The History Of Screwing
"Screwing was never about the fastener. It was about the struggle." ~Peter Coyote, A Nation Held Together
If you’re any kind of story maker, you are subversive. You don’t want to just get away with it, you want every puritan in the room to tip their capotain.
I have this great headline. Version 1 is “The History Of Screwing.’
Why do I have this headline? Do I have a screw loose? Funny you should ask.
It’s one of two tiny hex screws that reinforce a knob on a tripod involuntarily tipping forward under the ill-distributed combined weight of a Canon EOS C70, a 14” teleprompter, and a 15” Samsung Galaxy S9 tablet.
I am always on the prowl for a new bit. But very few bits start as a bit. Bits sort-of arrive. Even fewer bits start with the need for a hex wrench, which is itself a bit!
But, we don’t call it a hex wrench, do we? What do we call it? That is correct! We call it an Allen wrench. I would love to be able to stop there. But, my brain does not turn off. The only thing that will quiet my brain is to see this through.
So many questions. Who is Allen? Why is Allen always a last name and Alan is always a first name? Why do we have Allen wrenches and no Whitney hammers? We have curved-claw, ball peen, cross peen, straight peen, brick, stonemason, framing, and, my personal favorite, the sledge.
Not one title case hammer in the bunch.
I feel like Seinfeld should already have a bit on this bit. But, screwing around with fasteners is more Gervaisish.
“Oh come on. That’s not a screw, that’s a prank! You try to use it—bloody thing flies off, hits you in the eye, and your dog’s pregnant! I don’t know how. But it happened!”
Turns out, in 1910, William Allen of Allen Manufacturing gets a patent for the hex screw. “It’s a better screw!” Bill tells his friends with a straight face. “Tighter with reduced slippage.”
“Now that’s the stuff of long-term relationships!” jokes William’s brother, Schecky. “No cam-out!”
“Cam-out” is the unintentional disengagement of the screwdriver from the screw head. This happens all the time with regular screws and regular drivers. You’re screwing as hard as you can. Giving it your very best. You think you’re almost there, when suddenly the screwdriver jumps out of the screw head and that’s your slogan!
Allen: Get Your Cam-out!
Something like that.
Here’s the deal. Nobody says, “Pass me the Allen.” They say, “Hand me the Phillips.”
Why?
Because the screw people don’t just have little Billy Allen. They also have Henry Phillips and his screws are designed to cam-out, which saves on bits, in the same way you free subscribers are saving on this bit.
Hank’s wife very much appreciates the self-centering. But, nobody else cares because Phillips can’t close.
Enter John Thompson who rolls in like the Don Draper of torque and says, “Nice patent, Hank. How about I make it marketable?”
Big John tweaks the design and pitches it to General Motors:
THOMPSON
Gentlemen, what if I told you we could cut assembly time, reduce errors, and lower costs—all by changing one screw?
GENERAL MOTORS
Wait—so you're telling us our unskilled labor can screw stuff faster and ruin fewer parts with less injuries?
And with that, assembly lines nationwide suddenly need a special screwdriver. And, you’ll never guess who makes those drivers. The newly formed Phillips Screw Company!
Phillips doesn’t just invent a screw—he invents the need for a proprietary tool to go with it and monetizes both sides. That’s not just hardware. It’s HAAS. Hardware As A Service!
Bottom Line: The intentional cam-out is why today we all hate Phillips (which is made for process) and love the Allen (which was made for people).
The question arises, what to do with this genius bit about a bit?
Venue creates context. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. So, for the sake of this bit having some life, it was a Shark Tank parody or a Ken Burn satire.
Because this is a prestige newsletter, we’re going Ken Burns.
"The History of Screwing: A Nation Held Together"
(Narrated by Peter Coyote. Music by Yo-Yo Ma on cello, playing a single sustained D minor.)
[Fade in: sepia-toned photo of a bent flathead screw on a wooden bench.]
Peter Coyote V.O.
In the beginning, there was the nail… crude, brutish, honest. But the American soul yearned for something more… a device that could fasten two pieces of wood together with force, grace… and a minimally frustrating degree of slippage.
[Black and white footage of a Civil War cannon in need of repair.]
Coyote (cont)
The Flathead screw was born in the mid-18th century—an era of powdered wigs, revolution, and screwdrivers that functioned more like divining rods for pain.
[Cut to photo of Henry F. Phillips, looking smug next to a Cadillac bumper.]
Coyote (cont)
Then came the Phillips screw… a ‘self-centering’ innovation designed to cam-out under pressure—like the nation itself. They said it prevented over-tightening. But veterans of the post-war home assembly movement knew the truth: it stripped more than just the screw—it stripped hope.
[Ken Burns-style pan across a 1950s workshop. A man wipes sweat from his brow. Nearby: a drawer full of mismatched bits.]
Coyote (cont)
By the 1960s, Americans were asking a question that would echo through the suburbs: ‘Where is my fucking 3/32-inch fucking Allen wrench?! Fuck!!!’”
[Cue fiddles. Enter John Thompson.]
Coyote (cont)
Thompson’s screws promise a level of torque, control, and a kind of Protestant satisfaction. But America isn’t ready for that kind of stability. America wants chaos. It wants Allen.
[Cut to a quote from Thomas Jefferson over a photo of drywall anchors.]
‘A nation that cannot fix its own furniture… shall perish from this Earth.’ — T.J.
Peter Coyote (closing):
Screwing… was never about the fastener. It was about the struggle, the turning, and the slipping. But, most of all, it was about the bitter realization that you were turning the wrong way the whole time.
[Fade to black. Cello fades. Credits roll. Sponsored by Blue Apron and Lowe’s.]
