THE urgent cablegram zipped under the Atlantic towards the US as the second world war started to unfold. British scientists at the University of Bristol, rightly fearing an aerial war with Germany, were desperately searching for ways to put radar technology on board small fighter planes, to give them an edge in the air. What they needed was a small but powerful instrument that could greatly amplify high-frequency radio waves 鈥� those into the microwave range 鈥� so they could bounce them off things that were hidden by clouds or darkness.
When their cablegram landed on the desk of Russell Varian at Stanford University, their quest came to an end. as 鈥渁n invention so breath-taking in its possibilities, that it may alter the future radio development of aeronautics, as well as telephone, telegraph and television communication鈥�, the item in question was the klystron tube, developed and first prototyped in 1937 by Russell and his brother Sigurd.
Press articles celebrating the invention of the klystron had omitted certain key details, because they were classified, but Russell wanted to help the Allies so he got permission from the US government to pass the information on. It led to the British developing the , which gave Royal Air Force pilots a significant advantage during Germany鈥檚 night-bombing raids. The British went on to win the Battle of Britain, thanks in some measure to the Varians鈥� timely creation.
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Born around the turn of the 20th century, Russell and Sigurd were ingenious, bold brothers who grew up in California, two of three sons of Irish-immigrant parents. How did they come up with a device as remarkable as the klystron? Thank the mother of invention. Sigurd had been a pilot for Pan American Airways from 1929 to 1935. Flying frequently between the US and Mexico, he knew all too well the risks associated with the crude instrumentation of the day. In stormy weather, flying over mountains or trying to land in thick cloud was treacherous. Surely there must be a way to see through the clouds.
Although bright and gifted at making things, Sigurd lacked Russell鈥檚 college degrees. He thought Russell would be able to design something that could solve the problem. Growing up, the duo often collaborated on making toys and inventions. Now, that special dynamic was to come to fruition. Russell decided to design a radio wave amplifier that could do what Sigurd dreamed of.
They got a contract at Stanford that provided them with the use of a lab, access to faculty members and $100 for materials and supplies. 鈥淪ig loaded his tools in the car, and they left for Stanford immediately, in their excitement forgetting their coats, most of their clothes, and Russell鈥檚 notebook,鈥� recalled Russ鈥檚 wife, Dorothy, in her 1983 biography of the brothers, The Inventor and the Pilot.
鈥淭he klystron was hailed as an invention 鈥榖reath-taking in its possibilities鈥欌��
Working with Stanford physicist Bill Hansen 鈥� a pioneer of microwave electronics 鈥� it took them less than a year, and less than $100, to come up with a working klystron. Russell had had a brainwave. Electrons in a beam travelling from one end of a vacuum tube could be bunched together by alternately decelerating and accelerating them as they flowed. This produced amplified oscillations: pulses of increased energy that could be emitted from the other end of the tube as a powerful radio or microwave signal. The name klystron, provided by a classics professor at Stanford, was adapted from an Ancient Greek verb relating to waves lapping on a shore.
When klystrons were used in a test by the US military, the brothers knew they were on to something big. At a Boston airfield in February 1939, ground-based klystron tubes emitted signals that were detected by incoming aircraft in a daytime 鈥渂lind landing鈥� simulation 鈥� without runway lights or other signals to guide them. The technology would be used extensively for blind landings by the US army.
During the war, the Varians briefly relocated to the east coast of the US, where they worked on klystrons for the Sperry Corporation. Sperry put their designs into practice, but the two dreamed of starting their own laboratory back in California, and come 1946, that鈥檚 what Russell went back home to do, later followed by Sigurd. Their new associate, Ed Ginzton, who they had met at Sperry, helped them set up their firm in 1948.
It began humbly, with six full-time employees, in what looked like a concrete shack, in San Carlos. They christened it Varian Associates, a name that was intended to emphasise the idea of a cooperative run by scientists and researchers, not corporate executives. And what shaped Varian Associates helped to shape a nascent Silicon Valley 鈥� and the echoes remain today.
The Varians鈥� ethos was doubtless a result of their upbringing. Raised in the utopian community of Halcyon, California, their father, John Varian, was a mystic poet and both parents were theosophists. Gatherings at their house included local writers, artists, businesspeople and 鈥渄reamers鈥�, Russell fondly recalled.
鈥淰arian was the second seminal Silicon Valley company after Hewlett-Packard,鈥� says John McLaughlin of the . In 1953, Varian Associates moved 鈥� and became the first firm based in Stanford Industrial Park in Palo Alto. McLaughlin notes that, years later, Steve Jobs鈥檚 mother worked at Varian, as a bookkeeper.
Russell and Sigurd never thought they鈥檇 make big money from building klystrons, expecting to simply license the patents. But Varian Associates鈥� first big contract was to make klystrons for guided missiles. It put the firm on the map. The company was soon making klystrons for many applications 鈥� including in ballistic-missile early-warning systems, satellite communications and television transmission equipment. Klystrons are ubiquitous today.
But the Varians were not one-trick ponies. Perhaps inspired by the brothers鈥� Halcyon days, Varian Associates developed a reputation for creativity and the free-flow of ideas. Like Apple and Google today, the company attracted top minds and innovated furiously. Among other things, it went on to pioneer nuclear magnetic resonance technology, which revolutionised molecular research, X-ray accelerators, which have become ubiquitous in cargo screening in ports worldwide, and radiotherapy technology, which treats many thousands of people with cancer every day. One descendant company, Varian Inc, was bought by Agilent Technologies in 2010 for $1.5 billion.
A bum idea
However, the brothers didn鈥檛 always get it right. Sigurd once asked Russell if he thought it was worth developing a kind of metal-printing gun to put wires into radio sets, instead of having to do this by hand or with traditional machinery. Russell dismissed it as 鈥渁 bum idea鈥� 鈥� but, as they later marvelled, the information age as we know it was founded perhaps on one technology more than any other: printed circuits. You can鈥檛 win them all.
Nonetheless, their impact on the world has been huge, even if neither brother would live to see it. Both died suddenly in separate incidents. In 1959, Russell suffered a heart attack in Alaska while travelling with his family and companions. They had been searching for land that could be turned into a new national park when a storm caught their boat in a riptide. Exhausted after rescuing it, Russell collapsed and died.
Two years later, Sigurd was flying into Puerto Vallarta in Mexico, but the airport never received a telegram asking for the landing lights to be switched on. His plane crashed into the sea 鈥� tragically ironic, after his pioneering work on technology that allowed for blind landings. It was a premature end to a story of remarkable innovation.
This article appeared in print under the headline 鈥淚nventive brothers who gave pilots a sixth sense鈥�
