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Word of the Every So Often

pseudopodium:  (noun; plural:  pseudopodia)  a foot-like extension in a cell for locomotion; a false foot.  It’s a scientific fast that most millipedes do not have a thousand legs, and that most of them are pseudopodia.

The Daily Lesson

On August 2, 1977, “Steady” Ed Headrick received U.S. Patent #4,039,189 for the iconic disc golf basket.  Traditionally, National Disc Golf Day is celebrated on the first Sunday in August, but if August 2nd doesn’t fall on a Sunday, then just celebrate both days.  This year, though, it does fall on a Sunday.  Not that it needs to be a National Day to find me on a disc golf course on a Sunday morning. 

 

Disc golf has been around a long time… not necessarily the same as my buddies and I play every Sunday morning, but disc golf just the same.  The first instance of disc golf supposedly occurred in Bladworth, Saskatchawan, in 1926.  And that very well could be true.  The Frisbie Pie Company in Bridgeport, Connecticut, was founded by the Patron Saint of Disc Golf, William Russell Frisbie.  Reportedly, workers at the pie company would fling the pie pans at each other, and by 1920 the fad spread to Yale University, which bought its pies from the Frisbie Company.  As the story goes, students would shout, “Frisbie!” when they threw the pie pans.  After all, “Frisbie” was stamped in the bottom of every one of those pie tins.  Whether they were playing catch or just giving warning is not clear. 

 

So, yeah, Bladworth, Saskatchawan, is only 2,136 miles from Yale, which is a long ways to throw a Frisbie, but all it takes is one student from that fair town (population 65) that went to Yale who happened to bring a few pie platters home.  And I can see how folks even up in fair Canada could’ve gotten tired of trying to hit each other with a pie tin and started aiming at stuff like trees and fence posts, which usually won’t hit back.  Is all that true?  Ah… close enough.

 

We’ll leave those folks up in the woods for now and jump to 1937, when a guy named Walter Fredrick Morrison and his incipient wife Lucelle played catch with the lid from a popcorn tin to liven up their Thanksgiving get-together.  The problem with metal, though, is it dents, so Morrison and another guy, Warren Franscioni, partnered up in 1948 and made a flying disc out of plastic that they hawked at county fairs.  They first called it a Whirlo-Way, and then renamed it Flyin’-Saucer to cash in on the UFO reports that started popping up all over in the late ‘40s.  In the ’50s, Morrison, now on his own, broke away from the company that had been making the plastic discs for him and started his own company, renaming his much cheaper disc the Pluto Plater.  Morrison sold the rights to the Pluto Plater to the Wham-O Toy Company in 1957, and, having heard the tales of students playing catch with pie tins, they changed the name of the Pluto Platter back to Frisbee, only with one less “i” and one more “e.” 

 

The toy was an OK seller.  I mean, people bought it.  And stamped on the underside of all of them was the very simple instructions:  “Play catch.  Invent games.”  And that’s just was a guy named Steady Ed Headrick did when he was hired by Wham-O in 1964 to be their general manager and vice president of marketing.  What he marketed were Frisbees.  What he became was the Father of Disc Sports.  Those raised rings on a Frisbee.  Yeah.  They’re called “Rings of Headrick.” 

 

Disc golf as a national sport started in Rochcester, New York.  Beginning in August of 1970, a group there had regular weekly league play and even tournaments, though baskets were a few years away.  These guys found out other people in the country were also playing disc golf, and they organized the first national disc golf championship in 1974 – offering a new car to the winner – just to see how much interest there really was.  One person who was definitely interested was Ed Headrick, who included disc golf into the the World Frisbee Championships in 1975.  Also in 1975 Ed created the first disc golf course, featuring permanent targets, at Oak Grove Park in Pasadena, California.  The following year he replaced the “pole” targets with his newest invention, the disc golf basket.  Since then, disc golf has become an international sport.  There are courses just about everywhere.  There is even a course at McMurdo Station on Ross Island in the Antarctic.  Disc golf tournaments are now televised with major sponsors with major money.  There is even a push to get it included as an Olympic sport. 

 

Not too long ago, guys like me actually played with the pros.  Not that I was a pro, mind you.  I played in the 1999 Amateur World Championships, but only because I knew the guy hosting it in Kansas City, and he wanted to fill all the spots.  I finished DFL.  But it didn’t matter.  In other tournaments I played with people like Ken Climo (winner of 12 World Championships and 5 National Championships), and Crazy John Brooks.  Once a buddy and I were randomly placed in the first round of a doubles tournament against Brad Hammock and Scott Stockley (defending World Doubles champion).  Scott Stokely at the time held the world record for distance.  To have Scott say, “Nice throw….”  Yeah.  Good times. 

 

And even Steady Ed.  I met him, too –  founder of the International Frisbee Association as well as the Professional Disc Golf Association (PDGA #001).  He gave me a disc.  Mind you, he was giving everybody in the line a disc.  But there he was.  Steady Ed.  The Frisbee, patented by Ed Headrick on December 26, 1967, was inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame in 1998.  Ed made his last putt on August 12, 2002.  He was cremated, and his ashes were made into flying discs.  Fly on forever, Ed! 

Cartoon of the Week

17 Fowl Language.jpg

Fowl Language

Stuff

The History of the Future:  The End of Inventions

 

It was in June of 2336 that Professor Noland Marvin published his thoroughly comprehensive History of Everything Ever Invented.  The book immediately became a standard reference for the International Patent and Copyright Office.  Whenever somebody thought she had a novel idea, the IPCO would simply cross-reference it with Dr. Marvin’s History and confirm that it wasn’t novel in the least.  In fact, it was quickly discovered that nothing new was left to invent. On March 18, 2337, the IPCO received its last query ever.  That invention, too, had been thought of before.

 

Perhaps coincidentally, it was also in March of 2337 that MindFlix, the largest supplier of media on the planet, stopped suggesting what viewers might like to watch.  They just told them what they were going to watch.  And nobody seemed to mind, because, after all, it was really what they wanted to watch anyway.

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