The Clasps of Creativity


People often associate creativity with big ideas, but it is often found in centimeter-sized details. In an earlier post I discussed how creativity involves tinkering with subject matter; here I will look at how it thrives on the small scale, in the realm of hinges, clasps, and other parts.

The above picture (which I took at home) shows three objects–two book stands and a pair of AN-6530 goggles–manufactured by the Chas. Fischer Spring Co., founded by my great-granduncle Charles Fischer. He was about fourteen when he came with his parents and seven younger siblings to New York City from Györke, Hungary (now Ďurkov, Slovakia). In 1906, after working as a toolmaker and spring-maker, he founded his company in Brooklyn and employed a few of his brothers. My great-grandfather worked for him as a bookkeeper, I believe.

The two book stands clasp onto the knee, so that your hands are free when you read; the AN-6530 goggles were produced during World War II for Army and Navy flight crews. After one year of use (in 1943), they were superseded by rubber-framed, plastic-framed goggles (since mass production of plastic had become possible in the interim, and plastic lenses were much safer).

Many of Charles Fischer’s inventions pertained to goggles; he had several patents for goggles themselves, and others for goggles’ hinges, clasps, bridges, and seals. His goggle clasp (Patent No. 2,126,379), filed in 1937 and patented in 1938, improves upon existing clasps in ways that he carefully lays out.

claspHere’s a photo of the AN-6530 clasp (at least on my own pair). I have looked at pictures of others; the clasps are similar in form. You can see that they require twisting a piece of wire. As we know from experience with hangers (for instance), if you twist the wire too much, it breaks.

That is exactly the problem that Charles Fischer sought to address. (Note that the AN-6530 goggles came well after his invention but stuck with the earlier clasp.) In his patent specifications, he explains:

Heretofore, the head band has carried a thin light open ring which was passed through the ears of the frame and then twisted by pliers. The twisting of the ring strains it and crystallizes it. Thereafter, the stresses to which the ring was sub­jected imposed further strain and led to break­age at the point of twisting.

Here’s how he resolves the problem:

The possibility of the head band clasp breaking or working loose from the goggle and the result­ing inconvenience and perhaps danger to the user, is avoided by the clasp shown in Figs. 2, 3 and 4, in which a strap 23 is provided, slotted at 24 to receive one end of a head band 25. The strap has a forwardly extending pocket 26, the strap and pocket being stamped from one piece of metal. Passing through the sides of the pocket is a pivot pin 27, and a strong hook 28 is pivoted on this pin. As illustrated, pivot pin 27 is arranged off-center, i.e. below the central horizontal plane of the pocket and below the line of force acting on hook 28. This arrangement results in the hook being securely locked to the frame when in closed position. In addition, the upper sides of pocket 26 are pinched at 29 to provide a pair of spring jaws. When the hook is open, as shown in full lines in Fig. 2, the jaws act to hold the hook up and in a position which facilitates the passing of the free end of the hook through the perforated noses of the frame. When the hook is closed, the jaws give way to allow the hook to pass and then spring back behind the hook. Also, as shown, the extended lip 30 of pocket 25 is adapted to be engaged by and serve as a stop for the free end of hook 28.

That may seem a little confusing until you match it, number by number, with the diagram:
goggle-clasp-imageNow it’s evident that this new clasp resolves the problems of the previous one. There’s no twisting of wire, no loose ends, no strain on the materials. What’s more, it involves a kind of spring: “In addition, the upper sides of pocket 26 are pinched at 29 to provide a pair of spring jaws.”

I don’t know why this clasp wasn’t incorporated in the AN-6530 model. His patent was issued a year before the outbreak of World War II. Maybe his inventions didn’t get enough attention; maybe they were considered too expensive.

My point is that our discussions of creativity tend to miss the mark. There’s creativity in the spring jaw and pivot pin of a goggle clasp–yet when people speak of creativity, they disregard those beautiful little parts.

Charles Fischer died almost two decades before I was born, so I had no way of meeting him. Only one of his siblings, Emanuel, survived into my lifetime; he died when I was about four, and I knew nothing of his existence. My great-grandfather Max died four years before my birth. I wish time could be compressed so that I could ask them questions. I sense enjoyment in Charles Fischer’s descriptions; I imagine that he loved explaining them to people who showed interest.

There may be far more creativity in the world than people imagine. It may be found in the particulars, in the subtle reworking of words, sounds, and springs. The current focus on big ideas detracts from creativity itself. Or to put it bluntly: creativity means nothing in the abstract. It has meaning only in relation to specific form and matter.

Image credits: I took the two photos. The patent image can be found on the United States Patent and Trademark Office website.

Note: I made some edits to this piece–and added two sentences to the end–after posting it. Also, I changed the title.

The Springs of Creativity


I am talking about literal metal springs here, the things that bounce. What do springs (those metal bouncy things) have to do with creativity?

As I mentioned a little while ago, my great-granduncle Charles Fischer founded the Chas. Fischer Spring Co. in 1906. He invented and manufactured many parts and devices, including a delightful book prop that clasps onto the leg. (I don’t know whether Charles Fischer himself invented it—it could have been one of his sons—but his company patented and manufactured it.) I just received a comment about that very book prop! (Thank you, Joe Simpson, for writing!)

Before he founded his company,  he worked as a spring-maker. I imagine him tinkering with the springs and thinking of new uses to which they could be put. My argument here is that creativity–at least a certain kind–comes out of playing and experimenting with an actual subject or medium. You don’t teach or learn creativity in the abstract. People have been wringing their hands over the need to teach creativity in schools–but that’s a waste of hand muscle. Get the hands going with something, and then start tweaking it. Before you know it, you just might have something new in the works.

I’ll take a look at one of Charles Fischer’s inventions, the take-up spring, then apply this notion of “tweaking” to some simple R code.

I  imagine him making spring after spring while his wife was at home ironing and cursing the cord that always got in the way. (The retractable cord,  like the one in today’s vacuum cleaners, wasn’t invented for another few decades.) “What if,” they may have discussed one day over dinner (who knows–maybe they talked about these things, maybe not), “What  if a spring could actually keep the cord suspended up above, in the air, so that when you needed it, you could draw it in, but when you didn’t need it, your ironing could proceed unimpeded?” Lo and behold, he found that a spring could do just that:


You can read the description here.  He explains: “The invention is especially useful in taking up the cord of an electric iron, thus doing away with the inconvenience and annoyance of having the cord in the way of the iron when the latter is in use and permitting free use of the iron by the operator.”

So there you go–the daily work with springs, I imagine, allowed him to think of other things that could be done with them.

That, I believe, is often how creativity works. You’re doing something repetitive and routine, but within that repetition, you start thinking about other things that can be done. You try them out with your materials. You learn about what works and what doesn’t; you gain knowledge not only of the practicalities, but of the principles and possibilities. You try new things from there.

Now I’ll give a simple example of this from computer programming–something easy enough for anyone to try. I won’t do anything groundbreaking here; my point is that by starting to tinker with code, you can learn what’s going on and experiment with new things.

I got this code from “R by example.” It’s the first one under Graphs. (You can download R itself from The R Project for Statistical Computing.)

# Goal: To make a panel of pictures.

par(mfrow=c(3,2))                       # 3 rows, 2 columns.

# Now the next 6 pictures will be placed on these 6 regions. 🙂

# Let me take some pains on the 1st
plot(density(runif(100)), lwd=2)
text(x=0, y=0.2, "100 uniforms")        # Showing you how to place text at will
abline(h=0, v=0)
              # All these statements effect the 1st plot.

par(col="blue")                         # default colour to blue.

# 2 --
plot(x, sin(x), type="l")
lines(x, cos(x), type="l", col="red")

# 3 --
plot(x, exp(x), type="l", col="green")
lines(x, log(x), type="l", col="orange")

# 4 --
plot(x, tan(x), type="l", lwd=3, col="yellow")

# 5 --
plot(x, exp(-x), lwd=2)
lines(x, exp(x), col="green", lwd=3)

# 6 --
plot(x, sin(x*x), type="l")
lines(x, sin(1/x), col="pink")

Now, when you run it, you get this nifty series of graphs:


Now, let’s say I don’t know R (which is true). I’m looking at this and thinking, “Let’s say I want to show the same function throughout, let’s say sin(x), but over a different interval each time.” So I look for the line of code that seems to indicate the interval. That would be:


But I see that that’s also the default, and I want it to change each time. So I’m going to have it repeat for each graph, but I will change the middle number with each iteration. The adjusted code looks like this (I’m omitting the “lines” function since it isn’t needed now, and I’m making all the graphs blue):

# Goal: To make a panel of pictures of sin(x) at increasing intervals.

par(mfrow=c(3,2)) # 3 rows, 2 columns.

# Now the next 6 pictures will be placed on these 6 regions.

par(col=”blue”) # default colour to blue.

# 1 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

# 2 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

# 3 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

# 4 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

# 5 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

# 6 —
plot(x, sin(x), type=”l”)

And here are the resulting graphs (how pretty):graph2

The tinkering, you see, has just begun. I can fiddle with the colors, bring in a second function, and do all sorts of other things. Even at this basic level, as I do this, I’m learning code while at the same time thinking up new possibilities.

In short, creativity is not elusive or amorphous. It has to do with fiddling around within forms and structures and then pushing outward to something new.

For more on this, see my piece “Curriculum: A Springboard to Creativity” on the Core Knowledge blog. It discusses a brilliant piece by one of my former students. (The word “springboard” relates to the present discussion by coincidence; I didn’t know about Charles Fischer’s work at the time.)

Happy New Year to all!

Image credits: The ad at the top is my own copy, which I purchased on Ebay. The patent figures (Pat. No. 1,578,817) are from the United  States Patent and Trademark Office. The graphs were generated in R.

Note: I made a few minor revisions to this piece after posting it.