Forgotten: The Inventors We Don't Think About

Throughout the years, there have been countless inventors, each striving to make the world a better place with their own brand of creativity.

There have been the successful ones, like Thomas Edison or Stephanie Kwolek (the inventor of Kevlar). These are the ones we remember, the ones that have contributed to the welfare of the human race. Then there have been . . . others. Those whose creations never made it into the general market. For some of these, it is easy to understand the reasons why. A type of fire alarm was developed in 1938 which, after the button calling the relevant authorities had been pressed, immediately locked the presser's arm inside the box. This was to prevent people causing false fire alarms: they were only let out when the firemen arrived, with the key. However, there was a major flaw. If the person wasn't attempting to pull an elaborate prank, and was actually activating the alarm because of a fire on the premises, they were unable to escape and were promptly burnt to death in the conflagration. I don't know why we never see fire alarms like this around nowadays, do you? It's quite sad, really. It's always depressing to see exactly how insane humans can be when they try to think things through logically. For example, the Spider Liberator, patented in 1994. It's a small ladder you can place in your bath tub to give spiders stuck inside a chance of getting out. Because obviously, my first thought upon seeing a dead spider floating in the bath is 'How tragic. If only I'd had a tiny ladder there. Then the spider would have been able to continue its happy existence in my house, hiding in my cupboards and making inconvenient webs on my bookshelves,' as opposed to 'ACK! A SPIDER! Oh, thank God, it's already dead.' 

Something else that, unsurprisingly, failed, is the anti-smoking hat. It consists of a hat containing a small cylinder of some pressurised non-toxic foam (shaving foam is suggested) wired up to an electronic smoke detector, via the brim. The 

moment the hat-wearer lights a cigarette and holds it to their face, the smoke detector detects it (well, that's what it's there for) and ejects some of the foam, thus extinguishing the cigarette while also giving the smoker in question a refreshing faceful of foam. So far as I can tell, this invention works solely on the basis that smokers are going to be too stupid to think 'Well, I want a cigarette, but this hat keeps spraying me. So maybe . . . hmmm . . . I don't know . . . I could take the hat off?'

Please note that I've tried to give as realistic a view as possible of a smoker's thoughts. I mean, they smoke. They're not going to be Mensa.

Another failed invention - and I have never been sure as to the reason why it is unavailable in the general market today - is the TeaToaster. I doubt my description would do justice to the device, so I have included a picture.

In my opinion, however, it is not the already well-known inventors who deserve our attention, or even the amusing, if impractical ones. No, what I intend to focus on today are the stories behind the creation of objects we now accept as everyday. When was the last time you spared a thought towards Hymen L. Lipman, the designer of the pencil with an eraser attached to the end? Or wondered about the fate of one of the world's first parachutists?

If you do wonder about these things, you (a) need a hobby and (b) are about to have your curiosity satisfied. If you don't tend to spare moments to think 'Hmmm . . . I wonder where cornflakes came from?', and are not intrigued by the over-long lead up I'm giving this article, feel free to allow your attention to wander. For those of you, though, who are vaguely interested in this topic, I give you:

The Leslie M. Harper List of Forgotten Inventors™

1. Hymen L. Lipman - the pencil with an eraser at the end

Now, almost every pencil we see is handily equipped with an eraser at the end, all ready for any mistakes you may make. Considering that the erasers tend to be made of some kind of rubber cement, presumably to keep production costs low, and trying to erase pencil with these generally leave you with a large hole torn in the centre of your page, I believe that Lipman's fine vision has been compromised (I have to call him Lipman. I can't call him Hymen and keep a straight face). I decided to conduct an experiment with a pencil I happened to have on my person (let's be honest: I was doing my Maths assignment, and got bored). I made a small mark with an HB pencil on a piece of scrap paper, then attempted to erase it. It resulted in a large rip, a slightly fainter pencil mark, and a virtually undiminished eraser. I felt embarrassed for our friend Hymen's sake. Originally, however, it was a noble creation. Patented in 1858, Lipman's idea was that of a normal pencil.

About three-quarters of the way down from the top (i.e. the part you use to draw with), the lead in the centre (yes, this was in the days when they still used lead pencils) was replaced with a core of indiarubber, as it was called then. You sharpened both ends of the pencil, using one to draw and one to erase. It was intended for use by architects and graphic designers, who needed thin erasers to erase accurately. In 1862, Lipman sold his patent for $100,000. That's the most I've ever heard of being paid for a pencil (hang around, and you can hear other such original and brilliant witticisms!). The chap he sold it to - Reckendorfer - then tried to sue Faber when they came out with their own version of the Lipman pencil. Unfortunately, it was ruled by the court that the patent was invalid, seeing as it was only bringing two well-known objects together, and Reckendorfer lost his money.

I'm not sure what Hymen Lipman did after that: so far as I know, he didn't continue with his inventing. I'd like to think he bought an island somewhere in the Mediterranean ($100,000 was a lot of money back then - even more so than now), disgusted with what had been made of his original vision, and even now, the Lipman family are still living there, awaiting the day when pencil erasers are made to be both convenient and useable. I think they'll be waiting a long, long time.

2. Franz Reichelt - the parachute suit

Franz Reichelt didn't invent the parachute himself, but he was one of the industry's pioneers. He was a tailor, and had created a parachute suit (a parasuit?) which he tested on a number of

dummies. Initial tests, dropping the dummies from the fifth floor of his apartment building, proved successful. After several changes to the suit the results began to be less successful. At this point, the normal person - say, you or I (well, possibly more you than I) - would think something along the lines of 'Hmmm, my invention, designed to prevent aviators from falling to their deaths, is clearly not working. I'll have to either give up or take it back and make a few changes.' Reichelt, however, as can be conclusively proved, was not a normal person. He thought 'Well, my suit isn't working. Obviously there isn't a problem with the suit itself. I know! I need more height! And the dummies are probably posing a problem as well. This suit is designed for real people, not manikins. Ah, I see the solution! Instead of throwing models incapable of experiencing pain or death from the top of my apartments, I'll put it on myself and jump off the Eiffel Tower! Perfect! I'm the kind of genius who will go down in history.'

Except, living in France, he probably thought it all in French.

Anyway, on the 4th of February 1912 Reichelt did, in fact, 

climb the Eiffel Tower. He did it with permission from the Parisian police force, who were under the impression he intended to test one of his dummies. Why did they think this? Possibly because that's what he told them. He jumped from the first platform of La Tour Eiffel at 8:22 a.m., plummeted unceremoniously towards the ground - his parachute failing to deploy - and slammed into the frozen ground, leaving a dent at the point of impact. He was rushed to the nearest hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival.

It probably would have annoyed him had he known that by that point, the first package parachutes (the kind we use today) had already been successfully tested in the USA. Now, we barely remember the name of Franz Reichelt. He certainly went down, but not in history, except as a minor mishap in the story of parachuting

At the time, he was nicknamed by his peers as the Flying Tailor. In light of his achievements, perhaps the Failing Tailor would have been more accurate. Or the Falling Tailor.

3. Dr Kellogg - cornflakes

We have a rigorous Christian church group to thank for the invention of our favourite cereal (or, at the very least, a relatively popular one for those who enjoy bland orange mush mixed with dairy products. I'm not a big fan myself). The Seventh-Day Adventists are so named because they still observe Sunday as a holy day. On the Sabbath, you can neither work (not so bad) nor indulge in any form of recreational activity (a lot worse), save occasional family activities or charity work. They also believe in strict vegetarian diets. 

Dr Kellogg, superintendent of the Battle Creek Sanatorium in Michigan, and a committed Adventist, was even stricter than most. Not only did he not allow his patients to consume any meat (also prohibiting tobacco, alcohol and caffeine), he was a strong believer in sexual abstinence. Strange man. He believed that sweet and spicy foods caused sexual excitement (which is probably untrue, or we'd have riots in curry shops), and only served flavourless foods which would, supposedly, prevent this effect. On the 8th of August 1894, he found that a lovely appealingly delicious bowl of wheat mush he'd prepared to serve to his patients had been left out too long, and gone stale. Dr Kellogg and his brother, Will, weren't prepared to give up that easily. They rolled the mixture through some rollers (what else would you roll something through?), hoping to get some sheets of dough they could, presumably, do something with. Instead, the mixture cracked, breaking up into many tiny flakes. SHOCK. They promptly toasted these flakes and served them to the patients anyway (I wouldn't have liked to have been a patient there, what about you? I can just imagine Dr Kellogg: 'Well, I found this fish at the bottom of the bin, and I think it's been there for about a week, but what the hell. Let's pour some pasta sauce over it and serve it to the patients with those weird flakey things we got when we tried to roll that wheat mush out last week. Hey, they're sick people. What are they going to do?').

Surprisingly, the wheat flakes were popular among the patients (well, they'd probably been living off cabbage and rice for weeks), so the Kellogg brothers experimented with different grains: rice (hello, Rice Bubbles, although they weren't actually mass produced until some 30-odd years later) and, surprise, surprise, corn. Eventually they decided to mass-market the

 cereal. Will Kellogg actually added some sugar to the corn flake recipe, causing an argument between the two brothers. Can you imagine that? Actually adding sugar to a breakfast cereal? We'd be seeing full-blown orgies in the street!

Anyway. Corn flakes proved hugely successful, and Kellogg's is still around today. All thanks to extreme Christianity. The Sanitarium Health Food Company, leading supplier of health and vegetarian food - not to mention cereal - in Australia and New Zealand - is also owned by the Adventist Church. Be warned. The innocent corn flake is not so innocent. And don't let me get started on Weetbix. They're getting at our brains through our brans.

NB: I know it's an awful pun. The only reason I made it is because I accidentally typed 'brans' instead of 'brains' to begin with.