This Day in History Class is a production of iHeartRadio. Hello and Welcome to This Day in History Class, a show that discovers something new about history every day of the week. I'm Gabe Lucier, and in this episode, we're looking at one of the least popular breakthrough inventions of all time, the undeniably practical, yet endlessly annoying parking meter. The day was July sixteenth, nineteen thirty five, the first mechanical parking meters were installed in downtown Oklahoma City. A total of one hundred and seventy five of these so called parcometers were placed and tested along fourteen blocks in the city's business district. Simple and easy to use, the meters consisted of a metal post with a built in coinslot and a showing the amount of parking time remaining. When first installed, a single nickel would buy the driver a full hour of parking, and when the paid four time ran out, a little flag would pop up to indicate the meter had expired. Instead of running on electricity or solar power, the initial design worked like a wind up clock. Once a week, a city employee had to wind each meter by hand to make sure it functioned. Properly for the week ahead. Although never embraced by the public, the paid to park system proved successful from a logistical and financial standpoint, and the city was quick to add more meters all over downtown. The man most responsible for the parka meter was Carl C. McGhee, an Albuquerque reporter who had risen to fame in the early nineteen twenties by uncovering the infamous Teapot Dome oil field scandal. In nineteen twenty seven, McGee moved from New Mexico go to Oklahoma City in order to start up his own newspaper, the Oklahoma News. The paper took off, and by the early nineteen thirties, the editor had become a prominent figure in his adopted hometown. He even served as a member of the Chamber of Commerce's Traffic Committee, a body tasked with finding a solution to the city's worsening traffic congestion problems. Like many other urban areas at the time, Oklahoma City was struggling to keep pace with the ever growing number of automobiles crowding its streets. The city's downtown had a limited supply of parking spaces, and there simply weren't enough to accommodate business owners, their employees, and a steady flow of paying customers. The city tried to combat this problem by placing time limits on parking. Traffic police would mark tires with chalk, note the time, and then dole out tickets to any car left in a space for too long. Worked well enough, but it required officers to make hourly rounds, which pulled them away from their regular beats. After receiving numerous complaints from downtown business owners and ticketed drivers, the Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce agreed to look into the parking problem. In nineteen thirty two, Carl McGee was appointed chairman of the Traffic Committee, and after a good deal of thought, he came up with a revolutionary idea, a machine that charges drivers money to park. McGee champion the parking meter is a win for everyone. The machine enforced time limit would prevent people from occupying a space all day long. Either a driver would pay more in order to park longer, which earned money for the city, or else they would move along once their time was up, thus clearing the way for another customer. And if a driver didn't leave when their time expired, they risked getting a twenty dollars ticket, which of course would also put money in the city's pocket. The Chamber of Commerce signed off on the idea, and McGee spent the next several years trying to bring it to fruition. He rigged up a crude model in nineteen thirty two and filed for a patent, but since he wasn't an engineer himself, McGee partnered with the Oklahoma State University Engineering Department to help refine his concept. Together, they organized a design contest and offered a cash prize to any student who designed a workable parking meter. The challenge proved to be a tall order, though, thanks to the project's strict requirements. The device had to be cost effective for mass manufacturing, but it also had to be durable enough to hold up to vandalism and harsh weather. In the end, none of the student's entries were deemed viable, so in nineteen thirty three, McGee enlisted the help of Oklahoma State professor Holger George Thusen and an OSU engineering graduate name Samed Gerald A. Hale. The pair created all the interior parts for their prototype meter, which they dubbed the Black Maria an old slang term for a police wagon. They hired a local plumber to fashion the meter's exterior casing, and by the end of the year, thusen Hale and McGhee began hunting for a manufacturer. They eventually found one in Tulsa, and in early May of nineteen thirty five, the first working model was put on public display. People's reaction to the concept was divided, to say the least. Merchants and city officials praised what McGee was now calling the parcometer, but local residents denounced the idea of paid parking, calling it un American and arguing that it was effectively an unapproved tax on owning a car. Despite this pushback, Oklahoma City moved forward with its plans to install the meters on a trial basis in the downtown area. The first batch was installed on July sixteenth of that year on the southeast corner of First Street and Robinson Avenue. The meters were placed at twenty foot intervals along the curb and corresponded to painted spaces on the pavement at a rate of just five cents per hour. The parking meters were fairly affordable and an absolute bargain by today's standards. Still, there were plenty of complaints in even a few strange protests against them. For example, one man rode his horse into town and proceeded to tie it to the pole of one of the meters, though he did pay a nickel. Others made the most of their rented space by setting up a table in a parking spot and playing cards for an hour. Most folks never came around the idea of paying for parking spaces that had once been available for free, but it was hard to argue with the improved traffic flow or the new source of revenue for the city. In the first year alone, Oklahoma City's parking meters generated more than thirty five hundred dollars, enough to pay for a new radio system for the police department. Soon after, other cities plagued by parking challenges were looking to invest in meters of their own, and Carl McGee's newly formed Parcometer Company was more than happy to supply them. By nineteen thirty six, parking meters had spread to a dozen cities across Oklahoma, Kansas, and Texas, and by the early nineteen forties there were more than one hundred and forty thousand of them operating nationwide. Over the years, the design of parking meters has changed to varying degrees depending on the town or city. Most physical meters now accept credit card payments in addition to coins, though in either case their rate is going to be much higher than a nickel an hour. Many cities, including Oklahoma's capital, have retired their mechanical meters altogether in favor of a diday'll pay by plate system. So while parking meters themselves may soon disappear from the urban landscape, the original intent behind them is here to stay, much to the disappointment of drivers everywhere. I'm Gay, Blues Gay, and hopefully you now know a little more about history today than you did yesterday. If you'd like to keep up with the show, you can follow us on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram at TDI HC Show, and if you have any comments or suggestions, feel free to send them my way by writing to this day at iHeartMedia dot com. Thanks to Kasby Bias for producing the show, and thanks to you for listening. I'll see you back here again tomorrow for another day in History. Class

This Day in History Class is a production of iHeartRadio. Hello and Welcome to This Day in History Class, a show that discovers something new about history every day of the week. I'm Gabe Lucier, and in this episode, we're looking at one of the least popular breakthrough inventions of all time, the undeniably practical, yet endlessly annoying parking meter. The day was July sixteenth, nineteen thirty five, the first mechanical parking meters were installed in downtown Oklahoma City. A total of one hundred and seventy five of these so called parcometers were placed and tested along fourteen blocks in the city's business district. Simple and easy to use, the meters consisted of a metal post with a built in coinslot and a showing the amount of parking time remaining. When first installed, a single nickel would buy the driver a full hour of parking, and when the paid four time ran out, a little flag would pop up to indicate the meter had expired. Instead of running on electricity or solar power, the initial design worked like a wind up clock. Once a week, a city employee had to wind each meter by hand to make sure it functioned. Properly for the week ahead. Although never embraced by the public, the paid to park system proved successful from a logistical and financial standpoint, and the city was quick to add more meters all over downtown. The man most responsible for the parka meter was Carl C. McGhee, an Albuquerque reporter who had risen to fame in the early nineteen twenties by uncovering the infamous Teapot Dome oil field scandal. In nineteen twenty seven, McGee moved from New Mexico go to Oklahoma City in order to start up his own newspaper, the Oklahoma News. The paper took off, and by the early nineteen thirties, the editor had become a prominent figure in his adopted hometown. He even served as a member of the Chamber of Commerce's Traffic Committee, a body tasked with finding a solution to the city's worsening traffic congestion problems. Like many other urban areas at the time, Oklahoma City was struggling to keep pace with the ever growing number of automobiles crowding its streets. The city's downtown had a limited supply of parking spaces, and there simply weren't enough to accommodate business owners, their employees, and a steady flow of paying customers. The city tried to combat this problem by placing time limits on parking. Traffic police would mark tires with chalk, note the time, and then dole out tickets to any car left in a space for too long. Worked well enough, but it required officers to make hourly rounds, which pulled them away from their regular beats. After receiving numerous complaints from downtown business owners and ticketed drivers, the Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce agreed to look into the parking problem. In nineteen thirty two, Carl McGee was appointed chairman of the Traffic Committee, and after a good deal of thought, he came up with a revolutionary idea, a machine that charges drivers money to park. McGee champion the parking meter is a win for everyone. The machine enforced time limit would prevent people from occupying a space all day long. Either a driver would pay more in order to park longer, which earned money for the city, or else they would move along once their time was up, thus clearing the way for another customer. And if a driver didn't leave when their time expired, they risked getting a twenty dollars ticket, which of course would also put money in the city's pocket. The Chamber of Commerce signed off on the idea, and McGee spent the next several years trying to bring it to fruition. He rigged up a crude model in nineteen thirty two and filed for a patent, but since he wasn't an engineer himself, McGee partnered with the Oklahoma State University Engineering Department to help refine his concept. Together, they organized a design contest and offered a cash prize to any student who designed a workable parking meter. The challenge proved to be a tall order, though, thanks to the project's strict requirements. The device had to be cost effective for mass manufacturing, but it also had to be durable enough to hold up to vandalism and harsh weather. In the end, none of the student's entries were deemed viable, so in nineteen thirty three, McGee enlisted the help of Oklahoma State professor Holger George Thusen and an OSU engineering graduate name Samed Gerald A. Hale. The pair created all the interior parts for their prototype meter, which they dubbed the Black Maria an old slang term for a police wagon. They hired a local plumber to fashion the meter's exterior casing, and by the end of the year, thusen Hale and McGhee began hunting for a manufacturer. They eventually found one in Tulsa, and in early May of nineteen thirty five, the first working model was put on public display. People's reaction to the concept was divided, to say the least. Merchants and city officials praised what McGee was now calling the parcometer, but local residents denounced the idea of paid parking, calling it un American and arguing that it was effectively an unapproved tax on owning a car. Despite this pushback, Oklahoma City moved forward with its plans to install the meters on a trial basis in the downtown area. The first batch was installed on July sixteenth of that year on the southeast corner of First Street and Robinson Avenue. The meters were placed at twenty foot intervals along the curb and corresponded to painted spaces on the pavement at a rate of just five cents per hour. The parking meters were fairly affordable and an absolute bargain by today's standards. Still, there were plenty of complaints in even a few strange protests against them. For example, one man rode his horse into town and proceeded to tie it to the pole of one of the meters, though he did pay a nickel. Others made the most of their rented space by setting up a table in a parking spot and playing cards for an hour. Most folks never came around the idea of paying for parking spaces that had once been available for free, but it was hard to argue with the improved traffic flow or the new source of revenue for the city. In the first year alone, Oklahoma City's parking meters generated more than thirty five hundred dollars, enough to pay for a new radio system for the police department. Soon after, other cities plagued by parking challenges were looking to invest in meters of their own, and Carl McGee's newly formed Parcometer Company was more than happy to supply them. By nineteen thirty six, parking meters had spread to a dozen cities across Oklahoma, Kansas, and Texas, and by the early nineteen forties there were more than one hundred and forty thousand of them operating nationwide. Over the years, the design of parking meters has changed to varying degrees depending on the town or city. Most physical meters now accept credit card payments in addition to coins, though in either case their rate is going to be much higher than a nickel an hour. Many cities, including Oklahoma's capital, have retired their mechanical meters altogether in favor of a diday'll pay by plate system. So while parking meters themselves may soon disappear from the urban landscape, the original intent behind them is here to stay, much to the disappointment of drivers everywhere. I'm Gay, Blues Gay, and hopefully you now know a little more about history today than you did yesterday. If you'd like to keep up with the show, you can follow us on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram at TDI HC Show, and if you have any comments or suggestions, feel free to send them my way by writing to this day at iHeartMedia dot com. Thanks to Kasby Bias for producing the show, and thanks to you for listening. I'll see you back here again tomorrow for another day in History. Class