Word: rogerishness
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Diverted Thief. The answering machines are only mildly Buck Rogerish compared with Marcom Inc.'s call diverter. A thumb wheel is set with the number where the owner will be, and incoming calls are transferred there. Lawyer Melvin Belli has one, switches early-morning calls to the hamburger stand where he breakfasts. And since the call is transferred without the caller's being any the wiser, the device should be a boon to wayward husbands or junior executives who have slipped out for a quick pick...
Muroc is the U.S. Air Force's secret test base. Its ships, as un-nautical Air Forcemen insist on calling aircraft, are the latest planes, from the big B-36 to Buck Rogerish craft that are still marked "Top Secret." Muroc is the world's finest landing field. A deliberately overloaded bomber can labor for miles across the lake before it tries the air. An experimental jet fighter of unproved design can be tested and wrung out, with worlds of room for landing if there is a structural or power-plant failure. Muroc's miles & miles...
...request for a 3,000-mile range was proof that the missile men had some hope of solving problems that were regarded a few years ago as Buck Rogerish dreams. A guided missile is no mere pilotless bomber shepherded by a nearby mother plane. According to M.I.T.'s Dr. Karl T. Compton, new chairman of the Research and Development Board, a missile must fly near its target unaccompanied and have some sort of "seeing eye" to recognize the target and steer toward it. Admittedly, this is a large order...
Down from the Orbit. They will have to work on a lot more components too, for satellites are still a post-Buck Rogerish shot toward the future. Though bristling with difficulties, they are theoretically feasible enough to merit serious investigation. If they ever do carry U.S. colors into space, they would have their military uses. Even an uninhabited satellite could serve as an observation post. While orbiting over enemy territory, it might watch behind the lines with telescopes and report its observations by television...
Blow Hot. In an industry noted for its highflying, Buck Rogerish schemers, and its sometimes low-grade economics, Pat Patterson, at 47, is an old killjoy. He is forever crying "Now, wait a minute," when someone wants to jump off the barn with an umbrella for a parachute. He is the No. 1 conservative of the airlines, and proud of the title. He still gets a thrill as an airliner roars up off the runway. But the thrill is enhanced if he knows that all the seats are filled...