There's a genre in science fiction called steampunk. Authors working in this genre imagine a world in which, for some reason, neither the internal combustion engine nor electricity have been invented. Streets are still lit by gas lamps, and the main source of power is the steam engine.
In fact, this is where the name of this movement comes from. “Steam” in English means “steam.” And “punk” means “rottenness, crap,” emphasizing that the authors' views on the development of such a society are closer to the pessimism of H.G. Wells than to the optimism of J.Verne.
The steampunk genre has its admirers, as it creates vintage images that warm the hearts of Victorian-era enthusiasts. It was, indeed, a great and, in its own way, beautiful era for Europe. Yet, quite often, one gets the feeling that one has read about it before. Well, yes, of course! The Strugatsky brothers, “Monday Begins on Saturday”:
Even jewelry was made from Bakelite.
Suddenly, heavy flying machines with membranous, pterodactyl-like wings floated slowly past, not far above the ground. At first, I thought they were all on fire, but then I noticed smoke coming from large conical chimneys. They flew overhead, wings flapping heavily, ash raining down, and someone dropped a gnarled log on me from above.
December 7th marks the anniversary of the invention of Bakelite , one of the first plastics . This also sent me into a steampunk frenzy. I wondered: what would society be like if, for some reason, plastics had never been invented?
A heavy world appeared before my eyes, made of steel and bronze. A world almost black and white, gleaming only on nickel-plated or gold-polished surfaces. A world terribly wasteful, inlaid with fine woods. And at the same time, a world terribly stingy, where the concept of a “disposable item” was unknown. This world resembled a mighty ocean liner. A liner on which each passenger was assigned a cabin, a promenade deck, and a dining room according to their class. Or a place in the hold. Depending on your luck.
Leo Baekeland (1863-1944), the inventor of Bakelite, would hardly have had the chance to stroll the first-class upper deck on such a steamship. He was neither wealthy nor noble, born into a shoemaker's family in the suburbs of the Belgian city of Ghent. Fortunately, Baekeland lived not in a steampunk fantasy, but in real life. Here, walkways had already been laid from the hold to the upper deck. All it took was the strength and wit to climb!
Young Leo was no slouch. He graduated with honors from the Ghent public school, earning the city a scholarship to Ghent University. At 21, Baekeland also graduated with honors from the chemistry department and received a PhD. In 1889, he became a professor at his alma mater and married the daughter of the dean of the chemistry department.
The newlyweds decided to spend their honeymoon in New York. There, Leo Baekeland found work and moved to America permanently. Working for various companies, he spent ten years creating Velox photo paper, which was immediately purchased by Kodak for $1 million. Now, Leo Baekeland had the money to set out on his own. Where to?
According to his own account, L. Baekeland began the work that led to the creation of Bakelite to profit from the invention. Initially, he sought to find a replacement for shellac. It's no coincidence that the word “shellac” rhymes with “varnish.” It was primarily used to paint wooden surfaces. The raw material for varnish was imported from India and Southeast Asia, where it was collected from jungle trees. Despite its value, shellac is simply the excrement of a species of parasitic worm.
While attempting to synthesize shellac, Baekeland began experimenting with resins produced by reacting phenol with formaldehyde. As a result of these experiments, a substitute for natural shellac was discovered and patented. However, contrary to expectations, this invention brought Baekeland neither significant wealth nor fame. However, continued research led to the creation of another polymer resin. When mixed with a filler while hot, it formed a remarkable material: strong, lightweight, and fireproof. This material was insoluble in water or caustic liquids and did not conduct electricity. Furthermore, it was easily machined.
This successful combination of industrially needed properties generated enormous demand for the new substance. It was patented by L. Baekeland on December 7, 1909, under the name “Bakelite.” The scientist also named the company he founded in 1910 “Bakelite.”
Bakelite wasn't the world's first plastic. In 1855, Englishman Alexander Parkes synthesized the first plastic from cellulose, hence the name “celluloid.” However, Bakelite became the first plastic widely used by industry, especially in its new fields: electrical and radio engineering. Bakelite sockets, plugs, and telephones appeared in every home. Soon, the automotive and aviation industries also became interested in the new material.
At one time, even billiard balls and jewelry were made from it. By varying the color of the filler, Bakelite could be made black, or resemble ivory, or reddish, like precious woods. During World War II, when copper was in short supply for industry, the US government even considered issuing Bakelite pennies.
Bakelite wasn't the world's first plastic, but it was the first “true” plastic, the first truly synthetic material. The Bakelite molecule doesn't exist in its “natural form”; it's the result of chemists' work.
Bakelite ushered in the “era of plastics.” The world became lighter, more colorful, and cheaper than before. And far less serious. Today, it resembles less a gloomy ocean liner named Titanic and more a colorful pleasure yacht with frivolous passengers, sailing across the sea.
But the direction of movement apparently remained the same.
