A Brief History of DayGlo

Photobos/iStock
Photobos/iStock

In 1933, a student at the University of California named Bob Switzer fell and hit his head. He had been removing boxes from a freight car for a summer job when he tumbled off the loading dock and was knocked unconscious.

Months later, Switzer awoke from a coma with blurred vision. To continue his recuperation, his doctor recommended avoiding bright light. His father, a pharmacist, turned his shop's basement into a darkroom for Bob's recovery.

That sparked Bob’s interest in ultraviolet, or black, light. Bob's younger brother, Joe, was a chemistry student and an amateur magician who was also interested in the black arts—playing with ultraviolet light and fluorescence (not sorcery) to create the illusion of objects appearing and disappearing on a darkened stage. Hoping to find chemical compounds that would glow in UV light, the brothers mixed the pharmacy’s supply of Murine eye wash with alcohol and white shellac, which created a fluorescent yellow substance under black lights.

The Switzer brothers’ breakthrough would eventually lead to their development of a dazzling fluorescent rainbow of pigments, which they trademarked as DayGlo colors. From traffic-cone orange to Pepto Bismol pink to yellow the shade of Mountain Dew, DayGlo’s colors have been used in industrial machinery, safety equipment, and psychedelic posters. The eye-popping palette has been saving lives and expanding consciousness for more than eight decades.

At first, Joe put the yellow dye to work in his magic show. In his signature act, a woman appeared on a darkened stage wearing a costume and headdress of fluorescent painted paper. Lit only by UV light, Joe would take the woman’s headdress off in one direction while the woman danced in the opposite direction, so her head appeared to separate from her body. With this trick, Joe won the prize at the Pacific Coast Association of Magicians in 1934 and created a fan base willing to spend $10 a pint for fluorescent paints. Bob and Joe thus established their first company, Fluor-S-Art Co.

By the summer of 1935 the Switzers had moved to Cleveland, where they worked for a subsidiary of Warner Brothers, creating dramatic special-effects scenes called “midnight paintings” for movie theater lobbies. The glowing tableaux appeared to transform when a black spotlight switched to a white light. This effect worked well in the darkness of theaters. But when the brothers tried to branch out to painting traditional billboards and store advertisements, regular white light sources faded the colors.

Bob and Joe continued to experiment, hoping to create a luminous paint that shined in daylight. In 1936 they created their first batch of pigments that reflected visible color from the spectrum, while also absorbing and transforming UV wavelengths of colors lower in the spectrum. As a result, viewers perceived a more intense, dazzling color. The first products were patented in 1937 as DayGlo fluorescents.

Initially, DayGlo colors were used for commercial advertisements. But when World War II erupted, the dyes found a new niche. The military spent $12 million on DayGlo dyes for safety applications like flags or painted signals that could be seen by airplanes 10,000 feet in the air, buoys that marked where underwater mines had been cleared, and suits worn by aircraft carrier crew to guide nighttime plane landings. Thanks to the colors’ use in safety fabrics, Joe and Bob Switzer became very rich.

During this time, the Switzers also developed black light penetrants, a type of pigment that reveals flaws in machinery when painted on the metal parts and exposed to UV light. Patented as Magnaglo and Zyglo, they became widely used by the U.S. Air Force for ensuring the integrity of airplane parts.

Tide laundry detergent bottles
Justin Sullivan/Getty Images

After World War II, Bob and Joe founded Switzer Brothers, Inc., later renamed the DayGlo Color Corporation. The company continued its production of flaw-revealing pigments, but now began to experiment with producing daylight fluorescent colors for consumer product packaging. In 1957, the company patented a process that combined fluorescent dye with a polymer, which gave the dye greater light stability for use as outdoor paints as well as in traditional printing applications.

The company convinced advertisers to adopt its super-fluorescent inks and papers, and in 1959, Proctor & Gamble opted to package its Tide laundry detergent, the first heavy-duty synthetic soap, in the Switzers' Blaze Orange hue. Soon, the DayGlo fad expanded from supermarket shelves to clothing, toys, and rock n’ roll posters in the 1960s. Pop artists like Peter Max and Andy Warhol incorporated psychedelic colors into trippy paintings and lithographs.

DayGlo eventually reached the zenith of pop culture relevance when the Beatles wore military-style suits in DayGlo colors on the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in 1967.

The Switzer brothers’ legacy shines on in their rainbow of trademark high-visibility tones—Saturn Yellow, Blaze Orange, Aurora Pink, Neon Red, Corona Magenta, Signal Green and many more—that are found on everything from food wrappers to public safety workers today.

In 2012, the American Chemical Society awarded DayGlo Color Corporation a national historic chemical landmark designation for the development of its pigments, citing the Switzer brothers' inventions as a “symbol of safety and protection that improve our daily lives.”

In the 1800s, Drinking Too Much Tea Could Get a Woman Sent to an Insane Asylum

The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images
The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images

If you were a woman in the 19th century, virtually anything could get you committed to an insane asylum—including drinking too much tea.

NHS Grampian Archives, which covers the region around Scotland’s Grampian mountains, dug up an admissions record from the Aberdeen Lunatic Asylum while looking into the institution’s annual reports from the 1840s. The table contains data on causes of admissions categorized by sex. In addition to those admitted to the asylum for “prolonged nursing,” “poverty,” or “disappointment in love” (one man and one woman admitted for that one!), one woman arrived at the asylum only to have her issues blamed on “sedentary life—abuse of tea.”

Intrigued by the diagnosis, someone at the archives tracked down more details on the patient and posted the case notes on Facebook. Naturally, her condition involved more than just a little too much Earl Grey. Elizabeth Collie, a 34-year-old factory worker, was admitted in November 1848 after suffering from delusions, specifically delusions about machines.

Her files state that “she imagines that some species of machinery has been employed by her neighbors in the house she has been living in, which had the effect of causing pain and disorder in her head, bowels, and other parts of the body.”

Asylum employees noted that ”no cause [for her condition] can be assigned, except perhaps the excessive use of tea, to which she has always been much addicted.” She was released in June 1849.

A letter to the editors of The British Medical Journal in 1886 suggests that the suspicion of women’s tea-drinking habits was not unique to Aberdeen mental health institutions. One doctor, J. Muir Howie—who once served as a regional president for the Royal Medical Society of Edinburgh, so we can assume he was relatively respectable—wrote to the publication:

Would you kindly allow me to draw attention to the fact that, among women at least, the abuse of tea frequently leads to the abuse of alcohol! My experience in connection with a home for inebriate women has led me to this conclusion. Many of the inmates, indeed, almost all of them, were enormous tea-drinkers before they became victims to alcoholic dipsomania. During their indulgence in alcohol, they rarely drink much tea; but, as soon as the former cut off, they return to the latter. In many instances, alcohol was first used to relieve the nervous symptoms produced by excessive tea drinking.

Ah, women. So susceptible to mania and vice. It's a miracle any of us stay out of the madhouse.

Remembering Tom Dempsey, the Toeless NFL Kicker Who Set a 43-Year Field Goal Record

Kicker Tom Dempsey #19 of the Philadelphia Eagles kicks off against the Washington Redskins during an NFL football game at Veterans Stadium November 10, 1974 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Kicker Tom Dempsey #19 of the Philadelphia Eagles kicks off against the Washington Redskins during an NFL football game at Veterans Stadium November 10, 1974 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Focus on Sport/Getty Images

On April 4, 2020 former NFL legend Tom Dempsey—who set a field goal record with the New Orleans Saints nearly 50 years ago—passed away in New Orleans at the age of 73. It has been reported that Dempsey, who has been battling Alzheimer's disease and dementia since 2012, contracted coronavirus in March and his death was the result of complications from COVID-19. Read on to learn more about Dempsey's remarkable life.

 
 

Things weren't looking good for the New Orleans Saints on the evening of November 8, 1970, during a televised game against the Detroit Lions at Tulane Stadium. Though Saints quarterback Billy Kilmer had managed to connect with receiver Al Dodd on a 17-yard pass that stopped the clock, New Orleans was still down 17-16 with just two seconds left in the game. Worse yet, they were on their own 37-yard line—leaving 63 yards between them and the end zone.

Saints head coach J.D. Roberts, who had only been hired the week before, huddled with offensive coordinator Don Heinrich to quickly consider their options. There weren’t any. Suddenly, kicker Tom Dempsey, who had joined the team the year before, materialized. “I can kick it,” Dempsey told Roberts.

Dempsey would later recall that he didn’t know exactly how far the ball had to travel or that it would be an NFL record if he nailed it. If he had, he said, maybe he would’ve gotten too nervous and shanked it. But kicking the ball was what Dempsey did, even though he was born with only half of a right foot.

Heinrich sighed. There was no other choice. “Tell Stumpy to get ready,” he said.

 

Dempsey was born on January 12, 1947, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and later moved with his family to California. As a student at San Dieguito High School in Encinitas, California, Dempsey appeared unbothered by the congenital defect that resulted in a partial right foot and four missing fingers on his right hand. Dempsey wrestled and ran track. In football, he used his burly frame—he would eventually be 6 feet, 2 inches tall and weigh 255 pounds—to clobber opposing players as an offensive lineman. When coaches wanted to send opponents flying, they called in Dempsey.

After high school, Dempsey went on to attend Palomar Junior College in San Marcos, California, where he played football as a defensive end. At one point, when the team was in need of a kicker, the coach asked his players to line up and do their best to send the ball in the air. None kicked harder or farther than Dempsey, who became the kicker for the team and performed while barefoot, wrapping the end of his foot in athletic tape.

Tom Dempsey's modified football shoe is pictured
Tom Dempsey's modified football shoe.
Bullock Texas State History Museum

Playing at Palomar prepared Dempsey for a dual role as both lineman and kicker. But his strength, which made him so formidable on the field, occasionally got him into trouble on the sidelines, and he would eventually be kicked off the Palomar team for punching one of his coaches. After the incident, Dempsey tried out for the Green Bay Packers but found the physicality of professional players a little too much for him to handle. Rather than get into on-field collisions as an offensive lineman, he decided to focus solely on the aptitude he seemed to have for kicking. He eventually earned a spot on the San Diego Chargers practice squad in 1968. There, head coach Sid Gillman decided to encourage his choice of position—with some modifications.

Gillman enlisted an orthopedist to help develop a special leather shoe for Dempsey to wear. The boot had a block of leather 1.75 inches thick at one end and was mostly flat. Instead of kicking it soccer-style, as most players do today, Dempsey was able to use his leg like a mallet and hammer the ball with a flat, blunt surface.

The shoe, which cost $200 to fabricate, came in handy when Dempsey joined the Saints in 1969. He made 22 out of 41 field goals his rookie year and found himself in the Pro Bowl. But the 1970 season was comparatively dismal, and the Saints were holding a 1-5-1 record when they met the Detroit Lions on that night in November.

With two seconds left, “Stumpy” (Dempsey found the nickname affectionate rather than offensive) trotted onto the field. At 63 yards, he would have to best the then-record set by Baltimore Colts kicker Bert Rechichar in 1953 by seven yards.

No one appeared to think this was within the realm of possibility—you could almost hear a chuckle in CBS commentator Don Criqui's voice when he announced that Dempsey would be attempting the feat. Even the Lions seemed apathetic, not overly concerned with attempting to smother the play.

The ball was snapped by Jackie Burkett and received by Joe Scarpati, who gave it a quarter-turn. Dempsey remembered advice once given to him by kicking legend Lou “The Toe” Groza: Keep your head down and follow through. He took a step toward the ball and swung his leg like a croquet mallet, smashing into the football with a force that those on or near the field compared to a loud bang or a cannon. It sailed 63 yards to the goal post, which at the time was positioned directly on the goal line, and just made it over the crossbar.

Below, the referee threw his hands in the air to indicate the kick was good, punctuating it with a little hop of excitement. Dempsey was swarmed by his teammates and coaches. Don Criqui’s attitude in the booth quickly switched from amusement to incredulity. The Saints had won, 19-17.

“I don’t believe this,” Criqui exclaimed.

Neither could fans. In an era before instant replay, ESPN, or YouTube, you either caught Dempsey’s game-winning play or you heard about it at work or school the next week. Owing to its fleeting existence in the moment, schoolyards and offices filled with stories about how Dempsey’s boot may have somehow been augmented with a steel plate or other modification to boost his kicking prowess.

No such thing occurred, though that didn’t stop criticism. Tex Schramm, an executive with the Dallas Cowboys and chairman of the NFL’s competition committee, thought the shoe was an unfair advantage that allowed Dempsey to smash the ball like a golf club hitting a dimpled target. In 1977, the NFL instituted the “Tom Dempsey Rule,” which mandates that anyone and everyone has to wear a shoe shaped like a full foot. There would be no more allowances for special orthopedic shapes.

Dempsey appeared to take it all in stride. Shortly after his victorious kick, he received a letter from President Richard Nixon congratulating him on his inspirational demonstration. Immediately after the game, police officers went in to congratulate him by handing him cases of Dixie beer. Dempsey's girlfriend (and future wife) Carlene recalled that he didn’t come home for days due to rampant partying. When he finally settled down, they got married.

 

Dempsey spent a total of 11 years in the NFL, playing for the Saints, the Philadelphia Eagles, the Los Angeles Rams, the Houston Oilers, and finally the Buffalo Bills. In total, he made 159 field goals out of 258 attempts. For the next several decades, he would work as a salesman in the oil industry and manage a car lot before retiring in 2008 and settling down back near New Orleans. Over the years, Dempsey made several appearances at autograph shows, where he was regularly peppered with questions about the one kick that defined his career.

Almost as amazing as the kick was its attrition in the record books. While several other men managed to tie Dempsey’s record, it wasn’t until Matt Prater of the Denver Broncos kicked a 64-yard field goal on December 8, 2013, that it was finally broken—almost 43 years to the day. Some observers note that most of these notable field goals took place in Denver, where the air is thin and presumably more hospitable to kicking for distance. Dempsey managed it in New Orleans—and without toes.

Curiously, Dempsey’s legendary play was actually foreshadowed one year earlier. On October 5, 1969, he kicked a 55-yard field goal in Los Angeles. That was just one yard shy of the record he would obliterate the following year.

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