First published back in 1999. We’re happy to report Jules’ Undersea Lodge (pictured below) is still in operation.
Whatever happened to Homo Aquaticus—the new breed of “humanfish” that were willing to surgically alter their bodies with artificial gills to allow them to breathe under water?
Famed undersea explorer Jacques-Yves Cousteau was convinced that Homo Aquaticus was next step in human evolution. “We are now moving toward an alteration of human anatomy,” Cousteau told the World Congress on Underwater Activities in 1962, “to give man almost unlimited freedom underwater.”
Throughout his life, the famed French explorer searched for new methods that would allow humans to stay underwater for as long as possible. He co-invented the Aqua-lung in the 1940s and remained a pioneer in scuba gear until his death in 1997.
“The conscious evolution of Home Aquaticus,” explained Cousteau to the World Congress, came out of a need “to place swimmers underwater for very long periods to really learn about the sea.”
Cousteau was determined to prove humans could live and work underwater. In the early 1960s, he began a series of projects called Conshelf (or Continental Shelf Station). The submerged living quarters allowed aquanauts to stay undersea for up to a month.
But creating an acceptable habitat was no easy task. Poor visibility, limited air supply, and the danger of decompression were among the obstacles Cousteau and his staff faced.
Participants in Conshelf complained about loss of appetite, taste and smell, the murky light, and lack of privacy living in such close quarters. Another annoyance was their chirpy helium- inflected voices (for future expeditions, Costeau suggested creating “underwater Esperanto” with the “e” sound eliminated). Despite the trying set of circumstances, Cousteau saw Conshelf as a success and later took home an Academy 
Award for World Without Sun, the documentary that looked at the undersea experiment.
Thanks to Cousteau’s efforts, underwater exploration began to generate the kind of enthusiasm normally associated with the exploration of space.
One of the star attractions of the 1964/65 World’s Fair in New York was a General Motors exhibit (left) which depicted citizens living underwater, drilling for gas, farming the sea, and vacationing at the Hotel Atlantis.
Was it possible that underwater exploits could match the feats taking place in space? The clearest link between the two endeavors was astronaut/aquanaut Scott Carpenter, who had explored both frontiers.
In 1962, Carpenter (right) orbited Earth three times as part of the Mercury Aurora 7 mission. Less than three years later, he was leading two Navy teams to the ocean floor to conduct experiments in underwater living aboard Sealab II.
While he was underwater in Sealab, Carpenter spoke to NASA colleagues C. Gordon Cooper and Charles Conrad, Jr. orbiting Earth in outer space aboard Gemini 5.
But the public’s interest in colonizing “inner space” proved short lived. Compared to the fascination of watching an astronaut stand on the moon, the idea of “humanfish” seemed whimsical at best. Deep sea exploration, however, continued to grow and today opportunities to scuba dive are perhaps more plentiful than ever.
Divers looking for overnight accommodations can stay at Jules’ Undersea Lodge in Key Largo, Florida. Guests dive five fathoms below the surface of a lagoon and stay in the comfort of “the world’s first and only underwater hotel.”
If you like the idea of staying in a place where you can “dive, dine, and dream at five fathoms” it will run you around $300.00 a night. Don’t forget to pack the Dramamine.
More expansive plans to develop underwater hotels have recently been introduced. The architecture firm Wimberly, Allison, Tong & Goo is looking to develop an 80-room sub-surface hotel (pictured below) in the Pacific Ocean.
And a few stalwarts continue to believe that living underwater is the only sane solution to solving the problem of overpopulation, But most, like Cousteau, are simply attracted to the mysteries of the deep.
The Cousteau Society carries on the work of Jacques-Yves Cousteau who died in 1997. Their mission is “to safeguard the Water Planet” and provide insight on environmental issues.
“Man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free,” Costeau once explained about the allure of sea. “Buoyed by water, he can fly.”
The jetpack reached pop icon status when a tuxedo-clad James Bond, played by Sean Connery, strapped one on in in 1962’s Thunderball. Bond zips over a series of tall buildings and lands conveniently next to his Aston Martin.
It was all very Retrofuture.
In the 1950s, Hans Laube, a Swiss professor of osmics (the study of smells) created a process for reproducing odors in a movie theater. The invention—which came to be known as Smell-O-Vision—was introduced in the 1960 film Scent of Mystery.
Then tragedy struck. On March 22, 1958, Michael Todd, Sr. was killed in plane accident while scouting a filming location in New Mexico (Todd’s son and then-wife Elizabeth Taylor pictured right). For a time, it looked like Laube’s Scentavision might die with him. But Mike Todd, Jr. was determined to carry out his father’s dream. One year after Todd’s death, production of the first “smellie” began with plans to include 30 different fragrances by way of Laube’s Scentavision.
Critics weren’t kind either. Bosley Crowther of the New York Times, dismissed the “novel stimulation.” Crowther wrote, “when this reviewer saw (and smelled) the picture at a full-dress preview the night before last, the Smell-O-Vision squirters weren’t at full blast or his nasal apparatus was on the fritz.” The movie, he concluded, was “bunk.” A reviewer from Time seemed to concur: “Most customers will probably agree that the smell they liked best was the one they got during intermission: fresh air.”
In 1981, director John Waters (right) paid homage to the golden-age of legendary Hollywood gimmicks by presenting his latest film Polyester in glorious “Odorama.” Customers entering the movie theater were handed scratch’n’sniff cards and instructed to release the hidden smells at the specially-chosen moments. People familiar with Water’s oeuvre understood the highly dubious nature of this gimmick. Surprisingly, except for a few pungent aromas like the smell of dirty socks, Odorama didn’t leave a bad scent and Polyester became Water’s first commercial success.
Snoopy fans take note: the celebrated flying ace isn’t going to retire his aviator’s wings when Charles Schulz ends the daily Peanuts comic strip this week. The unofficial mascot of NASA for over three decades will continue his association.
NASA’s gambit was a hit with workers. “Snoopy Given Credit for Apollo Success” read a headline the Oklahoma City Times in 1969.
Commander of the mission Thomas P. Stafford, explained why Snoopy was being honored. “We’re going to the moon to find out all these facts and kind of snoop around,” Stafford jested, “(That’s why) the lunar module’s going to be called Snoopy.”
Several months after Apollo 10, when Neil Armstrong took his first steps on the moon, Snoopy appeared in Schulz’s daily Peanut strip declaring “I did it! I’m the first beagle on the moon!”
Officials at the space agency maintain there is no plan to discontinue “The Silver Snoopy”—presented to employees who have made extraordinary contributions to space travel.
