The Langley Research Center National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) and National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) Hall of Honor was conceived by members of the Langley Alumni Association and the NASA Langley Research Center as a mechanism to pay tribute to individuals who built exemplary careers at Langley, persevered against the status quo when required and achieved revolutionary scientific understanding and technological progress on the frontiers of the aerospace sciences.
The Hall of Honor formally recognizes those persons whose contributions have had the most sustained and far-reaching influence on the leadership, direction, mission and capabilities of the NACA Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory and NASA Langley Research Center and/or whose work at Langley enabled unprecedented and fundamental advancements in either a scientific or engineering field and made significant contributions to the United States’ aerospace industry for commercial and military aircraft and/or spacecraft.
In 1958, Mary W. Jackson became NASA’s first black female engineer. She was inducted into the Hall of Honor in 2017.
History
NASA Langley Unveils 2022 Hall of Honor
Famed Hidden Figure Christine Darden was one of 17 members of the 2022 class of inductees to take their rightful place in the Langley Research Center NACA and NASA Hall of Honor – the third such ceremony to take place.
Author: José Luis Granados Mateo is a postdoctoral researcher in the Department of Philosophy at the University of the Basque Country (EHU) and a member of the Integrated History and Philosophy of Science (iHPS) research group. His work focuses on history and philosophy of science, science and values, and the epistemology of scientific practices.
By 1800, water had already changed once. It was no longer one of nature’s simple terms, but a compound of hydrogen and oxygen (see Is Water H₂O? (1) From Element to Compound). The new chemistry had a powerful account of that change. What it still wanted was a more direct experiment: water itself, giving up its constituents.
Then came Volta’s pile.
It was not a spectacular object. Discs of metal stacked in pairs, pieces of moist material between them. Yet it altered the experimental life of electricity. Static machines produced sparks, shocks and theatrical moments. The pile offered something steadier. Electricity could now be made to act for long enough to enter chemistry.
Figure 1 Voltaic pile, the first electric battery, invented by Alessandro Volta in 1800. It did not look spectacular, but it changed what experimenters could do with electricity: it provided a sustained electrical action, long enough for electricity to become a chemical instrument. Source: Science History Institute / Public Domain
Nicholson and Carlisle tried it on water almost at once. They placed wires from the pile in the liquid. Gas appeared, or rather the two sides of the reaction began to declare themselves. Hydrogen was released at one wire; oxygen, in the earliest arrangement, fixed itself to the other, nearly two inches away. Later, with gold or platinum electrodes, oxygen could be collected as gas. The awkward fact remained. The two supposed products of one decomposition appeared at opposite electrical ends of the apparatus.
At first glance, this looked like the experiment the new chemistry had been waiting for.
The trouble was that it looked a little too good.
A cleaner decomposition
The first article in this series followed water from element to compound. That change had not been a simple passage from error to fact. It involved a wider transformation of chemical practice: new gases, new names, balances, combustion experiments, recomposition, and a growing confidence in quantitative composition.
Electrolysis seemed to bypass much of that history. No flame, no combustion vessel, no burning of inflammable air with oxygen, no droplets collected on glass. The battery appeared to make water surrender its constituents directly. If water was composed of hydrogen and oxygen, here was synthesis in reverse: pass electrical action through the liquid and the two gases would come out.
Strictly speaking, electrical decomposition of water was not new. In 1789, Adriaan Paets van Troostwijk and Jan Rudolph Deiman had used repeated sparks of static electricity to obtain a mixture of hydrogen and oxygen from water, then recombined that mixture into water. Their experiment mattered. It was also awkward. The gases came together, in small quantities, and separating them for testing was difficult.
Nicholson and Carlisle’s version looked sharper. The Voltaic pile produced sustained action. The products could be made to appear separately. Hydrogen here, oxygen there. Each could be collected, examined and identified.
That was the improvement. It was also where the puzzle began.
When neatness becomes suspicious
Suppose water is decomposed. What, exactly, has been decomposed? A particle of water, perhaps. Yet if that particle is split into hydrogen and oxygen, why do the products not appear together? Why does hydrogen emerge at one wire and oxygen at the other? Why should the layout of the battery govern the place where each product appears, while the water between the wires shows no visible sign of being torn apart?
This was not an experiment going wrong. The gases appeared reliably. They appeared at the expected poles. That was precisely what made the situation uncomfortable.
Nicholson noticed the difficulty at once. Hydrogen appeared at one wire; oxygen was found at the other, nearly two inches away. The space between them did not look like a region where water was being visibly pulled into its parts. No trail of bubbles marked the route. The products simply appeared at opposite ends of the electrical arrangement, as if the battery had assigned them places.
Others saw the same embarrassment. Cuvier put it bluntly: if oxygen and hydrogen came from the same particle of water, why did they appear at two distant points, each always at its own wire? Haüy pressed the problem in molecular terms. If one molecule of water was decomposed, why were its products separated? If two molecules were decomposed, why did one give only hydrogen and the other only oxygen?
The question was almost childishly simple. That was why it would not go away.
Today we speak of ions, electrodes and charge transport. Those words make the old difficulty vanish before we have properly felt it. Around 1800, chemists had poles, attractions, affinities, particles, electrical fluids, acids, alkalis, metals, and a growing suspicion that electricity and chemistry belonged together. The experiment was clear enough. The mechanism was not.
Chang calls this the distance problem. The phrase is exact. The gases appeared with too much order for a simple story of local decomposition.
The distance problem
The obvious interpretation could still be defended. Perhaps electricity pulled the constituents of water apart. Oxygen went to one pole, hydrogen to the other. Many experiments already suggested that substances had different electrical tendencies, so the idea was hardly absurd.
It left the hardest part untouched.
What travelled through the water? Hydrogen? Oxygen? Something already separated? Something charged? If the constituents were detached somewhere between the electrodes, why did they not appear on the way? If they moved invisibly, why did they not recombine? And if decomposition happened only at the wires, how could it be the decomposition of the same portion of water?
Changes in apparatus did not remove the difficulty. Davy tried water held in separate gold cups, connected only by a moist bridge of fine asbestos, an arrangement he attributed to William Hyde Wollaston. The products still appeared at distant sites. The more carefully experimenters separated the places of action, the more pressing the question became: where, exactly, was water being decomposed?
Figure 2. The distance problem in water electrolysis. Hydrogen appeared at one electrical pole and oxygen at the other, even when the sites of action were separated. The experiment seemed to show that water was decomposed, yet it left open the question of how the products travelled, or whether they were instead produced locally at the electrodes. Source: Diagram generated by the author using AI, based on Chang (2012) and Davy’s 1807 experiments.
That was the oddity. Electrolysis was not messy. If anything, it was too orderly. Hydrogen went one way, oxygen another. The battery gave a geography to the products of decomposition.
A flame did nothing like this. When inflammable air burned with oxygen, water appeared as the product of combination. There were difficulties, of course, but not difficulties of distance. Electrolysis changed the spatial form of chemical evidence. Water did not answer in one place. It answered at two.
Under electrical action, water no longer seemed merely something to be composed or decomposed. It seemed to contain routes.
Ritter changes the verb
Johann Wilhelm Ritter changed the verb.
For Lavoisierian chemists, electrolysis was analysis. Electricity decomposed water into hydrogen and oxygen. Ritter proposed the reverse. Electrolysis was synthesis.
At the negative pole, water combined with negative electricity and yielded hydrogen. At the positive pole, water combined with positive electricity and yielded oxygen. No product needed to travel from a decomposed particle somewhere in the middle of the liquid. The gases were made where they appeared.
It was a radical move. It was not foolish. Ritter took the most striking feature of the experiment seriously: the gases emerged at different poles. He did not treat that separation as an inconvenience to be patched up later. He built his interpretation around it. If hydrogen appears here and oxygen there, perhaps the two gases are being formed locally by two different electrical processes.
The price was high. Water became elementary again. Hydrogen and oxygen became compounds of water and electricity.
To modern chemistry, this looks perverse. Seen from the apparatus, it had one plain advantage: the gases were produced where they were found. Electricity was still widely treated as something with material agency. If a pile drove something into a liquid, why could that something not combine chemically with the liquid? Why must electricity be only the knife, and never part of what is made?
The phlogistonist echo was clear enough. If inflammable air could be read as water combined with phlogiston, hydrogen could be read as water combined with negative electricity. Identify phlogiston with negative electricity, and Ritter’s scheme comes surprisingly close to older anti-Lavoisierian accounts of water.
Priestley, from America, also saw that the new experiment did not force the Lavoisierian reading. He followed the debate through Nicholson’s journal and argued that electrolysis need not be understood as the decomposition of compound water. His intervention matters because it shows how differently the same electrical process could be read. For Lavoisierians, the gases were constituents released from water. For Priestley, they could still be products of another chemical-electrical process.
Ritter’s view did not last. Chemistry was becoming more firmly Lavoisierian, and elementary water had little room left in the emerging discipline. Still, electrolysis itself had not supplied a neat refutation. Ritter had solved the distance problem rather well. His view lost ground as chemists built an electrochemical practice around compound water.
Keeping water a compound
The Lavoisierian problem was delicate. Chemists had to hold three claims together. Water was composed of hydrogen and oxygen. Electricity decomposed it. Yet the products appeared at different electrodes, with no visible decomposition in between.
So the theory needed help.
One option was invisible transfer: one constituent moved through the liquid to its proper pole. Another was a chain of decompositions and recompositions, in which neighbouring particles handed hydrogen and oxygen along until the products emerged at the ends. In related versions, the whole liquid was imagined as electrically ordered, so that the final gases appeared only where that order met the metal.
These were rescue hypotheses. The phrase can sound dismissive, although it need not be. They were attempts to make a powerful practice intelligible. Electrolysis worked. Its effects could be repeated, varied and extended. What was missing was a mechanism that made the spatial separation of the gases sit comfortably with compound water.
The chain idea had a certain elegance. No single particle of hydrogen or oxygen needed to travel the whole distance. A constituent could be passed along through a succession of exchanges, like a message moving through a crowd. The gas would appear only at the end of the chain.
But what exactly was being passed? How were the exchanges coordinated? Why did the process end at just the right pole? The explanation helped, though it left plenty in the dark.
The transfer idea had its own attraction. If chemical particles had electrical characters, perhaps they could be drawn through the liquid. Again, however, the path remained hidden. The water between the wires did not display the process one wanted to see. Without a developed theory of ions and charge transport, the mechanism remained speculative.
None of this made the hypotheses useless. They kept research going. They suggested new apparatuses, new distances, new electrodes, new liquids and new comparisons. An experiment need not be fully understood before it becomes useful.
That is more or less what happened.
When water stopped being negotiable
By the early nineteenth century, compound water was becoming part of the working furniture of chemistry. Not every detail had been explained. The distance problem remained. Yet fewer and fewer chemists were prepared to reopen the older question of whether water might be elementary.
Water as a compound was no longer simply a hypothesis under trial. Increasingly, it was a condition for further work.
That shift mattered. Once water was taken as compound, electrochemistry could ask other questions. What moved towards each pole? What kinds of substances were decomposed by the pile? How did acids, alkalis, salts and metals behave under electrical action? What changed when the electrode, distance or solution changed? How much chemical change corresponded to how much electrical action?
The material practice hardened. Trough batteries became easier to handle. Gold and platinum electrodes helped prevent the products from disappearing into reactions with the metal. Separate cups connected by wet asbestos became a standard arrangement. The theory remained unsettled, but the apparatus was becoming disciplined.
The unresolved puzzle did not stop electrochemistry. Experimenters varied the arrangement. They separated vessels, introduced bridges, changed electrodes, added acids and salts, and studied what appeared where. The field learnt to handle the phenomena before it possessed a settled account of what moved inside the liquid.
Later developments brought more discipline. Faraday gave electrolysis a quantitative discipline in the 1830s. By the end of the nineteenth century, Arrhenius’s theory of ionic dissociation would help make sense of processes that had long remained obscure. That later clarity, though, should not be read backwards into 1800. For decades, electrochemistry advanced with a problem at its centre.
What electricity did to water
Electrolysis changed what water could be made to do in the laboratory. It did not simply reveal a truth waiting inside the liquid. It altered the route by which that truth could be pursued.
The first article in this series followed water into the balance sheet of chemistry. Water became a substance that could be produced, analysed, recomposed, weighed and named through its constituents. Electrolysis added another sort of depth. Water could now be interrogated electrically. Its constitution became a problem of poles, currents, attractions, transport and hidden motion.
Lavoisierian chemistry had given water constituents. Electrochemistry gave it pathways.
The familiar classroom demonstration hides that difficulty. The bubbles are easy to see. Their meaning was not. Hydrogen here, oxygen there: that simple separation forced chemists to imagine invisible processes inside a liquid that otherwise looked continuous and unchanged.
Electrolysis made compound water harder to abandon, without making it transparent. It turned water into an electrochemical object: something that could conduct, polarise, transport, release and exchange. The question was no longer only whether hydrogen and oxygen belonged to water. It was how electrical action could make them appear at all.
Still, electrolysis could not settle the formula. It could make water yield hydrogen and oxygen. It could not tell chemists how those elements should be counted.
That was the next difficulty. Once water had constituents, chemistry still had to learn how to count them.
References
Chang, H. (2012). Is Water H2O? Evidence, Realism and Pluralism. Dordrecht: Springer. doi: 10.1007/978-94-007-3932-1.
Davy, H. (1807). ‘The Bakerian Lecture, on Some Chemical Agencies of Electricity’. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, 97, pp. 1–56. doi: 10.1098/rstl.1807.0001.
Faraday, M. (1834). ‘Experimental Researches in Electricity.—Seventh Series’. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, 124, pp. 77–122. doi: 10.1098/rstl.1834.0008.
Nicholson, W. (1800). ‘Account of the New Electrical or Galvanic Apparatus of Sig. Alex. Volta, and Experiments Performed with the Same’. Journal of Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, and the Arts, 4, pp. 179–187.
Singer, G. J. (1814). Elements of Electricity and Electro-Chemistry. London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, A. Brown, and R. Triphook.
Volta, A. (1800). ‘On the Electricity Excited by the Mere Contact of Conducting Substances of Different Kinds’. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, 90, pp. 403–431. doi: 10.1098/rstl.1800.0018.
Wilkinson, C. H. (1804). Elements of Galvanism, in Theory and Practice: With a Comprehensive View of Its History, from the First Experiments of Galvani to the Present Time. 2 vols. London: John Murray.
Reform doesn't have the dignity of the Tories' grand history, but its lack of historical baggage means it has more freedom to set out radical new policies, says Prof James Alexander. Together, they would be unstoppable.
Sixty years after television audiences first tuned in to see the voyages of the Starship Enterprise, an astronaut on board the International Space Station has paid tribute to Star Trek by flying the badge of the franchise's latest fictional captain.
Expedition 75 flight engineer Sophie Adenot with European Space Agency (ESA) donned the Delta badge originally worn by actor Anson Mount for a video recorded from aboard the space station. Mount portrays Christoper Pike in the Paramount+ streaming series Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Paramount and ESA both released the clip on their Instagram feeds.
"For 60 years, Star Trek has brought us stories of friendship and exploration. I'm wearing Captain Pike's badge aboard the ISS in celebration of continuing the real world work of science and exploration," said Adenot. "For me, exploration and science are about curiosity and cooperation daring to go a little farther together, learning from what we discover and build, and turning that knowledge into a better future for everyone."
Sixty years after television audiences first tuned in to see the voyages of the Starship Enterprise, an astronaut on board the International Space Station has paid tribute to Star Trek by flying the badge of the franchise's latest fictional captain.
Expedition 75 flight engineer Sophie Adenot with European Space Agency (ESA) donned the Delta badge originally worn by actor Anson Mount for a video recorded from aboard the space station. Mount portrays Christoper Pike in the Paramount+ streaming series Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Paramount and ESA both released the clip on their Instagram feeds.
"For 60 years, Star Trek has brought us stories of friendship and exploration. I'm wearing Captain Pike's badge aboard the ISS in celebration of continuing the real world work of science and exploration," said Adenot. "For me, exploration and science are about curiosity and cooperation daring to go a little farther together, learning from what we discover and build, and turning that knowledge into a better future for everyone."
More than 4,000 years ago, an Egyptian official named Sekhentiu-Ptah held a collection of titles that placed him remarkably close to royal power. He oversaw the king’s works and documents, supervised scribes, and even served as the “Keeper of the Secrets of Royal Commands.”
Now, archaeologists have found his tomb. An Egyptian archaeological mission excavating the Saqqara necropolis inGizahas uncovered the Old Kingdom tomb of Sekhentiu-Ptah, including its funerary chapel, an intact false door, and a complete collection ofalabaster ritual objectsstill positioned where they were left thousands of years ago.
Nearby, researchers discovered an interconnected network of burial shafts containing human remains, more than 100 funerary figurines,and three stone sarcophagithat were still sealed when archaeologists found them.
Speaking with The Jerusalem Post, Mohamed Abdel-Badie, head of Egypt’s Antiquities Sector, said finding a complete set of funerary objects still in their original position was “an important discovery, offering valuable information about funerary rituals and practices during the Old Kingdom.”
The discovery was made during the Egyptian mission’s first excavation season in Sector A, west of the Bubasteion at Saqqara, roughly 20 miles south of Cairo. Saqqara served as a major burial ground for ancient Memphisand contains monuments and tombs spanning thousands of years of Egyptian history.
Sekhentiu-Ptah’s tomb dates to the Old Kingdom, the era roughly spanning the third millennium BCE that witnessed the construction of Egypt’s great pyramids.
Inside the remains of his funerary chapel, archaeologists encountered a false door still standing in its original location. Such doors were symbolic thresholds associated with the deceased and the offerings made to sustain them in the afterlife.
Directly in front of the false door was a complete group of alabaster ritual objects that had apparently remained together in their archaeological context. The assemblage includes an offering table and offering disk, purification basin, jug, and another basin.
Hieroglyphic inscriptions on the false door and funerary objects revealed not only Sekhentiu-Ptah’s name but an extraordinary résumé.
He was identified as Royal Chamberlain, Overseer of All the King’s Works, Overseer of Royal Documents, Keeper of the Secrets of Royal Commands, Priest of the goddess Maat, and Overseer of the Scribes. Together, the titles indicate that Sekhentiu-Ptah occupied a prominent position within Egypt’s royal administration.
Archaeologists also uncovered a system of interconnected burial shafts filled with human burials and large quantities of painted funerary cartonnage, a material commonly made from layers of linen orpapyrusand plaster and used in funerary coverings.
Archaeologists recovered more than 100 faience ushabti figurines. These small figures were placed in Egyptian tombs to perform work for the deceased in the afterlife symbolically. Archaeologists also found a wooden falcon statue, pottery, and three stone sarcophagi that were kept sealed in their original condition.
The collection is particularly interesting because it captures different chapters in Saqqara’s history. While Sekhentiu-Ptah’s tomb belongs to the Old Kingdom, material from the surrounding shafts provides evidence for funerary practices during the much later Late Period. In essence, the site became a cemetery layered on top of a cemetery, repeatedly returned to and repurposed across Egyptian history.
Not everything survived undisturbed. Archaeologists found openings cut between some burial chambers, evidence that ancient tomb robbers had already penetrated portions of the complex. Even so, enough remained intact to allow researchers to reconstruct how the necropolis changed over time.
The surviving artifacts retain “great archaeological and scientific value, contributing to understanding the site’s internal layout and the development of its architecture through its successive historical phases,” excavation director Dr. Amr El-Tayebi explained.
For now, the discovery is a work in progress. The Egyptian team is continuing to document and compare the artifacts with material recovered elsewhere in Egypt, with plans to publish the results in peer-reviewed scientific journals. Archaeologists also believe Sector A could contain additional structures and artifacts still waiting beneath the sands of Saqqara.
Tim McMillan is a retired law enforcement executive, investigative reporter and co-founder of The Debrief. His writing typically focuses on defense, national security, the Intelligence Community and topics related to psychology. You can follow Tim on Twitter:@LtTimMcMillan. Tim can be reached by email: tim@thedebrief.org or through encrypted email:LtTimMcMillan@protonmail.com
The story of a Medieval European plague is coming into focus through historic manuscripts, but not in the way you might think. Instead of providing mere historical accounts, the animal skins from which these Medieval volumes are constructed provide genetic evidence for reconstructing the 3,500-year story of the sheepox virus (SPPV), which decimated European livestock.
In a recent paper published in Science Advances, an international team of interdisciplinary researchers ranging from geneticists and virologists to historians and conservators explored the history of this pre-modern plague.
The new work combs through Medieval history to reveal the lineages of diseases plaguing modern herds, providing new insight into the viruses threatening modern animal agriculture.
Medieval Texts
Chosen for the work were some of the most important Medieval manuscripts that Europe has to offer, including the millennium-old York Gospels, one of the best surviving examples of an early Anglo-Saxon illuminated manuscript. Another work used in the study was one of the earliest known English dictionaries, the Corpus Glossary of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. Beyond these notable examples, the team exploited a variety of English and continental European works.
Medieval volumes did not contain paper pages like modern books, but instead, vellum pages made of calfskin, as well as the skins of goats and sheep. Therefore, these works are preserved as hundreds-of-years-old biological specimens for modern geneticists.
SPPV tends to target younger animals, such as the calves from whom vellum is made, and is highly contagious, rapidly spreading through large portions of a herd. While these factors made the disease easier for modern researchers to study via vellum samples, it also made it devastating to wool, meat, and milk production.
Extracting DNA
“The recording of ancient DNA of pathogens has completely changed our understanding of infectious disease in the past, and here we show that parchment can also preserve animal pathogen DNA. It is possible that archives and libraries around the world also contain the genetic traces of disease outbreaks in animals in the past,” said lead author Louis L’Hôte, PhD candidate at the University of Cambridge, Dublin.
“These genomes help us understand how these pathogens evolved and how they impacted past societies – such as sheeppox virus, which we show has been affecting Eurasian sheep herds for at least three and a half millennia,” L’Hôte added.
With the rapid spread of SPPV across herds, many manuscripts contained SPPV DNA on multiple pages within the same manuscript. Additionally, finding SPPV DNA on pages made from both calf and goat skin marks it as a rare example of cross-species infection.
“Parchment making has been considered a vanishing craft, but we are beginning to understand just how much of the past it has retained. This project shows that parchments not only preserve our cultural history for hundreds of years, but also the landscape of disease in our livestock in the medieval period,” said supervising author Dr Kevin G. Daly, Associate Professor at UCD School of Agriculture and Food Science.
“This kind of exciting, surprising discovery is only possible when researchers from a range of disciplines come together to share their expertise and data,” Day said, calling this “a generosity and trust that collaborative science depends on.”
Exploring Medieval DNA
The Medieval manuscripts combine with even older surviving biological records, such as teeth, to show the virus reaching back 3,700 years. Between the manuscripts and archaeological finds, the team identified 41 samples containing related viruses.
Along with the goatpox virus and the lumpy skin disease virus, SPPV belongs to a category called capripoxviruses. The new research allowed the team to compare the ancient and modern sequences to determine that the division between the various viruses in the group occurred between 3,700 and 11,500 years ago, around the time animal domestication took hold in Europe as sheep came off the steppe.
“Ancient genomes can help us understand how these pathogens affecting us today evolved. We find that, unlike the smallpox virus, the sheeppox virus genome was very stable over the last few millennia,” L’Hôte concluded. “This might mean that genetic changes before this point were very important to how the sheeppox virus evolved to infect its host, which may help us fight the pathogen in the future.”
Ryan Whalen covers science and technology for The Debrief. He holds an MA in History and a Master of Library and Information Science with a certificate in Data Science. He can be contacted at ryan@thedebrief.org, and follow him on Twitter @mdntwvlf.
Designed in California, the Apple history podcast from Myke Hurley and Jason Snell, is now live on Relay with two new free episodes, plus more for Kickstarter backers and Relay subscribers.
Over the summer, Myke and Jason ran a successful Kickstarter campaign for the new show, which will be released as topical series. The first series about the Apple II was released over the summer as part of a preview for the Kickstarter campaign.
Now, the first two episodes of Apple’s Mac OS Crisis are out and available to listen to for free. Those episodes will be followed by five more weekly installments. However, if you backed the Kickstarter or if sign up to support the show via Relay’s website, you get all seven episodes of the series immediately.
Apple’s Mac OS crisis in the ’90s, leading to the company acquiring NeXT and bringing Steve Jobs back.
Apple’s Mac OS Crisis also features special guest John Siracusa, who knows a thing or two about ’90s Apple. In addition to the audio-only version of Designed in California, the show is available on YouTube.
It’s been great to see this show come together over the summer. I know it’s been a lot of work, which is clear from the depth and quality of the episodes. I fully expect Designed in California to become the definitive podcast for Apple history nerds.
Login
