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Mr. Franklyn Kirk e-mail
Mr. Franklyn Kirk was employed by Ford Instrument Company from 1937 to 1945.
I had never heard of this Ford and had no knowledge of what they did but I did suspect they did not build automobiles. This Ford was Hannibal, not Henry. It wasn’t long after becoming a stock clerk that I learned Ford Instrument Co. made complex naval ordnance equipment. A Commander in the U.S.Navy had an office as did a Chief Warrant Officer who served as Ordnance Inspector. The stock room I was assigned to contained parts that had been inspected and accepted by the Navy and were therefore government property.
I had entered City College in January 1935, taking classes in mathematics and history but had not selected a major. I soon realized that studying engineering made more sense if I expected to advance at Ford Instrument Company. It wasn’t until 1938 that I was able to make the change. I applied for admission to The Cooper Union Night School of Engineering, passed the tests and became a freshman again. In 1939, after completing a year at Cooper Union, I appealed to the manager of the Test Department for a transfer. I was sick of being a poor stock clerk and wanted more of an intellectual challenge. It took two tries and a management change but it worked and I was granted a six-month trial. It was now late 1940 and I had become a married man. My first assignment was to the Spare Parts Section where the spare parts kits for the completed equipment were assembled, treated against corrosion, and packed into large metal boxes. It was not much of an intellectual challenge but it was part of the Test Department. Due to an incident involving the man who had rejected my first appeal, and was now General Manager, I gained notice and was reassigned to the Unit Test Section. Here I got hands-on testing experience. It was 1941.
Ford Instrument had received a contract to design and produce anti-aircraft gun drives for the 1.1” and 40mm. They included an electrical control section that operated an electro- magnetic clutch which, in turn controlled a large electric motor that would move the guns. There were two sizes of electric motors, a larger one for moving the gun mount horizontally and a smaller one for moving the guns vertically. The signal that served as the input to the gun drives was provided by a remote sighting director that was manufactured by others. We were told our gun drives were a temporary solution due to their limited operating cycle. The cork disk in the clutch had to be replaced after six hours of operation. We produced many of them; eventually the were replaced by electro-hydraulic drives made by The York Safe & Lock Co. and the single and double guns were frequently replaced by 40mm quads.
With the entry into the war, the expansion of the company was swift. In 1937 I was one of about 650 employees; at the busiest time of the war I was one of about 8500. It had become necessary to employ men and women with limited technical experience or aptitude and train them to perform unit testing. W e had our version of “Rosie the Riveter”. Her counterparts did very well. The work was tedious and the hours long but we heard few complaints. As these folks took over some of the work, others of us were able to move on to the more complex assemblies.
The most significant and important of the Ford developed products was the Mark I computer. This was an almost incredibly complicated electro-mechanical computer made up of assembled units for addition, subtraction, multiplication, vector formation, for derivative and integral development. There were about 26 input variations necessary to produce two continuous outputs to the 5” 38 caliber gun drives. The task of the test engineer was to interconnect the various units that were housed in a large cast aluminum enclosure about the size of an office desk. Static and dynamic tests were run to ensure that the computer was responsive and accurate. These tests were rerun with an attendant U.S.Navy officer serving as final approval inspector. This entire procedure might take weeks. .
In addition to the in-plant testing procedures, some of us were able to perform inspection and testing aboard ship at the many naval shipyards in the world. A few were stationed in combat areas and were transported from ship to ship by whatever means available. My own field service was limited to the Brooklyn Navy Yard when a squadron arrived for maintenance repair and service. This really made one feel as a participant in the war. I have a few special memories of these occasions. One time I worked 23 hours of one day without relief, grabbed a 4 hour nap in the Marine Barracks and then worked another 16 hours on the USS Taylor. Another time I was on the outermost ship docked downwind of the Brooklyn Bridge when it was c-o-l-d. They used to have the ships tied up three across and three in line. [Shore ? ? ? End of Dock]. A special memory is of a couple of visits aboard the USS Texas when it was docked at Pier 51 on the Hudson River (14th St. Manhattan). It was an old ship with a complement of mature CPOs including a good cook. I had one of the best corned beef and cabbage meals of my life during one of those visits. There was a Chief named McCormick in charge of the gun crews who was great to watch. He had his guys work like clockwork on his commands. We were checking a 40mm gun drive and it was very cold on deck. He used a gasoline blowtorch to warm up the cast bronze housing enough to get the drive to operate. He was a very nice guy and you could tell his men admired him. It was good to see.
There were quite a few installation and test engineers from many companies at the Navy Yard most of the time and they were generally pleasant and hard working and respectful of the crews of the ships. You could always tell when a ship had a tough engagement; the crew was subdued but friendly.
I remember being on the USS South Dakota when she returned to Brooklyn after action in the South Pacific. There were the remains of a twin 40 gun mount that had been destroyed by an unexploded enemy shell. The canvas cover was blood-stained; I felt close to the war.
There was a period late in the war when the Test Department work week was 87 hours. I remember asking for time to get a haircut.
THESE IMAGES ARE FURNISHED BY MR. FRANKLYN KIRK.
I WILL ADD THAT THE INTERIOR OF THESE COMPUTERS IS LIKE A FINE WATCH AND JUST AS COMPACT. THE PARTS ARE ONLY A LITTLE LARGER THAN INSIDE A WATCH.
MORE INFORMATION ON THE MARK 1A COMPUTER AND THE MARK 8 RANGEKEEPER.
BASIC FORD INSTRUMENT COMPUTER MECHANISMS AND HOW THEY WORK
Friday, January 22, 2010
ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS
During the Great Depression a great number of small businesses were operating in the homes of struggling families. I can recall buying shoes from a Mr. Osborne who lived in the house across from us on Putnam Avenue in Ridgewood.. His apartment was well stocked with shoes for men and boys. There was a Mrs. Graham who operated a ladies dress shop in her living room in a house in Glendale. I got my first glasses from a Mr. Schultheiss, the father of one of my brother's friends, who was operating an optometrist/optician business from his living room.
My mother joined this group when she started to make artificial flowers in our dining room. The flowers were made from Denison crepe paper following the instructions provided with the paper. She made Jonquils, Poppies, Tulips and Apple Blossoms.
The stems were made using wires wrapped with the crepe paper and the leaves were purchased parts; In the beginning of the enterprise the completed flower was dipped in hot wax but later on we abandoned that operation and offered only the paper version.
In addition to helping with making the flowers, I became the door –to- door salesman at the age of 12.. I would place the completed flowers carefully in a clothing store suit box and go to Forest Hills (the ritzy place) by streetcar and visit each house on a street asking the owner or maid to buy my flowers.
One episode that stands out in my mind occurred when the owner of a house came to the door, looked at me and the open box of flowers and said," I don't want any" and then tossed quarter into the box and closed the door. I rang the doorbell again and then when the man returned, I handed him the quarter saying" I'm not a beggar, I'm a salesman" .
He then invited me into his living room where he examined my flowers, selected a few and then gave me a dollar. I became a happy peddler . I visited that house again a month or so later and sold some more.flowers.
During the Great Depression a great number of small businesses were operating in the homes of struggling families. I can recall buying shoes from a Mr. Osborne who lived in the house across from us on Putnam Avenue in Ridgewood.. His apartment was well stocked with shoes for men and boys. There was a Mrs. Graham who operated a ladies dress shop in her living room in a house in Glendale. I got my first glasses from a Mr. Schultheiss, the father of one of my brother's friends, who was operating an optometrist/optician business from his living room.
My mother joined this group when she started to make artificial flowers in our dining room. The flowers were made from Denison crepe paper following the instructions provided with the paper. She made Jonquils, Poppies, Tulips and Apple Blossoms.
The stems were made using wires wrapped with the crepe paper and the leaves were purchased parts; In the beginning of the enterprise the completed flower was dipped in hot wax but later on we abandoned that operation and offered only the paper version.
In addition to helping with making the flowers, I became the door –to- door salesman at the age of 12.. I would place the completed flowers carefully in a clothing store suit box and go to Forest Hills (the ritzy place) by streetcar and visit each house on a street asking the owner or maid to buy my flowers.
One episode that stands out in my mind occurred when the owner of a house came to the door, looked at me and the open box of flowers and said," I don't want any" and then tossed quarter into the box and closed the door. I rang the doorbell again and then when the man returned, I handed him the quarter saying" I'm not a beggar, I'm a salesman" .
He then invited me into his living room where he examined my flowers, selected a few and then gave me a dollar. I became a happy peddler . I visited that house again a month or so later and sold some more.flowers.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Early enterprise
When I was a kid about 8 years old living across the street from the back of a Greek restaurant in Ridgewood- a neighborhood in Queens, New York, I learned how to earn a little money. One of the simplest ways was to stick some chewing gum on the end of a bamboo pole and then lower it into the ventilation chamber on the sidewalk in front of a store. The chamber had a metal grating at the top that allowed daylight to illuminate the basement a bit. The grating had openings big enough for the pole to be passed through it. The openings also allowed coins to fall into the chamber when they were dropped by someone standing on the grate while gazing at the merchandise in the store window. I had a friend named Willie working with me in this enterprise. We would walk along the avenue, stopping in front of each store that had a grating and then, on hands and knees, peer into the chamber looking for stray coins. If we saw any, we would lower the gum-tipped pole so that it would make contact with each one and slowly draw it up until we could separate the coin from the chewing gum. Sometimes the store owner would chase us away. We weren’t discouraged though, we would just move on to the next storefront. We must have been quite a sight, a couple of dirty little kids full of energy and enthusiasm. One afternoon we collected almost a dollar; one of the coins was a quarter. Willie and I would divide the loot.
A steadier, cleaner and more productive activity was newspaper delivery. This I did with my brother Bud who was four and a half years older than me. I was his helper. The newspaper was a weekly and we had a regular route in a section of Brooklyn adjacent to our street. Each Friday afternoon we would go to the newspaper building with a wagon to get the papers (about 200 of them) and then pull the loaded wagon about ten blocks to the first house on our route. Occasionally we would stop on the way at a bakery to buy crumb buns or a fruit store for apples or peaches that we would eat before beginning our deliveries. Bud was a great big brother and we enjoyed being together. On the last Friday of each month we were obliged to collect for the paper; most months we had to do this the next day too. The customer was charged eight cents per month but usually would give us a dime. We would turn in four cents per customer so for 200 customers we would net about six dollars a month. I did this for eight to ten years, first with Bud and later by myself. There were other opportunities to make some extra money by delivering papers to advertisers and sales outlets on Saturdays. We did this too. It became a family tradition; my younger brother, Calvin, did it too.
One day when I was about thirteen a man came into the neighborhood and offered us boys an opportunity to earn money selling magazines. As an added incentive he promised a baseball glove to any boy who would sell twenty-five of them. I took that many and went to the neighborhood where I delivered the papers and sold them all in a just a few hours. I gave the man his share of the money, pocketed the balance and then was given the baseball glove. When he asked me if I wanted to sell more magazines, I turned him down and went off to play ball.
Another short-term money-making opportunity that came to Bud and me involved the introduction of a new metal-cleaning fluid named NOXON. It came in a 12oz. can with a screw cap and was being offered for 50¢. We got 25¢ for each can we sold during the one week introductory campaign. At this time Bud was 15 and in high school; I was 10+. We were living near a rather new development of single family homes called Liberty Park; this became our territory. We would approach the front door of a house and, before ringing the doorbell, we would polish the doorknob with the NOXON. When a housewife showed up, one of us would say to her ,"look at that doorknob, we just cleaned it with the stuff in this can, would you like to buy a can for fifty cents" . More often than not, we made the sale. Unfortunately for us, the introductory program did not continue for long.
A steadier, cleaner and more productive activity was newspaper delivery. This I did with my brother Bud who was four and a half years older than me. I was his helper. The newspaper was a weekly and we had a regular route in a section of Brooklyn adjacent to our street. Each Friday afternoon we would go to the newspaper building with a wagon to get the papers (about 200 of them) and then pull the loaded wagon about ten blocks to the first house on our route. Occasionally we would stop on the way at a bakery to buy crumb buns or a fruit store for apples or peaches that we would eat before beginning our deliveries. Bud was a great big brother and we enjoyed being together. On the last Friday of each month we were obliged to collect for the paper; most months we had to do this the next day too. The customer was charged eight cents per month but usually would give us a dime. We would turn in four cents per customer so for 200 customers we would net about six dollars a month. I did this for eight to ten years, first with Bud and later by myself. There were other opportunities to make some extra money by delivering papers to advertisers and sales outlets on Saturdays. We did this too. It became a family tradition; my younger brother, Calvin, did it too.
One day when I was about thirteen a man came into the neighborhood and offered us boys an opportunity to earn money selling magazines. As an added incentive he promised a baseball glove to any boy who would sell twenty-five of them. I took that many and went to the neighborhood where I delivered the papers and sold them all in a just a few hours. I gave the man his share of the money, pocketed the balance and then was given the baseball glove. When he asked me if I wanted to sell more magazines, I turned him down and went off to play ball.
Another short-term money-making opportunity that came to Bud and me involved the introduction of a new metal-cleaning fluid named NOXON. It came in a 12oz. can with a screw cap and was being offered for 50¢. We got 25¢ for each can we sold during the one week introductory campaign. At this time Bud was 15 and in high school; I was 10+. We were living near a rather new development of single family homes called Liberty Park; this became our territory. We would approach the front door of a house and, before ringing the doorbell, we would polish the doorknob with the NOXON. When a housewife showed up, one of us would say to her ,"look at that doorknob, we just cleaned it with the stuff in this can, would you like to buy a can for fifty cents" . More often than not, we made the sale. Unfortunately for us, the introductory program did not continue for long.
A Snappy Comeback
A Snappy Comeback
It is always very satisfying to get off a quick and well-timed response to a casual remark. I labeled these “Zingers” and am always ready to relate the occasions of their occurrence and savor the memory.
Here’s one.
I was traveling with the aggressive President (and Sales Manager) of an industrial filter manufacturer from New England (Lexington, Mass.) en route from Lakewood to Bryan, Ohio by way of the Ohio Turnpike. This man was responsible for the rapid growth of his company and singly dedicated to that activity, which means he was quite humorless. Our conversation dealt with current events, history, politics and religion, all weighty subjects. The time and miles passed smoothly and could have qualified as a mobile forum.
We had left Lakewood in mid-morning expecting to reach Bryan before noon. The distance is about 140 miles and the travel time more than two hours. My companion was getting “itchy” when we were getting close to Bryan and lunch time so to relieve his stress, I stopped at a rest area and called our prospect.
The conversation went like this, “This is Franklyn Kirk. I am with the Sales Manager of Balston and we are very close to your plant. It’s pretty near lunch time, so if you will wait a bit , we would like to take you to lunch”
“Thank you for calling and the invitation but I can’t accept it. I have some personal errands; I have to go the cleaners.”
“Just wait, we’ll take you to the cleaners after lunch”
That’s a “Zinger”.
It is always very satisfying to get off a quick and well-timed response to a casual remark. I labeled these “Zingers” and am always ready to relate the occasions of their occurrence and savor the memory.
Here’s one.
I was traveling with the aggressive President (and Sales Manager) of an industrial filter manufacturer from New England (Lexington, Mass.) en route from Lakewood to Bryan, Ohio by way of the Ohio Turnpike. This man was responsible for the rapid growth of his company and singly dedicated to that activity, which means he was quite humorless. Our conversation dealt with current events, history, politics and religion, all weighty subjects. The time and miles passed smoothly and could have qualified as a mobile forum.
We had left Lakewood in mid-morning expecting to reach Bryan before noon. The distance is about 140 miles and the travel time more than two hours. My companion was getting “itchy” when we were getting close to Bryan and lunch time so to relieve his stress, I stopped at a rest area and called our prospect.
The conversation went like this, “This is Franklyn Kirk. I am with the Sales Manager of Balston and we are very close to your plant. It’s pretty near lunch time, so if you will wait a bit , we would like to take you to lunch”
“Thank you for calling and the invitation but I can’t accept it. I have some personal errands; I have to go the cleaners.”
“Just wait, we’ll take you to the cleaners after lunch”
That’s a “Zinger”.
A lazy manager
There was a company in Bedford, OH whose chief product was a dog food but when this episode took place they were canning a Russian stew called Torshunka? for shipment to that war torn country. I have included this information just to emphasize that this is a true event that happened right after WWII. With the help of my office, they had returned a process controller to the factory for repair. About a week after it had been returned to them, I received a phone call from their plant engineer telling me that the instrument had been returned and was not working . He asked me to visit the plant.
The next day I went to Bedford and stopped in to investigate their complaint. What I am about to report is absolutely true. The engineer accompanied me to the spot where the controller was installed and then left. I then opened the door of the controller revealing its internals. The inside of the case was stuffed with newspaper and some of the moveable inner parts were wrapped with string to prevent their damage during shipment. I untied the knots, removed the strings and the newspaper which I carefully unfolded and flattened. Needless to say, the controller worked fine. When the engineer returned for a report I announced,” I know what was wrong with the controller. I removed this newspaper; it's out of date, it’s from last week”.
He said,” You’re joking !”
I said,” Yes I am!” and I left.
The next day I went to Bedford and stopped in to investigate their complaint. What I am about to report is absolutely true. The engineer accompanied me to the spot where the controller was installed and then left. I then opened the door of the controller revealing its internals. The inside of the case was stuffed with newspaper and some of the moveable inner parts were wrapped with string to prevent their damage during shipment. I untied the knots, removed the strings and the newspaper which I carefully unfolded and flattened. Needless to say, the controller worked fine. When the engineer returned for a report I announced,” I know what was wrong with the controller. I removed this newspaper; it's out of date, it’s from last week”.
He said,” You’re joking !”
I said,” Yes I am!” and I left.
A tough customer
There was a buyer at a steel company in Canton, Ohio who used his authority like a politician dispensing patronage to his friends. He said his company had an approved vendor list that was sufficient for all their needs. I had called on him several times but could not overcome his stubborn resistance. Finally I stopped trying. It was about fifteen or twenty years later when I called at his company again. He was still there and I managed to get to talk to him. After we had exchanged greetings I tried to interest him in a new product of a new technology. He quickly told me that he was familiar with the technology and had already found a suitable product. And then I said, “ Mr. Anon, these days things change so often and so quickly, it’s very difficult to keep up. It’s kind of a relief to find something that hasn’t. You’re still the same intractable ass you were 20 years ago.” He was stunned and speechless and I left without saying goodbye. I reject any responsibility for the heart attack he suffered a very short time after.
A few years later, after Mr. Anon had retired, my son began to call on his company and developed some new business there.
A few years later, after Mr. Anon had retired, my son began to call on his company and developed some new business there.
the pickets
I was carrying a new model differential pressure measuring instrument and was in front of the Illuminating building downtown. There were pickets pacing back and forth in front of the entrance. They were carrying placards bearing messages announcing that they were on strike. As I was about to enter the building, I was confronted by one of the men who asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Up to the Engineering Department”, I replied.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re on strike.”
“I know that. Don’t you expect to settle?”, I asked.
“I guess so, but not today”, he responded.
“You won’t be able to start up again unless you install one of these”. I took the gauge off my shoulder and showed it to him.
“What’s it do?” he asked .
“It replaces (and I began pointing at each of the pickets as I spoke) seven men”, I answered.
He looked at the gauge and then at me and said,” Go ahead up. You’re nuts”.
Later, as I was leaving the building with the gauge in hand, one of the men said, “It looks like we’ll have to start without it”. They all laughed and so did I.
I tried a similar approach sometime later at a plant in Ashtabula. This time there were more pickets and I had no sample with me. When one of the men challenged me, I told him it was a service call and if I was unable to meet with my contact, they would not be able to restart production after the strike ended. He asked me to wait while he called someone on his walkie-talkie. Very soon after he had completed the phone conversation a car arrived and I was told that the man inside the car was a union steward representing the Strike Committee.
Without getting out of the car he asked me,” What do you want?”
“ I don’t want anything; one of your engineers called my office and asked me to come here.”
“We’re on strike! Didn’t he mention that?” he said rather loudly.
“If I don’t get in to see him and solve his problem, you’re not going to be able to get back into production”, I claimed.
He opened the car door and shouted, “Get in.”
Off we went to the plant entrance where I was met by the engineer whose name I had mentioned. He accompanied me to his office and we talked. His first question was, “How did you manage to get past the pickets? I haven’t been able to have a visitor for a week”. He enjoyed my explanation.
After we had completed our conversation, he used his phone to call the union man who came to transport me back to the parking lot and my car.
One other encounter with pickets was very different and quite brief. It happened at a plant in Fostoria. I parked my car, got out and began walking toward the plant gate. A shot rang out. I looked around and saw a man with a shotgun and a picket sign. He shouted,” We are on strike, go away”.
I walked back to my car and left without leaving a message.
“Up to the Engineering Department”, I replied.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re on strike.”
“I know that. Don’t you expect to settle?”, I asked.
“I guess so, but not today”, he responded.
“You won’t be able to start up again unless you install one of these”. I took the gauge off my shoulder and showed it to him.
“What’s it do?” he asked .
“It replaces (and I began pointing at each of the pickets as I spoke) seven men”, I answered.
He looked at the gauge and then at me and said,” Go ahead up. You’re nuts”.
Later, as I was leaving the building with the gauge in hand, one of the men said, “It looks like we’ll have to start without it”. They all laughed and so did I.
I tried a similar approach sometime later at a plant in Ashtabula. This time there were more pickets and I had no sample with me. When one of the men challenged me, I told him it was a service call and if I was unable to meet with my contact, they would not be able to restart production after the strike ended. He asked me to wait while he called someone on his walkie-talkie. Very soon after he had completed the phone conversation a car arrived and I was told that the man inside the car was a union steward representing the Strike Committee.
Without getting out of the car he asked me,” What do you want?”
“ I don’t want anything; one of your engineers called my office and asked me to come here.”
“We’re on strike! Didn’t he mention that?” he said rather loudly.
“If I don’t get in to see him and solve his problem, you’re not going to be able to get back into production”, I claimed.
He opened the car door and shouted, “Get in.”
Off we went to the plant entrance where I was met by the engineer whose name I had mentioned. He accompanied me to his office and we talked. His first question was, “How did you manage to get past the pickets? I haven’t been able to have a visitor for a week”. He enjoyed my explanation.
After we had completed our conversation, he used his phone to call the union man who came to transport me back to the parking lot and my car.
One other encounter with pickets was very different and quite brief. It happened at a plant in Fostoria. I parked my car, got out and began walking toward the plant gate. A shot rang out. I looked around and saw a man with a shotgun and a picket sign. He shouted,” We are on strike, go away”.
I walked back to my car and left without leaving a message.
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