“An entire orchestra in a hat” – Victor Theodore Hoeflich, American Merri-Lei Corporation of New York City, New York, and the Man from Mars radio hat, part 1
Greetings, my reading friend, and welcome to yet another December 2024 issue of our festive blog / bulletin / thingee. Given the time of year, and because it seemed like a good idea, yours truly decided to break away from our anniversarial tradition for the 3rd time in a row, and this in order to bring you a topic which fell by the wayside when I miscalculated the length of not one, but two September 2024 articles (3 parts instead of 2) – and one August 2024 article (4 parts instead of 3). Big oops…
Those miscalculations were all the more galling because I was looking forward to the idea of pontificating about a radio hat. In any event, are you ready to put one on and boogie? Good for you!
By the way, Regards was a French news magazine launched in 1932 which was ideologically close to the Parti communiste français (PCF).
The team behind that weekly publication, one of the first French magazines to promote photojournalism, handled subjects as diverse as feminism, the daily life of the little guy, life in the French colonies, etc., and this with both mastery and a remarkable modernism.
Mind you, that same team followed a lot more than a tad too closely the line of thought dictated by the PCF when it addressed issues related to communism or the paradise of the proletariat, in other words the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. And yes, the bit about a paradise was indeed sarcasm.
Regards still existed as of 2024, by the way. It is an independent monthly, but back to our story.
Said story began in early July 1896 with the birth, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, of Victor Theodore Hoeflich. That smart teenager moved to Portland, Oregon, with his family no later than 1911. Around that time, or a tad earlier, his dream was to go to China as a metallurgical engineer.
In April 1920, Hoeflich as well as two young and, it seemed, slightly unsavoury musicians, Frederick D. “Fred” Jeannet and Roy Adams, incorporated a small firm, Victor Inventions Company of Portland, to produce various types of paper novelties. Business seemed to be good. This being said (typed?), Victor Inventions might have gone under around 1926. You see, by October of that year, Hoeflich was living in San Francisco, California.
By June of 1927, Hoeflich was in New York City, New York, where he incorporated, in 1926 perhaps, a relatively small firm, American Merri-Lei Corporation, which became quite large over the following years.
The foundation upon which that firm was built was a machine Hoeflich invented in 1926 to speed up production of paper leis, a lei being a garland / wreath common in the Territory of Hawaii / Panalāʻau o Hawaiʻi, in the Philippines and across Polynesia. And yes, American Merri-Lei exported its leis to the Territory of Hawaii, where they were given to tourists who brought them home as souvenirs.
Incidentally, over the years, Hoeflich invented other types of machines that he put to good use or sold to competitors.
According to an article published in December 1952 in Camerica, the weekly supplement of the daily newspaper Dayton Daily News of… Dayton, Ohio, American Merri-Lei “turns out 10,000,000 party hats a year for merry makers from South America to Alaska. It is also the principal manufacturer in the United States of nut baskets, noise-makers, paper Hawaiian lei, paper Christmas wreaths and other assorted party paraphernalia.” And yes, all of those ephemeral products were produced with high-speed tooling.
Mind you, the firm also attracted some attention around 1940-41 for a somewhat cheeky invention, namely a noise maker / razzer fitted with a cardboard hand. Said hand shot up when the razzer was blown, giving the impression that the person blowing it was thumbing his or her nose at someone.
The United States Patent Office, an agency of the United States Department of Commerce, initially refused to patent that somewhat cheeky gewgaw, known as the Nose Thumber, arguing that it was not in the public’s interest. That view changed, to the great pleasure of Hoeflich, when a well-known American attorney / politician, Fiorello Henry La Guardia, born Fiorello Raffaele Enrico La Guardia, the mayor of New York City no less, heard about, tried, loved and endorsed said gewgaw.
As you undoubtedly know, La Guardia was mentioned in a February 2020 issue of our lovable and easily endorsed blog / bulletin / thingee.
Would you believe that Hoeflich played a teeny tiny role during the early days of the flying saucer madness which unfolded across many regions of the globe in 1947?
You will of course remember that, in late June 1947, Kenneth Albert Arnold, a pilot and United States Forest Service employee at the time, or so it was said (typed?) at the time, sighted 9 unidentified flying objects, soon described as flying saucers by savvy journalists, moving at very high speed near Mount Rainier, in the state of Washington.
Arnold was of course mentioned in a June 2022 issue of our highflying blog / bulletin / thingee, but back to Hoeflich.
In mid July 1947, several North American newspapers reported that our friend was of the opinion that the unidentified flying objects that people claimed to see were in fact pilot balloons used by civilian (United States Weather Bureau for example) and military (United States Army Signal Corps for example) users to determine wind direction and velocity, and this both during and after the Second World War.

Victor Theodore Hoeflich and his spouse lost in a crowd awaiting the launch of a pilot balloon, Palisades Amusement Park, New Jersey. Anon., “Flying Saucers?” North Bay Daily Nugget, 16 July 1947, 12.
To prove his theory, Hoeflich launched at least several of those pilot balloons in the middle of a crowd present in a popular place of enjoyment, the Palisades Amusement Park, in New Jersey. History seemingly did not say if that crowd agreed that, from a distance, said pilot balloons could be mistaken for flying saucers.
Incidentally, American Merri-Lei made the balsa wood, book paper and aluminium foil targets taken aloft by a number of pilot balloons, but back to that firm and…
You have a question, do you not, my reading friend? Was it possible that the balsa wood, book paper and aluminium foil found in June 1947, by American rancher William Ware “Mack” Brazel near Corona, New Mexico, items quickly linked to the (in)famous Roswell incident, came from American Merri-Lei?
In other words, was that firm linked to that incident, a non event which gave birth to a conspiracy theory which alleged that those remains of a secret United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) high-altitude sound wave detection balloon allegedly found near Roswell, New Mexico, were in fact the remains of an extraterrestrial space vehicle? Err, good question. I wish I could give you an answer.
I can, however, tell you that the balloon in question was one of many sent aloft as part of a top-secret program launched in early 1946, a program known as Project Mogul, whose aim was to detect the sound waves generated by the detonation of Soviet nuclear devices. Sadly enough, issues of cost, practicality and security led to the cancellation of that ambitious program, in late 1948 or early 1949, before it became operational.
And for pity’s sake do not ask me if Hoeflich conducted the aforementioned experiment at the request of the USAAF, as part of a government conspiracy to cover up the existence of extraterrestrial visits to our big blue marble. Come on, that is crazy talk.
To paraphrase, out of context, a mischievous and adventurous 6-year-old American human named Calvin, and at the risk of overstepping the limits of good taste, the people who believe such things are not dumb. They just have a command of thoroughly useless, and thoroughly false, information, but back to our story.
In 1948, American Merri-Lei launched a propeller beanie / whirling beanie / helicopter hat / propeller hat which proved extremely popular. The firm allegedly sold 3 or so million of those juvenile headgears and… You have a question, do you not, my youthful reading friend? Did Hoeflich invent the propeller beanie? Sadly enough, no.
The doxa is that this headgear was the brainchild of an American high school student fascinated by science fiction. As part of a small regional science fiction convention held in the family home, in Cadillac, Michigan, during the summer of 1947, Radell Faraday “Ray” Nelson and several friends put on improvised costumes in order to take amusing photographs which gently mocked the covers of contemporary science fiction magazines.
One of the items of clothing was the first propeller beanie, created by Nelson using part of a coat-hanger wire, a propeller from a model airplane and pieces of plastic.
Another American teenager fascinated by science fiction, George Henry Young, wore a similar beanie at the 5th World Science Fiction Convention, or Philcon, held in Philadelphia on 30 August and 1 September 1947. That headgear was an instant and enormous hit. American manufacturers of novelties (and toys?) seized upon the idea and began to design their own versions.
It has been suggested that the convention attended by Nelson was in fact the 6th World Science Fiction Convention, or Torcon, the first to be held outside the United States by the way, held in Toronto, Ontario, between 3 and 5 July 1948, at a studio operated by a renowned Canadian television director / producer, Rai Purdy, born Horatio John Purdy.
That was unlikely, however, my flag waving reading friend, sorry, given that an Atomic Whirler produced by Benay-Albee Novelty Company of New York City was for sale in at least some locations in the United States no later than March 1948. That firm allegedly sold 3 or so million of those juvenile headgears, but back to our radio hat or, as it was formally called, the Man from Mars radio hat.
In early March 1949, Hoeflich joined the throngs which peopled 42nd Street, one of the major streets of New York City. His lipstick red sun helmet, crowned as it was by a pair of small horn-like vacuum tubes and a rotating (90 or so degrees) loop antenna, did not go unnoticed. No siree.
“What’s Lilly Daché got that I haven’t got?,” quipped the proud businessman.
The Lilly Daché in question was a famous trend setting French, or was it Russian of Polish extraction, American milliner and fashion merchandiser. Her headgears sold for ungodly amounts of money, close to US $80 is some cases, and this at a time when that much moolah could easily buy you more than two dozen perfectly acceptable hats. Wah!
Daché’s clients included luminaries like the American actress Katharine Houghton Hepburn, the German American actress / singer Marie Magdalene “Marlene” Dietrich and the American activist / political figure Anna Eleanor Roosevelt.
And yes, those US $80 corresponded to $1 475 or so in 2024 currency. Re-wah! But back to our story, or not.
You see, I wonder if the idea of the radio hat really burst out of Hoeflich’s skull fully formed, thus replicating in modern times how the Greek goddess Athiná / Athena burst out of the skull of another Greek deity, Zéfs / Zeus, fully grown and fully armed.
You see, I came across that photograph…

A brainy American teenager, Olin Mumford of Atlanta, Georgia, demonstrating to his friend Pat Langley the radio hat they had recently completed. Anon., “–.” La Vie catholique illustrée, 7 April 1946, no page number.
A discovery which led me to that photograph…

A smiling Olin Mumford wearing the radio hat he had recently completed. Anon., “Something New.” Fort Myers News-Press, 25 February 1946, 5.
Now, I ask you, my assiduous reading friend, is it conceivable that Hoeflich saw that photograph, or some other photograph published at the time, or else that he heard about the 2.3 or so kilogramme (5 or so pounds) radio hat completed by Olin Mumford, a brainy student attending Atlanta Technological High School, in… Atlanta, Georgia, no later than February 1946, and this with the help of a friend, a teenager as well, Pat (Patrick?) Langley? Inquiring minds want to know.
After all, Mumford’s radio hat was mentioned in several American magazines and many American newspapers from coast to coast, as well as in several / many foreign ones, in Canada (New Brunswick, Ontario and Québec for example) and places as far away as Sweden and China.
Would you believe that the teenager got a letter from a 17-year-old female Swedish admirer?
Mumford got the idea for his invention in 1945, during a summer in which he worked in the field for a local power company and could not listen to his favourite radio programs.
Incidentally, part of the weight of Mumford’s rather heavy headgear resulted from the use of a 1.5 or so metre (5 or so feet) long antenna.
The newspaper articles published from February 1946 onward understandably created a bit of a stir. Indeed, someone asked Mumford if he could deliver a batch of 10 radio hats. The teenager had no objection but preferred to wait until the patent he wanted to file was granted, a granting which took place in July 1948. As things turned out, the young American sold a few radio hats he had put together in his workshop.
Incidentally, Mumford had planned to sell his radio hats US $ 20 apiece, a sum which corresponded to $ 450 or so in 2024 currency. Wah!
You know what, my reading friend, why not travel further back in time? Are you ready?
One of the futuristic hats and hairstyles presented to a large and posh Parisian female crowd in November 1945 in the millinery and hairdressing boutique opened by a now forgotten French sculptor / modist by the name of Jean-Pascal Lorriaux was, you guessed it, a radio hat. With the exception of the antenna, all the components of the radio set were hidden in that elegant black velvet headgear. The antenna was cleverly hidden within a long pheasant tail feather, for example.
Would you like to watch a brief French language video about that radio hat, my videophile reading friend? Say no more.
And no, I doubt that Hoeflich came across that particular radio hat.
Would you believe that a radio-telephone hat might, I repeat might, have been one of the new types of headgears for men displayed as part of the Mostra del cappello futurista, a futurist hat exhibition inaugurated in Milano / Milan, Italy, in June 1933, by the founding father of Futurism, the famous Italian editor / poet / soldier / art theorist / writer Filippo Tommaso Emilio Marinetti?
You see, back in late February, Marinetti and three other prominent Futurists had issued a Manifesto futurista del cappello italiano, calling for the inclusion of futurist hats in a fashion show which finally did not take place. And yes, the aforementioned radio-telephone hat was one of the 20 new hat designs mentioned in the manifesto.
Futurism, by the way, was an avant-garde Italian artistic / cultural / literary / musical / theatrical movement launched in February 1909. Futurists admired / glorified / loved the nation, race, science, speed, strength, violence, war, youth, etc. They also admired / glorified / loved airplanes, automobiles and everything that represented the technological triumph of humanity, well, the triumph of men actually given their contempt for everything feminine, over nature and what it stood for.
Dare yours truly ask if some, if not all of that sounds familiar? Too controversial, you say (type?), my wise reading friend? You are probably right. I shall not dare.
Incidentally, the Partito politico futurista, founded by Marinetti in February 1918, merged with the Fasci Italiani di Combattimento founded in March 1919 by Benito Amilcare Andrea Mussolini, a pompous brute and buffoonish future dictator mentioned since August 2018 in several / many issues of our blog / bulletin / thingee. As you know, the Fasci Italiani di Combattimento became the deeply unsavoury Partito nazionale fascista in November 1921.
Yours truly also came across an article in a July 1933 issue of The Labor World / Le Monde Ouvrier, a bilingual weekly newspaper published in Montréal, Québec, which was more or less the official mouthpiece of the Conseil des métiers et du travail de Montréal. Said article mentioned that some members of the Metropolitan Police of London, England, were to receive new helmets which contained concealed radio sets. Besides a reference to an article to that effect quoted in May 1933 by a London daily newspaper, yours truly has found no information whatsoever on those radio hats.
Have we reached the bottom of our temporal well, you ask, my reading friend? Err, no. In that regard, the following might be of interest to you...
And no, besides the fact that the radio hat in question was allegedly filmed in Paris, France, no later than March 1931, yours truly has no information on that headgear. This being said (typed?), that radio hat might have been the 1930 brainchild of an engineer living in Berlin, Germany.
A milliner from San Francisco, California, made a radio hat in March 1925 but even that headgear was not the earliest I uncovered. And here is proof…

Three examples of somewhat inefficient radio hats put together in Paris, France. The antennas of the ones on the left and right were hidden in their egret and frame. Anon., “La mode féminine connaîtra-t-elle le chapeau T.S.F.?” Sciences et Voyages, 25 September 1924, 4.
The three French radio hats in question might not have worked all that well. In any event, none of them seemingly went beyond the demonstration stage.

Nathan Fleishman and his radio hat, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Anon., “Things Scientific – Youth Designs Novel ‘Radio Hat.’” The Pathfinder, 9 June 1923, 6.
The same could probably be said of the electronic boater completed no later than May 1923 by Nathan Fleishman, born Natan Fleishman, a 15-year-old Polish American from Philadelphia. The antenna of that headgear was an umbrella.
Would you believe that an American by the name of Robert R. Troxell created a radio hat from a boater in 1922-23? And here he is…

A smiling Robert R. Troxell tipping his radio hat as he took the pose, Chicago, Illinois, I think. Anon., “Personal and Pertinent – Talking Through a Radio Hat.” The Hat Industry, May 1923, 71.
A small American business, the Atlas Radio Shop of Chicago, Illinois, seemingly produced several of those headgears during the Spring and Summer of 1923.
And let us not forget 18-year-old H. Vincent Day of London, England, who completed a radio top hat that he used with headphones, and this no later than May 1922. To quote a newspaper of the time, “It is uncanny to see the wireless valve glowing bright in the recesses of a respectable silk hat, and to know that it is picking up those mysterious waves that are ceaselessly pulsing the world.”
Speaking (typing?) of mystery, the one that yours truly servant would dearly like to elucidate concerns a brief quote taken from several issues of French dailies published between June and November 1923. Let us see what the French novelist / journalist Albert Marie Paul Henry Sazerac de Forge, better known as Henry de Forge, had said (typed?), words translated here of course:
This year, if newspapers from across Atlantic are to be believed, it is the “wireless” hat which is all the rage […]
But, here is something even better: we are told of a radioring from Canada. This time we ask to see the prodigious device to believe it.
If the news is confirmed, we are once again faced with a sensational small wave record.
A radioring, nothing less than a Canadian radioring. Wah!
A potential problem with that story which left no trace in the Canadian press was that de Forge was responsible for several master strokes before 1923. One example will suffice.
In March 1910, working in concert with the French writer / journalist Rolland Maurice Lecavelé, better known by his pen name of Roland Dorgelès, de Forge presented a painting to the organisers of the Salon des indépendants, organised by the Société des artistes indépendants. Said painting, entitled Et le soleil s’endormit sur l’Adriatique, by the illustriously unknown thought leader of a new Italian artistic current, l’École excessiviste, was automatically accepted.
Several young painters cried genius in front of the amaaazing work by the Italian painter Joachim Raphaël Boronali (Gioacchino Raffaele Boronali?). Others had reservations.
An honourable art dealer passing through Paris, a certain Baudricourt, having made some slightly disparaging comment, Boronali took offense and presented him with his card. Yes, yes, his card. Boronali intimated to Baudricourt that he would have to retract himself or apologise if he did not want to be challenged to a duel. Yours truly cannot stated if that event was real or staged.
If the truth began to come out of its stable in late March, the main part of the story did the same only around… 1 April, when the French satirical bimonthly Fantasio revealed, with photographs and a bailiff report in support, that Boronali was an old burro named Lolo. That Equus asinus had painted some elements of Et le soleil s’endormit sur l’Adriatique with a brush attached to its tail. I kid you not, and here is proof…

The donkey Lolo painting some elements of the painting Et le soleil s’endormit sur l’Adriatique. Lolo’s human, Frédéric Gérard, better known as the Père Frédé, owner of the famous cabaret Au Lapin agile of Paris, France, was giving it a piece of carrot to activate the caudal appendix of that old Equus asinus. Le Peintre exigeant, “Boronali – Aliboron.” Fantasio, 1 April 1910, 599.
Having touched the bottom of our temporal well, I think, let us go back to our story.

Victor Theodore Hoeflich proudly wearing a Man from Mars radio hat. Anon., “Sun Hat Has Built-In Radio.” Popular Science, June 1949, 119.
Buoyed by the success of his propeller beanie, Hoeflich hoped to sell 5 or so million examples of his radio hat.
Available in a variety of colours aimed to please grown ups (grey, blue grey, green grey, tan and white I think) and not quite grown ups (lavender blue, chimeric cerise, chartreuse, flamingo, blush pink, rose pink, lipstick red, tangerine, turquoise and canary yellow, I think), said radio hats tipped the scale at a weighty 340 or so grammes (12 or so ounces). And yes, all versions were more or less waterproof even though were made of cardboard, I think, although one had to wonder if the vacuum tubes mounted externally were fond of rainwater.
Incidentally, said vacuum tubes might have been coated with a thin layer of plastic to reduce the risk of injury if they were damaged or broken.
Is that skepticism I see in your face, my reading friend? You do not believe that the Man from Mars radio hat could be lipstick red, now do you? Well, please allow me to stimulate your mental pathways with some sensory input patterns. And yes, I was paraphrasing Deanna Troi, ship counsellor and Lieutenant Commander, I think, quoting Lieutenant Commander Data Soong. (Hello, EP, EG and SB!)

A typical lipstick red Man from Mars radio hat. Anon., “The Radio Hat.” Radio-Electronics, June 1949, cover.
Would you believe that the young person portrayed on that magazine cover was none other than the American model / actress (film, stage and television) Hope Elise Ross Lange, then aged about 15 and a half years old?
A good part of the radio hat’s weight came from the radio equipment of course, namely the aforementioned pair of small vacuum tubes and loop antenna, as well as a tuning knob located externally and an earphone, not to mention a flexible lining on which the electronic components of the radio set were attached, inside the hat.
Speaking (typing?) of that flexible lining, my understanding is that an insulating cardboard flap or pad might have separated the hat’s electronic components from the sweaty hair of the wearer. As you know, that sweat might have short circuited said components.
The batteries (one 22.5 volt B battery and two 1.5 volt A batteries, I think) needed to provide the radio hat with the necessary juice were carried in a carton box, itself carried in the wearer’s pocket. A white, red and blue wire connected them to the radio hat. Incidentally, that power pack weighed 225 or so grammes (8 or so ounces), and… Fear not, my reading friend, that kind of voltage was not sufficient to injure the person wearing a radio hat. It probably would have stung, however.
The radio hat was said to be very good when used outdoors. This being said (typed?), it provided a good reception when used inside wood frame buildings and a fair one when used in a steel frame building.
Incidentally, early in the game, Hoeflich might, I repeat might, have considered the possibility of developing a version of his radio hat in which the vacuum tubes would be invisible, while the antenna and control knob would be located under the headgear’s rim.
By the looks of it, again, the radio hat came in one size, which could be a tad uncomfortable for a small human interested in that piece of kit. This being said (typed?), again, the hat contained an adjustable sweatband which allowed wearers with small noggins to wear our hat, as can be seen below.

A young Edward Donegan of New York City, New York, listening to, err, something. The single earphone was clearly visible, as was the size of the radio hat compared to that of the head of its young wearer. Anon., “Music Wherever He Goes.” Edmonton Bulletin, 28 March 1949, 1.
Speaking (typing?) of people with small noggins, yours truly likes really the following image…

A young human listening to, err, something. To quote, out of context, 2 lines of the popular 1972 (!) song Sunny Days of the Canadian rock band Lighthouse, “Ain’t nothin’ better in the world, you know, than lyin’ in the sun with your radio.” Anon., “Tout un orchestre dans un chapeau mais la musique n’adoucit pas toujours les mœurs.” Regards, 9 September 1949, 15.
And you have a question, do you not, my penny-pinching reading friend? How much did that marvel of technology cost, you ask? Only US $ 7.95, plus tax, a sum which corresponded to $145 or so in 2024 currency. A trifling sum compared to the price of the radio hats that the aforementioned Mumford considered selling, but I digress.
Incidentally, residents of the faraway Territory of Hawaii had to cough up US $ 9.50, a sum which corresponded to $ 175 or so in 2024 currency, for the privilege of owning a Man from Mars radio hat.
A radio hat wearer inhabiting the wilds of New York City could have listened to broadcasts from 10 to 15 or so stations. Another one inhabiting the wilds of the Territory of Alaska would not have been so lucky. You see, the equipment of the Man from Mars radio hat seemingly had an effective range of 32 or so kilometres (20 or so miles).
Would you believe that some teenage American couples tuned their radio hats to the same station, put their earphones in their ear canals and boogied the night away in bars?
A young couple like the one we saw at the beginning of this article, you ask, my romantic reading friend? Err, I guess so.
Actually, in order to find my inner beast, like Stuart, Kevin and Bob in the popular 2022 American French comedy animation motion picture Minions: The Rise of Gru, and prepare the 2nd part of this exhilarating article, I think the time has come to conclude the 1st part of said article, do you not agree?
And yes, that 1st part was very long and somewhat lacking in seriousness. Am I sorry, you ask, my reading friend? Not really. To paraphrase, out of context, the Austrian musician / composer Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, better known as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in the 1984 (!) American biographical drama motion picture Amadeus, the people who try to popularise science and technology should not be so lofty they sound as if they sh*t marble!