On telescopes, nerds, and builders.

“By the way, do you consider yourself a nerd?”

“Uhh, maybe…” I replied, proudly revealing my sticker-filled Macbook.

“So you know where the term ‘nerd’ comes from then?”

“No one does.”

“Ah. No one thinks they know. But I’ve researched this,” the slightly awkward, almost eccentric man said. He went on to tell a tale of a nuclear research facility whose abbreviation was “N.R.D” — eventually, somehow, translating into nerd. His response was definitive, and seemed fairly well-researched. But I was not there to talk about nerds. Well, not really.

Dr. Gary Cameron studies the history of science and technology. Precisely, he studies the effect technological development has on scientific development. He’ll be the first to tell you his academic interests are wide and, perhaps like the man himself, a tad eccentric.

I met him in his office to discuss his doctoral dissertation “Public skies: telescopes and the popularization of astronomy in the twentieth century.”

In his thesis he argues, “that the shift in commercially-made instruments from expensive, individually hand-crafted telescopes to inexpensive, mass-produced (or at least quantity-produced) telescopes created a major opportunity in America for the conversion of amateur astronomy into a mass-hobby,” contending “that the greatest increase in growth of amateur astronomy coincides more with the availability of inexpensive yet reasonably good quality commercially produced telescopes after the Second World War,” and concluding that “popularizing science was increasingly important for scientists increasingly dependent on public funds for research.”

In this light, the study and establishment of astronomy as a wide-ranging and serious academic discipline enjoyed by both professional and amateur astronomers embodies a slightly different flavor.

He sat back in his chair and smiled as he wove a short tale of amateur astronomy, gesticulating slowly but precisely. “Up until World War II, telescopes were extremely expensive, “ he explains, “in the early 20th century, you had to be very well to-do to afford a simple telescope, a doctor, maybe a lawyer, there were only a few thousand people worldwide with these tools. The interest from the working was always there, but it was latent,” he said.

“Then something happened that changed everything,” he said, pulling up a picture of an old document on his computer. “Scientific American published a series of articles devoted to describing how, exactly, one could build his own telescope.”

“Suddenly, tons of people were attempting to construct this gizmo, “ which, while still expensive, was much cheaper than commercially-avaialable units. “They demonstrated just how far some people were willing to go to have their very own telescope.”

After that, he said as excitement flooded his eyes, the market took off. Some entrepreneurs took notice, and began producing simpler and cheaper telescope en masse. “And suddenly you have 100,000 people with these things.”

Some manufacturers caught on and started to produce cheaper telescopes for public consumption. They weren’t nearly as well-crafted as the handmade, carefully-designed, telescopes, but they were available for regular folks to buy, he noted, and “were marketed in the same way as automobiles, TVs, and other consumer products.”

“And then in 1940's, World War II hits, and you have all kinds of defense money being thrown into these companies so they can produce cheaper, more precise, optics.” Suddenly astronomy went from the realm of the well-to-do to the backyard hobbyist, changing the entire face of the discipline.

As he continued his story, I was reminded of a similar journey.

The January 1975 issue of Popular Science featured a device that would shake the world, influencing arguably the most important technological renaissances in recent human history. For it was that issue that featured the now-legendary Altair 8800, the “world’s first minicomputer.”

It was a cheap, do-it-yourself kit that even by standards of the time was incredibly incapable. Those who were using professional tools laughed. But it was a hit. And it (arguably) inspired the “two Steves,” to found Apple, Inc. and develop the first mass-produced personal computer: incubated in garages, fueled by curiosity, and ringing of rebellion, the hacker movement that fueled our modern age didn’t occur because a large corportation thought that regular people would want the kinds of computers they were using: instead, it happened because enough guys in garages started building something, that while comparatively incapable, was cheap enough for everyone who wanted a piece of the action.

As hackerspaces and other tenants of the modern Maker movement slowly seep into society, I’m struck by these two stories. Some would argue that the modern maker movement is a response to mass-production and the “consumerization” of the American public.

I disagree.

The maker ethos is nothing new. These nerds, and yes, hackers, may be off building their own telescopes, assembling their own computers, or proudly demoing their very own 3D printer, but their basic stories remain the same. And we ignore that story at our own peril.

What’s the next big thing? I don’t know. But it’s probably going to come from some awkward nerd ignoring all the rules and just building something simple. Something incapable. But awesome.

Brett Neese is a writer, builder, and student at Iowa State University. You can hear his entire interview with Professor Cameron here.