The Dabblers

"Few self-respecting professional 'inventors' have felt their mission to be fulfilled until they have 'invented' a lock of some kind." Henry R. Towne

In the 19th century the problem of security was at the forefront of mechanical curiosity. The Royal Society in England held many forums on the topic of mechanical locks and early American patents are riddled with curious lock improvements. It seemed like everyone and anyone felt compelled to try their hand at lock manufacturing. Presented here are a few of the would-be lock makers who went on to great success in other endeavors.

JACOB PERKINS

Jacob Perkins holds one of the earliest American lock patents for a "Vault Lock for Banks." In the US patent system it is predated only by Abraham Stansbury's Egyptian lock. Sadly, the records of this patent were destroyed in the fire of 1836. A quick peek at some of his other patents, though, reveals some of his future success:

• 92X Jan 16 1795 Machine for Cutting Nails
• 236X Feb 14 1799 Making Nails
• 241X Mar 19 1799 Check to detect counterfeits
• 382X Jul 09 1802 Pump
• 1319X Jun 16 1810 Copperplate Printing and mode of preventing counterfeits
• 1340X Jul 17 1810 Nail Machine, etc.
• 1902X Mar 23 1813 Vault locks for banks
• 1903X Mar 23 1813 Pumps
• 1955X Jun 26 1813 Water mill

As it turns out, the nail cutting operation would make him his fortune. In a curious precursor to the mechanical rivalries that would spring up in lock engineering, there was, for a great time in all nations, a desperate need for the rapid production of cheap nails. While a few inventors staked claims to being first, Perkins among them, he was certainly the most successful. At the time of his invention the average price for a pound of nails in the US was twenty-five cents. In the years following his invention, and the advent of several others, the price dropped considerably. By 1828 the price per pound was eight cents and finally hit bottom in 1842 at a price of three cents per pound.

With the money this brought in he was able to reinvigorate another passion, banknote printing. Despite his patent for copperplate printing, his major innovation in the industry was to switch to steel plates. This allowed for the production of many times the number of notes that their copper forebears could produce before wearing out. After some limited domestic success, he took his operation to Europe where he secured a contract to produce engraving plates for the Bank of Scotland.

Not one to rest on his laurels, he turned his attention to the production of accurate instruments for sailing vessels. He invented the Bathometer, a device for accurately recording depth by means of measuring the pressure of the water. More interesting, though, is his invention of the Orthometer and Pleometer. He trapped mercury in a horizontal tube, each end of which was turned upward at 90 degrees and enough mercury provided to partially rise into each end. The devices would be fixed to the ships cabin, one parallel to the keel, the other perpendicular. When the ship tilted or dove, the mercury levels would become unequal in the two ends. The difference in height could be measured and those measurements translated to accurate changes in the position of the ship.

Finally, and one invention perhaps not suggested by his early patents, he developed a steam powered machine gun. In the age of single shot weapons, his steam gun was able to pump out 500-1000 steel balls per minute with a penetrating power enough to pierce a 1/4 inch steel plate and even sported a movable joint for shooting around corners. The military never took him up on the design, so Perkins built the National Gallery of Practical Science, in which he prominently displayed his steam gun.

Despite success in all his myriad mechanical experiments, the one that remained unfulfilled was the lock.

E. B. DENISON

Edmund Beckett Denison was, by all accounts, a jerk. However, he also possessed a very clever mechanical mind. He was described as being convinced that he knew more than anybody about everything, and frustratingly, was often correct in that assumption. He found himself catapulted to prominence when he was assigned to oversee the bids for the contract to design Big Ben. Dissatisfied by any of the proposals, he created his own, which was accepted by the other judge assigned and eventually built. Not only did he design the mechanism, but also contributed to the creation of the bell. Which cracked. Twice.

Being that he was active during the middle of the 19th century, he became swept up, as so many did, in the great lock controversy of 1851. He wrote articles, eventually a book, simply titled Clocks and Locks, and repeatedly lectured at the Royal Institute. After a long study of the locks of the day, he finally set about creating his own. He convinced some local manufacturers to produce a small number that he could give to friends and show at his lectures and even had some interest from a lock manufacturing firm in producing them, but in the end his lock never caught on. Perhaps it was his fervent refusal to participate in the British Patent system, which at that time was the benchmark for a quality lock and an assurance for lock manufacturers that they could legally protect their investment.

By all accounts his lock was well thought out, though not at all unique. It was repeatedly claimed that A.C. Hobbs said that Denison's proposed lock was the only in all of England that could not be picked, however, he was also on the record as stating plainly that there was nothing at all new in the invention, just a rearrangement of other people's ideas. The principle innovation that Denison touted was a very light key that could operate a very heavy mechanism. The heavier the mechanism, the more secure against forcible entry. He accomplished this by removing the spring bias of the tumblers and separating the action of the key from the pulling of the bolt. The key merely raised the tumblers to the proper height, with only gravity to return them to their resting position. With the key inserted a handle would then be turned. The handle would retract the bolt, leaving the key to simply sit in place. He also integrated a curtain mechanism that theoretically blocked any tool from entering the keyway and manipulating the tumblers.

He certainly sang his own praises and even managed to get some others to sing them quite loudly, with Johnson's Universal Cyclopedia professing, as late as 1886, that it was "Perhaps the best English Lock." However, his detractors were vociferous. From The Mechanics Magazine, Jan-Jun 1858:

They are not likely to be made for sale. They have been puffed, as in the present instance, for six years, but no patent exists and no maker has yet been foolish enough to spend money on them. It cannot be said that they have yet been picked, because there has been none made for sale...To conclude; after all the vaunting which we have heard of Mr. Denison's skill, and all the hauter with which he has treated sound practical men whenever they have ventured to question his proud pretensions, we have at last to confess that his reputation as a man of practical science rests upon a cracked bell and a gimcrack lock, and that we really cannot recommend to the public the services of E. B. Denison, Locksmith and Bell-hanger.

He was a remarkable character, and while he certainly upset a number of eminent figures in nearly every professional trade he tried his hand at, he also contributed a number of innovative ideas and did it all at his own expense with a mentality that many in today's open source movement would have recognized immediately. A final note, and most of the reason I wanted him on this list, was that he eventually became "Lord Grimthorpe" which sounds precisely like the sort of super villain that would make liberal use of steam powered machine guns.

JOHN DILLINGHAM

Poor John Dillingham never seemed to enjoy the sort of success that the other dabblers did, but he is included on this list both for his absolutely fascinating and near comically complex lock as for the curious nature of his other, more successful endeavor; the cultivation of silkworms in Maine.

There was a time when the United States wanted desperately to reduce their dependence on foreign silk. To this end, many states began offering bounties on domesticated silkworms to encourage a domestic silk industry. As money was up for grabs many people got in on the action, there was only one big hurdle to overcome; Silkworms can only eat the leaves of Mulberry trees. In Maine, Dillingham's home state, there was a common belief that the Mulberry could not withstand the harsh winters, so despite the bounties being offered by the state government, no one was leading the charge. Dillingham, firm in his belief that a Maine silk industry would get his communities wives and daughters out of the fields, pushed forward. With 3 friends he managed to cultivate a grove of 100 Mulberry Trees and start breeding silkworms. In 1841 he sent a letter to the State Legislature which petitioned them for an additional bounty on mulberry trees and included a sample skein of silk they had managed to produce.

And here is the proof, or in other words the die is cast, the State of Maine is destined to become a silk growing distreck, and may be one of the richest and happiest state in the union. What is to prevent us from becoming so? Apathy on the part of ourselves, and neglect on the part of those whose province it is to nurture and protect the public interest.

Unfortunately, whether by apathy or neglect, and despite a number of other people trying their hand at it, domestic silk production never really took hold in Maine the way Dillingham had hoped.

His lock, though, is at least as fascinating as his prior enterprise. It consists of 6 unique keyholes, several integrated locking mechanisms and a double-sided, triple-bitted key.

One valuable, important, and novel feature of this new-formed key is, the use of both its ends to operate in the several divisions of this lock; and without a knowledge of the co-operation of these opposite ends, one might find himself baffled to operate, even with the use of this, its proper key.

Bafflement was an appropriate goal. He does an admirable job of describing the function in detail, and while republishing the entirety of his patent would be lazy and page-consuming, here are some highlights:

When the flange "a" passes into the lock, a half turn puts it into a position to pass through another opening, formed like the first, into a second division of the lock, and at the same time the first flange "a" is passing the second opening, the second flange "c" is passing the first opening "d".

He is describing inserting the key into the first keyhole for the purpose of locking this lock. Once inserted you turn the key 180 degrees. This aligns the head of the key to pass into an interior key hole and the "middle-bit" to pass into the original key hole. You press the key in past the interior keyhole then start turning. As each bit comes around they apply force to a "vibrating plate" that in turn connects, through a hinged intermediary mechanism, to the bolt. As the vibrating plate rotates, the hinged connector rocks back and forth, slowly pushing the bolt out. However, this is simply the first phase of the locks operation, you must move on to the 2nd keyway.

This...key passes through this...key-hole and there operates on what has been denominated a plunger. Said plunger works back and forward as the case requires. When it is thrown one way, it throws the pawls out of gear at one end of the said main bolt, and throws the pawls into gear at the opposite end of this same bolt.

Basically, the device inside the second keyway changes the direction the vibrating plate mechanism will pull the bolt. Skipping this step will prevent you from being able to unlock this beast, even with the key, in the future. One set of intermediaries are disengaged and the "unlocking" set are engaged. On to the third key hole!

The key, as described above, will be used in this case by changing ends; it enters this third opening, and turns a pair of bolts. This movement slides a plate over every opening, and effectually closes every other opening or key-hole in said lock...And again, this same key continues, and enters a second department and there operates on another pair of bolts and by this means the last mentioned pair of bolts are made fast and immovable.

So, at the 3rd keyhole you once again pass into the opening, turn 180 degrees to align the "middle bit" to the outer opening and pass deeper into the lock. Turning the key again, each bit will press a bolt into place, fully locking this complex lock. The motion also pulls a plate over every other key hole so that no key or tool can fit into them until they are reset via this key hole. There is also a sprung guard that comes down after you remove the key, so that to the outside observer, this keyway looks just the same as all the others that are now blocked.

But, what about the other 3 keyways? Well, the 4th is actually relievingly useful:

This small key, or day-key, or clerks key...can operate and throw back and forward a pair of bolts. And, as this division is intended for day use, and if the clerks are provided with the small keys, they may operate on this fourth division, but cannot on any other part of the lock; but the proprietor, with his principal key, can render this small key entirely nugatory.

Basically - there is a separate keyhole & simple bolt that clerks at your business could use for when they need to deposit money, make change, etc. So, the elaborate key swapping, multi-hole locking and unlocking procedure is only intended to secure the lock overnight. This is actually a smart feature of an otherwise overly complex and not particularly secure lock. Oh, and the other 2 keyholes? They are just there to be confusing. They appear to have no mechanical function whatsoever.

Considering the complexity of this lock, which, at the end of the day relies entirely on an attacker being unable to understand what's happening, rather than on any of the then-proven tumbler-based mechanisms, it is no shock that Mr. Dillingham didn't find any commercial success in the lock trade.

This list could go on nearly indefinitely. There are hundreds if not thousands of never-realized lock patents. So why did every mechanical mind in the 19th century take their shot at inventing a lock? I believe it is because for so many other endeavors in that period there were concrete problems that had very real and very permanent solutions, and discovering that solution could make you both rich and famous. Whether it was cutting & heading nails in one operation, making an incredibly accurate clock, or learning to plant your mulberry trees on high, arid ground, once you solved the problem you could rest easy knowing that you had solved something fundamental. With locks, however, you are not battling just with nature or machines, you are trying to best every other clever human mind. Locks have been evolving for thousands of years and there is no end in sight. The person who commits him or herself to the design and production of a lock cannot just stop when their patent comes in or their product hits the shelves. It is a lifelong, if not multi-generational commitment to the pursuit of a single, unattainable goal. Perfect security.

That quip of Henry Towne at the top of the chapter may have sounded encouraging out of context. Here is the complete quote, from his treatise 'Locks and Builder's Hardware.'

Few self-respecting professional "inventors" have felt their mission to be fulfilled until they have "invented" a lock of some kind. Apparently there is a fascination in the subject which they cannot resist, however complete their ignorance of the past achievements and present development of the art, and so each incontinently proceeds to "invent" things which, while new to his untutored mind, are usually already well-known, occasionally in successful use, but more frequently long since consigned to the limbo of useless and discarded schemes.