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Vantage Point, issue 1, March 14, 1945
5
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the poorhouse again. The sole requisites with which to launch an era of unequalled prosperity were a few dies, a sheet or two of pink plastic, and lo! you wouldn't be able to hear the wails of hungry babes for the busy rumble of screw machines filling the land like the voice of the turtle. I might have been willing to go along at least half-way with this proposition were it not for the fact that I am in on a little secret the NAM would like to bury. The cost of unearthing this smothered corpse was but a trifle to a number of professional, literary ghouls and I am passing it on to you at the same price. Hold on to your hats. At least nine tenths of these wonderful wartime discoveries are prewar products. There isn't a single great advance in our technology that hadn't cut its teeth and already been sized up in general outline by the time the depression was a year-old brat. There are a few cute ideas that have been developed by our masterminds as interesting adjuncts to the war machines, but, by and large, you can name the wonder and find it in the Patent Office records previous to 1938. This fact alone would raise no one's blood pressure to the boiling point. What gets me square in the craw is the gall of this buzzard's crew busily spraying tinted mists over the countryside in the shape of gorgeous promises they wouldn't dare deliver in forty years, knowing as they do that what drowned the nation in the first place isn't going to resuscitate it tomorrow. Lest anyone think me an enemy of progress, I immediately absolve science and the scientists from any major share of the blame for this feeble-minded approach to a desperate problem. A few of our technicians are hungry cockroaches, but the cast majority of scientists are socially useful and forward-looking citizens. It is true that they usually vote conservative, but they do this because their eyes are glued to the microscopes (3)
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the poorhouse again. The sole requisites with which to launch an era of unequalled prosperity were a few dies, a sheet or two of pink plastic, and lo! you wouldn't be able to hear the wails of hungry babes for the busy rumble of screw machines filling the land like the voice of the turtle. I might have been willing to go along at least half-way with this proposition were it not for the fact that I am in on a little secret the NAM would like to bury. The cost of unearthing this smothered corpse was but a trifle to a number of professional, literary ghouls and I am passing it on to you at the same price. Hold on to your hats. At least nine tenths of these wonderful wartime discoveries are prewar products. There isn't a single great advance in our technology that hadn't cut its teeth and already been sized up in general outline by the time the depression was a year-old brat. There are a few cute ideas that have been developed by our masterminds as interesting adjuncts to the war machines, but, by and large, you can name the wonder and find it in the Patent Office records previous to 1938. This fact alone would raise no one's blood pressure to the boiling point. What gets me square in the craw is the gall of this buzzard's crew busily spraying tinted mists over the countryside in the shape of gorgeous promises they wouldn't dare deliver in forty years, knowing as they do that what drowned the nation in the first place isn't going to resuscitate it tomorrow. Lest anyone think me an enemy of progress, I immediately absolve science and the scientists from any major share of the blame for this feeble-minded approach to a desperate problem. A few of our technicians are hungry cockroaches, but the cast majority of scientists are socially useful and forward-looking citizens. It is true that they usually vote conservative, but they do this because their eyes are glued to the microscopes (3)
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