the outside of the airlock, providing a visual record of yet another space “first” achieved by the Soviet Union.

This very first EVA had two mission objectives, one of which Leonov had accomplished when he successfully rigged the external camera. The last thing he had to do was turn around and take pictures of the Voskhod spacecraft flying over the Earth — a powerful propaganda image that the USSR was eager to get their hands on. But when he tried to activate his suit’s camera using the trigger mounted to his thigh, he found he couldn’t reach it. It was then that he realized the suit had begun to balloon around him, and that moving his arms and legs was taking greater and greater effort due to the suit’s material stiffening.

After about ten minutes in space Leonov attempted to re-enter the airlock, but to his horror found that the suit had expanded to the point that it would no longer fit into the opening. As he struggled to cram himself into the airlock, his body temperature started to climb. Soon he was sweating profusely, which pooled around his body within the confines of the suit.

Unable to cope with the higher than anticipated internal temperature, the suit’s primitive life support system started to fail, making matters even worse. The runaway conditions in the suit caused his helmet’s visor to fog up, which he had no way to clear as he was now deep into a failure mode that the Soviet engineers had simply not anticipated. Not that they hadn’t provided him with a solution of sorts. Decades later, Leonov would reveal that there was a suicide pill in the helmet that he could have opted to use if need be.

With his core temperature now elevated by several degrees, Leonov was on the verge of heat stroke. His last option was to open a vent in his suit, which would hopefully cause it to deflate enough for him to fit inside the airlock. He noted that the suit was currently at 0.4 atmosphere, and started reducing the pressure. The safety minimum was 0.27 atm, but even at that pressure, he couldn’t fit. It wasn’t until the pressure fell to 0.25 atm that he was able to flex the suit enough to get his body back into the airlock, and from there back into the confines of the spacecraft.

In total, Alexei Leonov spent 12 minutes and 9 seconds in space. But it must have felt like an eternity.

Gemini’s Tricky Hatch

In classic Soviet style, nobody would know about the trouble Leonov ran into during his spacewalk for years. So when American astronaut Ed White was preparing to step out of the Gemini 4 capsule three months later in June of 1965, he believed he really had his work cut out for him. Not only had the Soviets pulled off a perfect EVA, but as far as anyone knew, they had made it look easy.

So it’s not hard to imagine how White must have felt when he pulled the lever to open the hatch on the Gemini spacecraft, only to find it refused to budge. As it so happens, this wasn’t the first time the hatch failed to open. During vacuum chamber testing back on the ground, the hatch had refused to lock because a spring-loaded gear in the mechanism failed to engage properly. Luckily the second astronaut aboard the Gemini capsule, James McDivitt, was present when they had this issue on the ground and knew how the latch mechanism functioned.

McDivitt felt confident that he could get the gear to engage and allow White to open the hatch, but was concerned about getting it closed. Failing to open the hatch and calling off the EVA was one thing, but not being able to secure the hatch afterwards meant certain death for the two men. Knowing that Mission Control would almost certainly have told them to abort the EVA if they were informed about the hatch situation, the astronauts decided to go ahead with the attempt.

As he predicted, McDivitt was able to fiddle with the latching mechanism and got the hatch open for White. Although there were some communication issues during the spacewalk due to problems with the voice-operated microphones, the EVA went very well, with White demonstrating a hand-held maneuvering thruster that allowed him to fly around the spacecraft at the end of his tether.

White was having such a good time that he kept making excuses to extend the spacewalk. Finally, after approximately 23 minutes, he begrudgingly returned to the Gemini capsule — informing Mission Control that it was “the saddest moment of my life.”

The hatch had remained open during the EVA, but now that White was strapped back into the capsule, it was time to close it back up. Unfortunately, just as McDivitt feared, the latches wouldn’t engage. To make matters worse, it took White so long to get back into the spacecraft that they were now shadowed by the Earth and working in the dark. Reaching blindly inside the mechanism, White was once again able to coax it into engaging, and the hatch was securely closed.

But there was still a problem. The mission plan called for the astronauts to open the hatch so they could discard unnecessary equipment before attempting to reenter the Earth’s atmosphere. As neither man was willing to risk opening the hatch again, they instead elected to stow everything aboard the capsule for the remainder of the flight.

Overworked, and Underprepared

At this point the Soviet Union and the United States had successfully conducted EVAs, but both had come dangerously close to disaster. Unfortunately, between the secretive nature of the Soviets and the reluctance of the Gemini 4 crew to communicate their issues to Mission Control, NASA administration started to underestimate the difficulties involved.

NASA didn’t even schedule EVAs for the next three Gemini missions, and the ambitious spacewalk planned for Gemini 8 never happened due to the mission being cut short due to technical issues with the spacecraft. It wouldn’t be until Gemini 9A that another human stepped out of their spacecraft.

The plan was for astronaut Gene Cernan to spend an incredible two hours outside of the capsule, during which time he would make his way to the rear of the spacecraft where a prototype Astronaut Maneuvering Unit (AMU) was stored. Once there, Cernan was to disconnect himself from the Gemini tether and don the AMU, which was essentially a small self-contained spacecraft in its own right.

But as soon as he left the capsule, Cernan reported that his suit had started to swell and that movement was becoming difficult. To make matters worse, there were insufficient handholds installed on the outside of the Gemini spacecraft, making it difficult for him to navigate his away along its exterior. After eventually reaching the AMU and struggling desperately to put it on, Mission Control noted his heart rate had climbed to 180 beats per minute. The flight surgeon was worried he would pass out, so Mission Control asked him to take a break while they debated if he should continue with the AMU demonstration.

At this point Cernan noted that his helmet’s visor had begun to fog up, and just as Alexei Leonov had discovered during his own EVA, the suit had no system to clear it up. The only way he was able to see was by stretching forward and clearing off a small section of the glass by rubbing his nose against it. Realizing the futility of continuing, Commander Thomas Stafford decided not to wait on Mission Control and ordered Cernan to abort the EVA and get back into the spacecraft.

Cernan slowly made his way back to the Gemini’s hatch. The cooling system in his suit had by now been completely overwhelmed, which caused the visor to fog up completely. Effectively blind, Cernan finally arrived at the spacecraft’s hatch, but was too exhausted to continue. Stafford held onto Cernan’s legs while he rested and finally regained the strength to lower himself into the capsule and close the hatch.

When they returned to Earth the next day, a medical examination revealed Cernan had lost 13 pounds (5.8 kg) during his ordeal. The close-call during his spacewalk lead NASA to completely reassess their EVA training and procedures, and the decision was made to limit the workload on all future Gemini spacewalks, as the current air-cooled suit clearly wasn’t suitable for long duration use. It wasn’t until the Apollo program introduced a liquid-cooled suit that American astronauts would spend any significant time working outside of their spacecraft.

The Next Giant Leap

Thanks to the magic of live streaming video, we know that the Polaris Dawn crew was able to complete their brief EVA without incident: no shadowy government cover-ups, cowboy heroics, or near death experiences involved.

With the benefit of improved materials and technology, not to mention the knowledge gained over the hundreds of spacewalks that have been completed since the early days of the Space Race, the first private spacewalk looked almost mundane in comparison to what had come before it.

But there’s still much work to be done. SpaceX needs to perform further tests of their new EVA suit, and will likely want to demonstrate that crew members can actually get work done while outside of the Dragon. So it’s safe to assume that when the next Polaris Dawn mission flies, its crew will do a bit more than just stick their heads out the hatch.

In an age where our gadgets allow us to explore the cosmos, we stumbled upon sounds from a future past: an article on historical signals from Mars. The piece, written by [Paul Gilster] of Centauri Dreams, cites a Times essay published by [Becky Ferreira] of August 20. [Ferreira]’s essay sheds light on a fascinating, if peculiar, chapter in the history of the search for extraterrestrial life.

She recounts an event from August 1924 when the U.S. Navy imposed a nationwide radio silence for five minutes each hour to allow observatories to listen for signals from Mars. This initiative aimed to capitalize on the planet’s close alignment with Earth, sparking intrigue and excitement among astronomers and enthusiasts alike.

Amid the technological optimism of the era, a dirigible equipped with radio equipment took to the skies to monitor potential Martian messages. The excitement peaked when a series of dots and dashes captured by the airborne antenna suggested a “crudely drawn face.” Some scientists speculated that this could be a signal from a Martian civilization, igniting a media frenzy. Yet, skeptics, including inventor C. Francis Jenkins, suggested these results were merely a case of radio frequency interference—an early reminder of the challenges we face in discerning genuine signals from the noise of our own planet.

As we tinker with our devices and dream of interstellar communication, the 1924 incident reminds us that the search for extraterrestrial intelligence is a blend of curiosity, creativity, and, often, misinterpretation.

Today, you likely often authenticate or pay for things with a tap, either using a chip in your card, or with your phone, or maybe even with your watch or a Yubikey. Now, imagine doing all these things way back in 1998 with a single wearable device that you could shower or swim with. Sound crazy?

These types of transactions and authentications were more than possible then. In fact, the Java ring and its iButton brethren were poised to take over all kinds of informational handshakes, from unlocking doors and computers to paying for things, sharing medical records, making coffee according to preference, and much more. So, what happened?

Just Press the Blue Dot

Perhaps the most late-nineties piece of tech jewelry ever produced, the Java Ring is a wearable computer. It contains a tiny microprocessor with a million transistors that has a built-in Java Virtual Machine (JVM), non-volatile storage, and an serial interface for data transfer.

While it might be the coolest piece in the catalog, the Java ring was just one of many ways to get your iButton. But wait, what is this iButton I keep talking about?

In 1989, Dallas Semiconductor created a storage device that resembles a coin cell battery and uses the 1-Wire communication protocol. The top of the iButton is the positive contact, and the casing acts as ground. These things are still around, and have many applications from holding bus fare in Istanbul to the immunization records of Canadian cows.

For $15 in 1998 money, you could get a Blue Dot receptor to go with it for sexy hardware two-factor authentication into your computer via serial or parallel port. Using an iButton was as easy as pressing the ring (or what have you) up against the Blue Dot.

Indestructible Inside and Out, Except for When You Need It

Made of of stainless steel and waterproof grommets, this thing is built to be indestructible. The batteries were rated for a ten-year life, and the ring itself for one million hot contacts with Blue Dot receptors.

This thing has several types of encryption going for it, including 1024-bit RSA public-key encryption, which acts like a PGP key. There’s a random number generator and a real-time clock to disallow backdating transactions. And the processor is driven by an unstabilized ring oscillator, so it constantly varies its clock speed between 10 and 20 MHz. This way, the speed can’t be detected externally.

But probably the coolest part is that the embedded RAM is tamper-proof. If tampered with, the RAM undergoes a process called rapid zeroization that erases everything. Of course, while Java Rings and other iButton devices maybe be internally and externally tamper-proof, they can be lost or stolen quite easily. This is part of why the iButton came in many form factors, from key chains and necklaces to rings and watch add-ons. You can see some in the brochure below that came with the ring:

The Part You’ve Been Waiting For

I seriously doubt I can get into this thing without totally destroying it, so these exploded views will have to do. Note the ESD suppressor.

So, What Happened?

I surmise that the demise of the Java Ring and other iButton devices has to do with barriers to entry for businesses — even though receptors may have been $15 each, it simply cost too much to adopt the technology. And although it was stylish to Java all the things at the time, well, you can see how that turned out.

If you want a Java Ring, they’re on ebay. If you want a modern version of the Java Ring, just dissolve a credit card and put the goodies in resin.

It is hard to imagine that a handful of decades ago, TV wasn’t a thing. We’ve talked a few times about the birth of television. After an admittedly slow slow start, it took over like wildfire. Of course, anything that sells millions will spawn accessories. Some may be great. Then there are others.

We wanted to take a nostalgic look back at some of the strange add-ons people used to put on or in their TVs. Sure, VCRs, DVD players, and video game consoles were popular. But we were thinking a little more obscure than that.

Rabbit Ears

Every once in a while, we see an ad or a box in a store touting the ability to get great TV programming for free. Invariably, it is a USB device that lets you watch free streaming channels or it is an antenna. There was a time when nearly all TVs had “rabbit ears” — so called because they made an inverted V on the top of your set.

These dipoles were telescoping and you were supposed to adjust them to fit the TV station you were watching but everyone “knew” that you wanted them as long as possible at all times. Holding one end of them gave it a ground and would give you a major improvement in picture. People also liked to wrap tin foil around the tips. Was it like a capacitive hat? We aren’t sure.

The better rabbit ears had knobs and switches along with multiple elements. If you lived close to a TV station, you probably didn’t need much. If you didn’t, no number of fancy add-ons would likely help you.

External Antenna with Rotator

If you really wanted to get TV from a distance, you needed an outside antenna. Most of these were either yagi or log periodic designs. That means they were very directional. The also means you probably needed a way to rotate it. If you were lucky, all the TV stations were in the same direction from you. Then you didn’t need to rotate your antenna. Some UHF-only antennas looked like dishes and they, too, were directional.

Rotators were crazy. They were all a little different, but typically you’d move a big knob to the direction you wanted the antenna pointing. Then you’d hear CHUNK, CHUNK, CHUNK as the antenna actually moved. This was a cheap form of stepper motor. Some rotators used something akin to a selsyn to move continuously, but most just moved to a few dozen points around a circle. Hams still use modern versions of antenna rotators to adjust directional antennas.

CRT Brightener

The most expensive part of any old TV was the picture tube. These tubes were fragile and expensive to make and ship, so it was often the case that if the ‘tube went out, it was cheaper to just buy a new TV.

When a picture tube started to go dark, you could sometimes run a high voltage through it to restore it (you being a TV repairman with the equipment to do it). Or, you could try installing a CRT brightener. These devices looked a little like tubes. You’d remove the connector from the CRT’s neck and install the device. Then, the wire that used to plug into the CRT would plug into the other side of the device.

These were essentially little transformers that boosted the AC voltage going to the filaments. They worked for a while, but it probably meant a new TV wasn’t far in your future. If you want to know more than you could possibly imagine about how these work, there was an article in Radio Electronics written by someone who worked for a company that made them, and it goes into incredible detail. [Chris] shows us a 1950s TV that had one of these in it. You could actually stack these one on top the other if you wanted to take your chances and try to keep the old TV working as long as possible.

Ghost Eliminator

According to a Layfayette Electronics catalog the Rembrandt TV Ghost Eliminator “Electrically rotates the polar-receiving pattern of your existing antenna and phases the ground wave picked up by the electrical wiring system with the sky wave picked up by the antenna.” What?

As far as we can tell, these units were just attenuators, which reduced weaker signals below the receiver’s ability to find them.

Tuner Rebuild and Cleaners

One of the key components of a TV was the tuner. Because of the high frequencies and the low technology of the day, these were usually a compact unit that was directly behind the knob you used to change channels. The output of the tuner was relatively a low-frequency signal at the intermediate frequency, and that’s what the rest of the TV used.

It was difficult to make broadband devices back then, so the tuners usually had banks of tuned circuits, and a giant mechanical switch selected the ones you wanted. That’s why you turned the knob to pick the channel you wanted. With contacts like that, they eventually get dirty. Contact cleaners for tuners were common and probably contained a lot of things you aren’t allowed to put in spray cans today. Tun-O-Foam was one common brand.

But if you really had trouble with your tuner, you could pull it out and send it to one of the many companies that would clean and service it for a low price. For a little more, you could buy a refurbished tuner from the same people. They’d always advertise a low price but note that tubes, transistors, and diodes were charged “at cost.” Shipping, too, usually. The reality is that most tuners probably needed a good cleaning and, perhaps, a realignment.

Tube Testers/Tube Guard

You’ve probably heard us talk about tube testers before. One thing that is the enemy of tubes is inrush current. A cold filament draws more current than a hot filament, so tubes get a big jolt of current while they are warming up. The “Tube Guard” was a device you plugged into the wall and then plugged the TV into it. It would prevent fast inrush current. Maybe that would save you a trip to the tube tester at the local drugstore.

You could go into many drugstores and other retail places and find a tube tester. There was usually a book or some other way to look up your tube. The book would tell you to put in socket #8 and set switch 1 to F, switch 2 to A, and so on. Then you’d push a button and big meter would move a needle to a green region if the tube was good or a red region if it was bad. Of course, that wasn’t foolproof, but it did work much of the time since tubes have common failure modes.

If the tube was bad, you’d open the bottom of the tester, find the replacement tube and take it to the register. There were also portable units that service people might carry, like the one in the video below. Like many of the meters, it didn’t have a book, but it had a scroll that you would roll to find the right settings. However, a typical retail store tube tester was usually easier to use than these specialized units.

That’s Not All

There are plenty of other TV gadgets. We mentioned the old VCRs, DVDs, and video games, of course. But there were also color wheels, magnifying screens and more. We’ve even seen boxes that claim to convert your TV into a video phone.

You could get a box that would censor swear words. You could even get pay TV in the 1960s if you were willing to put coins into your set.

Many of the images in this post are from scans of old magazines and catalogs from the World Radio History site. A great resource if you enjoy looking at the way things were. The featured image, however, is a still of “1950s TV set“, a 3D model by [Kathrin&Christian].