mydots

This small folding can opener was first used by the military in 1942 and was retired in the 1980s. It was used to open “C-rations” which were subsequently replaced by MREs, eliminating the need for this highly-reliable and very compact device. It folds flat and measures about 1-1/2 inches (38mm) in length.

Kodak must have had hundreds of trade names assigned to products that began with the letters “K-O-D-A,” and this package illustrates a couple. The Kodapak system was branding for film that came pre-packaged in cartridges that were designed to fit into the Instamatic camera line.

Inside the package was the traditional foil-sealed pouch and a set of instructions.

The pouch held the cartridge. This one had film for 12 exposures of Kodacolor (print) film.

The inverse side is where the emulsion would be exposed.

No, it’s not a mathematical puzzle but a brand of dried squid strips, ready for a snack at a moment’s notice. They’re seasoned with sugar and powdered chilies. This was probably purchased in Singapore. The “Chewing-Gum” reference, while accurate is probably not politically correct.

Flowcharts are a tool for presenting a structured process. They are older than modern computing, dating back to the 1920s. By the 1970s, this model was a standard issue for all programmers. Looking carefully, you can see just how dated it really is. When was the last time you saw punched tape on a computer?

Coupon bonds were a form of a bearer bond that had a series of attached postage-stamp-size coupons, each associated with an interest payment. The interest was typically paid  once or twice per year. To collect the interest it was necessary to deliver the coupon for the respective payment date to a broker. Because the coupons became negotiable instruments for whoever held the coupon once the payment date was reached, individuals generally stored their bonds in a safe-deposit box and removed each coupon when the payment date came around. Because the coupons are small, banks provided, as a courtesy to customer, envelopes which were used in the processing of the coupon. 

The bondholder would clip the coupon, put it in the envelope, seal it up and write the pertinent information on the outside and deliver it to the broker. The windowed envelope ensured the coupon did not need to be separated from the metadata on the envelope at any point in its processing. This photo shows both sides of such an envelope.

Sometime brand names just don’t translate from one language to another. The classic example was when Chevrolet attempted to sell the Nova brand cars in Spanish-speaking countries. I prefer this one. While I am sure there has never been an attempt to sell this Iranian detergent in the U.S., it has definitely been sold in English-speaking countries. (Note the Cyrillic writing atop the smaller package, although the rest of the package is covered in English.)

It turns out بَرف (pronounced barf) is the Persian word for snow, so the name is not crazy in its original market.

I was fond of leaving this box in plain site of my teenage nephew, especially right after his mother had given him grief for using some mild term she thought was inappropriate in polite company.

The final generations of sleek Polaroid cameras were preceded by a series of devices that were technological marvels in their own right. They just weren’t so consumer-friendly.

The original Polaroid cameras used film that arrived in a bulky roll, packaged with a series of emulsions and caustic chemicals in capsules that were released after the film was exposed and a nascent photo was pulled from the camera. This is a package of such film, the black-and-white Type 37 Polaroid film.

The exterior of the package warns of the dangerous chemicals. 

The film includes a leader of heavy paper that is printed with the directions for loading the film into the camera. It also comes with a take-up reel for the waste, while the emulsions are rolled up without a roller to hold them in place. In the center of the emulsion roll is a plastic tube with an acidic wiper (the print coater) that was used to treat the surface of the images after they were fully developed. 

Navigating Manhattan has always been a puzzle. Most of the avenues have 20 house numbers per block, although a few have 10 house numbers per block. Almost every avenue starts its numbering from a unique place. For example, if you wanted to get to 500 Lexington Avenue, it’s at around 47th Street but on Park Avenue (one avenue to the west of Lexington), number 500 is at 58th Street.  The good news is all of this can be encapsulated in a number of mathematical formulas which have been summarized in the back of the Manhattan phone book for ages. But who keeps that phonebook in their pocket? This handy device, from 1932, turns those formulas into a pocket-sized calculator. In the above photo, notice at the left edge that the black dial has been turned so “500″ aligns with “Lex’gtn” on the yellow area. In the left window marked “Nearest Cross St.” you’ll see the line is between 46 St and 48 St, telling you the location of 500 Lexington. Findit handles a large number of avenues, including some of the ones uptown that are probably lesser-known to many. It also accounts for a few anomalies of the street numbering plan.

The back of the device, shown below, is a treasure trove of information about subway lines. It also includes a map of the major streets in Manhattan below 14th Street, where most of the streets have names rather than numbers.

This package was love at first sight (for me at least). There’s something so dated about the artwork that it almost feels like it’s a parody package, but it’s real. Someone needs to tell mom that pointing is rude, even when you’re pointing at a turkey.

Control panels such as this one were widely used to regulate the heat of apartment buildings in New York City in accordance with local laws. The rules require heat be delivered according to the time of year, the time of day and the current outdoor temperature. The system has no provision for direct measurement of room temperature in any room of the building, requiring the operator to figure out what frequency of heat circulation will meet the needs of a particular building, given the characteristics of its boiler, radiators and heat loss. This explains why so many residential buildings in New York have excess heat in some apartments. The central dial is a 24-hour clock that determines whether the formula is in the day or night cycle. To the left- and right-of that dial are dials for setting an outdoor temperature at which the flow of heat is activated. The dial at the center top (with settings from “A” to “J”) controls how much heat is delivered within the building, but the letters are approximations to indicate more and less heat. If you’re really curious about the details, the Operating Instructions and Technical Bulletin are available.

The back of the shows that it really is just a special-purpose analog computer. Given a set of inputs, it determines one thing: does the boiler need to be on or off. When used with a hot water system, it also regulates the pump that circulates the hot water through the radiators.