Death by Device

By Dayton Lummis

The author freely admits that devices are not all bad. For better or worse they have changed the world. But this book ranges far from the subject of the effects of devices, often into areas distinctly politically incorrect. Some commentary is amusing; others might be seen as disturbing. This is a good companion book for your one-way trip to Mars! Read it, and you will never be the same again! Nor will be the society described. We live in changing times; there is a distinct sense of a rising sadness for lost America...

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491738757

Dayton Lummis

Dayton Lummis is now of that advanced age where there is a confusing amount to look back on, and a frightening current scenario to confront and evaluate. His education and experience (Yale University and various Museum directorships), plus informal degrees from “The University of North Beach” and “The Cripple Creek School of Hard Knocks,” have enabled him to navigate through “The Sea of Sorrow and Regret.” He lives in a casita in Santa Fe, NM, with his pet armadillo “Crusty.”

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Copyright © 2014 Dayton Lummis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3874-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3875-7 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 09/05/2014

CONTENTS

I Critical Density

II Compression

III Combustion

IV Torque Curve

V Direct Injection

Finale

To Mike Parkhurst (1933-2014)—trucker, magazine editor and publisher, film producer/director, and much more…

INTRODUCTION

DEATH BY DEVICE

I have chosen the title for this book because of my interest in how people today have become slavishly addicted to their devices. No doubt there are marvelous things contained therein and great advancements for society accomplished—I have seen the evidence of that—in this rapidly growing and expanding technology. But, there are also definite negatives, as we shall see. Coming out from town on the train, or in airports, I am one of the very few not consulting some device or other. I realize by not doing so how free my mind is, to roam about and wander in non-tech space, to create my own thinking and responses, to exist in my very own world. Perhaps this may be seen as simplistic and a sort of Luddite illusion. But you have to fully understand what I am implying. (By the way, I now read of ecological resorts where devices are not allowed. Perhaps some people are on to something?)

An analogy: the man who supposedly invented the credit card (for Bank of America?) now lives in a two room apartment in a working class area of the San Francisco Bay Area with less than two hundred objects or possessions. Having opened up society to the possibilities of endless consumerism, he has now reduced himself to the barest minimalism. Why? Perhaps because of the emptiness of the world that he had helped create, because he had, as had Nietzsche, seen too deep and too far—reason obscures my vision! Something to ponder.

Back to devices and how, like so many things the full implications we fail to comprehend, they may be edging toward the end of us. Not as a species. We will stumble on, with a device in each hand, but forever changed from the types of social beings we had evolved into before the age of devices. Reference: Darla and her Device—the teenage girl in Sacramento who is said to have sent 60,000 text messages in one month! To whom and about what? (May be apocryphal but that information was out there). So—Devices!

The negativity about devices so au currant among contemporary social critics may be blunted somewhat by an article in a recent edition of The New York Times Sunday Magazine. In it a social researcher currently at Rutgers went back to 1980 and studied films taken in various urban public spaces, and took current films in the same places today. He found that people are perhaps more connected today than previously, although it is not entirely clear exactly in what way. Some scholars disagree with his findings and continue to assert that the age of devices has rendered us disconnected and alone, no matter how many conversations and texts we engage in. We lack face to face interaction.

It has been reported recently that there are in this world considerably more devices than there are people—9 billion compared to 7 billion. And that the number of devices is growing and will continue to grow rapidly as more people feel it necessary to own to or more devices—for differing apps (not sure that is the appropriate term, but it is a word now).

Recently in a major city a young woman fixated on her device stepped off a curb in front of a moving bus and was killed.

Some suggest that the increasing role of devices in society is perhaps the greatest social influence of our modern time, for better or for worse, and this influence threatens to dominate people beyond control of their individual destinies. We shall see about that.

There was a significant letter to the editor of The Philadelphia Inquirer this morning, having to do with the subject of devices and the control they have over many of us. I am going to quote this letter here in its entirety.

LIFE BEFORE GADGETS

Of old fashioned ways, and still without a cell phone, I remember how to do my homework without depending on technology to think (Pining for a pen and ink past—Jan 26). But whatever will our younger generation do when the plug is pulled and they cannot find their way out the front door because computers—a bunch of nuts and bolts that control their lives—are down, out to lunch, or long past repair, and there is no manual means to unlock their lives? With the technology that columnist Karen Heller lampooned so delightfully, we may have made a deal with the devil, who now owns us, body, soul, and mind.

Well, that is not the smoothest letter but it does manage to get a point across—overdependence on devices, and the presumed inability to function independent of them. I am in the category of the writer of this letter, independent of devices and without a cell phone. A young woman recently at Midway Chicago asked if she could borrow my cell. When I said I did not have one she looked at me as if I was a nut of some kind. Which I suppose I am. But, like this letter writer, I find a certain freedom. I know that in various businesses situations instant communication is a great advantage, and in other situations where transmission of important data can be life-saving. So, it is unrealistic to envision the complete elimination of devices, but only to propose that dependence on them be limited only to the most necessary situations. Thought and action free of devices should be encouraged. As philosophers of the computer have long suggested, children should be taught to think without computers, and then progress to the computer as a specific tool. The same for devices…

There was in a recent Review section of the Sunday NYT a sort of op-ed piece pertaining to the subject of devices and the hold they have on so many people. The author is Teddy Wayne, a novelist I have never heard of. She says, in essence, that she is and has been a mild tech user and has a new smart phone. But she has become increasingly aware of the downside of excessive tech involvement, distractibility, wasted time, shallow sips of online connection, and so forth. Too much involvement. So, in January she unplugged for one week, and learned to live in the present. Turn off TV. Read one newspaper a week, check email only twice a day (no more than 15 minutes). No streaming, no music or TV, get into reading books. This is called variously disconnecting. Freeing oneself from the phenomenon of FOMO—(fear of missing out) (on something). She was considering later on a meditation retreat where no devices are permitted. This sort of thing is becoming increasingly popular. But not amongst the very young. The average teenager in this country sends and receives 3,000 texts a month! About what? So when I say Death by Device I mean over-connected.

I was tempted to dedicate this book to Mikhail Kalashnikov (1919‒2013) and his device. The AK-47 has brought death to countless of millions in this world, and this is a very sad fact. A few months before his death Kalashnikov wrote a very touching letter to the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church in which he pondered if he was to blame for the deaths of all those killed by his weapon. No, I would say. As did the Patriarch, who absolved him of any guilt he may have felt.

PART I

Critical Density

A NEW YORK TALE

Meredith and I were waiting for our coats on a chilly New York night in the reception area of a trendy restaurant in the West Village area of lower Manhattan, where we had just finished a very au courant meal. A burly, swarthy older guy stuck out his hand to me saying, I’m Vinnie. I never wear no coat, no matter how cold. Me and the missus just walk outside and jump in the warm Town Car. Beats waitin’ for a cab, huh? An’ you’re? I told him Anthony, as our coats were delivered. Vinnie went on, in a friendly manner, So, Anthony—you a New Yorker? I told him that I was born and raised in Manhattan—born at The Gotham Hospital, which no more exists. Vinnie asked, Where’d yah live in Manhattan? When I told him 310 East 75th Street he grinned and said, Your folks musta done OK. What your Dad do? I said we did OK. That they sent us to good Catholic schools and that my Dad was in the trucking business. Vinnie laughed. The truckin’ business, huh? He ever lose much? I said, Naw, he never lost much. He was protected. Vinnie gave me a sharp look. He knew what protected meant.

As I was helping Meredith into her coat the hostess asked if we wanted a cab. I was about to say yes when Vinnie smiled and asked, Can we give yah and the missus a ride somewhere. It’s cold out there. I told him that Meredith—who I think did not care for being called the missus—and I were just going to walk a few blocks over to Hudson Street and have a nightcap at The White Horse Tavern, one of my haunts from college days. Vinnie said, Come on, we’ll take yah there. And he took my arm and steered me and Meredith out, with his own missus—who was much younger—in tow, to a Lincoln Town Car which was waiting right outside the restaurant. He told the driver, White Horse Tavern, a joint over on Hudson Street. We gonna drop these folks off there. The driver nodded and set the Town Car smoothly into motion. In the warm car Vinnie turned to us and said, This is Pat. Meredith introduced herself, and we were then that old circle of new friends. We were quickly outside the White Horse, and I asked Vinnie, Would the both of you like to come in and have a nightcap with us. He grinned, said sure.

Seated at one of the blackened and scarred tables while Meredith and Pat were chatting about something, maybe Barneys, Vinnie leaned toward me and said, in a not unfriendly tone, Well, Anthony, I didn’t go to college, my old man didn’t have the bucks for that, like your Dad—the trucking business. Protected, right? My Dad worked on the docks, when he worked at all. I got my business degree on the streets. But, Anthony, we end up, both of us, eatin’ at Bouly’s, huh? I smiled. It was obvious that Vinnie had bucks—the Town Car, his expensive suit. And the much younger Pat? I was sure that she was high maintenance. But not my business. So I just said, sort out of nowhere, Vinnie, I am seventy six years old. My Dad and my Uncle Eddie, they were men who grew up when honor, respect and integrity meant something. They made money the old fashioned way, with hard work and honor. Vinnie nodded thoughtfully, finished his drink and said to Pat, Come on, hon, we got to go. I stood up, and so did Vinnie. He shook my hand, then kissed me on the cheeks, the old fashioned way, the Sicilian way. He threw a hundred dollar bill on the table, said, For the drinks. It was real good talkin’ wit yah, Anthony."

And he and the missus—AKA Pat—were out the door, into the Lincoln Town Car and were gone. Into the dark, unforgiving Manhattan night, where honor, respect and integrity were no more.

Meredith’s comment: Well, that was something else. Your pal Vinnie! Let’s get back to The Yale Club. No Vinnies there. I told her, Don’t be too sure about that…

Wed 13 Oct 13: On Walnut Street in Philadelphia, in a planted area with a few trees in front of one of the Jefferson University buildings near 10th Street I came upon a large Red-tailed hawk standing there tearing a pigeon apart, eating the bloody meat and tossing the feathers aside. Quite a few people were standing around watching and taking pictures with their camera phones, not understanding exactly what they were seeing. One man next to me said, I thought it was an eagle. The hawk glanced around, and continued his meal, which was obviously paramount in (his mind). I imagine that he came from the area of Independence National Park where there are known to be at least three Red-tails in residence, dining on pigeons and squirrels. A very interesting and primeval urban scene.

I saw in front of the new Kimpton hotel in Philadelphia, Hotel Monaco, an older man struggling to extricate two heavy suitcases from the trunk of a cab, the (Middle Eastern?) driver just sitting behind the wheel. There was a time when helpful cabbies hopped out to help passengers with luggage. Not any more, evidently. At least not in Philadelphia.

My front and center ticket for the Friday afternoon Philadelphia Orchestra concert at the Kimmel Center is going to run me from $104 to $140. Last year I think it was $60 to $70. Well, of course the Orchestra is broke and needs the money. Cost of living is going up everywhere. Increasing numbers of formerly middle-class people are not making it. Sad…

Last September I enjoyed a very unusual and supreme experience. As a result of an article in the Inquirer, I made a telephone call and signed up for a ride in a B-17 WW II era bomber, The Memphis Belle. So, on the appointed Sunday I drove to the Northeast Philadelphia airport to report for my ride. The event was very well organized, and very American. The attendees and my fellow fliers were all solid American types, many of military background—tough, competent working class types. No artsy perfumados! No blacks or Hispanics. There was a sort of comradeship among the people gathered to either take rides or just observe. I fit in very well. One chap, a fellow flier in his forties, asked me, Were you in the War? Meaning, I think, WW II. I answered, WW II? Are you kidding? I was four years old! He laughed, perhaps had been kidding or so I hoped. One older fellow flier, very feeble, had quite a bit of trouble in the narrow confines of the aircraft. His somewhat younger wife (or daughter) assisted him. He scraped his scabbed arms here and there, leaving drops of blood. Authentic? He was a very nice old man, a Korean vet. There was a young boy of about fourteen on the aircraft to assist, good kid, very nice and respectful. Indicator that our youth is not totally lost! The two pilots were very capable and business like Anglo types, very much in control of the aircraft (I should hope so). The cockpit seemed quite primitive when compared to that of a modern 747 jet aircraft.

There was a photograph of the crew of the original Memphis Belle during WW II. All young men—very young! I remember Barry Urdang, museum board member up in Santa Rosa, who flew 25 missions over Germany during WW II in a B-17 saying that half the men in his squadron never came back from the runs over Germany. Gone!

With a great roar of the reciprocating engines the aircraft lumbered down the runway and rose slowly into the air. We cruised east over the Delaware River and over rural New Jersey at about 1000 feet, then made a graceful wide turn back toward the airfield. There was a large warehouse on the New Jersey side of the Delaware River that was on fire, sending a big plume of black smoke into the air. That lent a sense of reality to our mission. In the nose cone I could see the ground ahead and below very clearly. There was a big .50 caliber machine gun armed with a belt of substantial cartridges. The aircraft bristled with armament. Flying Fortress indeed! Still, German fighter planes and ground fire riddled those aircraft, many of which barely got back to their bases in England. I remember the haunting description by Randall Jarrell of the aircraft next to his on fire and beginning to roll over and go down. He saw the tail gunner very clearly, saw him raise his right arm and wave goodbye! I thought of that sort of thing during the thirty minute flight—a very thrilling and very American experience. Those guys back then, and those planes, they won the war in Europe—along with the guys on the ground, of course. On D-Day 1944 the Allies put 11,500 aircraft in the air over Europe! The Germans, seeing that, knew then that it was over. And it was!

I am so glad that I took that flight. And experience to remember and reflect on.

Footnote:

The next day in Saint David’s, Monday, I heard an unmistakable sound—the rumble of reciprocating aircraft engines. I rushed to an upstairs north window of the house and got a glimpse through the trees of the B-17 flying west at an altitude of about 1000 feet in the air. To some other airfield to give nostalgic and patriotic rides. Good…

I have to catch up on a few notes:

Older man sitting next to me on plane from Chicago to Philadelphia said, I am just an old guy in the exit lane… Depressing. Is that what I am?

Peter Parkhurst called the other night for my birthday, after I came back from NYC. Nice of him but he goes on and on and it is hard to get him off the phone.

I think about all those young women who come to Manhattan with stars in their eyes. Hoping to meet some young, handsome Ivy League bond trader making $200,000 to $300,000 a year (which I am told does not go far in NYC these days!), who will get them into the fast lane and all that. For many of these young women much of their experiences are a BIG DISASTER! The streets are littered with the broken pieces of those disasters. As are the mid-town and East Village bars. A few winners, many losers. New York can tear the heart out of an iron dog!

Meredith introduced me to a fellow at the wedding last weekend who she said is very interesting. She’d met him down in Mexico, but he lives in Santa Fe and is retired from the Los Alamos lab. He said he was in Hanoi recently and the Vietnamese are very worried about China. As they should be. Told him they wished the American military was back here… Now, that is strange. After that long and brutal war…

Saw former Santa Fe mayor Sam Pick eating alone at Yin Yang Chinese (how did you guess?) restaurant the other day. He still looks pretty good. So, I stopped by his table and said, Hello, Mister Mayor. He looked up smiling, said, I saw you sitting over there. We’re both having lunch with our favorite people. Meaning—alone. I told him that I enjoyed the company of my favorite people. He laughed, and I was on my way. I have been going to Yin Yang now for twenty years, always on Monday, always at the same table. Am I a creature of habit or what?

Doctor Avis’s friend Lonny Wiig lives in Hillsboro, Oregon, near to Portland. Lonny says that in recent years there has been a rather large influx of Mexicans into Hillsboro, probably having something to do with the vineyards springing up all over the Willamette Valley. And with this influx, he says, have come quite a few social problems—gangs, drugs, graffiti and dysfunction. Not exactly the nice Oregon city it used to be, but still pretty nice, Lonny says. There is a very large Intel presence there, and that is where it is rumored that all the Albuquerque functions will be transferred. Reason—unmotivated workforce in New Mexico.

Doctor Avis predicts that the future of America may be a vast coffee colored population. When one contemplates large swaths of the Bronx and Queens that constitute non-white persons one can easily become unsettled, depressed, by the crime and social dysfunction. If this is the future of America—well, I am certainly not going to relate to it. Not what America has been, not the heritage that I am a part of. Is this nativist? I suppose so…

Back in the 1950s in Ocean City NJ—well, Somers Point across the bay, to be exact—the rock and roll band most popular at the Bayshore Club was that of Mike Pedicin. His hit Shake a Hand really got the crowd jumping. (Just played it on YouTube and it holds up remarkably well.) Now I hear on WRTI, on J. Michael Harrison’s modern jazz program, a Michael Pedicin. Not the 1950s rock and roller but evidently his son, who seems to have transitioned to an almost New Age modern jazz performer with his own group. He is pretty good if a bit way out there. Long way from the old man’s Shake a Hand. Well, things change and progress. Sort of…

The other day up in Wayne I found Pat the Barber (Shea) lounging in the barber chair in his empty shop, snoozing. He woke up as I came in the door, said Ain’t no business. I been dozin’ here two hours, no one. Wha’s happening? This town dead or what? Prosperous Wayne dead? No, I hardly think so. Just a lull for Pat, who did not look so good. Veins around his nose—a drinker? He seemed depressed. That bothered me. Is something happening that starts at the local barber shop? We will see next week when I come in for a real close haircut for the NYC trip. Me—the investigator, the agent, something. Pat wonders.

I have here at the house in St. David’s a 1950 copy of Holiday magazine, containing an illustrated article by James Michener on The Main Line. What a very different world! Of that there is no doubt. But, what interests me the most is the advertising, appealing to a confident, affluent post-war class of white Americans.

Dire predictions have had a way of not coming true—often to my disappointment. For instance, Paul Erlich’s grim population projections have not materialized. That does mean that the potential problem has gone away. I have in my files an interesting article from back in 1994, essentially a review of an interesting book published by The Sierra Club called How Many Americans? Population, Immigration and the Environment. The authors suggest that the United States adopt measures that would make the country less attractive to illegals. But, as the article points out, the real concern of the book is too many people, throughout the world but particularly in the U.S. They predict extremely dire projections of what they already consider serious problems created by excessive population. Not only do they call for curbing