The Pocket Watch Long Gone
June 24th, 2016
Author: Tom Tiede
My father, like many fathers of the time, carried a large round pocket watch. On Saturdays, he would attach it to a proud chain on his belt, which would fall in a loop down the leg of his dress slacks. He would then pile me in his freshly washed Buick, and we would go to town to get ice cream, chocolate bars, and haircuts. On the way he would consult the watch, even though there was a clock on the dashboard of the car, and, at traffic lights, he would wind the stem, slowly, confidently, in a way that let me know that all was right with our world.
I’m reminded of this after hearing a gentleman of my age ask for pocket watches at a department store jewelry counter. The clerk said she’d never heard of them, and in any case the store (a big one) didn’t carry them. She suggested Amazon. And he said he’d never heard of it.
Things change, for sure.
What planet is this?
And whatever happened to pocket watches?
My father’s watch was a Bulova, then the Amazon of the timepiece industry.* It was silver, with black hands, and followed the industry habit of putting the second hand in a circle of its own at the bottom of the dial. My father could be transfixed by the sweep of the second hand. That and the noise it made. Tick, tick, it said, while revolving from 12 to 3 to 6 and back to 12 again, never failing, so long as I knew, in its duty to record and announce the minutes of the day.
Bulova began making its watches when Joseph Bulova, a Bohemian immigrant sailed to America in the middle of the 19th century. But even way back then the firm was a late arrival in the time keeping business. Telling time was invented in ancient civilizations as the scientists of the day followed the movements of the sun. The notion of tying the passing moments to a numerical system (called sexagesimal, sixty) was devised by the Sumerians 4000 years ago.
The first time instrument was probably the shadow clock, the precursor of the stone sundial. The Egyptians created it, thereby being the first to divide the day into 12 parts. It was of course only good during daylight, so other devices were introduced to work at night. One was the water clock, of which the simplest sort were merely bowls with tiny holes in the bottom; the water would drain out uniformly over 24 hours measured by lines drawn on the container.
The Greek philosopher Plato was said to have invented a water alarm clock. It’s precise design is unknown, but one description claims it was the reverse of a draining bowl. Plato’s creation may have been a vessel containing metal balls, which floated upwards overnight by way of incoming cistern water; at daybreak the balls would overflow, and the clatter would wake
the students at Plato’s Academy. Too, it was useful in keeping the school’s astronomical records.
Across the ancient world, China also profited from water clocks. And backed them up with their own use of candle clocks. One narrative of the candle clock depicts them as being made from six candles, each from 72 pennyweights of wax, each the same thickness, each 12 inches in length. When they were lit they were secured inside glass boxes, so that the flames would not flutter out; the candles burned for four hours and were marked by 20 minute lines.
There followed incense clocks, ever more elaborate liquid clocks, and hour glasses. Then, 800 years AD, Medieval monks constructed the first mechanical clocks (from the Middle English word clokke, meaning bell). They needed them to regulate prayer times, for one thing, work schedules for another. They soon were built to giant scale, and put in towers for all to see, and from which all benefitted. Some had no hands, and only sounded chimes to reveal the hour.
The pocket watch was the first personal time piece. It was a sort of cellphone break through, enabling people to carry data on their person. One of the earliest reference to it was in the mid-1400s, when an Italian clockmaker spoke of the value of a “pocket clock.” The early ones weighed several pounds, and hung on a waistcoat or around the neck by a leather fob. They were not necessarily round then, but often shaped like a star, a cross, a flower, or even a death’s head. As the technology improved (17th century), they became light enough to slip into a pocket.
In 1857, America begin making the watches with interchangeable parts. This cut their cost significantly, and gave them universal appeal. At the same time, the once mandatory gold or silver watch gave partial way to cheap metals and assembly lines, and near everybody began carrying them. My father said the first watch he bought was less than $1, though he would eventually succumb to such things as “17 jewel movements,” which reduced friction and improved performance/reliability. The watch I remember was likely a $50 “big shot” model.
The watch was for more than show, however. The world of the day ran at their notice. Railroads, for instance. Passengers carried their watches in their hands as they rushed to the stations, and conductors did the same as they cried out “all aboard!" When in 1891 a mail train collided with a passenger train in Kipton, Ohio, killing nine people, investigators determined that it was caused by an engineer’s faulty pocket watch, which was several minutes slow. That led to the establishment of national RR standards for pocket watches, focused on accuracy.
But good or not so good, pocket watches once were the state of the art for everyday activity. And they enjoyed wide variation and figuration. There were watches that were wound with keys, watches with open faces or snap-shut covers, and watches with glow in the dark numbers (the radioactivity of which was technically lethal). There were pocket watches that contained compasses, or time alarms, or lovely little musical tunes. Whatever, Levi Strass honored them all by sewing a watch pocket on his jeans for men, and it is still there.
Alas, the Levi pocket is today used for mobile phones. The pocket watch is a thing of the distant past, a victim of evolution. The New York Times noted the passage in 1916, when it carried a commentary on the new European custom of wearing watches on bracelets – “A silly-ass fad.” The fad caught on as World War I troops found it easier in the trenches to consult time on their arms rather than rifle their pockets. Bulova again led the way in the U.S., quickly relegating the pocket watch to RR history at a time when aviation and space were taking over.
My father changed as well. Once, in the 1960s, coming home from college, I noticed he was wearing a Timex on his wrist, with a perpetual calendar yet. I never saw his pocket watch again. But I never forgot it. There was magic in the pocket watch. There was comfort, and also finality. During the war in Vietnam I cued up with others to watch the execution of a Chinese merchant in Saigon. He was accused of corruption, a popular habit in the city, but he was also accused to being Chinese. The firing squad shot him in the stomach, right above the gold chain attached to his pocket watch, which, afterwards no doubt, was stolen from the gentleman’s body.
June 24th, 2016
Author: Tom Tiede
My father, like many fathers of the time, carried a large round pocket watch. On Saturdays, he would attach it to a proud chain on his belt, which would fall in a loop down the leg of his dress slacks. He would then pile me in his freshly washed Buick, and we would go to town to get ice cream, chocolate bars, and haircuts. On the way he would consult the watch, even though there was a clock on the dashboard of the car, and, at traffic lights, he would wind the stem, slowly, confidently, in a way that let me know that all was right with our world.
I’m reminded of this after hearing a gentleman of my age ask for pocket watches at a department store jewelry counter. The clerk said she’d never heard of them, and in any case the store (a big one) didn’t carry them. She suggested Amazon. And he said he’d never heard of it.
Things change, for sure.
What planet is this?
And whatever happened to pocket watches?
My father’s watch was a Bulova, then the Amazon of the timepiece industry.* It was silver, with black hands, and followed the industry habit of putting the second hand in a circle of its own at the bottom of the dial. My father could be transfixed by the sweep of the second hand. That and the noise it made. Tick, tick, it said, while revolving from 12 to 3 to 6 and back to 12 again, never failing, so long as I knew, in its duty to record and announce the minutes of the day.
Bulova began making its watches when Joseph Bulova, a Bohemian immigrant sailed to America in the middle of the 19th century. But even way back then the firm was a late arrival in the time keeping business. Telling time was invented in ancient civilizations as the scientists of the day followed the movements of the sun. The notion of tying the passing moments to a numerical system (called sexagesimal, sixty) was devised by the Sumerians 4000 years ago.
The first time instrument was probably the shadow clock, the precursor of the stone sundial. The Egyptians created it, thereby being the first to divide the day into 12 parts. It was of course only good during daylight, so other devices were introduced to work at night. One was the water clock, of which the simplest sort were merely bowls with tiny holes in the bottom; the water would drain out uniformly over 24 hours measured by lines drawn on the container.
The Greek philosopher Plato was said to have invented a water alarm clock. It’s precise design is unknown, but one description claims it was the reverse of a draining bowl. Plato’s creation may have been a vessel containing metal balls, which floated upwards overnight by way of incoming cistern water; at daybreak the balls would overflow, and the clatter would wake
the students at Plato’s Academy. Too, it was useful in keeping the school’s astronomical records.
Across the ancient world, China also profited from water clocks. And backed them up with their own use of candle clocks. One narrative of the candle clock depicts them as being made from six candles, each from 72 pennyweights of wax, each the same thickness, each 12 inches in length. When they were lit they were secured inside glass boxes, so that the flames would not flutter out; the candles burned for four hours and were marked by 20 minute lines.
There followed incense clocks, ever more elaborate liquid clocks, and hour glasses. Then, 800 years AD, Medieval monks constructed the first mechanical clocks (from the Middle English word clokke, meaning bell). They needed them to regulate prayer times, for one thing, work schedules for another. They soon were built to giant scale, and put in towers for all to see, and from which all benefitted. Some had no hands, and only sounded chimes to reveal the hour.
The pocket watch was the first personal time piece. It was a sort of cellphone break through, enabling people to carry data on their person. One of the earliest reference to it was in the mid-1400s, when an Italian clockmaker spoke of the value of a “pocket clock.” The early ones weighed several pounds, and hung on a waistcoat or around the neck by a leather fob. They were not necessarily round then, but often shaped like a star, a cross, a flower, or even a death’s head. As the technology improved (17th century), they became light enough to slip into a pocket.
In 1857, America begin making the watches with interchangeable parts. This cut their cost significantly, and gave them universal appeal. At the same time, the once mandatory gold or silver watch gave partial way to cheap metals and assembly lines, and near everybody began carrying them. My father said the first watch he bought was less than $1, though he would eventually succumb to such things as “17 jewel movements,” which reduced friction and improved performance/reliability. The watch I remember was likely a $50 “big shot” model.
The watch was for more than show, however. The world of the day ran at their notice. Railroads, for instance. Passengers carried their watches in their hands as they rushed to the stations, and conductors did the same as they cried out “all aboard!" When in 1891 a mail train collided with a passenger train in Kipton, Ohio, killing nine people, investigators determined that it was caused by an engineer’s faulty pocket watch, which was several minutes slow. That led to the establishment of national RR standards for pocket watches, focused on accuracy.
But good or not so good, pocket watches once were the state of the art for everyday activity. And they enjoyed wide variation and figuration. There were watches that were wound with keys, watches with open faces or snap-shut covers, and watches with glow in the dark numbers (the radioactivity of which was technically lethal). There were pocket watches that contained compasses, or time alarms, or lovely little musical tunes. Whatever, Levi Strass honored them all by sewing a watch pocket on his jeans for men, and it is still there.
Alas, the Levi pocket is today used for mobile phones. The pocket watch is a thing of the distant past, a victim of evolution. The New York Times noted the passage in 1916, when it carried a commentary on the new European custom of wearing watches on bracelets – “A silly-ass fad.” The fad caught on as World War I troops found it easier in the trenches to consult time on their arms rather than rifle their pockets. Bulova again led the way in the U.S., quickly relegating the pocket watch to RR history at a time when aviation and space were taking over.
My father changed as well. Once, in the 1960s, coming home from college, I noticed he was wearing a Timex on his wrist, with a perpetual calendar yet. I never saw his pocket watch again. But I never forgot it. There was magic in the pocket watch. There was comfort, and also finality. During the war in Vietnam I cued up with others to watch the execution of a Chinese merchant in Saigon. He was accused of corruption, a popular habit in the city, but he was also accused to being Chinese. The firing squad shot him in the stomach, right above the gold chain attached to his pocket watch, which, afterwards no doubt, was stolen from the gentleman’s body.