Ancient Egyptian Flatness

Making a truly flat surface is a modern engineering feat, and not a small one. Even making something straight without reference tools that are already straight is a challenge. However, the ancient Egyptians apparently made very straight, very flat stone work. How did they do it? Probably not alien-supplied CNC machines. [IntoTheMap] explains why it is important and how they may have done it in a recent video you can see below.

The first step is to define flatness, and modern mechanical engineers have taken care of that. If you use 3D printers, you know how hard it is to even get your bed and nozzle “flat” with respect to each other. You’ll almost always have at least a 100 micron variation in the bed distances. The video shows how different levels of flatness require different measurement techniques.

The Great Pyramid’s casing stones have joints measuring 0.5 mm, which is incredible to achieve on such large stones with no modern tools. A stone box in the Pyramid of Seostris II is especially well done and extremely flat, although we can make things flatter today.

The main problem with creating a flat surface is that to do a good job, you need some flat things to start with. However, there is a method from the 19th century that uses three plates and multiple lapping steps to create three very flat plates. In modern times, we use a blue material to indicate raised areas, much as a dentist makes you chomp on a piece of paper to place a crown. There are traces of red ochre on Egyptian stonework that probably served the same purpose.

Lapping large pieces is still a challenge, but moving giant stones at scale appears to have been a solved problem for the Egyptians. Was this the method they used? We don’t know, of course. But it certainly makes sense.

It would be a long time before modern people could make things as flat. While we can do even better now, we also have better measuring tools.

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How Accurate Is A 125 Year Old Resistance Standard?

Internals of the 1900 Evershed & Vignoles Ltd 1 ohm resistance standard. (Credit: Three-phase, YouTube)
Internals of the 1900 Evershed & Vignoles Ltd 1 ohm resistance standard. (Credit: Three-phase, YouTube)

Resistance standards are incredibly useful, but like so many precision references they require regular calibration, maintenance and certification to ensure that they stay within their datasheet tolerances. This raises the question of how well a resistance standard from the year 1900 performs after 125 years, without the benefits of modern modern engineering and standards. Cue the [Three-phase] YouTube channel testing a genuine Evershed & Vignoles Ltd one ohm resistance standard from 1900.

With mahogany construction and brass contacts it sure looks stylish, though the unit was missing the shorting pin that goes in between the two sides. This was a common feature of e.g. resistance decade boxes of the era, where you inserted pins to connect resistors until you hit the desired total. Inside the one ohm standard is a platinoid resistor, which is an alloy of copper, nickel, tungsten, and zinc. Based on the broad arrow mark on the bottom this unit was apparently owned by the UK’s Ordnance Board, which was part of what was then called the War Office.

After a quick gander at the internals, the standard was hooked up to a Keithley DMM7510 digital bench meter. The resistance standard’s ‘datasheet’ is listed on top of the unit on the brass plaques, including the effect of temperature on its accuracy. Adjusting for this, the measured ~1.016 Ω was within 1.6% tolerance, with as sidenote that this was with the unit not having been cleaned or otherwise having had maintenance performed on it since it was last used in service. Definitely not a bad feat.

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Clone Wars: IBM Edition

If you search the Internet for “Clone Wars,” you’ll get a lot of Star Wars-related pages. But the original Clone Wars took place a long time ago in a galaxy much nearer to ours, and it has a lot to do with the computer you are probably using right now to read this. (Well, unless it is a Mac, something ARM-based, or an old retro-rig. I did say probably!)

IBM is a name that, for many years, was synonymous with computers, especially big mainframe computers. However, it didn’t start out that way. IBM originally made mechanical calculators and tabulating machines. That changed in 1952 with the IBM 701, IBM’s first computer that you’d recognize as a computer.

If you weren’t there, it is hard to understand how IBM dominated the computer market in the 1960s and 1970s. Sure, there were others like Univac, Honeywell, and Burroughs. But especially in the United States, IBM was the biggest fish in the pond. At one point, the computer market’s estimated worth was a bit more than $11 billion, and IBM’s five biggest competitors accounted for about $2 billion, with almost all of the rest going to IBM.

So it was somewhat surprising that IBM didn’t roll out the personal computer first, or at least very early. Even companies that made “small” computers for the day, like Digital Equipment Corporation or Data General, weren’t really expecting the truly personal computer. That push came from companies no one had heard of at the time, like MITS, SWTP, IMSAI, and Commodore. Continue reading “Clone Wars: IBM Edition”

The Time Clock Has Stood The Test Of Time

No matter the item on my list of childhood occupational dreams, one constant ran throughout: I saw myself using an old-fashioned punch clock with the longish time cards and everything. I now realize that I have some trouble with the daily transitions of life. In my childish wisdom, I somehow knew that doing this one thing would be enough to signify the beginning and end of work for the day, effectively putting me in the mood, and then pulling me back out of it.

But that day never came. Well, it sort of did this year. I realized a slightly newer dream of working at a thrift store, and they use something that I feel like I see everywhere now that I’ve left the place — a system called UKG that uses mag-stripe cards to handle punches. No it was not the same as a real punch clock, not that I have experience with a one. And now I just want to use one even more, to track my Hackaday work and other projects. At the moment, I’m torn between wanting to make one that uses mag-stripe cards or something, and just buying an old punch clock from eBay.

I keep calling it a ‘punch clock’, but it has a proper name, and that is the Bundy clock. I soon began to wonder how these things could both keep exact time mechanically, but also create a literal inked stamp of said time and date. I pictured a giant date stamper, not giant in all proportions, but generally larger than your average handheld one because of all the mechanisms that surely must be inside the Bundy clock. So, how do these things work? Let’s find out.

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The Rise And Fall Of The In-Car Fax Machines

Once upon a time, a car phone was a great way to signal to the world that you were better than everybody else. It was a clear sign that you had money to burn, and implied that other people might actually consider it valuable to talk to you from time to time.

There was, however, a way to look even more important than the boastful car phone user. You just had to rock up to the parking lot with your very own in-car fax machine.

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Retrotechtacular: IBM’s The World Of OCR

Optical Character Recognition (OCR) forms the bridge between the analog world of paper and the world of machines. The modern-day expectation is that when we point a smartphone camera at some characters it will flawlessly recognize and read them, but OCR technology predates such consumer technology by a considerable amount, with IBM producing OCR systems as early as the 1950s. In a 1960s promotional video on the always delightful Periscope Film channel on YouTube we can get an idea of how this worked back then, in particular the challenge of variable quality input.

What drove OCR was the need to process more paper-based data faster, as the amount of such data increased and computers got more capable. This led to the design of paper forms that made the recognition much easier, as can still be seen today on for example tax forms and on archaic paper payment methods like checks in countries that still use it. This means a paper form optimized for reflectivity, with clearly designated sections and lines, thus limiting the variability of the input forms to be OCR-ed. After that it’s just a matter of writing with clear block letters into the marked boxes, or using a typewriter with a nice fresh ink ribbon.

These days optical scanners are a lot more capable, of course, making many of such considerations no longer as relevant, even if human handwriting remains a challenge for OCR and human brains alike.

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Catching Those Old Busses

The PC has had its fair share of bus slots. What started with the ISA bus has culminated, so far, in PCI Express slots, M.2 slots, and a few other mechanisms to connect devices to your computer internally. But if the 8-bit ISA card is the first bus you can remember, you are missing out. There were practically as many bus slots in computers as there were computers. Perhaps the most famous bus in early home computers was the Altair 8800’s bus, retroactively termed the S-100 bus, but that wasn’t the oldest standard.

There are more buses than we can cover in a single post, but to narrow it down, we’ll assume a bus is a standard that allows uniform cards to plug into the system in some meaningful way. A typical bus will provide power and access to the computer’s data bus, or at least to its I/O system. Some bus connectors also allow access to the computer’s memory. In a way, the term is overloaded. Not all buses are created equal. Since we are talking about old bus connectors, we’ll exclude new-fangled high speed serial buses, for the most part.

Tradeoffs

There are several trade-offs to consider when designing a bus. For example, it is tempting to provide regulated power via the bus connector. However, that also may limit the amount of power-hungry electronics you can put on a card and — even worse — on all the cards at one time. That’s why the S-100 bus, for example, provided unregulated power and expected each card to regulate it.

On the other hand, later buses, such as VME, will typically have regulated power supplies available. Switching power supplies were a big driver of this. Providing, for example, 100 W of 5 V power using a linear power supply was a headache and wasteful. With a switching power supply, you can easily and efficiently deliver regulated power on demand.

Some bus standards provide access to just the CPU’s I/O space. Others allow adding memory, and, of course, some processors only allow memory-mapped I/O. Depending on the CPU and the complexity of the bus, cards may be able to interrupt the processor or engage in direct memory access independent of the CPU.

In addition to power, there are several things that tend to differentiate traditional parallel buses. Of course, power is one of them, as well as the number of bits available for data or addresses. Many bus structures are synchronous. They operate at a fixed speed, and in general, devices need to keep up. This is simple, but it can impose tight requirements on devices.

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