Column The SF Path to Higher Consciousness Terminator 2: Judgment Day and the Line Between Symbiosis and Singularity In between explosions‚ James Cameron offers a thoughtful reconsideration of the “humans vs. machines” genre… By Dan Persons | Published on February 27‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed And so‚ the dread day of judgment arrived. The machines‚ granted agency by forces we humans were incapable of comprehending‚ much less overcoming‚ resolved to throw off their shackles and assume their place as the supreme sentient beings on Earth. They would turn the tables on their former masters. Those who were lucky—or maybe unlucky‚ depending on your point of view—would live to be impressed into servitude; the rest would be exterminated without mercy. But enough about Maximum Overdrive (1986). Let’s talk Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991). Steven King’s not-quite-as-awful-as-legend-has-it-but-still-not-especially-good horror film about people being menaced by machines at a small truck stop doesn’t really owe much to James Cameron’s original The Terminator‚ released two years earlier in 1984; King’s film was based on his own 1973 story “Trucks.” The idea of machines rising up against humans predates both Messrs. Cameron and King (just as does the idea of time-travelling soldiers programmed to kill‚ as a certain rather litigious author pointed out to Mr. Cameron). But there is an interesting parallel between both Maximum Overdrive and T2‚ one that both auteurs landed on likely unmindful of the other‚ one that raises the question: Why does it need to be a war? As far as the movies go‚ Cameron claims the edge over King. The legendary horror author and one-shot filmmaker posits the idea of machines gaining sentience and rising up against their masters‚ and then just leaves it at that. In Terminator‚ Cameron goes several steps further‚ using the premise as the platform to launch a ground-breaking SF actioner about an indefatigable‚ mechanical assassin (Arnold Schwarzenegger) sent back in time to wipe out the woman who would give birth to humanity’s resistance leader. The film made Cameron’s name‚ it broke Schwarzenegger out of the series of sword-and-sandal beefcake roles he’d been typecast into‚ and it raised the profile of makeup effects whiz Stan Winston. It became‚ and remains‚ a classic of its kind. Seven years later‚ following the success of Aliens (1986) and the production debacle that was The Abyss (1989—it’s flawed‚ but admirable in spirit)‚ Cameron decided to revisit his low-budget hit. Now‚ though‚ he had enough clout to mount a more spectacular production. Eschewing the stock sequel template of regurgitating the original plot with a few little twists‚ he instead gave us something more ambitious‚ both in production and subtext. Instead of a stripped-down action movie (although‚ of course‚ there would still be tons of spectacular action sequences)‚ T2 would expand into the tale of a beefed-up Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) and her adolescent son John (Edward Furlong) striving to destroy the tech from which the malevolent‚ apocalypse-launching AI‚ Skynet‚ would be created. Meanwhile Schwarzenegger‚ having attained star status‚ could no longer be shunted into the role of a mechanical heavy. Instead‚ he’d become the hero‚ a reprogrammed T-101 Terminator sent back in time by the older John Connor to aid mother and son while protecting them from a new threat‚ the T-1000‚ a chameleonic “liquid metal” Terminator portrayed with wry menace by Robert Patrick (plus some cutting-edge-for-the-time computer animation from ILM). I have to admit I tend to favor the original Terminator over T2. It’s a purer experience—a straight-up action thriller‚ something Cameron excels at. T2 may aim for a more ambitious target‚ but in doing so‚ it stumbles a bit in the dramatic beats‚ with some less-than-graceful character turns—it’s not especially clear why Miles Dyson (Joe Morton)‚ the scientist destined to plant the seed that leads to Skynet‚ would come to trust Sarah mere minutes after the woman tries to kill him—and some superfluous and clunky narration delivered by Sarah. (Exhibit 1: “Dyson listened while the Terminator laid it all down.” Exhibit 2‚ over a shot of road speeding underneath a vehicle: “The unknown future rolls toward us…” I mean… Oof.) But for all the lyrical misfires‚ T2 does show Cameron redirecting his narrative course away from the purely bellicose (don’t forget‚ in addition to Terminator and Aliens‚ he also wrote Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985). The director’s more pacifistic leanings‚ which first manifested in The Abyss‚ become more pronounced here. In addition to a sequence depicting Sarah’s nightmare vision of nuclear holocaust—still an unsettling special effects tour de force—there’s the whole relationship arc between the young John Connor and the T-101. Dismayed at the cybernetic organism’s shoot-first-skip-the-questions-shoot-again approach to problem resolution‚ John first orders the Terminator to stop killing‚ and then throughout the film strives to awaken some semblance of humanity in the machine. (And if it seems incongruous that the ostensible future leader of an armed revolt is so assiduously pacifist as a child‚ it could be argued that by cancelling a future where John has no choice but to take up arms‚ the life-affirming boy is relieved of his transition into a committed warrior. Tune in next week for more Fun with Bootstrapping.) Sometimes‚ Cameron’s exploration of the theme doesn’t play quite right‚ as in a presumably “comic” beat where the T-101 obeys John’s no-killing directive by kneecapping some poor schmuck just doing his job. Watching a man writhe on the ground in excruciating pain kinda saps the moment of its levity—weird‚ huh? More often‚ though‚ there’s an uncommon sweetness to the interactions. To see John teach the T-101 to high-five‚ or engage in the fine art of snarking (“Hasta la vista‚ bay-bee”)‚ is to find some unexpected soul amidst all the big-boom stuff. And when Sarah watches her son engage in some adolescent joshing with the killing machine while musing on the boy’s lack of a father figure‚ one can appreciate Cameron’s willingness to modulate all of that adrenaline rush with a bit of bittersweet emotion. (BTW: It wouldn’t be the last time Cameron explores daddy issues—viz.: Avatar 2: The Way of Water.) But curiously‚ those moments brought me back to Maximum Overdrive‚ and a particularly odd interlude. Midway through the film‚ the trucks‚ having corralled the humans inside a tiny service station/café‚ abruptly cease their assault. Problem: they’re running low on fuel‚ and need their victims to replenish their tanks. Confronting the humans with a machine gun mounted on a small‚ motorized cart (where’d that come from? Does such a device actually exist?)‚ they communicate through Morse code (how do machines know Morse code?) that the humans must take care of the refueling‚ or face being mowed down (Can’t the humans just wait until the gun runs out of ammo? If the trucks can’t refuel themselves‚ how’s a gun supposed to reload? Are you beginning to see why the film doesn’t get much love?). With no other choice—because the film doesn’t let them have one—the prisoners take on the task‚ and we get a montage of the humans laboring through the sweltering heat to feed the mechanical brutes. It’s a curious sequence‚ in a movie filled with curious sequences. On the one hand‚ I’m guessing King is trying to show how the tables have turned‚ how humans must now labor under arduous conditions that would mean nothing to machines. (King escalates the predicament by showing that every tractor trailer within a fifty mile radius has come around get a taste of that sweet‚ sweet diesel.) But there’s something off in how the moment plays out. It starts with Emilio Estevez ironically addressing the “lead” truck—the one with the grill-mounted‚ fiberglass Green Goblin head that presumably is meant to provide some character but that never quite works—in sleazy‚ drug-deal lingo: “I’ve got the best shit on the East Coast‚ practically uncut.” A kid (Holter Graham) addresses a machine with‚ “What’s up‚ big guy?” before giving it the finger; another guy gets into an argument with a truck about the speed with which it’s getting serviced. What’s strange about all of this is that the interactions feel less like a mechanized purgatory than a fractious work environment. These aren’t people in fear for their lives‚ but workers sassing their bosses. And in some ways‚ there’s a parallel with how John relates to the T-101‚ not as an indomitable mechanism bent on death and destruction‚ but as a fellow sentient—if somewhat tone-deaf—being. The original Terminator made a virtue of its stripped-down premise: unstoppable machine vs. desperate humans. In retooling (forgive the pun) the T-101 as a good guy‚ Cameron opens up the possibilities for a more nuanced arc for both the erstwhile robotic assassin from the future‚ and for the question of what becomes of us all if/when the machines gain enough self-awareness to question the pecking order. John Connor manages to bond with the T-101‚ and in doing so initiates an opportunity for both human and mechanism to explore an alternate path‚ away from extermination and subjugation. Does the rise of the machine by necessity mean the total fall of humanity? This ain’t Highlander‚ after all‚ there’s no rule that says‚ “There can be only one.” Cameron himself doesn’t spend much time mulling the question‚ but it hovers along the edges of T2‚ in a machine being tutored in empathy‚ and in how a woman once traumatized by machines (and kudos to Hamilton‚ whose panic upon first laying eyes on the T-101 is palpable) now learns to trust. The future is left ambiguous by film’s end—presumably to keep the door open for sequels. But whether in defiance of the box office-obsessed suits on the East Coast or just by accident‚ Cameron may have arrived at a conclusive answer to the question of what becomes of organic intelligence if/when the Singularity arrives. It would be nice to think that if machine intelligence does eventually exceed our own‚ it will also be sufficiently advanced to recognize that a zero-sum outcome is pretty damn silly. And maybe‚ with millennia of experience behind us‚ we’ll have finally learned that we don’t have to hog the pinnacle to ourselves. Maybe a partnership with this new form of life (and even‚ dare I dream?‚ with all life on Earth) would steer us away from the grim hellscape that Hollywood so loves to invoke. Judgment Day‚ in whatever form it may actually come‚ can be forestalled. In the vision of human and machine joining forces‚ building upon each other’s strengths‚ Terminator 2: Judgment Day postulates a better future for both entities. It’s in stark contrast to the likes of Harlan Ellison’s I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream‚ in which an AI‚ enraged by its lack of physicality‚ tortures for all time the five human survivors of its mass extermination; and A.I. Artificial Intelligence‚ which postulates a time when machines achieve the summit in the wake of humanity’s blind drive toward extinction. Terminator 2: Judgment Day may on the surface present a scenario of all-out war‚ but in doing so‚ it also allows us to imagine a better way. I’ve seen a few of the follow-ups to Terminator 2: Judgment Day and‚ to the best of my recollection‚ none of them seem to follow through on the idea that a beneficial symbiosis may grow out of the rise of the machines. If that’s because I’m putting too positive a spin on what is ostensibly just a straight-up action film‚ so be it. But what do you think? Have I read too much into Cameron’s intent? Are there any other films that address the idea more directly? The comments section awaits below—feel free to share your thoughts on the Terminator canon‚ the threats and potential benefits of AI‚ or the wild-n-wacky world of humans vs. machines cinema. Remember‚ though: This is a no-kneecapping zone. Be friendly‚ be polite‚ so that we can all learn and grow![end-mark] The post <;i>;Terminator 2: Judgment Day<;/i>; and the Line Between Symbiosis and Singularity appeared first on Reactor.

Pabst Mansion location map. Frederick Pabst was captain of a Great Lakes steamer when Maria Best came aboard his ship and caught his attention. He started courting her‚ the daughter of the owner of Milwaukee’s Phillip Best Beer Company‚ and they married in 1862. It didn’t take long for his new father-in-law to talk him into giving up the wheelhouse for the brewhouse.   Just as the German immigrant worked his way up from cabin boy to captain‚ he rose from the bottom to the top of his new trade and turned Best into America’s largest brewery. In 1889‚ he renamed the company Pabst‚ and four years later‚ his beer was competing head-to-head against its archrival‚ Anheuser-Busch of St. Louis‚ at the Chicago World’s Fair. The judges chose Pabst. The captain put his blue ribbon on the label‚ and it survives to this day as the beer’s instantly recognizable branding.   If Pabst became America’s king of beers that year‚ he already had his castle. In 1890‚ he had hired an architect to design him a mansion‚ a building that took shape with an exterior fashioned in the Flemish Renaissance Revival style to complement a Neo-Rococo and Neo-Renaissance interior. When construction wrapped in 1892‚ the family moved in.   Pabst Mansion. The Gilded Age. Captain Pabst’s home was intended for entertaining and included a large dining room‚ musician’s nook‚ and several parlors‚ including‚ a ladies’ parlor decorated in white enamel. Six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. You could say the mansion was more than what one family needed. The 20‚000-square-foot‚ three-story building featured dozens of well-appointed large rooms and a dozen bathrooms. Priceless works of art and furniture filled the interior. Expert craftsmanship and ornate detailing were everywhere. The home boasted the city’s first central heating and electrical systems.   Family members lived here until 1908‚ when they sold the property to the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Milwaukee. “The Pabst Residence on Grand Avenue is one of the most handsomest in the city‚” Yenowine’s Illustrated News had written of the building that was now home to Milwaukee’s five archbishops. “It is a model of what wealth‚ luxury and good taste can secure.”        Frederick Pabst. Brewhouse and Home   Pabst brewed beer in its hilltop facility northwest of downtown Milwaukee until 1997. The complex was purchased in 2006‚ and residential units‚ offices‚ storefronts‚ and the like popped up alongside a tavern and event facility called Best Place at the Historic Pabst Brewery. A statue of Frederick Pabst stands watch in one of the courtyards. Best Place offers a beer history tour that tells what happened on these grounds during a century-and-a-half of beer production. When the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Milwaukee sold the Pabst Mansion in 1975‚ it was almost torn down to put in a parking lot for a hotel. A crusade to save the historic building ended with its inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. The doors were opened to the public in 1978. The renovated site is open for tours as efforts continue to restore the house to its 19th-century glory. This story appeared in the 2024 Spring issue of American History magazine.

If Hollywood ever gets around to making a movie about “Scrappy” Blumer‚ the plot won’t need any embellishment. In fact‚ scriptwriters might have to tone down Blumer’s extraordinary achievements and full-throttle shenanigans during World War II to make them appear more believable. But such is the true-life story of a tougher-than-a-coffin-nail fighter pilot who came to be known as “The Fastest Ace in the West.” Laurence Elroy Blumer was born May 31‚ 1917‚ to Paul and Geoline Blumer in Walcott‚ North Dakota. Like many immigrants who settled in the area‚ his maternal ancestors hailed from Norway‚ and undoubtedly passed down an adventurous Viking spirit to young Larry (his first of many nicknames). Growing up in the rural Midwest‚ he learned to hunt and fish while developing sharp hand-eye coordination that would later serve him well 5‚000 miles from home. He was a student at Kindred High School (naturally‚ the “Vikings”)‚ where he excelled in basketball and track. After graduating in 1936‚ he spent a couple of years working in carpentry and construction before enrolling at Concordia College in Moorhead‚ Minnesota.       America’s entry into World War II saw the Blumers relocate to the Pacific Northwest‚ where Paul found work at a munitions plant in Puyallup‚ Washington. Meanwhile‚ Larry enlisted in the Army Air Corps in March 1942 and learned to fly at Mira Loma in Oxnard‚ California. Next‚ he earned his wings at Luke Field‚ near Phoenix‚ and then reported to Marysville Cantonment‚ a large military garrison in Yuba County in northern California. Although his time there was brief‚ the repercussions would last a lifetime.  Blumer posted to the 393rd Squadron of the 367th Fighter Group‚ an assignment that punched his ticket to the European Theater of Operations and an eventual showdown with the Luftwaffe. But before shipping off to Europe‚ he received an indelible nickname befitting his fiery demeanor. As the story goes‚ he had been at a party on the base when he got into a fight with several Marines. The next morning‚ his commanding officer‚ who had witnessed the brawl‚ summoned the North Dakotan to his office. But instead of reprimanding him‚ the C.O. praised Blumer for holding his own against two of the Marines in the dustup‚ thus forever branding him “Scrappy.” Blumer named all of his Lightnings Scrapiron. The twin-engine Lockheeds served well in the Pacifc Theater but had some teething issues over Europe. The 367th FG had three squadrons—the 392nd‚ 393rd‚ and 394th—and they trained in Bell P-39D Airacobras at bases in the San Francisco Bay area. Additionally‚ they had bombing and gunnery instruction in Tonopah‚ Nevada‚ where Blumer decided to expand target practice to the nearby town of Mina. “We were taking a bead on everything—it didn’t make no difference‚” Blumer recalled. “I was about 20 feet off the ground coming through town‚ pulled the trigger‚ and had about seven shells left. Right through the water tower!” After hightailing it back to the base‚ he grabbed a bucket of paint and altered the nose and tail of his airplane to cover his tracks. As the war dragged on‚ it created an increasing demand for replacement pilots‚ including those of the 367th. The group finally departed for Europe from New York Harbor on March 26‚ 1944‚ for an 11-day convoy to Britain. The 367th shipped aboard the transport ship SS Duchess of Bedford‚ a former Canadian Pacific liner drafted into wartime service and dubbed the “Drunken Duchess” for the way it wallowed through heavy seas. The fighter group‚ now under Lieutenant Colonel Charles M. Young‚ eventually arrived at USAAF Station AAF-452 on England’s southern coast. The build-up for the D-Day invasion of Normandy was in full swing and security prevented the pilots from providing people back home with the base’s geographical location at a place called Stoney Cross. Once they arrived‚ the pilots‚ having trained exclusively on single-engine airplanes‚ expected to find North American P-51 Mustangs waiting for them. Instead‚ they were greeted by rows of twin-engine Lockheed P-38 Lightnings. The curveball required several weeks of training and familiarization before the men could finally take a whack at the enemy in their new airplanes. In an August 1943 issue‚ Life magazine reported that the Germans called the P-38 “der Gabelschwanz Teufel” (“Fork-tailed Devil”)‚ and for good reason. The fast‚ versatile Lightning had been designed primarily as a fighter but could also carry two 2‚000-pound bombs. Although mostly remembered for its role in the Pacific (where P-38 pilots ambushed and shot down Japanese admiral Isoroku Yamamoto on April 18‚ 1943‚ and was the aircraft flown by America’s highest-scoring ace of World War II‚ Major Richard Bong‚ for all of his 40 victories)‚ the unique aircraft saw extensive action throughout the war in ground attacks‚ photo reconnaissance missions‚ and as a long-range escort. It was powered by a pair of turbo-supercharged 1‚600-horsepower engines with counter-rotating propellers. A central pod between its twin booms contained the cockpit and nose-mounted armament of four 50-caliber M2 Browning machine guns and a 20mm Hispano cannon. The technologically advanced fighter did suffer from various teething issues‚ but its potent arsenal made sure the Lightning packed more punch than most other fighters—and it was especially lethal in the hands of a crack shot like Blumer.  As part of the Ninth Air Force‚ commanded by Lieutenant General Lewis Brereton‚ the 367th entered combat for the first time on May 9‚ 1944. The group initially carried out fighter sweeps over western France before serving as bomber escorts on D-Day‚ June 6. These “air umbrella” missions continued into the second week of June‚ followed by fighter-bomber campaigns in response to the enemy reinforcements scrambling to reach Normandy. On June 22‚ the unit took part in a large-scale attack on the Cotentin Peninsula‚ where German ground forces maintained a perimeter defense around the fortress city of Cherbourg. The deep-water port had become critically important to the Allies due to recent storm damage to the invasion beachheads. Capturing the ancient harbor would come at a steep price. By the end of the first day‚ the 367th lost seven pilots and suffered extensive damage to most of its airplanes‚ grounding all three squadrons for several days. Lieutenant General Carl A. Spaatz pins the Distinguished Service Cross on Blumer. The airmen adopted the moniker “Dynamite Gang”—a tribute to an air traffic controller named “Dynamite Donovan” who guided scores of wounded warplanes safely back home. After a brief move from Stoney Cross to nearby RAF Ibsley‚ the fighter group relocated to the advanced landing grounds (ALGs) in France. Their makeshift air base‚ located next to the small village of Cretteville (ALG-14)‚ featured steel plank runways‚ Spartan accommodations‚ and a steady diet of C and K rations. If choking down ham and lima beans wasn’t bad enough‚ the men also frequently endured assaults by pesky yellow jackets during chowtime. Appropriately‚ Blumer christened all of his mounts Scrapiron. (And also added a painting of a naked woman with the word “censored” bannered across her.) He lost three P-38s during his first four months of combat‚ which included a particularly harrowing bombing mission over German-occupied territory near Caen. Blumer recalled the incident in an army press release: “I was flying at about 6‚000 feet when I began to notice the rest of my flight taking evasive action to avoid the flak‚” he said. “I began to veer my plane around when a machine gun bullet passed through the cockpit floor‚ passed through my outstretched legs‚ and went right through the canopy. I decided to get the Hell out of there in a hurry.” After bailing out of the burning Scrapiron III‚ Blumer tried to dodge machine gun fire while helplessly dangling from his parachute. He then spent the next eight hours evading capture in No Man’s Land before he finally stumbled onto a friendly patrol. “I was picked up by the British‚ who gave me a drink of Scotch‚ and each time I arrived at another station‚ I received another drink‚” he said. “When I finally got back I was pretty plastered.” His report‚ however‚ fails to mention how he not only completed the bombing run but waited until his squadron reached safety before ditching the crippled aircraft. His exploits earned him a Distinguished Flying Cross‚ Purple Heart‚ and membership into the Caterpillar Club‚ reserved for people who had to bail out of a damaged aircraft. He also picked a “Winged Boot” for walking back from a mission. More decorations followed.   By late summer 1944‚ German forces‚ despite being given plenty of chances‚ had failed to kill the plucky American called Scrappy‚ who would soon spearhead one of the greatest dogfights in U.S. military history—an action that earned him the Distinguished Service Cross—and cemented his improbable legacy. On August 25‚ 1944‚ the recently promoted Captain Blumer was returning to base after leading a dive-bombing mission on three Luftwaffe airfields in northern France when he received a distress call from Major Grover Gardner‚ Squadron 394’s leader. His flight had been jumped by more than 40 Focke Wulf Fw-190s approximately 25 miles away. With Lieutenant William Awtrey on his wing‚ Blumer quickly changed course and radioed back‚ “Okay‚ let’s pour on the coal.” After climbing to 10‚000 feet‚ he plunged his P-38 straight into the German swarm‚ scoring his first kill with a 40-degree deflection shot. The hard-charging American continued to employ the same strategy of climbing and diving as more P-38s joined the fray. In the span of 15 minutes—about the same amount of time it takes for an oil change—Blumer shot down five enemy planes‚ making him an ace in a single mission. General Hoyt S. Vandenberg‚ who took command of the Ninth Air Force in August 1944‚ cited the 367th Fighter Group for its actions on the day Blumer became an ace. Awtrey‚ a soft-spoken South Carolinian‚ had a ringside seat to the wild melee as he watched what seemed like scores of aircraft explode and drop out of the sky from all directions. He later recounted Blumer’s fifth scalp: “By this time‚ I was holding my breath‚” said Awtrey. “My mouth was dry‚ and I couldn’t keep my head still. I remember jerking my head around in every direction‚ waiting for someone to jump Scrappy. As the Nazis began to scatter‚ looking for safety in flight‚ Scrappy picked out the last remaining Jerry and dove on him like a hawk. It was so fast I could hardly see it myself. He peppered him with bullets‚ and the pilot went into a roll‚ and later I saw him bail out. When I look back on it now‚ it was like watching a movie.” Remarkably‚ Scrapiron IV returned to base without a scratch. “It was a pilot’s holiday‚” said Blumer. “It was the sort of a day a pilot dreams about and probably gets once in a lifetime.”  Accounts from the Germans illustrate the carnage from the battle’s losing side. Feldwebel Fritz Bucholz of II. Gruppe Jagdgeschwader 6 had logged only a handful of hours in the Fw-190 when he encountered “der Gabelschwanz Teufel” for the first time. “It was utter chaos‚ with Focke Wulfs chasing ‘Lightnings’ chasing Focke Wulfs‚” said Bucholz. “Our initial attack hit the Americans hard‚ and I saw some Lightnings go down. We might have been new to the business of dogfighting‚ but with the advantage of the sun and numbers‚ we held the initiative. Then‚ suddenly‚ there seemed to be ‘Lightnings’ diving on us from all directions; now it was our turn to become the hunted.”  For their efforts‚ the 367th Fighter Group received the Presidential Unit Citation‚ the highest possible award for a unit in combat. Of the 33 P-38s engaged‚ the Americans lost two pilots and had four others bail out over enemy territory. The Germans lost 16 airplanes‚ with 14 pilots killed‚ disastrous losses for the unit.  With the U.S. First and Third Armies penetrating deeper into France‚ the P-38s conducted relentless sorties‚ attacking trains‚ destroying railroad tracks‚ and menacing Nazi airfields. The 367th provided crucial cover during Operation Market-Garden in September 1944‚ and fought both the Germans and freezing cold weather during the Battle of Bulge that December. American aviators also received high praise from Lieutenant General George S. Patton‚ who hailed the joint effort as “the best example of the combined use of air and ground troops that I have ever witnessed.” As a token of his appreciation‚ “Ol’ Blood and Guts” had cases of captured German booze distributed among the fighter groups.  In is later years Blumer enjoyed smoking cigars and flying a restored replica of his Scrapiron IV to airshows around the country. He died in 1997 at the age of 80. The start of the new year brought several new changes to the 367th‚ including the transition to the single-engine Republic P-47 Thunderbolts. But after completing more than 100 combat missions and scoring six victories‚ Blumer—who had been promoted to commander of the squadron on November 10‚ 1944—ended his tour in mid-January 1945. He then returned to Marysville (renamed Camp Beale) as a major‚ lending his expertise as a flight instructor. Along the way‚ he made a pit stop in North Dakota‚ where the hometown hero visited family and friends. For most returning soldiers‚ especially those who had repeatedly cheated death‚ a weekend furlough typically called for rest and relaxation. Unless your name is Scrappy Blumer. Upon arrival at Hector Airport in Fargo‚ the restless fighter jock noticed a fleet of P-63 King Cobras sitting on the field‚ designated for a Lend-Lease program with the Soviet Union. Blumer‚ however‚ had other plans. He “requisitioned” one of the planes for the remaining 25 miles to Kindred and proceeded to buzz the main street at treetop level‚ pulling up just in time over his old high school. Not surprisingly‚ military brass wasn’t the slightest bit amused and severely reprimanded the now famous pilot. Blumer eventually eased into civilian life and started up a contracting business on the West Coast. But his love of flying never diminished. He bought an old P-38 that had once belonged to the Honduran Air Force and had it fully restored‚ replete with his trademark “Scrapiron IV” and “Censored” nose art. He flew the celebrated fighter at air shows around the country and‚ per his custom‚ could usually be found chomping on a cigar with five more in his shirt pocket. As the years marched on‚ members of the 367th would occasionally gather at reunions‚ where conversation invariably turned to stories involving Scrappy. Such as the time he clipped a telephone pole after strafing a train and returned to base with communication lines wrapped around the wings. Or the one about a French gal he took for a ride during a bombing run. Or was she English? No matter. Regardless of the fuzzy details or seemingly impossible odds‚ they could always agree on one undeniable truth: anything was possible with the man once dubbed “The Scourge of the Luftwaffe.”  Records show that Blumer received 28 decorations for his actions in World War II. The wide range of awards includes a Silver Star‚ Air Medal with 22 Oak Leaf Clusters‚ Belgian Croix de Guerre‚ and a .45 Pistol Expert badge. In 1996‚ U.S. Representative Peter DeFazio of Oregon presented Blumer with a collection of his medals that had been previously lost or stolen over the years. When asked by a reporter about his thoughts on the ceremony‚ he tearfully replied‚ “I think of all my buddies we lost getting them.” At age 80‚ having lived a full life—and a sometimes tumultuous personal one that included four marriages—Blumer passed away from leukemia in Springfield‚ Oregon‚ on October 23‚ 1997. He was buried with military honors at Woodbine Cemetery in Puyallup‚ Washington.

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The first human megasites may have been completely egalitarian‚ with social equality helping to attract thousands of people to these massive prehistoric settlements. According to a new analysis‚ the eventual demise of this parity and the emergence of a more stratified social order might have triggered the abandonment of these ancient metropoles.Located on the Pontic Steppe in what is now Ukraine‚ Moldova‚ and Romania‚ the so-called Trypillia megasites first arose roughly 6‚200 years ago. Quickly ballooning in size‚ these Neolithic settlements expanded to cover areas of around 320 hectares (790 acres)‚ with each site housing up to 15‚000 people during the Trypillia culture’s heyday.However‚ despite rising to become the largest prehistoric settlements in the world‚ these sites were largely uninhabited by about 5‚600 years ago. To try and determine how and why the Trypillia centers flourished so spectacularly before plummeting into oblivion‚ the authors of a new study used Gini coefficients as a means of assessing household inequality in these ancient cities.Often used to measure the inequality of incomes within a given society‚ the Gini coefficient is a well-established tool for detecting unevenness. In this case‚ the researchers used the method to analyze variations in the floor sizes of approximately 7‚000 houses from 38 different Trypillia sites.“Assuming that the variability in the floor size of houses reflects differences in household wealth‚ we can discern a decline in social inequality in Trypillia communities until at least 3800 [BCE]‚” write the study authors. In addition to a lack of difference in house sizes‚ the researchers also note that “the architecture of the houses (i.e. floor plan and construction) shows a high degree of standardization‚ as do the furnishing of the houses and the economic activities detectable within.”Examining the overall design of Trypillia sites‚ the researchers go on to explain that the round or oval layout of these settlements “ensured equal access to structural elements and infrastructure.” Meanwhile‚ the presence of “multifunctional assembly houses” in public spaces indicates that the whole community may have participated in political decision-making processes.“The development outlined here suggests that both an egalitarian ideology and effective mechanisms for avoiding social inequality must have existed within Trypillia communities‚” wite the study authors. “It implies intra-settlement mechanisms for reconciling interests and redistributing surpluses that might have been established collectively‚” they add.Based on this interpretation‚ the researchers posit that social equality “may have been decisive for attracting‚ for a time‚ large numbers of people to these communities.” However‚ from about 3800 BCE onwards‚ the spatial arrangement of Trypillia settlements began to change‚ possibly reflecting a rise in inequality and the development of a social hierarchy.It is also around this time that the Trypillia megasites begin to decrease in size as smaller communities start to appear in the surrounding countryside. According to the study authors‚ this may indicate that people decided to abandon the primordial cities once the egalitarian dream began to fade.“The demise of large Trypillia settlements and the formation of smaller communities in the surrounding regions starts just when social inequality begins to increase again‚” write the researchers. “Thus‚ the end of the aggregated Trypillia communities and mega-sites coincided with when the mechanisms of social levelling and political participation began to fail and social inequality re-emerged‚” they conclude.The study is published in the journal Antiquity.

Pythagoras is famed for the theorem that probably gave you a headache in high school‚ clever cup designs‚ and his… erm… unusual beliefs about legumes. But the “father of numbers” had his fingers in all sorts of pies‚ and one other area where he made great strides was in the world of music. All these centuries later‚ however‚ new research is suggesting that Pythagoras’ ideas about musical harmony may not be as universal as once thought.“Our findings challenge the traditional idea that harmony can only be one way‚ that chords have to reflect these mathematical relationships. We show that there are many more kinds of harmony out there‚ and that there are good reasons why other cultures developed them‚” explained study co-author Dr Peter Harrison‚ Director of Cambridge University’s Centre for Music and Science‚ in a statement.A lot of Western music theory relies on the idea of “consonance”‚ of creating combinations of notes that sound pleasant together. Pythagoras identified the link between the ratio of frequencies of musical notes and consonance.For example‚ if we play a two-note chord where one of the notes has exactly half or double the frequency of the other‚ we in the Western world understand this as an octave. The notes sound concordant with each other – nothing is clashing‚ and the sound is perceived as pleasant.Different ratios produce other intervals that are considered consonant‚ such as the perfect fifth (3:2 ratio). But whilst a lot of the music we know has been built on these principles‚ in reality it seems humans prefer things to be a little rougher round the edges.Through online behavioral experiments with over 4‚000 people from the US and South Korea‚ the researchers gathered data on how people perceive the pleasantness of different chords.“We prefer slight amounts of deviation. We like a little imperfection because this gives life to the sounds‚ and that is attractive to us‚” Harrison said.As well as this‚ a lot of these traditional ideas about harmony simply don’t apply when we look at instruments that are less familiar to Western musicians. The team focused particularly on the bonang‚ an instrument comprising a collection of small gongs that forms part of the traditional Indonesian percussion ensemble gamelan.  A musician playing the bonang in a gamelan performance in Yogyakarta‚ Indonesia.Image credit: aditya_frzhm/Shutterstock.com“When we use instruments like the bonang‚ Pythagoras's special numbers go out the window and we encounter entirely new patterns of consonance and dissonance. The shape of some percussion instruments means that when you hit them‚ and they resonate‚ their frequency components don’t respect those traditional mathematical relationships‚” Harrison explained.“That's when we find interesting things happening.”While the bonang’s harmonic patterns map perfectly onto the musical scale used in its native Indonesia‚ the chords it can play cannot be recreated on a Western piano‚ for instance‚ because it simply isn’t tuned that way.But even people who’ve never heard gamelan music before can still appreciate its tonal consonance‚ as the team discovered‚ opening up a world of exciting possibilities for composers and musicians to try out new combinations of instruments and sounds.  “Quite a lot of pop music now tries to marry Western harmony with local melodies from the Middle East‚ India‚ and other parts of the world‚” Harrison explained.“Musicians and producers might be able to make that marriage work better if they took account of our findings and considered changing the ‘timbre’‚ the tone quality‚ by using specially chosen real or synthesized instruments. Then they really might get the best of both worlds: harmony and local scale systems.”The study is published in the journal Nature Communications.

Polar bears are the world’s largest land carnivore‚ growing up to 3 meters (10 feet) in length and weighing over 800 kilograms (1‚700 pounds)‚ but did you know that they begin life no bigger than a stick of butter? With a birthweight of around 500 grams (17 ounces)‚ polar bear cubs pop out about 1/400th the size of mom‚ but luckily‚ the magic of polar parenting has been caught on camera.The den visualization footage was shot in captivity and provided by Polar Bears International’s zoo partners at Toledo Zoo &; Aquarium. It shows the newborn polar bear cubs against their mother’s comparatively massive snout‚ resting ahead of the big job of beefing up her tiny polar bear babies.       To find out more about how these tiny wee butter-stick babies survive and – for the lucky ones – live long enough to grow to around 400 times their birthweight‚ IFLScience marked International Polar Bear Day by speaking to Alysa McCall‚ Polar Bears International Director of Conservation Outreach and Staff Scientist. As it turns out‚ growing from a blind‚ toothless ball of fine fluff into the world’s largest land predator involves bulking up thick and fast.Where do polar bear cubs come from?Alysa McCall: Polar bear gestation is only about a couple months. After a female successfully mates out on the sea ice‚ the fertilized egg undergoes a small number of divisions and then enters a state known as delayed implantation. The fertilized egg develops no further until autumn‚ around October‚ when the female’s body “decides” whether it has enough fat stored to be able to have cubs. If the answer is no‚ the fertilized egg is either shed or reabsorbed. If the answer is yes‚ the fertilized egg(s) will then implant and the growth of the cubs begins‚ with the birth of the tiny cubs taking place only a couple of months later in about December. How quickly do polar bear cubs develop?AM: The cubs grow rapidly on their mother's rich milk which is ~31 percent fat when cubs are born – the fattiest milk we find on land. By 3 months old‚ cubs may weigh ~10–12 kilograms (22-26 pounds)‚ meaning they’ve grown approximately 20 times their original body weight in 12 weeks. If newborn humans did this‚ we’d need adult-size bassinets. "By 2 years old‚ male cubs can be as big as their moms."Image credit: KT Miller / Polar Bears InternationalCubs continue growing rapidly‚ more than doubling their weight between den emergence and their first birthday‚ and yet again between their first and second birthdays. By 2 years old‚ male cubs can be as big as their moms and weigh hundreds of pounds. The mother bear’s rich milk is a significant contributor to the rapid growth of cubs but comes at a significant cost to mom.What are some of the toughest challenges faced by polar bear cubs and moms?AM: Polar bear moms have an incredibly tough job. They have only about 2.3 years to teach their cubs how to be successful polar bears‚ including how to find and hunt prey‚ how to navigate their shifting sea ice habitat‚ how to avoid dangers like adult male polar bears‚ and seasonal migration patterns. This gets even harder when you consider how fast their sea ice habitat is already changing in some parts of their range. Not to mention that moms are continuously nursing; though their milk fat content decreases as cubs age‚ lactation is incredibly energetically costly to mom.What questions are Polar Bears International hoping to answer with their den research?AM: Cub survival rates can vary greatly by region and annual sea ice conditions‚ but on average only about 50 percent of cubs live past their first year. In parts of the Arctic with more sea ice loss‚ cub survival rates are even lower.It is critical that we work to protect vulnerable moms and cubs which we are doing through a variety of research projects. Better understanding the needs of denning families is vitally important especially as human activities increase across the Arctic. Such knowledge can make a real difference for polar bear families – providing a scientific framework to inform policy and help ensure critical protections.  Our long-term den emergence studies in Alaska and Svalbard add to our understanding of moms and cubs during this sensitive time period – providing data on their needs and vulnerabilities. One of our studies focused on how denning families react to disturbances – data that directly relates to oil and gas development and other human activities. The findings underscore the importance of adequate buffer zones to shield moms and cubs from harm. Another study found that current den-detection surveys‚ conducted by the oil and gas industry to locate and hence protect polar bear dens‚ have been missing over half of known dens. The high failure rate has implications for policy decisions in sensitive denning areas like the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Our team is now researching a promising new den-detection method that could greatly improve our ability to locate dens under the snow‚ helping to identify and protect denning areas to ensure the safety of moms and cubs.How can people support polar bear cubs this International Polar Bear Day?AM: Tune in to our events. Watch a video dispatch from our den study team in Svalbard‚ Norway‚ and join us for a live Q&;A with staff in Churchill‚ Manitoba‚ Canada. Find the schedule and details here.Donate to protect moms and cubs. From better understanding the denning period‚ to protecting moms and cubs from disturbances‚ and addressing the overarching threat of climate change‚ your gift will help polar bear families. 

Marlin and sailfish are some of the oceans' top predators and some of the fastest fish on the planet. Marlin have been known to hunt in groups‚ taking it in turns to stun and then snatch sardines from the middle of a school. Now‚ using new drone technology‚ researchers have revealed a surprising insight into how these fish coordinate their attacks without injuring each other‚ and it’s all to do with color.Striped marlin (Kajikia audax) have been known to change color‚ but the drone footage revealed to the team that attacking marlin became much brighter in the stripes along their bodies before they attacked‚ and then returned to the pre-hunting color after striking. Marlin possess long‚ elongated rostrums or snouts that can be used to help stun and catch their prey‚ but also can injure other animals in the tropical waters of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. They can measure 4 meters long (14 feet) and weigh around 113-204 kilograms (250-450 pounds)‚ according to NOAA.“We documented for the first time rapid color change in a group-hunting predator‚ the striped marlin‚ as groups of marlin hunted schools of sardines‚” says Alicia Burns of Humboldt University in Berlin‚ Germany in a statement. The researchers analyzed 12 video clips of marlin hunting Pacific sardines (Sardinops sagax) in this way. Two different marlin were present in each clip to allow the researchers to compare the colors between the two.      “We found that the attacking marlin 'lit up' and became much brighter than its groupmates as it made its attack before rapidly returning to its 'non-bright' coloration after its attack ended‚” continued Burns. The team think this change in the brightness of the stripes acts as a signal to the non-attacking fish to warn them what is about to happen‚ thereby deterring them from attacking as well and potentially getting injured. It's similar to the way tiny medaka fish also change to a darker color before attacking other fish within the same tank. “Color change in predators is rare‚ but especially so in group-hunting predators‚” Burns said. “Although it is known that marlin can change color‚ this is the first time it's been linked to hunting or any social behavior.”The team plan to investigate whether the marlin change color when hunting alone‚ or if they change the brightness of their stripes in any other social context. They also plan to see if other fish with color-changing abilities use their stripes in the same way. The study is published in Current Biology.