Curiosities 19 - The Origin of the Black Box
João Henrique Barboza Jorgetto • Nov 21, 2023
In 1934, aviation was still in its infancy in distant Australia, but unfortunately, a plane crash occurred on October 19th, killing eight men, three women, and a child. A small plane went missing while passing through Bass Strait. Remember this place? Yes, in the same region where Valentich would mysteriously disappear in 1978.
Among these men who disappeared into the sea was Hubert Warren, an Anglican missionary who had just taken up a parish in Sydney and was traveling there to take up his new post. His family, however, chose to travel by ship and ended up saving themselves from the tragic fate that the father of the family encountered. One of his sons, David, still eight years old, had just received a radio from his father, the last gift he gave him before the tragedy.
David Warren ended up living at a boarding school in Tasmania, and his favorite pastime was radio. Beyond just listening, David was passionate about understanding how that object worked and soon began studying the device, assembling small radios and selling them to his fellow students. With good communication and very focused, young Warren ended up leaving his family's dream of seeing him become a great priest aside. He ended up diving into scientific studies, all motivated by the love of the present that always reminded him of his father. He had barely turned 30 and already had a Science degree from the University of Sydney, another in Education from the University of Melbourne, and even a PhD in Chemistry from Imperial College London—a true genius.
His career was linked from the beginning to rockets, and soon, he worked as a researcher at the Australian government's Aeronautical Research Laboratory. His story began to change When, in 1953, he was called to participate in a panel of experts to find the reason behind so many fatal accidents with the British DeHavilland Comet commercial plane. His experience with fuel could help resolve the doubt as to whether tanks were the main perpetrators of so many fatalities. Among the dozens of causes discussed, ranging from pilot training to design failure, a hypothesis put forward by one of the participants for a specific accident caught Warren's attention. Someone among the experts spoke of the possibility of kidnapping, and this immediately made Warren remember a small device he had seen at one of the first technology fairs in Europe held after World War II, where a German portable recording device called Miniphon. What if a similar device could record all pilot conversations and aircraft data? What if this device was resistant to heavy falls? Indeed, we would know a lot more about what happened in the accidents.
David got an accurate cold shower when he told his superiors about his idea in Australia. Without any vision, his leader reminded him that he was not on the devices team but rather a fuel researcher. His boss needed to be promoted so that Warren could finally find someone he believed in his project. The new boss was intrigued by the idea and asked Warren to continue with his research, even approving the purchase of a Miniphon, as long as he never spoke about the research to anyone, at the risk of dismissal, as it was not officially a project of the government and much less anything linked to your department.
A report that was sent to the industry emerged from the initial ideas. The reactions were not at all positive at first, as the Australian Pilots Association considered it an espionage attempt, and the Australian Civil Aviation Agency itself thought that it would be a device that would "capture a rain of swear words for little explanation." But Warren was so stubborn that he decided to build a device from radio parts in his garage. The world's first black box was born there.
1958, with the device ready, Warren received a visit from the chief superintendent of his department along with the Commander of the British Air Registration Board, the aviation regulatory body for the entire United Kingdom, Robert Hardingham. The English soldier was fascinated by the idea and asked David to rush to England to show his invention to his superiors, but of course, in secret so as not to generate disputes with the Australian government. All said and done, Warren was on a plane heading to England within a few weeks. His invention was even used during the flight, and, incredible as it may seem, it also recorded data from a breakdown that turned off an engine during the crossing of the Mediterranean. The plane continued anyway, and Warren would finally have his project recognized.
The demonstration was so interesting (including data on his turbulent flight) that he even became a momentary celebrity in the land of the Queen. Radio and TV wanted an interview with the man with the brilliant idea. At the same time, the British Aviation Agency was beginning studies to make that invention a mandatory item on aircraft. Companies in the sector already consulted the laboratory where Warren worked to start manufacturing it. The name "black box" would even come from an interview with Warren where the journalist used the term to try to explain that they were boxes with obscure functions. It is worth mentioning that the first "black box" was already orange, a color that is easy to spot even amid debris or in the forest, as the color orange is not very common in vegetation (unless it goes well in a plantation of oranges, then it would be complicated).
Warren was only recognized in 1999, almost 50 years after his invention, receiving a medal from the Australian Institute of Energy and Science, and in 2002, he became an "Officer of the Order of Australia," an honor recognizing his dedication and success as an inventor. And money? Well, David never got anything for the rights to his invention. When asked if this made him feel bad, he always replied, "Yes, the government took all the credit for that, although they never charged me for the projects I did that went wrong." His keen sense of humor remained with him until he died in 2010. At his father's request, his coffin contained his catchphrase, "I'm one hell of a lucky guy," and an instruction saying, "Coffin of the inventor of the black box: do not open. "
We will never know how many lives were saved by the countless data and information collected in his invention, which helped the global aeronautical industry become as safe as it is today.