What Idiot Would Get Into a Bidding War For A Unit Crest


A week ago one of my pre-configured eBay searches triggered on an offering for a unit crest for the Army Map Service.

I see Army Map Service shoulder patches come up for auction now and then but I never saw a unit crest hit the auction site. This guy was offering just one (not the pair), but his opening bid was low – $2.50. So over the weekend I put in a top bid of $6.00 and figured surely, SURELY, nobody else in the eBay world would have an interest in something so esoteric. For days I was the only bidder and I figured I had the auction sewn up.

Then yesterday I get a notice from eBay that I had been outbid. Really? Someone had put in a series of bids, obviously to find out where my high bid stood. Well, they found my top price and outbid me at $6.50.

The challenge was on!. I bid $8.00 just to see where his high bid was, and found myself the top bidder again. Within a few minutes he came back and outbid me at $8.50. I went in and outbid him at $10.00 (by now you’re saying, ten bucks for a lousy unit crest?!). He shot back and outbid me at $10.50 (the other guy may have been persistent, but he was cheap). I went in and out bid him at $12.00. By now it wasn’t about the price. It was this guy trying to steal MY unit crest out from under me. Don’t laugh, eBay has made millions leveraging this weakness in the human psyche.

The other guy comes back and out bids me at $12.50. I figure it’s time to execute the nuclear option. I go in and place a top bid of $20.00. He comes back in and inches his bids up fifty cents at at time looking for my upper limit, but he reaches his at the $16.50 point.

Auction ends. I’m the proud owner of a $2.50 unit crest that cost me $16.50 (plus shipping).

AMS Unit Crest

But dammit, I WON!<

– Brian

A Very Early – And Perhaps Significant – Pocket Transit

I have several automated alerts set up on eBay that notify me daily of new auction items such as surveying equipment, historically significant maps, compasses and pocket transits. While I buy very sparingly off of eBay these days, I find these alerts useful for tracking price trends on different classes of items. Normally the direction is up, but on some things like sextants the prices have held steady and even dropped a bit over the years. This reflects a ‘glut’ of instruments coming out of the Indian sub-continent as large vessels are sold to salvagers in the region and the buyers find these instruments on board during the stripping process before the ships are moved to the breaker yards.

Pocket transit offerings on eBay over the past year or so have been somewhat ho-hum. We’ve seen a flood of inexpensive Chinese knock-offs hit the market, a number of full-price retailers using eBay as a secondary sales channel, a few folks who think dad’s old Brunton should contribute significantly to their 401k and price the starting bid accordingly, a couple of really nice instruments from K&E (in my opinion these were as well made as the the original Ainsworth transits). Other than that its been mostly common instruments from Ainsworth and Brunton.

This morning I got a notification for a new auction on an Ainsworth pocket transit and the the opening bid price grabbed my attention – a whopping $2,300. I immediately clicked over to eBay to see what was on offer.

Someone is selling a very early Ainsworth pocket transit (serial # 198) attributed to an R. E. Palmer, a mining engineer for the Rio Tinto Mine group. Evidently Palmer and David Brunton were associates and at one point Palmer hired Brunton to consult on a project at the original Rio Tinto mine site in Spain.

Brunton 198_1

The seller provides a bit of information on the original owner.

Brunton 198_2

So we have a well established tie-in between David Brunton and R. E. Palmer, but did Brunton personally give this pocket transit to Palmer? We will never know for sure, and the provenance for this item is not well established in the auction listing. But it is fun to speculate.

Overall this transit appears to be in very good condition.

Brunton 198_3

Brunton 198_4

However, it’s clear to me this pocket transit is not in original condition. The needle is wrong for an instrument made this early. The original needle would have been the much simpler bar type as found on pocket transits produced up into the high 6000 serial number range. Does this indicate anything nefarious is going on with the auction? No, not at all. These instruments saw hard service in the hands of mining engineers, geologists, foresters and other field scientists and engineers . It was also common for the early steel needles to lose their magnetism over time (this was long before the development of permanent ‘rare earth’ magnets). Brunton designed the pocket transit to be repairable, and it’s highly likely that after years of honest use this instrument was sent it back to Ainsworth to have the needle replaced.

In addition to the needle I suspect the mirror is also a replacement. Most of the silver backed mirrors of this era show extreme levels of ‘foxing’ – a natural process that occurs over time. This mirror just looks too new. But again, this is not an unusual repair for a working instrument.

Brunton 198_5

This is the second oldest pocket transit we’ve seen, by serial number. There’s only one other Brunton in the Pocket Transit database that has an earlier serial number – # 105.

We’ll keep an eye on the auction to see if it generates any bid activity. If any of my readers end up purchasing it or winning it at auction I’d love more information on it and perhaps some better pictures!

– Brian



Measuring in MILS

This past Saturday I indulged one of my other passions and carved out some time to go see the WWII Heritage Days exhibition sponsored by the Dixie Wing chapter of the Commemorative Air Force at Falcon Field in Peachtree City, Georgia. I’ve been fascinated by World War II  history for as long as I can remember, and that interest grows each year, along with my deep appreciation for the sacrifices made by the men and women who gave everything to help secure the Allied victory.

As my good friend Bill (an old artilleryman and Army pilot) and I were passing through the CAF hangar, looking at the various displays, something familiar caught my eye. It was a table-top display highlighting the 907th Glider Field Artillery Battalion (907th GFAB). The 907th was one of two glider artillery battalions assigned to the 101st Airborne Division in preparation for the D-Day invasion of France.

WWII Days1

The thought of bringing heavy field artillery guns into a battlefield aboard flimsy gliders is amazing to contemplate. But then you have to add in the Jeeps needed to tow the artillery pieces around, all the ammunition needed to keep the guns firing, all the communications equipment needed to make sure the artillery batteries can respond to calls for fire, all the Soldiers needed to man the guns and you begin to understand what an undertaking it was to stuff an entire field artillery battalion into gliders, tow then to a landing zone deep in enemy territory, have them land, unload and be ready to provide fire support within minutes of arrival.

The truth is, the 907th GFAB didn’t ride gliders into the European mainland. They arrived on Utah Beach aboard the transport ship Susan B. Anthony on June 9th, three days after D-Day. But once ashore they raced forward, connecting with elements of the 101st Airborne Division and providing artillery fire support until July 1944.

The 907th did get a chance to ride into battle via glider in September 1944 during Operation Market Garden, the ill fated invasion of Holland dreamed up by British Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. Bad weather at the landing zones resulted in most of the battalion’s gliders being scattered across France, Belgium or Holland, or returning to England. But those that did land in Holland quickly consolidated and provided supporting fires for the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st. In December 1944 the 907th found itself in combat again, this time during the Battle of the Bulge and once again providing supporting fires for the 501st. In November 1945 the battalion was inactivated, reactivated briefly in the Army Reserves from 1948 – 1950 and has remained inactive ever since.

Obviously what drew my attention in the display is the pocket transit. More accurately, the M2 Compass, a modified version of the standard Brunton pocket transit with the azimuth ring divided into 6400 MILS. This is a design first developed during WWI to provide artillery spotters and plotters with an azimuth circle that is more discreetly divided than the standard 360° azimuth ring. 360 may sound like a lot of numbers, but when you are shooting artillery shells hundreds of yards and trying to hit targets in small areas you want a more discreet breakout of the circle to ensure your firing is accurate and precise. By using MILS instead of degrees the artillery spotters and fire direction centers can more accurately plot artillery fire, particularly over long distances. It is a system still in use today and the M2 compass is still issued by the US military.

WWII Days2

The artillery plotting tools used by the 907th would have been very basic. Maps, plotting templates and M2 compasses would likely have been all they needed. The standard artillery piece the 907th used – the 105mm M3 howitzer – had a relatively short range and I’m sure most fire adjustment was done via radio or field telephone from forward observers or firing on pre-registered targets like road intersections.


An M2 Compass from my own collection showing the azimuth ring divided into MILS. One MIL = 1/6400 of a circle

In fact, even the standard US military lensatic compass has a compass card that is laid out in MILS on the outer edge (in black) and degrees on the inside (in red). This layout gives every Soldier the ability to accurately call for artillery fire using the commonly issued lensatic compass.


On today’s battlefields artillery fire is precisely controlled using GPS and sophisticated computers that take in to account variables like wind, barometric pressure and even the Earth’s rotation. But in 1944 is was just maps, compasses, plotting templates and experienced artillerymen with well honed skills.

WWII Days3

So remember…  aim precisely and shoot straight – use MILS!

– Brian

Sailing To Philadelphia

I am Jeremiah Dixon
I am a Geordie boy
A glass of wine with you, sir
And the ladies I’ll enjoy

All Durham and Northumberland
Is measured up by my own hand
It was my fate from birth
To make my mark upon the earth

He calls me Charlie Mason
A stargazer am I
It seems that I was born
To chart the evening sky

They’d cut me out for a baking bread
But I had other dreams instead
This baker’s boy from the west country
Would join the Royal Society

We are sailing to Philadelphia
A world away from the coaly Tyne
Sailing to Philadelphia
To draw the line
A Mason-Dixon line

It’s amazing where you find historical references. I was listening to a radio talk show the other day and one of the bumper music selections was a duet by Mark Knopfler and James Taylor titled ‘Sailing to Philadelphia‘. The ballad tells the tale of Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, surveyors who, in the mid-1700s, surveyed the boundary between the colonies of Maryland, Pennsylvania and Delaware. The song drew me back to a subject that has fascinated me for a long time – the story of the great boundary survey and how two talented individuals had such a huge impact on scientific and political history.

The Calvert family, which controlled Maryland, and the Penn family, which controlled Pennsylvania and Delaware, had been clashing for years over the boundary between the two colonies. At points the conflict became violent, and as European settlers pushed westward in both colonies the need to firmly establish the boundary became critical. In 1732 the Calverts and Penns agreed on a definition of the boundary: starting at a point formed by the intersection of a line of latitude set 15 miles south of the southernmost limit of the City of Philadelphia and a line of longitude that runs tangent to an 12 mile arc centered on the town of New Castle in Delaware. This definition of a political border as an arc highlights why politicians, particularly politicians with a weak grasp of geometry, should never be allowed to define borders.

After at least one bungled attempt to survey the border it became clear that the task required the best surveyors trained in the newest methods and using the best surveying and time keeping equipment available. In 1761 England’s Royal Astronomer James Bradley recommended two uniquely talented astronomers and surveyors, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, to tackle the job. Bradley also made sure they were backed by all the resources of the Royal Society and equipped by London’s best instrument makers.

The Royal Society properly viewed the task as one of the greatest scientific and technical challenges of the 18th century, a mission that would have far wider benefit to mankind than just marking a border between to quarreling colonies. It would help prove the utility of longitude determination using chronometers, would test the accuracy and precision of survey instruments made by England’s top makers, would establish the world’s longest and most precise survey baseline and ultimately would return data needed to help establish the precise length of a degree of latitude.


The Mason – Dixon line is actually two lines, or line segments. The east-west line, set at a latitude described as ‘15 miles south of the the southernmost limit of the City of Philadelphia and running five degrees of longitude westward from the Delaware River‘ is what is commonly viewed as the ‘Mason-Dixon line’. However, the north-south segment, set as a line tangent to a 12 mile arc centered in New Castle, Delaware, was actually the most challenging part of the survey. Establishing a line on the ground that is tangent to a continuous arc was a particularly difficult surveying challenge, and one that had never been successfully attempted before Mason and Dixon tackled it

Mason and Dixon had worked together for the Royal Society in the past and were an excellent team. They were also two of the most experienced field surveyors and astronomers of their time. No better team could have been found – their skills, experience, dedication and drive were unmatched.

Mason and Dixon arrived in Philadelphia in late 1763 and set immediately to work. They determined the southern boundary of the City of Philadelphia, established the latitude by astronomical observation, surveyed 31 miles west along the same line of latitude to clear the Delaware River and its local tributaries and established an observatory at a farm owned by John Harland. On Harland’s property they set a monument known as the Stargazers’ Stone on the same line of latitude they had determined at the southernmost boundary of Philadelphia.


The ‘Stargazers’ Stone’ set by Mason & Dixon just north of Harland Farm in Embreeville, Pa.

In 1764 Mason and Dixon ran a survey line 15 miles south of Harlan’s farm and set an oak post (called the Post mark’d West by the surveyors) at 39° 43′ 26.4″ north latitude. This post marked a latitude point precisely 15 miles south of the southernmost limit of the City of Philadelphia. It served as the origin point, or point of beginning, for the survey.

For the remainder of 1764 Mason and Dixon worked on the north – south portion of the line to better define the border between Maryland and Delaware (remember – this was partly defined as a line tangent to a 12 mile arc arc centered on New Castle, Delaware).

In 1765 the pair began work on the line westward, and this effort consumed the better part of the next three years. The survey party consisted of over 100 workers – axmen, Indian guides, surveyors assistants, hunters, runners, teamsters and general laborers. The work was both physically and mentally demanding. The effort required teams of axmen hacking a westward line of sight through virgin wilderness up and over the Allegheny Mountains, the survey team directing their clearing work using compasses that had to be checked almost daily for local variance (declination). Distances were precisely measured using survey chains or rods. At intervals Mason & Dixon would stop, set up astronomical observation stations and verify the line was on the same precise latitude as set at the Post mark’d West. Any necessary corrections to the line were made, north or south, depending on the results of the observations, and the survey continued westward. Following behind, teams of workers set heavy stone markers at one mile intervals and at five mile intervals specially engraved ‘crown stones’ were set, with one side engraved with the Calvert family coat-of-arms, the other with the Penn family coat-of-arms. On more than one occasion, after field checks revealed errors, crews had to go back and move the markers to their correct location.


A crown stone marker showing the Calvert coat-of-arms

The original survey was supposed to run five degrees of longitude (265 miles) west from the Delaware River to fix the western boundary of the colony of Pennsylvania, but at the 233 mile point the party’s Mohawk guides called a halt. They had reached the western-most limit of the agreement for the survey set with the chiefs of the Six Nations and would go no further. Mason and Dixon realized that, for now, the survey had reached its end. At the 233 mile point they set a stone pyramid to mark the end of the survey and headed east to Philadelphia to analyze their results and prepare their reports.

In the summer of 1768 Mason and Dixon delivered 200 printed copies of their maps, survey data and final report to the project’s commissioners. The Calverts and the Penns accepted the results of the survey and the boundary between the colonies was formally recognized. It wasn’t until after the American Revolution, in 1784, that the line was extended to the full five degrees of longitude, this time by two of America’s best astronomers, surveyors and instrument makers – David Rittenhouse and the remarkable and indispensable Andrew Ellicott.

Sadly, Mason and Dixon never worked together again. In 1773 Jeremiah Dixon was elected a fellow of the Royal Society and he soon retired to his native Cockfield a wealthy and well respected gentleman surveyor. He died young in 1770, unmarried and with no heirs. Charles Mason continued to work for the Royal Observatory and its new Astronomer Royal, the Reverend Dr. Nevil Maskelyne. But Dixon became disillusioned with his work in England and lack of recognition for his continued contributions to astronomy. Nevil Maskelyne was well known as a ‘glory hog’ who often refused to give credit and recognition to others contributing to projects under his direction. While working on the boundary survey Mason had become good friends with many American scientific luminaries such as Ben Franklin and David Rittenhouse. Mason likely figured his talents would get more respect in the former colonies. In early 1786, while in bad health, he sailed again for Philadelphia with his wife and eight children. On arrival he communicated briefly with Benjamin Franklin but died in late October 1786 and was buried in the Christ Church cemetery in Philadelphia.

Mason and Dixon’s work on the boundary line was recognized in its time as an outstanding scientific achievement. In the mid-18th century the science of geodesy – the study of the shape of the earth – was in its infancy and there were a lot of unanswered questions. The best minds of Europe, particularly in France and England were turning their efforts to developing a better understanding the size, shape and form of the earth. At the time the best ways to work out these questions was to study closely the detailed results of ‘great arc’ surveys – highly accurate surveys that covered great distances. In 1830 the first great leap in applied geodesy occurred when Astronomer Royal George Airy published the first accurate spheroid of the Earth. A spheroid is a mathematical definition of the size and shape of the earth, and an accurate spheroid definition is the foundation on which accurate mapping and surveying is built. To calculate his definition Airy used multiple ‘great arc’ survey results provided by British, French, Russian and German scientists, but the only great arc survey he used to define the Western Hemisphere was the boundary survey conducted by Mason and Dixon some 70 years previously.

Good work stands the test of time, and Mason and Dixon’s survey remained one of the most accurate boundary surveys conducted in the Americas well into the 20th century. Even today surveyors using modern GPS-based systems marvel at the accuracy and precision these mid-18th century surveyors achieved. So the next time you cross the state line between Pennsylvania and Maryland remember the two geniuses who’s colonial-era work to settle an argument over a property line ended up helping to accurately define the shape of the planet we live on.

– Brian

Post script – as with so many of my posts on this blog, I stood on the shoulders of giants while writing this one. There’s a lot of good material covering Mason and Dixon’s boundary survey available on the web. John Mackenzie of the University of Delaware has published perhaps the best one page history of the survey available on the web (although his essay ends up wandering into territory I think should have been saved for a separate posting). But the story of the boundary survey and Mason and Dixon’s efforts really needs a book to cover fully and adequately. We are fortunate that Edwin Danson has written a wonderful volume that covers the background on the survey and a full accounting of Mason and Dixon’s work. Danson’s book is titled ‘Drawing The Line‘ and in my mind it stands with other modern classics of popular science history like Dava Sobel’s ‘Longitude’ or John Wilford Noble’s ‘The Mapmakers’ as a must read for anyone interested in the topic.

Origins of the Military Grid Reference System

Several weeks ago John Carnes, owner of the Maptools.com website, contacted me with some additional information regarding the origins of the Military Grid Reference System (MGRS). It appears John has a friend who had some interest in the origins of MGRS and back in 1994 contacted the Defense Mapping Agency looking for information.

John Hager, a geodesist with DMA, responded with a detailed letter and references tracing the history and origins of MGRS. John Carnes has taken this information and created a very informative page on his website. I encourage you all to go to John’s MGRS history page and read up on the history of MGRS and review the links he provides. There’s a lot of great historical information there!

Some points and observations I gleaned from reviewing the documents:

  • The Universal Transverse Mercator Grid system (UTM) was developed far earlier than I thought. Based on my previous reading I thought that UTM had been developed by the Army Map Service specifically to support the development of a world-wide grid reference system like MGRS. However, it appears that the U.S. Army adopted UTM in 1937, years before the creation of the Army Map Service.
  • The original MGRS structure as proposed in 1948 had it covering globe in an area from 80° north latitude to 80° south latitude. Above and below 80° the polar regions were to be covered using the Universal Polar Stereographic (UPS) coordinate system. However, some time after 1948 the MGRS coverage was extended to cover up to 84° north latitude. MGRS was extended into this region as a reflection of NATO’s anticipation of having to fight a ground war with the Soviet Union in arctic regions.
  • There’s a lot of concern expressed by a lot of people in these documents regarding grid zone intersections, or ‘zippers’ as we referred to them. Everyone understood these grid zone intersection areas posed critical challenges and demanded extra caution when directing operations that crossed an intersection boundary. In fact, the issue so concerned the British that they expressed a preference for a less accurate ‘mesh’ grid system that would eliminate grid zone intersections altogether. One of the reasons UTM was selected as the foundation to build MGRS on is because its narrower 6° wide zones introduced less error in these intersection areas.
  • As good as the UTM/MGRS system was (and still is) the fact that it had to be built on ‘local’ datums like NAD27 (in the US), ED50 (in Western Europe) or the Tokyo Datum (in Korea) quickly revealed the need for a world-wide datum, one that was equally good (or as one of my survey instructors put it, “equally poor”) across the globe. This need led directly to the World Geodetic System of 1984, or WGS84, the datum on which all US and NATO military maps are currently based.

So put your geo-geek cap on, head over to John’s website and read up on the origins of MGRS. These documents outline the background of the grid system many of us have a love-hate relation with, yet it’s a grid system that has stood the test of time in places like Europe, Korea, Vietnam, Kuwait, Iraq and Afghanistan, and is now adopted for official use here in the United States as the US National Grid.

– Brian

Terrain Models – WWII Style

In a previous post I discussed the issue of terrain models and how the requirement to build them was often the bane of my professional existence. Since we received no training on the construction of terrain models most of the time we were just winging it, making sure that the general terrain was well represented and laying in key topographic and geographic features like important towns, cities, roads, rivers, etc. These models got the job done, but they certainly weren’t elegant. I knew we could do better, but frankly I wasn’t about to waste any more personnel resources than necessary. My Terrain Analysis units were always over tasked and under resourced, and every hour my Soldiers spent putting together a terrain model was an hour stolen from a more important requirement. The fact is, I wanted the finished product to be somewhat crude in the hopes that we’d never get asked to do it again.

Nevertheless, terrain models are an important tools for military planners and unit leaders and the demand for accurate terrain models has always existed. The demand reached a zenith during WWII when planning for major operations like the invasion of North Africa (Operation Torch), Italy (Operation Husky) and France (Operation Overlord) reached a fever pitch. Commanders at all levels demanded accurate terrain models for use as briefing, planning and rehearsal tools.

To provide some level of standard guidance, in June of 1944 the Army Map Service published a bulletin covering the construction of both terrain models and physical relief maps. What this bulletin describes are not simple sand tables, but complex, accurate and detailed models prepared by skilled model makers in a controlled production environment. Frankly I think this bulletin may have done more harm than good; I can envision senior WWII field commanders waving it in the face of their Topographic Engineer officers and yelling, “See, the Engineer branch has even published an official how-to manual. Now get out there and make me a terrain model!” In a sense I’m glad I never ran across this or any similar publication while I was on active duty. Copies of this bulletin are somewhat rare and I have to wonder if most of the copies weren’t burned over the years by Topographic Engineer officers desperate to hide the evidence.

Still, it’s an interesting publication and one worth studying to realize just how complex and difficult making accurate terrain models really is (just click on the image to open the document).

Page 1




Patton Shoots an Azimuth

In 1942 George S. Patton was one of the fast rising stars in the US Army. In less than two years he had leapt from the rank of colonel to major general and went from commander of an armored brigade to commanding the 1st Armored Corps and the newly formed Desert Training Center in southern California (now known as Fort Irwin and the National Training Center). The 1938 – 1942 period was a time of explosive development and innovation in the US Army. War was on the horizon and our national leaders accepted the fact that America would be involved. There was a mad scramble to get our military the personnel, money and equipment needed to get ready for the inevitable. After almost two decades of neglect the US Army suddenly found itself flush with cash and manpower, and new equipment was coming on-line every day. Experienced officers who were innovative thinkers found themselves skyrocketing up the ranks as the new Chief of Staff of the Army, George C. Marshall rushed to fill the newly created command slots

Patton was a natural pick for Marshall. They were contemporaries and both had made a name for themselves during WWI. Patton had commanded the Army’s only armored forces during the war and was a full throated advocate for they type of fast moving mechanized warfare that would be needed on the battlefields of Europe. Between the wars Patton wrote extensively on mobile warfare for the Army’s professional journals and many of his ideas found their way into the Army’s doctrinal manuals. So in 1941 when General Marshall needed a tough, experienced officer to take over training for the Army’s newly formed armored forces he looked no further than George S. Patton.

Patton was given command of the 1st Armored Corps and told to find land suitable for training large mechanized forces. A Southern California native, Patton knew the large empty desert tracts east of Palm Springs was the perfect location. He established the Desert Training Center (now known as Fort Irwin and the National Training Center), moved his headquarters there and began the task of getting the Army’s armored units ready to beat the German army at their own game.

But what good is a highly trained, well equipped armored force if they don’t know where to go? Well, during this same 1939 – 1942 time period there was an effort going on with the Army Corps of Engineers and the Infantry School to standardize map production, adopt a new type of compass and develop innovative map reading and land navigation training programs for the entire Army. One of the results of this effort was the development of the M1938 lensatic compass. We know Patton was keenly interested in land navigation. He regularly used National Geographic and Michelin road maps during maneuvers and was often heard complaining about the shortage of standard military maps his armored forces needed to navigate across the battlefield.

The Army would have shipped the newly adopted M1938 compass to the Desert Training Center for testing and evaluation, and one of these compasses would have made it into Patton’s hands. Patton was a detail man and took a keen interest in everything his Soldiers were issued. He considered it part of his leadership responsibility to make sure a Soldier’s equipment worked. It makes perfect sense that Patton would have gotten his hands on one of these new compasses and put it through its paces.

Sometime in early 1942 a photographer asked General Patton to strike a pose doing something dramatic. I don’t know who’s idea it was to have him pull out his compass and shoot an azimuth to a distant point, but the resulting photo is interesting. Patton is standing beside his early M3 Stuart command tank and decked out in full battle regalia – tanker helmet and goggles, tanker jacket, binoculars, signature pistol at his side and an M1938 compass in his hands.

Patton With Compass

Just a few months after this photo was taken Patton would be pulled from his assignment as commander of the 1st Armored Corps and placed in command of the Western Task Force for the Allied invasion of North Africa. It’s at this point the common legend of General Patton begins, but we should always remember that he was instrumental in developing much of the Army’s early armored warfare doctrine and pushed hard for improved maps and map reading skills.

A Slight Price Change

I recently acquired a mid-1900’s copy of Ainsworth’s Brunton Pocket Transit owners manual. This is the small manual that was included with every pocket transit sold.

Brunton Pocket Transit 1957 - Front Cover

Click on the image to open the manual as a PDF

Included with this manual was a 1957 price list and the prices it shows makes for some fun comparisons to prices today

Brunton Pocket Transit 1957 - Price List

In 1957 an Ainsworth manufactured pocket transit would set you back $49.50. Wow! Compared to current pricing for the same item made today by the Brunton Company – $400 – that was quite a bargain.

Or was it? There’s no direct comparison between 1957 prices and 2016 prices. If we calculate for inflation using consumer price index numbers, $49.50 in 1957 dollars = $417.52 in 2015 dollars. So the pocket transit buyer in 1957 was actually paying about $17 more in inflation adjusted dollars for his compass.

Any way you calculate it a new pocket transit is a pricey piece of equipment. It wasn’t (and still isn’t) a purchase decision a young college student or newly graduated geologist made lightly, but it was a necessary and critical piece of his professional kit. That probably explains why there are so many well used but well cared for examples available today on auction sites like eBay.



Greetings From The Panama Canal

I’ve been fascinated by the Panama Canal and its history for years. Before 1993 I didn’t give the ‘big ditch’ much thought, then one day in ’93 I got a phone call from my Army assignments officer telling me I’d been selected to do a tour with the US Army South headquarters at Fort Clayton in the old Panama Canal Zone. At first I resisted, thinking an assignment to Panama in the waning days of American influence was a backwater job (which it was), but my good friend Gil Rios, who had spent several years in Panama, called and told me that it was a damned interesting place and that I’d have a lot of fun (which I did).

Before heading down there my wife and I read everything on Panama we could get our hands on. This included David McCullough’s excellent one volume history of the Canal, Path Between The SeasI also got the opportunity to dig through the Fort Belvoir, Virginia post library (home of the US Army Engineer School) to review their fairly extensive historical holdings on the Panama Canal. Since the US Army Corps of Engineers had a significant hand in the design and construction of the Canal a lot of reports, pamphlets, books and articles were written by Engineer officers, and many of those papers made their way to the Fort Belvoir library. We read our books, got our shots, packed our household, said goodbye to friends and family and headed to Panama.

Our time in Panama proved to be just as interesting as Gil promised. My geospatial team ended up working on counter drug projects across Central and South America. We also got pulled into a wide range of Panama Canal turn-over issues, working to identify abandoned US facilities across the isthmus, assisting in property remediation studies and conducting analysis on the effects of deforestation on siltation levels in the Canal. Our daughters enjoyed endless summer in a tropical paradise and experienced first hand a culture and and environment that few other American children got to see.

One of the things I took away from this experience is a life-long fascination with the Canal and its history. Along the way I became an accumulator of  Panama Canal bric-a-brac, particularly if it has a topographic connection. In the early 1900’s America was fascinated by the Canal and proud of our nation’s achievement in building it. Magazine articles, professional publications and early newsreels gave Americans a peek at what was going on in a place so exotic yet not so far away. We were conquering disease, rugged topography, rain, raging rivers and dangerous rock slides to join the oceans and improve world commerce. This triggered a flood of Panama Canal ephemera – publications, maps, photos, commemorative coins, plates and post cards. Lots and lots of post cards. Most of these knickknacks sported a map, because to understand the Panama Canal and its relationship to the United States you need to put it in geographic context.

So today we’ll take a look at one of the more unique Canal related items I’ve come across. It’s a standard sized post card published by I. L. Maduro in Panama City and is likely a reprint of a report published by the Panama Canal Company in the early years of the Canal’s operation.

Panama Canal Postcard Front

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What makes this card unique is that it’s an information dense geographic analysis. It effectively combines a nicely done relief map with a corresponding elevation profile that serves as a comparative chart highlighting the difference between material removed during the initial French effort to dig the canal (1881 – 1893) and the subsequent and successful American effort (1904 – 1913). The card also includes key statistical information about the Canal – passage times, channel depths, lock sizes, construction cost, workforce size and other interesting tidbits. Also included is a mileage chart that highlights the amount of shipping distance saved by using the Canal. This was a thinking man’s post card, a high level engineering report squeezed onto a 3.5″ x 5.5″ piece of cardboard. Even more interesting, the map is embossed; it has raised relief, making it a miniature physical relief map.

Overall it’s extremely well done. Yes, you need a magnifying glass to read all the information, but that’s OK. It’s worth the effort. I can imagine hundreds of professional men visiting the Canal Zone or transiting the Canal stopping off and picking up one or more of these post cards to help them explain to friends and family just what a unique and extraordinary achievement the construction of the Panama Canal was. That’s why these cards are not particularly rare. A quick eBay search for ‘panama canal post card’ will usually turn up one or more of these for sale or auction.

But let’s remember this is a post card, designed to be scribbled on and dropped in the mail. So it is with this particular card. In 1934 Uncle Gerry mailed it from Panama to his nephew Don at a YMCA camp in Connecticut. Just what was Uncle Gerry doing in Panama? Was he a crew member on a ship transiting the Canal? Was he working for the Panama Canal Company? Was he a tourist who dropped in to see what this big ditch was all about? We’ll never know, but it’s fun to speculate.

Panama Canal Postcard Back

The Panama Canal was an outstanding American engineering achievement that continues to serve world commerce. We turned the Canal over to the Panamanians in 1999 and they continue to operate and improve it, most recently expanding it to handle the newest generation of supercargo carriers. This has triggered a ‘port war’ here in the US as various cities along the eastern seaboard scramble to improve their port and rail facilities in an effort to capture a larger share of the increase in shipping traffic. Over 100 years after it’s opening it’s great to know that the Canal is still contributing to the world’s commerce. That’s precisely what the thousands of engineers, surveyors and laborers were working towards back at the dawn of the 20th century.


Project Casey Jones

Casey Jones Cover Sheet

Yesterday I was poking around eBay looking for things I just can’t live without when I stumbled on an auction that caught my eye. One of my canned eBay search criteria – ‘aerial mapping’ – triggered a hit for an auction for a US Air Force publication on something called Project Casey Jones. The subtitle was the real attention getter: ‘Post-Hostilities Aerial Mapping; Iceland, Europe, North Africa, June 1945 – December 1946′.  I was intrigued but the eBay seller was asking far (far) too much for the document. But since this was an official USAF publication I figured there was a good chance it was already available on-line in digital format. A quick Google search turned up a the document in PDF format on an on-line library and I grabbed a copy.

As I started to read the report it dawned on me that I never really knew where the base mapping imagery came from that allowed the Army Map Service to re-map all of western Europe and North Africa quickly and accurately right after the close of WWII. I just assumed the aerial photo missions were done on a piecemeal as-needed basis by US assets or we collaborated with host countries like France or Italy to obtain civilian aerial photo coverage.

As it turns out the collection of aerial mapping imagery at the close of WWII was a far more centralized and directed effort than I could have imagined. The fact that the project was carried out so quickly, comprehensively and effectively is remarkable and is one of the great untold stories in the US Army’s topographic history.

In 1944 it was clear to senior Allied leadership that Germany’s days were numbered and thinking started to turn to projects that would help secure the US position in post-war Europe. A huge issue that had emerged from both the ground and air campaigns in Europe was the lack of accurate and up-to-date maps and air charts. During the war the Allies’ mapping services, like the US Army Map Service, scrambled to meet the demand for large and medium scale maps. They often relied on outdated local maps of dubious accuracy, supplemented where possible by photo mosaics or photomaps based on aerial photography taken by reconnaissance aircraft. The science of mapping using stereo aerial mapping photography was well understood at the time, and the US Army Air Force (USAAF) had the necessary cameras and aircraft at their disposal, but flying long, slow and precise flight lines over enemy held territory was out of the question while both sides were still shooting at each other.

Allied military leadership realized that once the shooting stopped there would be a very short window of opportunity during which they would be able to fly photomapping coverage of most of western Europe. The idea was to get the job done while the American’s still had the political clout and the resources in Europe. The US Government and the USAAF applied a carrot and stick approach to the problem. In concert with the British Royal Air Force, the USAAF would fly the conquered territories (Germany, Austria, Italy, etc.)  at will (“we won, you lost, tough luck”), and the Allied, newly liberated or neutral nations (France, Spain, Switzerland, Netherlands, Belgium, etc.) would be offered a copy of all aerial imagery collected over their territories (“we’re your friends and we’re just helping you get back on your feet”). In the end it worked, and over two million square miles of new stereo aerial imagery was collected in about 18 months.

Casey Jones Airfields

The Project Casey Jones report brings to light some very interesting historical tidbits. The first were the technical issues. How do you keep a big, heavy bomber like a B-17 on a straight, steady course for hundreds of miles? The answer turned out to be ingenious. After the pilots failed multiple early attempts to keep the aircraft flying straight and level the job was turned over to the bombadiers and their Norden bomb sights. Since the Norden bomb sight effectively took control of the aircraft once the bombing run to the release point was initiated – controlling aircraft attitude, direction of flight and compensating for wind drift and other factors – it became a relatively simple matter to re-program the sight so that visual check points along the photographic flight line became the ‘release points’, and the bombardier actually controlled the flight by flying from check point to check point along the flightline path using the Norden. Simple but effective.


Norden bomb sight in the nose of a B-17. From this station the bombardier took control of the aircraft and flew from check point to check point along the flightline. Many of the flightlines were 200 or more miles long

The other interesting factor was quality control. The USAAF was flying to meet US Army Corps of Engineer (Army Map Service) requirements and had to adhere to mapping imagery standards for image overlap, side lap, aircraft attitude, cloud cover, haze and other factors. In the beginning the rejection rate of aerial imagery was unacceptably high – some flight crews only hitting the mark 20% of the time. Part of the problem was a lack of familiarity with the mission, part was mechanical problems with the installation of the mapping camera systems, and part was weather and atmospheric conditions. To help solve the problems and improve the success rate for the photo missions the Corps of Engineers put photomapping officers and technicians in each of the squadrons. These personnel would grab the film as soon as the aircraft landed, develop it and quickly review it while the flight crews were still in the area. They could do a quick post mortem on the success or failure of the flight and provide the crews with valuable feedback on what was needed on upcoming missions. As air crew experience increased the success rate increased, and towards the end of 1946 the success rates for each mission hovered around 60%.

Other factors worked against the project; weather during one of the worst winters in modern memory (1945 – 46), high personnel turn-over rates caused by rapid demobilization and political issues that delayed or canceled overflight permission. But in the end the USAAF was successful, and Project Casey Jones was effectively complete by September 1946.

So what became of the two million square miles of mapping photography flown during Project Casey Jones? It was immediately transferred to the the Army Map Service and was used as a primary cartographic data source for at least the next 20 years. It was used in the wide-scale production of up-to-date tactical and operational scale maps of western Europe by American and British military mapping agencies, maps that supported the operational backbone of NATO well into the 1960’s and perhaps beyond.