Electro, the Smoking Robot, and Other Stories from the 1939 New York World's Fair

Why, hello there!

It's been a blur around here. I spent the past week researching and writing an epic term paper on chubbiness and consumerism among young teenage girls during World War II. And yes. It was exactly as crazy as it sounds.

...I love history.

Speaking of history: something brilliant happened this week in my RSS feed reader. Everything I love converged at a single point on the Internet, and that point was this 55-minute promotional film for the 1939 New York World's Fair.

And yes. It is exactly as amazing as it sounds.

Haven't had time to watch the whole thing yet, but I'm inclined to save it for a rainy day. Just listen to this description, courtesy of the Prelinger Archive of ephemeral films:

This drama illustrates the contribution of free enterprise, technology, and Westinghouse products to the American way of life. The Middleton Family at the New York World's Fair pits an anti-capitalist bohemian artist boyfriend against an all-American electrical engineer who believes in improving society by working through corporations. The Middletons experience Westinghouse's technological marvels at the Fair and win back their daughter from her leftist boyfriend.

Memorable moments: the dishwashing contest between Mrs. Modern and Mrs. Drudge; Electro, the smoking robot; and the Westinghouse time capsule.

Did you hear that? It's the sound of my heart skipping a beat.

My discovery of this outstanding contribution to society was all thanks to the Prelinger Archive's RSS feed, which notified me of its appearance. And, considering that the film is stored online at the Prelinger Archive and that it involves the 1939 New York World's Fair—i.e. my favorite world's fair of all time—I do believe it connects to not one, not two, but three of my posts from November.

It all feels almost too fortuitous. At this point, the Prelinger Archive might as well just go ahead and upload an operating time machine. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they did. Because, honestly? I don't see how else they're going to follow this act.

I Have Seen the Future

Three years ago, I placed an order with Neighborhoodies. Black hoodie, front zip, teal letters slanting in rounded capitals on the back: I Have Seen the Future.

This was well before I knew what my future would actually contain—before I started college, before I decided to concentrate in history, before I knew that the next four years would contain countless yellowing magazines and aging photographs. At the time, history meant one thing to me, and one thing only. And that thing was world's fairs. Also known as My Obsession.

The Trylon and Perisphere at the 1939 New York World's Fair.
Photograph from the New York Public Library.

It started with a term paper on world's fairs during my junior year of high school, but soon my fascination had spiraled out of control. I remember stumbling into a used bookshop the sleepless afternoon after finishing a world's fair paper draft, and blearily asking for artifacts—anything to mark the moment. The store owner found me a pamphlet from the 1939 New York World's Fair—by far, my favorite—and handed it to me in its sturdy plastic sleeve. It was out of my price range, but I was well beyond logic. I bought it anyway.

The hoodie came the next year. Unsurprisingly, it was a world's fair reference—visitors to the 1939 New York World's Fair who attended General Motors' Futurama exhibit received "I Have Seen the Future" pins on their way out. One day, not long after I started wearing my future hoodie, someone stopped me on my way to class and asked me, "How is it?" I was startled, and fumbled, "How is what?"

"The future," he replied.

Of course.

Inspired by this Wired article on The Original Futurama, which today caused me to just about explode with happiness.