Electromagnetic

Fluorescent ballast
Circular T12s!

Sometimes the old stuff is impressive in its longevity. Here, found in a stairwell in Olin Science, an old electromagnetic fluorescent 2-lamp ballast from… maybe the early ’60s? It’s got that proper audible-frequency buzz, a housing that looks cast, not extruded, and unless the first one fizzled in the ’70s – entirely possible – this sucker might be original to the building.

One day, it’ll expire, bound for disposal as hazardous waste. (Don’t think too hard about the undoubtedly toxic materials all loaded up inside that little black box.) Until then, it hums and buzzes away in the stairwell, illuminating the space with a pallid, cold glow.

Yeah, nobody misses fluorescent lights all that much.

Lens holder

Spring loaded lens holder
The clamps!

Our old iron optics rails get very little use anymore, as we phase them and their accessories out. Most of them, that is.

We may not use the old glass lenses much – sometimes, not often – but the spring-loaded holders still come out from time to time. They grip certain oddly-shaped objects well, and their heavy iron bases do an excellent job of keeping things like fiber optic cables upright and in place.

Rapidly approaching 60 years old, lens holder. April 1963, $6.25. That’s $61.31 in today’s dollars.

Old Electronics

Old stuff, destined for the dump.
A pile of decrepit victory.

In the process of clearing space, you come across all manner of ancient and fascinating things. Desktop computers. Inkjet printers. CRT televisions. Slide projectors. Old motors and control gear to approximate sidereal motion.

Well, okay, reverse sidereal motion. The reason telescope mounts cost more than telescopes, because keeping stars and deep sky objects fixed in the field of view is no small task.

We’ll pop some of these open, gut ’em for any good parts, and move the remainder on to e-recycling. It’s the cycle of e-life!

Hand Riveter

Pop rivet tool.
Orange handles are a nice touch.

Pop rivets haven’t seen much use in the shop of late, but they always remain an option. You put one in the nosepiece of the tool, slide through a pre-drilled hole, and squeeze the handles. That action draws the rod and bead back to the tool, deforming the rivet to compress your materials together as the bead on the far side “pops” off. Can be handy, especially when you can’t access the other side of something easily.

This one was acquired at the tail end of the 1970s, for the not-insignificant sum of $25, or $100.54 today. You can pick up the equivalent tool from McMaster-Carr with delivery tomorrow for $31.25 plus shipping, whatever that tells you about the current state of the economy. Don’t read too much into it.

Etching on rivet tool.
August, ’79. Nice vintage.

Note that the handle has also been etched with “Consumer Bargain,” which is cryptic and delightful. Clearly, this was a steal.

“proper cleaning supplies”

Caution label
“Also please wash your hands.”

Do not attempt to clean expensive optical equipment with the same things you use to clean your nose.

Remember: instructions that seem to lay out the most common-sense directives – on signage, in user manuals, in a specification document – are sometimes the result of people actually doing those questionable things.

You can bet someone tried cleaning a telescope’s eyepiece with the handkerchief from their pocket.

“The Perfect Cleaner”

Capital Metal Polish can.
Buddy Brand!

Sometimes, stuff just lingers. It’s unclear how long it’s been sitting on this or any shelf, whether it has any use anymore, how on earth to dispose of it, etc. Of course, those odd objects tend to sport some of the coolest old labels.

So much to enjoy here! Buddy the dog, holding a flag with his name, but also helpfully labeled below as “Buddy,” just in case it wasn’t obvious enough. Directions for using metal polish on non-metallic surfaces, which – to be fair – might not be obvious. (Still mostly amounts to wipe on with a soft cloth, wipe off with a soft cloth.) The prime visual real estate for “Non-Inflammable,” which is an entertaining reminder of the flammable/inflammable quirk of the English language. What a country!

It’s not entirely clear if the yellow color was an original choice or has been caused by many years of aging paper.

Capital Metal Polish can back.
Seems pretty straightforward.

At any rate, the steel cap is thoroughly corroded shut, so there’s no telling what remains inside. Whether that corrosion is caused by or despite the contents of the Capital Metal Polish container, we’ll never know.