Category Archives: Education

Radio in Education: 1939

Eighty years ago this month, the January 1939 issue of Radio Retailing devoted most of its pages to the use of radio in education. Of course, the focus was on how the dealer could tap this market. The most basic use of radio, of course, is shown above. A set is brought into the classroom for these Midwestern students to listen to a program of educational value.

Wiring the school with a public address system would be, of course, a lucrative sale. In addition to being able to make announcements immediately, the magazine suggested educational uses for the equipment. Below, for example, students who handed in the best writing are allowed to broadcast their work over the PA.

1943 Opaque Projector

During my school days in the 1960s and 1970s, the teacher would occasionally wheel out a monstrosity known as the opaque projector. It would project the image of an opaque object, such as the page of a book, onto a screen. Apparently, the models of that era had about a 1000 watt lamp inside, and their size was due in part to the fact that they required a big fan to keep it cool. The process also required a lens that was quite large.

The projector was rarely used. Instead, it was much more common to copy the desired image onto a transparency, which was projected with the much more common overhead projector.

75 years ago this month, the September 1943 issue of Popular Science showed how to make an opaque projector. The article doesn’t seem to specify the wattage of the bulbs, but since ordinary household bulbs are shown, I assume that they would be 100 watts. The lens is made from one, or preferably two, magnifying glasses mounted in a tube.

The opaque projector has been more or less replaced by the document camera, such as the one shown here on Amazon, which can be viewed through the video projector that is now found in almost all American classrooms.

Back To School Shopping Lists

It’s almost that time of year again to shop for back-to-school supplies. Back in my day, that was a relatively straightforward proposition. Parents went to the store to purchase supplies such as crayons, pens, pencils, and notebooks. Especially as kids got older, the family’s shopping list was sometimes supplemented by a list from the teacher. That list often included the more esoteric items such as protractors, compasses, and other specialty items. It was clearly understood, however, that the supplies that each child brought to school were intended for that child. In fact, it was frequently requested that the items be marked with the child’s name.

At some point, an enterprising teacher came up with the idea of requesting a few communal supplies. This probably started innocently enough, when some teacher noticed that stores were selling certain items as loss leaders. For example, a discount store might advertise that it was selling glue sticks for 5 cents, a price well below cost, and much less expensive than the school’s normal supplier.

So if a teacher needed a supply of glue sticks to last the year, asking the parents to buy a few made perfect economic sense: Each parent spent only a few pennies to buy a few extra glue sticks. This saved the school a larger amount of money by not having to buy at the higher price. It was a win-win situation for all involved, except perhaps the store. But the store went in with its eyes wide open, fully realizing that they were going to lose money on the glue sticks.

Unfortunately, however, this whole system eventually got out of hand. The technique worked so well that the size of the lists kept getting larger and larger. And unfortunately, the list was no longer limited to loss leaders. Eventually, teachers began demanding specific brand name products, without regard to cost or availability. In fact, since the lists were public knowledge, retailers could be careful not to sell any of the listed items at a loss.

As a result, procuring all of the items on the list became a financial burden, to the point where some parents could no longer afford to purchase the full list. As a result, the children became either the “haves” or the “have nots.” Some children came from families that could afford the expensive designer label glue sticks. But other families could not. Chances are, all or most of the children would have been able to afford the cheap loss leaders. But some could not afford the expensive versions that were now demanded by the lists.

Perhaps correctly, someone noticed that this wasn’t fair: Some children came to school with all of the supplies. But some came with no supplies. At this point, a decision was made to make all supplies communal. Gone were the days when teachers recommended placing the child’s name on supplies. With the advent of communal school supplies, parents were now prohibited from labeling them with the child’s name. Children no longer had their own pencils. Instead, they brought the requested brand-name pencils to school, in accordance with their abilities. Then, the children helped themselves to the now free pencils in accordance with their perceived need.

Since some parents could no longer afford to buy the expensive designer brand names, the remaining parents were required to provide them in larger and larger quantities. This, in turn, resulted in a greater economic burden, meaning that the number of “have not” children kept increasing.

Of course, the communal supplies generally aren’t as well cared for as personal property, further increasing the expense. And since parents are buying communal supplies anyway, the teacher naturally adds a few other needed communal items, such as Kleenex, cleaning supplies, and dry erase markers. For many of these items, the children (whose parents bought them) are not allowed to use them.

As with most forms of communism, this is not sustainable, and it will soon enter a death spiral as fewer and fewer parents can afford to purchase all of the required supplies. But in the meantime, the few remaining “have” parents are expected to purchase the items on the growing lists.

Eventually, there will be a rebellion. But in the meantime, you can ease some of the pain by taking advantage of the school lists at Walmart.com. You can search for your school by zip code and view the lists. In some cases, the expensive brand names won’t be available at Walmart. But if they are, you can purchase online, or at least do price comparison online. Since the prices are the same nationally, there’s less chance of a particular item’s price being manipulated because a local retailer knows it’s required by a local list. If you do purchase online, in most cases, you have the option of picking up your order at the store. I’ve used this service a number of times, and it works quite well. You simply go to the counter, show your ID, and your entire order is brought to you, without have to fight the crowds in the back to school aisles.

Links in this post are affiliate links, meaning that this website receives a commission if you order after viewing the link.

1938 Dayton, Ohio, Emergency School of the Air

This teacher and students are holding class in 1938 in the studios of WHIO, Dayton, Ohio, as shown in the December 3, 1938 issue of Radio Guide.

The teacher was apparently working without pay, but most of her colleagues weren’t quite so generous. The Dayton Board of Education “ran out of funds,” and the city’s 1300 teachers refused to continue without pay, leaving the 34,000 students without the possibility of public education. The station’s owner stepped in and volunteered the station’s facilities to cope with the emergency.

In cooperation with the superintendent, the station quickly revamped the station’s schedule to broadcast emergency lessons. Four periods of instruction were organized, supplemented by educational programs from the networks. As a result, students were able to spend a couple of hours per day receiving expert instruction. The Emergency School of the Air included classes in English, Biology, Chemistry, General Science, Physics, Vocational Guidance, Latin, French, Spanish, German, Bookkeeping, Geography, American History, Mathematics, Civics, Art, and Music.

High School Radio Training, 1943

Shown here in the June 1943 issue of QST are students at Northbridge Senior and Junior High Schools, Whitinsville, Mass., learning Morse Code under the tutelage of assistant principal James Perkins Saunders, W1BDV.

Before the War, there had been some instruction in radio for interested students, but it had consisted mostly of informal coaching of students interested in obtaining their ham licenses. But with war, radio became a vital skill, and the school vigorously undertook pre-induction training in the radio arts, including both theory and Morse Code.

To accommodate code training, the school’s schedule was adjusted. Two minutes were shaved off each of the seven class periods, and the lunch period was reduced by one minute. This allowed the time period from 8:05 to 8:20 AM to be set aside exclusively for code practice. Each day, Saunders manned the key in the school office, as shown here, and code was piped throughout the building. Later, a tape machine was procured, and Army-Navy code training tapes were played. A student assistant monitored the tapes and copied along, and at the end of the session, he read back the text that had been sent.

The code training was intended primarily for students in the high school, but since the P.A. system was shared with the junior high, the younger students were also encouraged to participate.

Participation was optional, and some students used the period as a study hall. Initially, 250 students were participating, but this number dropped to 75 at the end of the term. Each week, a test was given, and teachers sent the classroom’s copy to the office for scoring. At the start of the next term, the program again started from scratch, with advanced students moving on to a dedicated 45 minute class.

The typing class, shown here, was conducted by Saunders one day a week. Instead of their normal typing lesson, the students listened to code being sent by Saunders, and they learned to copy on the “mill”.

Other typing students were trained to transcribe the paper tapes being used to run the code machines. They intently watched a character of the tape be revealed and typed the corresponding letter. Many students were particular fond of this activity, and expressed disappointment that the fun ended when the bell rang.

Students were also trained to copy by flashing light. After they had mastered copying code by sound, they were instructed to watch a flashing light which flashed along with the aural code. Then, the sound was turned off, and they continued to copy by sight.

Sending practice was also given, with sending stations being set up on old laboratory tables. These were wired up so that students could listen to perfect code from the machine and then listen as they tried to duplicate the sounds with their own fists.

Interested students, both boys and girls, also took part in classes in radio theory, largely following ARRL study materials. By rounding up defunct receivers, they were able to scrounge components to build projects such as code oscillators, as the students here demonstrate.

Saunders reported that it had been a lot of work getting the school geared up to study radio, but he and the students were very enthused about it. He reported that the many extra hours spent at school working on it were a suitable substitute for ham radio’s being off the air for the duration. In fact, his wife reported that “it is even worse now than before the war” since he was at least at home–albeit in his shack–in the prewar years.

WLS School Time, 1938

Shown here from 80 years ago are seventh-grade students at Emerson School, Maywood, Illinois, receiving some of their instruction from the radio strategically stationed on the teacher’s desk.

The picture is from the March 1938 issue of Rural Radio magazine, which contained an article describing the School Time program broadcast each school day at 1:00 on WLS in Chicago. The service began on February 8, 1937, and during its first year, it had been listened to regularly by 1200 schools in Illinois, Wisconsin, Indiana, and Michigan. The Cook County superintendent of schools reported that more than 40,000 students in that county alone were listening regularly.

The program was designed to bring into the classroom experiences and information that the students might not otherwise obtain. On Monday’s, for example, the program included a newscast. Since most radio news reports were aimed at older listeners, the WLS program added dialogue, drama, and interview to the news program to capture the interest of the younger listeners.

One niche served by the station was music education. Especially in smaller schools, very little musical training was available. Therefore, the Tuesday program was a musical tour of the globe with folk songs of all nations.

Wednesdays featured visits to industries of different kinds, and Thursdays focused on geography, with listeners meeting a foreign gues star from the country being studied.

Fridays had a different program each week, covering Good Manners, Recreation, an outdoor program, and a program focusing on children’s literature.

Schoolhouse Blizzard of 1888

Wikipedia image.

Today marks the 130th anniversary of the Schoolhouse Blizzard of January 12, 1888.

After a long cold spell over the Northern Plains, the temperatures advanced considerably. For example, Omaha had recorded a low of −6 °F on January 11, but the temperature had increased to 28°F at 7:00 AM on January 12.

The warm weather after a long cold spell perhaps gave the illusion that relief was in sight, but the conditions deteriorated during the day of the 12th. Thousands of people got caught in the blizzard, and the ultimate death toll was 235.

Most schoolteachers kept the children in school that afternoon, and exceptions almost always resulted in disaster.

1942: Putting High School Students to Work Servicing Radios

Seventy-five years ago, these high school students in Watertown, N.Y., were seen as a resource that would help the radio industry deal with wartime labor shortages. An article in the October 1942 issue of Radio Retailing explained the plan by which high school students could be trained to fill the gap. A group of servicemen in northern New York were planning to run an intensive course in radio servicing, open to high school seniors with a year of physics. The course was to be offered five nights per week, two hours each night, for ten weeks, and was taught by local servicemen who would both lecture in the classroom and offer periodic trips to the shop to tackle real receiver problems.

Classes would be small, and after it was completed, one or two students would take over the shop of an owner who had entered the military, running the shop on an evenings-only basis. The student would be paid a weekly wage based upon volume. Repairs would be paid by check or money order. The idea was to keep the shop open as a community service, with enough income to cover the shop’s rent, overhead, and cost of equipment.

The students would continue to attend school during the day and work at night.

Take Your Kids to See the Eclipse!

If it’s humanly possible, take your kids to see the eclipse on August 21!

National Park Service.

My first awareness of the concept of a solar eclipse came with the total eclipse of March 7, 1970. On that Saturday, the sun darkened in the Pacific, and the shadow of the moon raced over southern Mexico before entering the Gulf of Mexico.

Then, it hit the United States of America, with its shadow first hitting Florida, then Georgia, then the Carolinas and Virginia, then grazing Maryland before heading back out to sea, saying goodbye to the United States at Nantucket.

For those with Learjets, it then crossed Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and the French island of Miquelon, before heading out to sea again into the North Atlantic.

Wikipedia image.

Where I was in Minnesota, it only covered 47% of the sun at high noon. If nobody had told me about it, I wouldn’t have even noticed. It didn’t get dark outside, and no animals were confused. But that day, it was the biggest deal in the world. The moon contained fresh footprints of Americans who had walked on its surface less than a year before. Now that same moon was casting its shadow over me.

To me and my fellow third graders, it was presented as a big deal. And it was a big deal. If there had ever been any doubt about it, yes, the moon went around the earth, the earth went around the sun, and sometimes they got in the way of each other. Any third grader could see tangible proof.

In school, we had learned all about umbras and penumbras, and by the time the big day came, I was an expert on all things eclipse. With a shoebox, some foil, and a note card, I constructed myself a pinhole viewer. I figured that if a pinhole was good, then a giant hole would be even better. Fortunately, my mom corrected my error and got the viewer in good working order.

I pointed the box at the sun coming in the window, and sure enough, there was a little crescent shape of sunlight coming in through the round hole, plainly visible on the note card.

Perhaps I was a little disappointed at the tiny size of the image, but it didn’t matter. Right there in my shoebox was proof positive that the moon orbits the earth. I didn’t have to take anyone else’s word for it. The proof was right before my eyes.

Wikipedia image.

We turned on the TV, and we saw the darkened skies and the amazed reactions of those who went outside to see it. I don’t remember too many details about the TV coverage. Mostly, I remember some poor confused rooster in Florida or Georgia crowing in the middle of the day.

When we got back to school the next Monday, the eclipse was the topic of conversation. We knew how the universe worked, because we had seen it with our own eyes. It was a big deal, and the kids remembered it.

In 1970, we were over a thousand miles away from the path of totality, and going to see it wasn’t really an option. But I envied those people and roosters on TV who got to see it in person.

Nine years later, another eclipse came to North America. On February 26, 1979, the eclipse started in the Pacific Northwest, darkened most of Montana, and grazed our neighboring state of North Dakota before making a spectacular show for humans and roosters alike in Winnipeg, Manitoba, tantalizingly close to Minnesota. I wanted to go to Winnipeg, but circumstances didn’t permit it. So I had to stay home and watch the 90% coverage. I had a telescope, complete with a solar filter that screwed to the eyepiece. In retrospect, that solar filter was horribly dangerous. The heat of the magnified rays of the sun could have cracked it, sending those same magnified rays right into my retina.

I got lucky, my retina survived, and I saw another eclipse. But it didn’t get dark outside. I didn’t hear any roosters. I was close, but I didn’t really see it. They said that it wouldn’t happen again until 2017, which sounded like an eternity to wait. But I vowed that I was going to go see it.

I’ve seen a couple other eclipses since then. I even drove to Springfield, Illinois, to get right in the middle of the path of the annular eclipse of May 10, 1994. My pinhole viewer revealed a tiny ring as the annular eclipse reached its peak. But it wasn’t dark, there were no roosters, and as far as I could tell, the citizens of Springfield didn’t even bother to come outside to see it, despite being right in the middle of the path.

By now, I was already convinced of the celestial mechanics. It was mildly interesting, but like the residents of Springfield apparently concluded, it wasn’t that big a deal.

The upcoming eclipse of August 21 is a big deal. It’s certainly a bigger deal than the one in 1994, because it’s actually going to get dark, and roosters will crow about it, just like they did in 1970 in Florida and 1979 in Winnipeg.

But it’s a much bigger deal than the one in 1970. In 1970, it wasn’t realistically possible for a family in Minnesota to go to Florida to witness it. That’s not true this time. Because the path of the eclipse so conveniently crosses the country from Pacific to Atlantic, the majority of Americans live within a one-day drive. For those of us in Minnesota, it means driving to Nebraska or Missouri. That is something that most families are capable of doing. You don’t need a Learjet. You don’t need to cross an international border. You don’t even need to drive to the other side of the country. All you need to do is drive to Nebraska.

Your kids never got to see men walking on the moon. They never even got a chance to see the Space Shuttle being launched. They’re vaguely aware of the International Space Station, but they don’t know the names of the two Americans and one Russian who are currently aboard. We know the names Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins. But they don’t know the names Fisher, Yurchikhin, and Wilson. The wonder is seemingly gone.

On August 21, the wonder will be back. Those footprints are still up there on the moon, and that moon is going to cast a shadow over the Great Plains. Americans can’t go to the moon any more. But Americans–including your kids–can go see the shadow of that moon darken one of your neighboring states. You don’t need a Learjet; you don’t need to go to another country. You can probably get there on one tank of gas.

If you are in Minnesota or Iowa, I’ve already done the planning for you. You can drive to Nebraska on Sunday, stay in an inexpensive motel or camp that night, drive a few miles on Monday to see the eclipse, and get home Monday night. You can probably do it for a hundred bucks. If you live somewhere else, then you’ll have to do the planning yourself. But wherever you are in the 48 states, you are probably within one day’s drive. You should go.

If you go, your kids will see it get dark at noon, and if there are any roosters around, they’ll be able to hear them. If you go, the flat earthers will never stand a chance of misleading your kids. Your kids will know how the universe works, because they will have seen it with their own eyes. The wonder will be back.

In Minnesota, school is not yet in session, so your kids won’t even miss school. You’ll probably need to take a day off from work, but don’t you think it’s worth it?

Lunar eclipse as viewed from the flat earth. Keep them inside so they don’t see this!

If you live somewhere where school is in session, then it would be nice to think that the schools will take care of educating your children. But don’t count on it. During a recent eclipse in Britain, some schools kept the kids inside, with the blinds closed, during the eclipse. The kids watched it on TV, and apparently have to take the TV’s word for it that the earth isn’t flat.

Some American schools seem to be taking the same approach. Take, for example, the case of Shawnee Mission, Kansas, located only about 10 miles from the path of totality. School will be in session on August 21. If I were in charge, there would only be one logical thing to do. If I’m an educator, then my duty is to educate the kids. And there is only one logical way to do that–put the kids on a school bus and drive them the 10 miles so that they can see the sky go dark and hear that confused rooster crow. But that’s not what they’re doing. They’ll close the curtains and watch it on the internet. “Some schools even plan to reschedule outdoor recess to avoid being outside during the eclipse.” The kids will just have to take the internet’s word for it that the earth isn’t flat. They won’t be allowed to see for themselves.

Fortunately, some schools deserve praise for proactively making sure that their students get to experience the total eclipse. For example, the Parkway School District near St. Louis discovered that one of its schools was outside the path of totality. So they made the wise decision to bus those kids to one of the neighboring schools that will experience totality.

One school that deserves particular praise is Lewis Central Middle School in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Even though school won’t even be in session yet, the science teachers there took it upon themselves to organize a summer field trip a hundred miles away to Beatrice, Nebraska, to view the eclipse.

Unfortunately, however, these educators who actually decide to educate the kids seem to be the exceptions. If school is in session, don’t take it for granted that the teachers will be proactive about allowing kids to have a sense of wonder about the universe. Like in Britain or in Shawnee Mission, Kansas, there’s a distinct possibility that your kids will be locked in a room with the blinds closed where they’ll watch it on the internet. And that would be a shame. Your kids deserve the chance to see for themselves that the earth isn’t flat. They shouldn’t have to take the internet’s word for it.

If you decide to go, and you should:

Highland Park College, Des Moines, IA

A hundred years ago, magazines devoted to electricity or mechanics were full of ads for learning radio. A large number of these focused on training ship wireless operators. There were other exceptions, but most such schools were located near the sea, in locations such as New York.

One of the exceptions that caught my eye was this ad for the “very thoro” wireless training program offered by Highland Park College in Des Moines, Iowa, shown here as it appeared in the March 1917 issue of Electrical Experimenter.

The ad promised the opportunity to see the world and draw a big salary as a wireless operator. And the first stop in seeing the world was Des Moines. This is actually not surprising, since the Hawkeye State was a hotbed of early wireless activity, with more than its fair share of amateur operators, and later, broadcast stations and companies involved in radio.

The college offering this course, Highland Park College, is no longer in existence, but had its own colorful history. The school’s Wireless Building, apparently the location where students would be trained to see the world, is pictured here in the school’s 1914 yearbook.

According to the yearbook, the college had a wireless club which had been organized in April 1913, and had a complete sending and receiving set. The book boasted that the station’s large aerial allowed reception of the Arlington, VA, and Key West, FL, stations on a regular basis.

The college was established in 1889 and operated under that name until 1918. It was apparently independent when founded, and in 1911 was transferred to the Presbyterian church.

Wireless telegraphy was only one trade that could be acquired at Highland Park College, as shown by this ad in the March 1915 issue of Popular Mechanics. The school also offered courses in machinist, automobile machinist, and chauffeur. The machinist courses ran 48 weeks, whereas the chauffeur course of study could be completed in 12 weeks. The school also offered a “special 6 weeks driving course.”

In 1918, the college was acquired by the Baptist church and renamed Des Moines University. Things went smoothly until 1927 when a fundamentalist wing known as the Baptist Bible Union of North America, the forerunner of the General Association of Regular Baptist Churches, took control. The faculty were required to subscribe to eighteen articles of faith. At that time, the University’s school of pharmacy was apparently the strongest department, and the faculty apparently had doctrinal differences to the point where they refused to sign the eighteen articles of faith. They departed and formed the Des Moines College of Pharmacy in downtown Des Moines. All but two of the pharmacy students left to enroll in the new school.

In addition to the doctrinal requirements imposed on the faculty, the students were facing restrictions. Three girls were disciplined for doing cartwheels during a vaudeville skit.

By 1929, the administration had enough, and fired the entire faculty. A riot broke out, and angry students stormed the administration building during a meeting of the board of trustees. Eggs and rocks were thrown, and the angry students attempted to break down the door of the room where the board members were hiding. Police were called, but the school formally closed down in September 1929.

The buildings sat vacant until 1943, when professional baseball player and aviation pioneer Alfred W. Lawson bought the property and founded the Des Moines University of Lawsonomy, Lawsonomy being billed as “the study of everything.” As might be expected for the study of everything, a degree was not something that could be earned quickly. According to Lawson, the students (men only) would need to study for 30 years to get their degree of Knowledgian.”

Enrollment peaked at a hundred students, but dwindled to 20 when the school closed in 1954 (presumably, with none of the students earning the coveted Knowledgian degree).

The property was sold, two weeks before Lawson’s death, and became the site of the Park Fair Shopping Mall.

Highland Park College in 1914. Library of Congress.

The school’s location today. Google Maps.

References

OneTubeRadio.com

Radio – Emergency Preparedness – Scouting – Law – Politics

Category Archives: Education

Radio in Education: 1939

1943 Opaque Projector

Back To School Shopping Lists

1938 Dayton, Ohio, Emergency School of the Air

High School Radio Training, 1943

WLS School Time, 1938

Schoolhouse Blizzard of 1888

1942: Putting High School Students to Work Servicing Radios

Take Your Kids to See the Eclipse!

Highland Park College, Des Moines, IA