Nine Fingers Should Be Enough, Right?

I’ve talked before about babyproofing our apartment, but as we work our way around the place, bolting things down and tying up power cords, I’ve come to realize that a couple of things simply can’t be done. That floor lamp that’s a little top-heavy? We’re just going to have to keep him away from it. The bowl of cat food on the floor? Well, we’ll point him away from that. And then there are the electric fans.

Let me explain. I am a relentless collector. Given my druthers, I’d furnish my apartment mostly with stuff made before 1960, apart from the odd 21st-century incursion involving Internet access. (Since you were wondering: My wife is a tolerant and sane soul, who has a gentle way of talking me out of some of the dumber purchases I’ve considered.) Most of my music is on LPs; quite a bit of my radio listening takes place on a Philco vacuum-tube console, built in 1938.  And on warm spring days, we open the windows and run an electric fan in every room. Most of those fans are early-20th-century models, with cast-iron bases, powerful and heavy motors, and gleaming metal blades. The one in the photo above was built in 1907, and moves a ton of air.

I used to look at these things and say, “What a lovely piece of antique technology—one that still works.” And now I look at them and say, “Quickie amputation.” They’re not powerful enough to take off an adult’s finger—I’ve gotten dinged a couple of times when repairing them—but a baby’s is another matter. Eighty years ago, there was no OSHA; the thinking was “You don’t want your fingers slashed? Don’t poke the fan, kid.”

For now, they will go on high shelves and counters, with their power cords snaked behind the furniture. And after the first close call… well, maybe my wife will have a good idea.