05/30/2002
Lightning and Chatting with Ben
The thunderstorm season is upon us and one is predicted for today here in New Jersey. While the lightning associated with these storms does us good in that it helps "fix" nitrogen for use in growing vegetation, it can be scary. I''ve had a couple close calls myself. One day a few years ago, it was around noon when the wind started to blow furiously and the sky turned ominously dark. My wife and I opted to go to our basement and just a few seconds later, lightning struck a neighbor''s tree some 50 feet from our house. Fortunately the tree fell away from our house. There was also the time I was golfing with Brian Trumbore when lightning struck so close that the foursome ahead of us on the green felt electricity in their putters! Back in the days before jets, I was on a prop plane preparing to land at Newark Airport when there was a "WHUUUMP" and the plane shuddered. The pilot reassured us, saying, "Don''t worry. That was just static electricity!" I thought hey, that''s lightning in my book!
These personal experiences with lightning pale when compared with the significance of what happened just 250 years ago this June. If you look at the last page of the June/July issue of American Heritage magazine, you''ll find an item by Frederic D. Schwarz on possibly the most famous episode in the scientific study of lightning. I''m talking of course about the time that Richard Saunders flew his kite. If the name Saunders doesn''t ring a bell, perhaps you might recall that he wrote articles for a publication called Poor Richard''s Almanack. Among his entries in this publication were such well known sayings as "God helps them that help themselves." or my favorite "He''s a fool that makes his doctor his heir." As you''ve no doubt surmised, Richard Saunders was the pen name used by one Benjamin Franklin.
Now I don''t mean to be a name-dropper but just a couple weeks ago, back on May 15 to be precise, I was in Philadelphia and actually had the opportunity to chat with old Ben himself. The occasion was the party and banquet celebrating the 100th anniversary of the founding of The Electrochemical Society (ECS). For me personally, this ECS meeting marked the culmination of a project that had occupied a major portion of my time for the past year and a half or so - the writing and editing of a centennial history of ECS. Each registrant received a copy of the result of this effort. I was amazed and delighted to see what Mary, the ECS publication manager, and her staff had turned our text into, a handsome 200-page illustrated book of which Dennis, my co-editor, and I can be proud. I didn''t even come close to any of the publication deadlines that were set by Mary. Yet the deadline that counted was met and the attendees received their books.
But I digress. You''re skeptical that I talked with Ben Franklin? Well, he and three beautifully costumed Mummer music makers welcomed the celebrants into the Crystal Tea Room of the Wannamaker Building. After the 800 banqueteers were inside, Ben and the Mummers led us members of the Centennial Committee through the cheering crowd to the stage. It was the closest I''ll ever come to experiencing what it must be like to be honored in a ticker tape parade. Ben then gave a little speech and left us to our own devices. I must say that Ben has not aged much over the centuries, although he did seem a bit more rotund than in the portraits I''d seen. I also suspect that he dyes his hair, it being of a somewhat reddish tinge.
Unfortunately, I didn''t have enough time to ask Ben about his kite flying. I don''t know about you, but I''ve always had this vision of Ben standing out in the midst of a thunderstorm flying this silly kite and risking his life in the process. This vision is certainly promoted by the portrait reproduced in the American Heritage article. The portrait, by Benjamin West (1816), shows Franklin standing boldly out in the storm holding his kite string with key attached. I''m reasonably sure that the cherubs in the background represent a bit of artistic license. My suspicions prompted a more thorough search for details of Franklin''s actual actions back in June of 1752. What follows is a distillation of material obtained from Web sites such as ushistory.org and boltlighningprotection.com, as well as my trusty 1962 edition of The World Book Encyclopedia.
It seems that my friend Ben was not as foolhardy as the portrait would suggest. He apparently did not stand out in a raging thunderstorm but was much more circumspect and flew his kite from inside a shed. He did attach some sort of metal spike or wire to the end of the kite and tied the key down close to where he held the string. But he also seems to have knotted a silk cord to the hemp string attached to the kite. The silk string or cord was not a good conductor of electricity so in principle this protected him from being electrocuted. The key was located just above the knot. By staying in the shed under cover, the silk was kept dry to ensure that it didn''t get wet and become a conductor. (Remember not to touch a light switch with wet hands for much the same reason.)
Franklin also was sensible enough to recognize the danger and appears to have flown his kite near clouds of an approaching storm before the lightning had begun to show up. Thus, he did not actually initiate a lightning bolt as we know it. Instead he essentially drew some of the charge out of the cloud onto his kite and onto the key he had attached to the string. He determined that the key was charged up by drawing a spark to his knuckle when he placed the knuckle near the key.
Back in 1752, communications were slow and Franklin didn''t know that, just a month or so before, some French "electricians" had beaten him to the punch in showing that lightning and electricity were equivalent. They had put a metal spike on a tall building and had drawn sparks from a thundercloud, as Franklin had suggested and later used to form a lightning rod that protected his own house from damage when struck by lightning.
Today, we know that there are various forms of lightning. The one type that worries me most is the cloud- to-ground form. The most common cloud-to-ground lightning involves several steps. First, the cloud gets charged up by some process not totally understood. Typically, negative charges build up on the bottom of the cloud. Then these negative charges form what is known as a "stepped leader" that branches out from the cloud looking for an easy path to the ground. As this negatively charged leader approaches the ground another leader is induced to come up from the ground and the two join together.
This joining clears the way for a return stroke passing from the ground to the cloud. During all this, the air along the path gets heated up really hot and the shock waves set up by the hot air expanding gives us the thunder. With the channel now open what is known as a "dart leader" can propagate down the hot channel and spur another return leader. All this happens in much less than a second. In fact, it seems now that several leaders and return strokes can make up what seems to be a single lightning bolt to our eyes. Lightning is still a subject of intensive study.
Some of you might question whether my Ben Franklin was for real. Well, I''m no dummy - I broached that very question to him. Some years ago, on a visit to the Corning Glass museum in Corning, New York, who should be there but "Ben Franklin"! My colleague, Al, was with me at the time and took issue with Ben on a point relating to batteries. Al was a vice president of a battery company and an authority in the field. In Philadelphia, I asked Ben if he had ever been in the Corning area. Ben replied that he had heard that there was an imposter up there in Corning and, while he wasn''t happy with anyone impersonating him, he understood that the imposter did a fairly good job.
Consulting my World Book Encyclopedia, I learned that this relatively magnanimous response was typical Franklin. Back in the 1700s when he was in his prime, Franklin didn''t patent his inventions. Rather, he preferred to let them be used for the improvement of the lives of everyone. In spite of all his achievements in science, publishing and statesmanship, this founding father of our country began his will simply "I, Benjamin Franklin, printer…."
To me, the evidence is certainly stronger that I was chatting with the real Ben Franklin than it is that Elvis still lives. Just the other day I heard a news report to the effect that someone had new proof that Elvis is indeed still with us. I certainly believe that, if Elvis survives, good old Ben would have found the secret to extreme longevity long ago.
Allen F. Bortrum
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