A Final Thought: A Steel-Driving Man

When my grandmother first saw an automobile in the early 1900s in Troup County, Georgia, she ran and hid her head in a haystack. It was too much, too soon. She thought it was a monster.

To see a carriage mysteriously moving down the road without a horse pulling it was astonishing to the people of the time. A carriage simply could not move on its own without a horse pulling it.

It was creepy, spooky, otherworldly.

We humans need time to process change. I remember when the cordless screwdriver first came out. It was actually in the shape of a screwdriver with a long plastic handle and a steel shaft. It was useless. There was not enough room in that slender handle for a motor with reasonable torque nor room for a long-lasting battery.

The “cordless screwdriver” was quickly replaced by the cordless drill, featuring a firm-grip handle and screwdriver bits.

But had we skipped the first cordless screwdrivers and jumped right to the cordless drill, the market would have revolted: “That’s not a screwdriver. It’s a drill! Give me a @#% screwdriver!”

Accepting new technology is difficult.

You may recall John Henry, a “steel-driving man.” His job involved driving steel drills into rock with a large hammer to create holes for explosives used in the construction of railroad tunnels. In The Ballad of John Henry, he is challenged to outwork a newfangled steam-powered drill during the construction of the Great Bend Tunnel in West Virginia in the 1870s.

John Henry won the contest but died from exhaustion immediately afterward. The ballad represents our ongoing struggle against technological advancements and the loss of human labor.

There were things my grandparents could do that I cannot do—plow a field with a mule, slaughter a chicken, can peaches and watermelon rind, make a dress by pumping the metal pedal of a Singer sewing machine, draw water from a well.

And there were things their grandparents could do that they could not—load gunpowder and a lead ball into a musket, spin cotton into thread on a spinning wheel, make it through a whole day without electricity.

Of course, there are things I can do that my young grandsons cannot—change the valve cover gaskets on a 1972 Camaro, churn homemade ice cream, clean a fish, make it through an entire day without playing Roblox online with my friends.

And now we have AI, which will be far more transformative to society than the steam engine.

Last week, I asked ChatGPT, “I am installing black metal cabinets in my garage. What color(s) should I paint the walls?”

In two seconds, it responded, “Your wall color choice can either make the space sleek and modern or feel dark and cramped. Here are some options depending on the vibe you want...”

It went on to give me several options, including “Bright and Clean,” “Modern and Sleek,” “Industrial Garage Vibe,” and “Warm and Inviting.” Each section included design details and the names of suggested colors from both Sherwin-Williams and Benjamin Moore, plus lighting considerations.

It then asked, “Would you like me to mock up a visual example of how these color schemes would look with black cabinets?”

I answered, “Yes, please.” (I always use good manners when dealing with AI, so after it takes over the world, it will remember me as a nice guy.)

Within a minute or so, I received high-resolution, detailed images of my garage with the different wall color options.

This is, of course, child’s play for ChatGPT. Browns’ preseason has begun, so I also like to ask it complex football questions, like “What are the pros and cons of blitzing the weakside linebacker in a third and long situation?”

In less than two seconds, it gave me a long, detailed list of the pros and cons, followed by “a diagram of the defensive alignment and coverage responsibilities for a weak side linebacker blitz to show exactly where the vulnerabilities appear.”

Remember when if you wanted to research The Ballad of John Henry, you had to go to the local library and look it up in a book?

Good times that.

Mitch@MimiVanderhaven.com