(4 of 4)
Dozens of other inventors have come up with schemes, some of them practical, others Rube Goldbergian in their complexity, to beat the fuel shortage. Steven Bear of New Mexico has designed a house with a wall that lowers into the ground to expose still another wall composed of water-filled barrels. The barrels soak up the New Mexico sun on bright days and keep the house warm for as many as two or three sunless days. Harold Hay, 67, of Atascadero, Calif., has built himself a house whose roof is covered by what amounts to a giant waterbed. Roof panels slide back to allow the sun's rays to heat the water-filled bag during the day, close to keep the heat in at night.
Other individual inventors have turned their attention to transportation. Dr. Joachim Lay, 56, who, like Archimedes, finds the bathroom a good place to do his thinking, was just drying off from a shower back in 1972 when the idea for a rotary engine flashed through his mind. Three years and $3,000 later, he patented a rotary engine that he claims is more efficient than the better-known Wankel. Retired Physicist Howard Chapman, 62, and an associate, Alan Tratner, 29, have built a rotary engine they insist is half again as efficient as those used in automobiles today and have refused to be discouraged by the fact that the world has yet to beat a path to their doors. "Inventors just can't help it. They're trapped," explains Chapman. "They just have to keep working on things, coming up with new ideas, making things better."
Chapman's explanation is understandable. Even in the U.S., where ingenuity generally pays off better than almost anywhere else, few individual inventors get rich from their innovations. Some find a certain measure of support in group groping for ideas in cooperative inventor mills. One of these is run by Jack Ryan, inventor of the Barbie doll, who operates an inventors' workshop in the basement of his Bel Air mansion. Those who do not care to be the ward of some modern, moneyed Medici often turn to professional patent services to help them through the bureaucratic tangles of obtaining patents and marketing or licensing their inventions.
Most inventors, however, struggle on alone. Dr. Sam Bessman, 55, a Los Angeles pediatrician, works in a garage to perfect an artificial pancreas. His chances of making money on his invention are small. But Bessman is unconcerned. Says he, discussing the process of invention: "It's like writing a story or composing a symphony or painting a picture; you see something in your mind. It's the greatest experience in the world."
Most of Bessman's fellow inventors, whether they are working in well-equipped laboratories on developing sophisticated electronic instruments, toiling in their attics to perfect products like a snag-free small-boat anchor or an engine that burns cow manure, share his philosophy. Their attitude is encouraging. The world needs better mousetraps as well as solutions to the more pressing problems of feeding its population, powering its machines and cleaning up its air and water. Governments may be able to supply the money and authority to solve these problems, but, as in the past, only ingenuity can provide the technology.