Microwave Oven

You could say I’ve always been a tinkerer. My name is Percy Spencer, and even though I never had much in the way of formal schooling, I’ve always had a burning curiosity about how things work. My hands just itch to take things apart and put them back together again. After the incredible challenges of World War II, I found myself working at a company called Raytheon, a place that felt like a wizard’s workshop. It was humming with futuristic technology. My particular corner of this world involved working with magnetrons. Now, that’s a fancy word, but think of them as the powerful heart inside radar systems. They are special vacuum tubes that generate invisible, high-powered waves called microwaves. During the war, these waves were our unseen eyes, sent out into the sky to detect enemy aircraft from miles away. It was my job to make these magnetrons better, more powerful, and more reliable. I spent my days surrounded by humming machinery and the crackle of energy, never once imagining that one of these powerful tubes was about to change kitchens all around the world, all because of a sweet treat I had tucked away in my pocket.

It was an ordinary day in 1945, just like any other at the lab. I was walking past one of our active radar sets, a new magnetron humming away as it was being tested. As I passed, I felt a peculiar warming sensation, but I thought little of it at first. A few moments later, I reached into my pocket for the peanut cluster bar I’d been saving for a snack. Instead of a solid, nutty treat, my fingers found a sticky, gooey mess. The candy bar had completely melted into a syrupy puddle. Now, another person might have been annoyed. They might have grumbled about their ruined snack and a messy pocket. But my mind didn’t see a mess; it saw a mystery. I wasn’t standing next to a stove or a heater. The air in the lab was cool. So what could have possibly melted my candy bar so thoroughly and so quickly? I looked back at the magnetron, humming with invisible power. A thrilling question sparked in my mind, a question that would not let me go: could the microwaves from that tube have cooked my candy? That single, messy moment of discovery was the beginning of everything.

My curiosity was a fire that had to be fueled. I couldn't just let the idea go; I had to test it. I sent a boy out to fetch a bag of popcorn kernels, my mind racing with possibilities. Back in the lab, I held the bag of kernels near the magnetron tube and switched it on. My colleagues gathered around, skeptical but intrigued. At first, nothing happened. Then, a single kernel trembled. A moment later, it burst into a fluffy white puff. Then another, and another! Soon, popcorn was exploding out of the bag, dancing through the air and scattering all over the laboratory floor. We were all laughing with astonishment. It worked! The invisible waves were cooking. Feeling bolder, my next experiment involved an egg. I placed a raw egg in a kettle and positioned it in front of the magnetron. One of my colleagues, naturally curious himself, leaned in for a closer look just as the egg began to shake violently. Before I could warn him, the egg exploded, splattering hot yolk all over his face! After we cleaned him up, we realized what was happening. The microwave energy was making the tiny water molecules inside the food vibrate and dance so fast that they generated intense heat from the inside out, cooking the food with incredible speed.

With proof that my idea worked, the next step was to build something that could harness this power safely. We created a metal box to contain the microwaves and direct them at the food. The very first microwave oven was born, and we called it the 'Radarange.' But this was no kitchen gadget you could place on your countertop. It was a true behemoth! The first Radarange stood nearly six feet tall and weighed over 750 pounds—that’s heavier than a grand piano. And it cost a fortune, thousands of dollars! Because of its immense size and cost, the Radarange wasn't for homes. Its first jobs were in places that needed to heat food fast, like on ships, in military bases, and in large restaurants. It took many more years of innovation for engineers to shrink the technology, making it smaller, safer, and affordable enough for an ordinary family. It’s amazing to think that the microwave oven sitting in millions of kitchens today started with me, a simple tinkerer who, instead of getting upset about a melted candy bar, decided to ask, 'Why?'. It just goes to show you that sometimes the most world-changing inventions don't come from a grand plan, but from paying attention to the small, unexpected, and even messy surprises life throws your way.