Retrofuture.comFascinating prediction of technological advances by the year 2000 written for the German newspaper Pressburger Zeitung in 1922. The author, Paul Louis Hervier, peers into his crystal ball and see synthetic food, geothermal energy, and electric trains. Better than usual batting average on this one. Click on image to see full article.
Right after 9/11, I was interviewed by Fox News for a new story on flying cars. “Perish the thought of bin Laden in a Skycar,” I was quoted as saying (I do not remember saying this). My opinion on flying cars is not popular with devotees but I stand by the basic argument–is there any persuasive reason these two forms of transportation need to be merged when each technology works perfectly well on its own?
The latest flying car to get some media buzz is the Terrafugia Transition. It looks absolutely whiz-bang but I noticed it is being promoted as a sports aviation vehicle, a far cry from the futuristic fantasies of the past. Perhaps we’ve downsized our flying car dreams.
Here’s the original Retrofuture article I wrote back in 1999:
Like so many other stories profiled in the Retro Future, the ConvAIRCAR flying car was a noble but doomed attempt to push the boundaries of what is possible.
On paper, the ConvAIRCAR was truly the stuff of commuters’ fantasies. It had “all the advantages of a Cadillac” according to its manufacturer. So what happened? The same thing that happens to all flying cars–the dream crashed and burned before it could take off…this time literally.
The ConvAIRCAR was not the first flying car to make it to the drawing board. That honor goes to the Curtiss Autoplane of 1917. But public interest in a car-plane hybrid didn’t take hold until after World War II. Airplane manufacturers, after the war, were shifting away from military aircraft to consumer production lines.
The Consolidated Vultee Aircraft Company of San Diego, California was one of those companies looking for a new outlet to sell their aircraft. Sensing the time was right for a flying car, they poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into developing a prototype built by aerodynamic engineer Theodore P. Hall.
Also lending a hand was Henry Dreyfuss, one of the outstanding industrial designers of the 20th century. Dreyfuss designed telephones for Bell, tractors for John Deere, thermostats for Honeywell, and cameras for Polaroid. But a flying car? What motivated the famously no-nonsense Dreyfuss–a devotee of Louis Sullivan’s dictum that “form follows function”–to lend his talents to such a far-fetched endeavor? The cynic would say money; but, in truth, a flying car didn’t seem that far-fetched at the time.
“The market for this flying automobile will be far greater than a conventional light plane,” Consolidated Vultee promised, “because the purchasers can obtain daily use from the car to get more out of his investment.” The estimated cost: $1,500. Flight attachments were an additional cost.
These attachments were integral to the ConvAIRCAR’s design. After driving to the airport, an owner had to connect a flight unit (which included a propeller) to take off. At the next airport they simply removed the detachable wings and drove away in what was an otherwise ordinary car.
Well, not exactly ordinary. Thanks to a “plastic-impregnated” fiberglass body that weighed only 725 pounds, the ConvAIRCAR achieved an astounding 45 miles per gallon. And it looked great–the aerodynamic envelope of “the only automobile that flies” was a remarkable achievement, truly years ahead of its time.
On November 17, 1947, the New York Times announced the news: a prototype of the ConvAIRCAR had circled San Diego for one hour and 18 minutes. These trials confirmed the best hopes of Consolidate Vultee. But success was short-lived. A few days after the test flight, a pilot crash-landed the ConvAIRCAR in the desert (it was later discovered a gas gauge had accidentally been shut off) and the only prototype in existence was demolished beyond repair.
Eventually another model of the ConvAIRCAR was built but the damage was done. The high cost of production and the limited market potential–not to mention the negative publicity–spelled doom (sadly no examples of the ConvAIRCAR survive; the second prototype perished in a fire at the San Diego Air & Space Museum).
The failure of the ConvAIRCAR was not unique. Dozens of inventors and aerodynamic engineers have tried to create similar vehicles in the last fifty years–none has successfully marketed a flying car. According to a 1989 article in Smithsonian, over 30 patents for flying cars have been filed this century in the United States alone; usually boasting fanciful names like Aerocar, Autoplane, Airphibian, and Skycar.
To this day several obstacles stand in the path of launching a successful flying car. First, the FAA is not likely to grant airspace to these vehicles–congestion in the air is bad enough. Secondly, flying cars, traditionally, have suffered from an engineering problem: as cars they are overpowered, as planes they are underpowered. And, last, the insurance is certain to be prohibitively expensive.
No, sadly, you will not be able to jump into a flying car for a quick trip 
to the 7-11 in the year 2000. But as long as “The Jetsons” is still running on the Cartoon Network, these dream machines will undoubtedly live on.
This Popular Mechanics illustration circa 1950 is a Retrofuture classic.
An oldie from 1999.
In the future will we all be wearing corresponding uniforms like the ones worn by the crew of Star Trek? A few fashion designers have predicted as much.
“Modern people want to wear uniforms,” Gianni Versace explained in the book Fashion 2001. “You don’t have to take time to select, to choose.”
The standardized, gender-free uniform envisioned could take the form of jumpsuits, one-piece garments, or matching unisex wardrobes.
Although it is admittedly something of a far-flung notion, the concept has already made some inroads in popular culture.
The new wave group Devo (right) used to don matching jumpsuits as a part of their stage act. Each member was virtually indistinguishable from the other—in essence, they surrendered their identities for the whole of the group.
Many people find this idea repellent, a violation of personal expression. Others consider it an ideal way of diminishing the symbolic value of clothing.
Fashion designers, who often cater to status and wealth, have been the strongest supporters of a neutral, gender-free clothing. Couturiers such as Rudi Gernreich (whose designs are featured left and below right) specialize in clothes that offset the disparities between rich and poor, male and female.
A new wave of unisex fashion began to appear in haute couture designs. “Meant to be a sexless uniform for space-age living,” writes Colin McDowell in McDowell’s Directory of Twentieth Century Fashion, “these clothes were in fact very sexy indeed.”
Androgyny has played a large role in this trend, reversing traditional notions of femininity that previously enforced a code of modesty, chastity, and virtue.
Women’s fashion choices increased exponentially with the feminist movement. Suddenly they were free to wear suits and pants; men, too, could be found dressing in floral prints and sporting earrings. The next step, some believed, was the creation of a totally gender-free unisex garment.
In theory, identical uniforms would eliminate the outward appearance of a power structure. Since the workplace, in particular, tended to reinforce notions of hierarchies, logically, it would serve as the proving ground.
Fictional work settings such as Star Trek allowed male and female crew members to wear corresponding uniforms with only colors to set them apart. Each color represents a particular job but not the person’s rank.
For many, this notion of military-like uniformity conjures up visions of gray, faceless masses, a totalitarian nightmare straight out of Huxley’s Brave New World.
But most fashion experts believe a standardized, corresponding uniform isn’t likely to become a reality anytime soon. And there are a few who argue it has already arrived.
“I would say a pair of Levis 501s and a white T-shirt,” replies Stéfane Houy-Towner of the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art when asked if the unisex, gender-free uniform will ever become reality.
“The democratization of clothing is represented by jeans and t-shirt,” explains Houy-Towner. “You can be rich or poor and wear the same thing. It’s completely neutral.”
Buddy Holly’s music was pioneering but it was not futuristic. He died before he could get his hands on a Moog. It’s one of those great “what ifs.”
Today marks the 50th anniversary of the plane crash that took Holly’s life.
It’s Holly’s enduring influence as a nerd superhero that I want to celebrate today. Check out one of those blurry black and white TV clips and you see Holly was utterly unafraid of looking like a dork.
The more you read about the Texas rocker the more you begin to wonder if that aw-shucks kid-next-door modesty was a convenient and clever way of covering up ferocious ambition.
Holly proved you didn’t have to look like a Greek god to get up on the world stage. He embraced his inner nerd. It was like Einstein sticking his tongue out for photographers, a way of saying I don’t care, go ahead and laugh at me, I’m following my dream. This is the archetype of tech heroes from Tesla to Jobs.
Buddy Holly cracked the code. It was brain over brawn. He shared that knowledge and assurance with those who followed musically in his wake. Awkward but confident guys like Lennon, Eno and Byrne (not to mention, Joe Meek, who was truly and morbidly obsessed with Holly).
Holly was a modern guy, making his own demos, tinkering with recording techniques, searching for a new sound. “That’ll Be the Day,” the Crickets’ first hit, was rocketing up the charts around the time Sputnik was launched in 1957. With his trusty Fender in hand, Holly provided the soundtrack to a brief promising new chapter in the Atomic Age.
So fifty years to the day let us tip our cap to the man who made nerds look cool. Thank you Buddy.
Addendum: I found this Buddy tribute today on YouTube. It’s so geeky, I love it!
