US Frigate Constitution Enters San Francisco Bay -- 1933

 

I last posted about "Old Ironsides" on this blog back on Dec. 12, 2013. If you are interested, you may want to look at that blog post by clicking here.  I was going through some old photographs that I have and came across an additional photo that I had inadvertently omitted from that blog.  I thought is was such an interesting photo that I would include it here, at the almost 250th anniversary of the founding of our nation.  It is somewhat of a miracle that this ship, originally constructed over 225 years ago, is still afloat today.  

Of course, this has not been without extensive reconstruction of the ship many times through the years. 

The picture, of course, is of both the USF Constitution and the Golden Gate Bridge while being constructed in 1933.  The occasion of the ship being in San Francisco Bay in 1933, which I might add was over 90 years ago, was part of a tour following the 1927-1931 reconstruction of the ship at the Boston Navy Shipyard.  For the next three years after its reconstruction the ship toured the ports of the coastal states from Boston to Washington and back.  Don't forget that at that time Hawaii and Alaska were not states, and consequently did not get included on the tour.

The ship passed through the Panama Canal in order to get from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Ocean, both going to the West Coast and upon it's return.  I just happen to have an image of the ship as it passed through the Panama Canal, but I don't know if this was going West in 1932 or returning East in 1934.

Celebrating Joseph Priestley's Birthday - March 24, 1733

This coming March 24th, we will celebrate the 293rd year since the birth of this magnificent person, known by the name of Joseph Priestley, who has contributed so much to our civilization.  He was born to a family of rather ordinary means in Birstall, West Yorkshire, England, in 1733.

Actually, at the time he was born, the Julian calendar was in use in England, and he was born on March 13, 1732. But when England switched to the Gregorian calendar and also started of the new year to January 1st, his birth date was changed to reflect the date we celebrate now.

He would go on to make significant contributions in many diverse fields.  He is viewed by some today as the conscience of our modern way of thinking.  We have extolled his many contributions to humanity in the pages of this blog; should you wish to learn more about him, feel free to browse the many entries about him that we have posted. 

Yet, today, for most, he is a relatively unknown figure of history, or perhaps, only known as the person who first isolated the gas we now know as oxygen.

The Ross Precision Computer

The Ross Precision Computer

I have been looking to acquire a Ross Precision Computer for many decades now. The Ross was conceived and manufactured in San Francisco, CA, starting in about 1915 by Louis Ross, a Ukrainian immigrant to the US.  These are considered very rare, as the company was only in business for a limited number of years, they were relatively expensive when they were originally offered for sale, and not many have survived.  On the plus side, they were very accurate (5 places of accuracy), and is less bulky, and could be carried easier (length, 11.5") than some of the other long scale slide rules like the Thacher, or the Fuller. 

I have recently purchased the Ross pictured above and added it to my collection.  For a more descriptive article on the details of this device, please see this link by Nathan Zeldes.

The Day the Sky Turned Dark in New York City -- January 24, 1925

 

It was the third decade of the 20th century, about the middle of the roaring 20s.  Technology and industrialization, along with the Great World War of the prior decade, had helped to transform the United States into a major world power, and with that transformation New York City became the world's powerhouse.  

Calvin Coolidge, who had been the Vice President of the United States under Warren G. Harding, was now the President since Harding had suddenly died in office on August 2, 1923. At that time there was no way, unlike today after the passage of the 25th amendment to the Constitution in 1967, to nominate and confirm a Vice Presidential candidate to fill the vacancy created by Coolidge’s ascendancy to the Presidency.

During 1924, Coolidge ran for President on the Republican ticket, with Charles G. Dawes as his running mate against John W. Davis and Charles W. Bryan on the Democratic ticket.  In the November, 1924, election Coolidge and Dawes won the election, but in those days, since inauguration day was still March 4, of the following year, Coolidge would have no sitting Vice President until after the inauguration in March.

In New York City, John F. Hylan was the Mayor. New York City had just become the most populous city in the world, having overtaken London.

January, 1925, arrived and departed like a polar bear and New York City was the unwelcome recipient of almost 27 1/2 inches of snow, the most ever recorded for any January up to that time (this record was finally eclipsed in January, 2011, when the city recorded 36 inches of snow).  On January 20, 1925, New York City got hit with two blizzards in one day. On January 27 more snow fell and then the coup de grace; another giant storm on January 30 that affected the entire metropolitan area.

But, on January 24th of that year, on that cold and wintry Saturday morning the temperature was hovering around zero degrees, and David Franklyn Yerex, a professional photographer who had worked for a number of years for Underwood and Underwood, the world’s largest producer of stereoscopic cards, arose early and took his photographic equipment to Highbridge Park just north of the High Bridge on the Manhattan side before dawn and set up his camera to get a good view of the High Bridge and the Harlem River. David grew up with cold weather. He had been born in a small town in Ontario, Canada, in 1876.  But, despite all the adverse weather conditions, at precisely 9:11 am he took a picture that made him somewhat of a celebrity. He had taken a very rare picture of a total eclipse of the Sun at precisely the right time.

It was known for quite some time prior to the actual eclipse that this eclipse was going to come on January 24th, but in order for a viewer in New York City to get a view of the total eclipse the viewer had to be in the very narrow path where the eclipse was total.  In fact, had Mr. Yerex been south of approximately 96th St. he would have only seen a partial eclipse. Below is the map prepared by Consolidated Edison Companies based upon actual observations of where this particular eclipse was total and where it was only partial. You will note the somewhat diagonal dotted line (actually it is going almost directly east/west) through the northern part of Central Park, starting at about 95th St. at Riverside Drive and ending at about 106th St at the East River. Points south of this line were in partial eclipse for the event and points north of this line were in the path of the total eclipse.

Below is a local news article on the anticipated path of the area where the total eclipse would occur on that day.

You can see that New York City is on the southern fringe of the area covered by the total eclipse.  

The following beautiful and rare art photo of the Total Eclipse of the Sun was taken by David Yerex from Highbridge Park on Washington Heights, overlooking the Harlem River and the Bronx, New York City, January 24th, 1925 at about 9 A.M.

Image copyright 2016, Friends of the High Bridge, LTD.

It shows the historic High Bridge before the steel span over the Harlem River would be installed a few years later. Also, the street lights were turned on during the eclipse; and you can see the small tug going up the river; and smoke from a passing train still visible; also shown is the reflection of the eclipse in the water.  This is the only photograph of the “Great Event” which shows the marvelous streamers of the Corona that resemble an arrow shooting through the disk of the Moon.

A beautiful hand colored enlargement of this picture was hung in The American Museum of Natural History and has been highly endorsed by astronomers, artists, photographers and other capable critics who have proclaimed it to be a stunning picture of the eclipse.

To get an idea of how infrequently a celestial phenomenon such as this happens, the last previous total eclipse in New York City was in 1838, just as the Croton Aqueduct was starting to be constructed, and that eclipse was not a total solar eclipse, it was an annular solar eclipse. You would have to go back to the year 1478, before Columbus even discovered the New World, to find the last total solar eclipse to pass over what is now called New York City. And, if you are interested to know, the next total solar eclipse to pass over New York City will be in the year 2079.

David Yerex, would go on to take pictures of other future eclipses including the total solar eclipse of August 31, 1932 in New Hampshire, and the total solar eclipse of April 7, 1940 in Florida; and was honored by Life Magazine in 1940 with Life Magazine's Picture of the Week Award for the picture of the total eclipse of April 7, 1940, taken by him in Green Cove Springs, FL, just south of Jacksonville.

David Yerex led a colorful life. He lived in Providence, RI upon immigrating to the US in about 1893 and then met and married Annie McGregor Belmore after she immigrated from Nova Scotia to Boston in 1898. They moved to Boston where he was with the firm of E. Chickering. He was noted for his critically important photographs during this period of time. He divorced Annie and moved to New York City in the early 1910s, where he was employed by Underwood & Underwood. Underwood & Underwood was the world's largest producer of stereoview cards. It was during the 20s that the stereoview cards were losing market share and the firm was moving into photo images for the press, much like AP and UPI. He became naturalized as a citizen in 1917 and married a local girl named Helen of Irish descent. In 1920 he had moved to Washington Heights on 160th St. By the mid 1920s he had his own studio in the Bronx, not far from the High Bridge. Perhaps he walked the High Bridge from the Bronx with his equipment that cold wintry day to shoot the picture of the eclipse. During the 1930s he operated a photo studio providing portraits and other photographic services for the general public while he pursued his interest on the artistic side of the field. Around 1940 he moved back to Boston and lived there until his death. Very few of his known works still survive.

February 11, 2026 Marks the 222th Anniversary of the Death of Joseph Priestley in Northumberland PA

We last visited the graveside of Joseph Priestley in Northumberland, PA, on February 6, 2004, almost 22 years ago on the commemoration of the 200 years since his death. Priestley is as relevant, if not more so, today than when he died there over two centuries ago, shortly after the birth of our nation.

History Today said, "President Thomas Jefferson of the United States wrote to Joseph Priestley, clergyman and chemist, when the latter was seriously ill in 1801, ‘Yours is one of the few lives precious to mankind, for the continuance of which every thinking man is solicitous.’ Not everyone in America or Britain would have agreed with this sentiment. On the contrary, Priestley’s radical views on religion and politics had made England too hot for him. A mob in Birmingham had destroyed his home, his books, and his laboratory with all his apparatus ten years before and he had felt in danger ever afterwards. In 1794, he and his wife, Mary, emigrated to America, where their three sons had already preceded them. After a horrible seasick voyage of eight weeks against contrary winds, they arrived in thick fog in New York City to great acclaim and went on to Philadelphia, where Priestley was again received with flattering attentions."

On the morning of February 6, 1804, at his home in Northumberland, PA, after dictating final revisions to a manuscript which was a memoir of his life, he famously declared, "That is right. I have now done," and passed shortly after, a death marked by his son and family present. He was buried near his home, and his death followed the years of political turmoil in England that led him to emigrate to America. 

If you are interested in seeing the post on our visit to his resting place, click here.

Mystery Island

                                                          

Every morning, without fail, I find myself at the window, staring out toward an island just off the coast. It’s a place I’ve come to know intimately through years of watching, yet it remains forever mysterious. The island is covered in thick, lush vegetation—a jumble of trees, shrubs, and vines that seem to grow wildly without human intervention. At times, it is covered with a haze, making it appear impenitrable. Sometimes, in the early morning light, I think I can see flashes of green through the canopy, hints of what might be hiding within. But as the day wears on, the island remains silent and still, an untouched patch of the world that calls to my curiosity.

I’ve never seen a boat go there, nor anyone venturing near its shores. Over the years, I’ve watched countless ships and small boats pass by, but none have ever headed toward that mysterious place. It’s as if the island exists in a separate time, separate space, disconnected from the bustling world beyond the coast. The locals around here don’t speak of it much—perhaps because it’s always been there, a quiet sentinel of the sea, or maybe because no one dares to venture close.

Sometimes, I imagine what could be on that island. Could it be uninhabited, left as a secret sanctuary? Or might there be something more—an old ruin, a forgotten relic of a long-lost civilization, hidden beneath the thick greenery? I think about the stories I’ve heard of explorers and adventurers who chase after the unknown, and I wonder if they’ve ever tried to reach it. Yet, as far as I know, no one has succeeded.

Each day, the island’s mystery deepens. The winds shift, stirring the trees and causing shadows to dance on the vegetation. The sun casts a golden glow, making the leaves shimmer like emerald flames. I feel a strange sense of longing whenever I look at it, a desire to step across the water and uncover its secrets. But the distance is too great, and I’ve never seen anyone brave enough to attempt the crossing.

Still, I keep watching, imagining stories for the island. Maybe someday, something will change—perhaps a boat will appear, or I will find a way to explore its hidden depths. Until then, it remains my silent, verdant mystery, just beyond my reach, a quiet reminder of how much of the world’s secrets we’ve yet to discover.

Twelve is the New Ten: The Age Advantage

In the sunny town of Willowbend, the local Senior Center is nestled between a sleepy lake and the world's most enthusiastic knitting club. The Senior Center hosts guest speakers who deliver talks to its members regularly. This week, they had scheduled their own local geriatrician, Dr. Sanjay Patel, to speak to the group. He was to talk about aging and how people around the globe celebrate their elders.

When Dr. Patel started his talk, he told them about how in India the Hindus celebrate Sahasra Purna Chandrodayam.  He explained, “In Sanskrit, sahasra means ‘1000’, purna means ‘full’, and chandrodayam means ‘dawn of moon’. This is a special occasion and celebration organized for an elderly member of the family who has witnessed 1000 full moon days during their lifetime. The 1000th full moon of a person's life occurs when they are approximately 80 years and 9 months old.  The celebration is meant to provide mental and physical strength to that person in their old age and to encourage them to pursue spiritual liberation from all problems in this life.”

He continued, “For some special few individuals, this particular date also just happens to be the date of the Winter Solstice -- The day when the sun rises the least in the sky during the year.  For these select individuals, there is a very special celebration.”

Switching to Japan, he stated, “Sanju”, a person's 80th birthday, is so called because the character “san” (傘) contains the characters for eight (八) and ten (十). Both sanju and beiju (88) are celebrated by wearing gold, giving thanks, and wishing for more happy years for the person.  Also, for a citizen’s 100th birthday, a commemorative silver sake cup is given by the Prime Minister as a token of gratitude and honor. Reaching the century mark is not uncommon in Japan.” 

Dr. Patel went on, “In Korean culture, a 60th birthday is directly related to the 60-year calendar cycle of the lunar calendar. It is thought of and celebrated as a mile marker for completion, and a send-off into the next 60-year cycle. Children honor their parents’ passage into old age with an upbeat celebration and wish for an even longer and more prosperous life.”

He then noted, “In China, the 60th birthday is also matched with a big celebration, and the celebrating continues every decade (70 years, 80 years, 90 years, etc.) until the person’s death. The older the person is, the bigger the celebration.”

Finally, he mentioned, “In the United States, approaching 100 years of age, you, or a close family member, can often reach out to the office of your State Governor or the President of the United States for a personalized greeting.”

At the conclusion of the talk, Claire quipped, “I have a peculiar problem: birthdays are starting to feel a bit… heavy.“

“I turned seventy-eight last week,” grumbled Harold, adjusting his suspenders as he squinted at the bingo card. “I swear, my knees heard the number before my ears did.”

“Try turning eighty-two,” chimed in Martha, who was knitting a scarf long enough to reach next Tuesday. “Every candle on the cake feels like a personal insult.”

The group nodded solemnly. Getting older was a privilege, yes. But did it have to sound so old?

That’s when Fred, a retired math professor and full-time amateur scientist, cleared his throat dramatically. He quipped, “Ladies and gentlemen—senior citizens of Willowbend—I propose a revolutionary idea: from this day forth, we measure our age in the duodecimal system.”

Blank stares.

“Base-twelve!” he beamed, pulling out a whiteboard from seemingly nowhere. “It’s how we should’ve been counting all along! Twelve has more divisors, aligns better with the number of months in a year, it's mathematically elegant, and more importantly… it makes us sound younger.”

Martha raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Fred, are you suggesting we lie about our age?”

“No, no, no,” he replied, adjusting his bowtie. “We’re just… reframing it. If anything, it’s numerically accurate—technically honest. For instance, instead of being 84, I’m now 70… in base twelve.”

Gasps of delight filled the room.

“Seventy! Why, I haven’t been seventy in a decade!” exclaimed Clara, who immediately stood up straighter.

Word spread like a particularly juicy piece of gossip at Tuesday Scrabble Club. By the following week, “Operation D12” had taken full hold.

The Willowbend Senior Center was transformed. The entrance boasted a freshly painted sign:
“Welcome to the Youthful Generation Twelve!”
Below it, a banner read:
“Aging gracefully—now with better math!”

The center’s receptionist, Peggy (chronologically 76, duodecimally 64), began handing out “New Age Cards” with every member’s recalculated birthday. You’d hear comments like:

• “I just turned 60 again this year!”
  
  

• “My grandson and I are both in our forties now—though he’s decimal, poor thing.”
  
  

• “I’m officially younger than my Wi-Fi router.”
  
  

The doctors were initially confused.

Dr. Patel blinked at his patient’s chart. “Mrs. Henderson, you’re... sixty-six?”

“In duodecimal, dear. Don’t worry—I still need my arthritis meds.”

The local paper, The Willowbend Gazette, ran a front-page feature: “New Math at Willowbend.” The piece highlighted the “aging revolution” that was sweeping the town and causing an uptick in birthday cake sales.

Even the mayor got in on it, proclaiming every third Thursday of the month “Base Twelve Appreciation Day,” which mostly involved cupcakes, calculators, and lively debates about whether 100 (in base twelve, meaning 144) should be the new benchmark for "over the hill."

The true beauty of the duodecimal system wasn’t just in the math—it was in the attitude.

Suddenly, folks were taking up new hobbies. Clarence (duodecimal 71) began breakdancing at open mic night. Edna (base-twelve 60) joined a rock band, playing tambourine with more gusto than anyone in their decimal seventies had a right to.

“When you stop counting up so fast, you start living again,” she declared between sets.

Even tech-savvy grandkids started to notice.

“Grandpa, you’re looking great these days,” said eleven-year-old Maya during a video call.

“Thank you, sweet pea. I’m only 68 now!”

“…Wait, weren’t you 80 last year?”

“Duodecimal magic,” he winked. “It’s the math of the wise.”

The trend didn’t go global—yet—but in Willowbend, something had undeniably changed. They still had joint pain, hearing aids, and a firm belief that music stopped being good after 1974, but they also had something else: a renewed spark.

Because when you look at age a little differently, the years suddenly feel a lot lighter.

And in a world obsessed with youth, the folks of Willowbend had cracked the code—not to reverse time, but to redefine it.

But there was a hiccup when Hazel, aged 83, said, “Now, just hold on there one minute.  I have a problem with this new-fangled system you have just created.  Just how are you going to deal with someone my age?  My new registration card says I am 6B.”

It was at this point that Fred quipped, “Ah, the infamous 83—the uncooperative rascal of a number in the grand duodecimal scheme! Let me think about that and get back to you next week.”

The following week, when the Seniors' Age Conversion Committee (a very serious group that met every Wednesday between Tai Chi and pudding) took up the matter that 83 in base-10 translated to 6B in base-12, there was a brief moment of panic.

“Six… B?” said Hazel, squinting over her bifocals. “That’s not a number, that’s half a bingo call!”

Fred, ever the mathematical maestro, tried to explain. “See, base-twelve uses digits 0 to 11. After 9, we use letters: A for ten, B for eleven. So 6B is perfectly normal!”

“You want me to tell my great-granddaughter I’m 6B years old? She’ll think I’m a droid from Star Wars!” Harold protested.

So, the Willowbend elders put their heads together (after a short nap) and came up with three charming solutions:

1. The “Friendly Rebrand” Approach
Instead of saying “6B,” they’d just say, “Sixty-Bright.”
“It sounds optimistic,” Clara said. “Like I’m still sparkling.”

Some preferred “Sixty-Bee,” claiming it made them sound “busy, buzzing, and ready for mischief.”

2. The “Round Up, Feel Up” Rule
If a base-12 age had a letter in it, the person was automatically granted “youthful honorary status.”
So at 6B, you weren’t 83—you were “Not Quite Seventy Yet,” and got extra pudding privileges and front-row seating at movie night.

3. The “Alphabetical Age Club”
Those with A or B in their age joined a special elite group called The Alphas.
They had custom pins, a weekly brunch, and told everyone else they were “literally beyond numbers.”

As Fred put it: “When you're too fabulous for digits, darling, you graduate to letters.”

So, in classic Willowbend style, what began as a math hiccup became a badge of honor. Being 6B meant you were sharp, seasoned, and had survived at least three fashion comebacks.

And honestly? The rest of the town was a little jealous.