THE LAST WORD

THE LAST WORD

DID YOU KNOW?

Sing to Phoebus and the throne of diamonds upon which he sits

On the very eastern edge of the San Francisco Bay Area is the city of Livermore. This was originally a farming community, first producing wheat and then grapes. A Mediterranean climate, gravelly soil, warm days and cool nights produced one of America’s first wine-producing regions. Grain fields gave way to vineyards. By the time the wine industry was established, Livermore would see an innocuous development that would bring it lasting fame.

My candle burns at both its ends, it shall not last the night

In the town’s fire station, a thick, dark, braided cord hangs five metres from the ceiling. At the end is a single bulb. You wouldn’t notice it during the day. In fact, you’d barely notice it at night. The bulb emits a warm, golden, but dim 4 watts of light. If you didn’t know better, you’d suspect it was a trendy piece going for a vintage look. What is remarkable is that this bulb has been lighting the fire station, without interruption or replacement, for 123 years.

What became known on its hundredth birthday as the Livermore Centennial Light has attracted media attention, a place in the official record books and even a webcam where devotees can watch the bulb from around the world.

But the Centennial Light is not a miraculous oneoff. Instead, it was a carefully hand-blown, crafted, carbon-filament filled bulb that was made to last.

If the technology existed in 1901 to create bulbs that could last for decades, even a century, what happened? Why did we spend much of the twentieth century replacing light bulbs that gave up after a year or two?

The Phoebus Cartel

It is a wintery December night in 1924. A group of men gather for a clandestine meeting at the Grand Hotel National in Lucerne, Switzerland. In the interwar era, Switzerland is a favoured place for such meetings. But these men are not spies or diplomats, but executives from the world's leading lightbulb manufacturers.

They come from around the world, representing Osram (Germany), Philips (the Netherlands), General Electric (USA), Associated Electrical Industries (UK), Compagnie des Lampes (France), Tungsram (Hungary), General Electric Sociedad Anonyma (Brazil) and Tokyo Electric (Japan).

They have a clear but audacious plan. They may argue that their aims are laudable - to regulate the global lightbulb market and set worldwide standards. Critics would claim this was a cover for a more insidious plot to dominate and control the global market and to set standards so that bulbs burned out more quickly and needed to be replaced more often.

This was the birth of the Phoebus Cartel and a case story in the long history of planned obsolescence. Before the cartel, many lightbulbs were robust, some lasting for tens of thousands of hours and beyond. Whilst engineers took pride in their longevity,

the salesmen and accountants saw a problem –long-lasting bulbs meant fewer sales. So, they did something audacious: the cartel imposed a 1,000hour lifespan limit on all of their member’s bulbs. Companies that dared to exceed this limit faced hefty fines. To enforce this, they established a central testing laboratory in Switzerland, where bulbs were rigorously scrutinized.

All of this took some effort. By 1924, the average household lightbulb was already technologically beyond the limits that the cartel wanted to impose. How do you go from bulbs that last for 2,400 hours to those that last for a mere 1,000? Depressingly, the energies of the world’s leading electronic companies were spent in turning the clock back on progress.

The cartel's grip on the market was ironclad. They divided the world into territories, fixed prices, and crushed any competition. Independent manufacturers who refused to play ball were targeted and driven out of the industry. The cartel's reach extended even to the burgeoning film industry, where they standardized the lifespan of projector bulbs, ensuring a steady stream of revenue.

But like all conspiracies, the Phoebus Cartel eventually crumbled. The outbreak of World War II disrupted their operations, and antitrust lawsuits in the United States further weakened their hold. By the 1940s, the cartel was effectively dead, its legacy a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked corporate power. ■

This article was provided courtesy of Ian ChapmanCurry, Legal Director in the pensions team at Gowling WLG.and host of the Almost History podcast. www.almosthistorypodcast.com