11 Amazing Things You Didn't Know Were Invented by Kids


It doesn't take decades of life experience to have a great idea. In fact, you don't even have to be old enough to have a driver's license, as many of these young inventors have proven.


Louis Braille suffered a serious eye injury when he was just 3 years old. Not only did the accident render him blind on that side, the infection spread and blinded the other eye as well. After more than a decade of struggling with the slow system of tracing his finger over raised letters, Braille was 12 when he learned of a method of silent communication originally created for the French military. He simplified it, and in 1824 the Braille language was born.

Teenagers continue to revolutionize the Braille system. In 2014, 12-year-old Shubham Banerjee created a Braille printer from a LEGO Mindstorms set. Named the Braigo, the $200 printer is much more affordable and attainable than the $2000 alternative.


Before electric lights were invented, many people decorated Christmas trees with actual candles. What could go wrong with open flames attached to dead branches studded with dry, brittle needles, all located inside your home? However, even when electric lights became available, people were more concerned about electricity burning their houses down rather than the candles.

But by 1917, people were more used to electricity and 15-year-old Albert Sadacca was ready to capitalize on their trust. Prior to that time, those brave enough to try electric Christmas tree lights had to shell out approximately $2000 in today's money for the privilege. Sadacca had the idea to create an affordable set of Christmas lights and had them produced by his parents' novelty lighting company. It's because of him that lights are now a ubiquitous part of the holiday season.



As a teenage gymnast, George Nissen and his coach created a "bouncing rig" that helped him generate the power and height to do a back somersault. Originally made out of scrap steel and tire inner tubes, the platform was adapted later into a portable version that he called the "trampoline." Fun fact: In the 1950s, gas stations bought trampolines to use as "jump centers," a way for kids to get a little energy out before getting back in the car with their parents.


In 1962, 5-year-old Robert Patch cobbled together a couple of shoe boxes and some bottle caps to create a vehicle that could transform into three different trucks: a dump truck, a flatbed, and a box truck. His patent attorney father saw potential and applied for a patent in his son’s name. Young Robert Patch signed his name with an "X"—he didn’t know how to spell yet. Though Patch turned 6 by the time the patent was granted, it was still young enough to be the youngest patent holder ever at the time.



A lot of kids are easily distracted—and thanks to the short attention span of 11-year-old Frank Epperson, we now have Popsicles. In 1905, Epperson, a San Francisco native, was stirring powdered drink mix into a cup of water when something else caught his attention. The concoction was forgotten on his porch, and when Epperson rediscovered the drink in the morning, it was a deliciously portable frozen lollipop. After years of making the frozen treats for friends, and eventually his own children, Epperson filed for a patent in 1924.


Quebec native Joseph-Armand Bombardier had always been a tinkerer, and on New Year's Eve in 1922, he surprised his family with his latest creation. He had mounted the engine of a Ford Model T to four runners, with a handmade propeller perched on the back. Steered by Bombardier's younger brother, the contraption traveled more than half a mile across the snow before coming to a stop. The 15-year-old inventor continued perfecting his snowmobile over the years, adding tank-like tracks to it in 1935. By 1959, his tinkering had resulted in the Ski-Doo, the first ultralight snowmobile model.


In 1996, fifth-grader Richie Stachowski invented the Water Talkie, a device that allows people to talk to each other underwater. It was a hit, so Stachowski expanded his product line under a company he called Short Stack. The new lineup included the Scuba Scope and the Bumper Jumper Water Pumper. In 1999, at age 13, the pint-sized entrepreneur sold Short Stack to a San Francisco-based toy company for what was speculated to be millions.



As a teen, Jerry Siegel was having a hard time sleeping one hot summer night in 1934. Restless, his mind turned to his favorite science fiction stories—and as he looked outside at the moon, he got an idea of his own. Siegel jotted them down, and in the morning, ran to visit his artist friend Joe Shuster, who made some sketches. Four years later, they found a publisher, and today, Superman is one of the most recognizable characters in the world.


In the early 1700s, an 11-year-old boy who loved to swim noted that he could cut through the water more easily if he had more surface area to push through it with. He fashioned handheld swimming fins out of oval-shaped planks, making holes in the middle for his hands. He made fins for his feet as well, but wasn’t happy with the clunky design and quickly abandoned them.

The fins were just one of the boy’s many inventions—the kid we know today as Ben Franklin grew up to create a stove, the odometer, a lightning rod, and bifocals, among other things. As an adult, his continued love for swimming earned him a spot in the International Swimming Hall of Fame.



It can get pretty chilly in Maine, so it’s no wonder that they have a day honoring Chester Greenwood, who invented earmuffs in 1873 when he was just 15. Greenwood loved to ice skate on frozen ponds during the cold Maine winters, but a wool allergy kept him from donning the warm hats with earflaps that his friends wore. Tired of having to call it quits due to his cold ears, Greenwood asked his grandmother to sew flaps of flannel or beaver fur onto some wires that he could bend around his head. Ten years later, Greenwood was the owner of an earmuff factory that produced 50,000 of them every year.

By the way, should you want to celebrate Greenwood and his cozy contribution to society, Chester Greenwood Day is the first Saturday in December.


You may remember the Makin' Bacon kitchen gadget from the 1990s; you may even still own one. The microwave rack, which cooks bacon strips perfectly while catching the excess grease in a drip pan, was the brainchild of an 8-year-old girl named Abbey Fleck. Abbey was helping her parents with breakfast one morning when they ran out of paper towels to sop up the grease. After wondering why they couldn't just hang the bacon like laundry and let the extra fat drip off, she and her dad fashioned a successful prototype out of plastic hangers and dowel rods. She has since sold 2.7 million Makin' Bacons through Walmart alone.

Mental Floss
How Jeremy Bentham Finally Came to America, Nearly 200 Years After His Death
Mental Floss
Mental Floss

One day toward the beginning of March, an unusual object arrived at a New York City airport. Carefully encased in a foam-padded, specially built wooden chair and strapped in with a bright-blue sash, it was the stuffed skeleton of one of Britain's most famous philosophers—transported not for burial, but for exhibition.

"We all refer to him as he, but the curator has corrected me. I need to keep referring to it," says University College London conservator Emilia Kingham, who prepared the item for its transatlantic voyage.

The stuffed skeleton belongs to the philosopher Jeremy Bentham, who died in 1832. But for well over a century, his "auto-icon"—an assemblage including his articulated skeleton surrounded by padding and topped with a wax head—has been on display in the south cloisters of University College London. Starting March 21, it will be featured in the Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibition "Like Life: Sculpture, Color, and the Body (1300–Now)," marking its first appearance in America.

While the auto-icon has sometimes been seen as an absurd vanity project or memento mori, according to Tim Causer, it's best understood as a product of Bentham's trailblazing work. "I would tend to ask people to reckon with the auto-icon not as macabre curio or the weird final wish of a strange old man," says the senior research associate at UCL's Bentham Project, which is charged with producing a new edition of the philosopher's collected works. Instead, "[we should] accept it in the manner in which Bentham intended it, as a sort of physical manifestation of his philosophy and generosity of spirit."


Engraving of Jeremy Bentham by J. Posselwhite
Engraving of Jeremy Bentham by J. Posselwhite

Bentham is best known as the founder of utilitarianism, a philosophy that evaluates actions and institutions based on their consequences—particularly whether those consequences cause happiness. A man frequently ahead of his time, he believed in a world based on rational analysis, not custom or religion, and advocated for legal and penal reform, freedom of speech, animal rights, and the decriminalization of homosexuality.

His then-unconventional ideas extended to his own body. At the time Bentham died, death was largely the province of the Church of England, which Bentham thought was "irredeemably corrupt," according to Causer. Instead of paying burial fees to the Church and letting his body rot underground, Bentham wanted to put his corpse to public use.

In this he was influenced by his friend and protégé Dr. Thomas Southwood Smith, who had published an article called "Use of the dead to the living" in 1824. Smith argued that medical knowledge suffered from the limited number of bodies then available for dissection—the Crown supplied only a handful of hanged criminals each year—and that the pool of available corpses had to be expanded to allow surgeons more practice material, lest they begin "practicing" on the living.

From his earliest will, Bentham left his body to science. (Some scholars think he may have been the first person to do so.) But he also went one step further. His last essay, written shortly before his death, was entitled "Auto-icon; or, farther uses of the dead to the living." In it, Bentham lambasts "our dead relations" as a source of both disease and debt. He had a better idea: Just as "instruction has been given to make 'every man his own broker,' or 'every man his own lawyer': so now may every man be his own statue."

Bentham envisioned a future in which weatherproofed auto-icons would be interspersed with trees on ancestral estates, employed as "actors" in historical theatre and debates, or simply kept as decoration. The point, he felt, was to treat the body in terms of its utility, rather than being bound by superstition or fear.

"It was a very courageous thing to do in the 1830s, to ask yourself to be dissected and reassembled," Causer says. "The auto-icon is his final attack on organized religion, specifically the Church of England. Because Bentham thought the church had a pernicious influence on society."

Sketch of Jeremy Bentham's corpse laid out for dissection
"The Mortal Remains" of Jeremy Bentham laid out for dissection, by H. H. Pickersgill

There was only one man Bentham trusted with carrying out his last wishes: Smith. After a public dissection attended by eminent scientific men, the devoted doctor cleaned Bentham's bones and articulated the skeleton with copper wiring, surrounding them with straw, cotton wool, fragrant herbs, and other materials. He encased the whole thing in one of Bentham's black suits, with the ruffles of a white shirt peeking out at the breast. He even propped Bentham's favorite walking stick, which the philosopher had nicknamed "Dapple," in between his legs, and sat him on one of his usual chairs—all just as Bentham had asked for.

But not everything went quite according to plan. The philosopher had asked to have his head preserved in the "style of the New Zealanders," which Smith attempted by placing the head over some sulfuric acid and under an air pump. The result was ghastly: desiccated, dark, and leathery, even as the glass eyes Bentham had picked out for it during life gleamed from the brow.

Seeing as how the results "would not do for exhibition," as Smith wrote to a friend, the doctor hired a noted French artist, Jacques Talrich, to sculpt a head out of wax based on busts and paintings made of Bentham while alive. Smith called his efforts "one of the most admirable likenesses ever seen"—a far more suitable topper for the auto-icon than the real, shriveled head, which was reportedly stuffed into the chest cavity and not rediscovered until World War II.

The preserved real head of Jeremy Bentham
Jeremy Bentham's preserved real head
Matt Brown, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

Smith kept the auto-icon at his consulting rooms until 1850, when he donated it to University College London, where Bentham is often seen as a spiritual forefather. It has been there ever since, inside a special mahogany case, despite rumors that students from Kings College—UCL's bitter rival—once stole the head and used it as a football.

"His head has never been stolen by another university," Kingham confirms. Causer says there is reason to believe the wax head was stolen by King's College in the 1990s, but never the real head. The football part of the story is particularly easy to dismiss, he notes: "We all have human heads, and kicking them doesn't do them much good, particularly 180-year-old human heads. If anybody kicked that, it would disintegrate on impact, I think." (Kingham also notes that the real head is not decomposing, as is sometimes claimed: "It's actually quite stable, it just doesn't look like a real-life person anymore. The skin is all shrunken.")

Another beloved myth has it that the auto-icon regularly attends UCL council meetings, where he's entered into the record as "present but not voting." Causer says that's not true either, although fiction became reality after the auto-icon graced the council meetings marking the 100th and 150th anniversary of the college's founding as a nod to the legend; it also attended the final council meeting of the school's retiring provost, Malcolm Grant.


Jeremy Bentham's auto-icon
Thomas Southwood Smith and Jacques Talrich, Auto-Icon of Jeremy Bentham. UCL Culture, London

Bentham always wanted to visit America; Causer says he was "a big admirer of the American political system" as the one most likely to promote the greatest happiness for its citizens. But before he could accomplish in death what he failed to do in life, UCL had to mount a careful conservation operation.

The first step: a spring cleaning. The conservation team at UCL removed each item of clothing on the auto-icon piece by piece, holding carefully to the delicate areas, like a loose left shoulder and wrist, where they knew from previous x-rays that the wiring was imperfect. After a detailed condition report and an inspection for pest damage (thankfully absent), the team surface-cleaned everything.

"The clothes were quite grubby because the box that he's sitting in, it's actually not very airtight," Kingham says. A vacuum with a brush attachment took care of surface dirt and dust, but the inner items required a more thorough clean. "We determined that his linen shirt and also his underwear could do with the wash, so we actually washed those in water. It was quite exciting saying I've been able to wash Jeremy Bentham's undies." The wax head was cleaned with water and cotton swabs, and occasionally a little spit, which Kingham says is a common cleaning technique for painted surfaces.

Kingham's team rearranged the stuffing around the skeleton, plumping the fibers as you would a pillow. The stuffing around the arms, in particular, had started to sag, so Kingham used a piece of stockinette fabric to bind the area around the biceps—making them look more like arms, she says, but also reducing some of the strain against the jacket, which threatened the stitching.

But the most labor-intensive part of the preparation, according to Kingham, was devising a customized padded chair for the auto-icon's transport. Their final creation included a wooden boarded seat covered in soft foam that had been sculpted to hold the auto-icon lying on its back, knees bent at a 90-degree angle to minimize stress on the pelvis—another weak point. The auto-icon was bound to the chair with soft bandages, and the whole thing inserted into a travel case. The wax head was also set inside a foam pad within a special handling crate (the real head will stay at UCL, where it is currently on display), while Bentham's regular chair, hat, and walking stick got their own crates.

"We had originally joked that it might be just easier to buy him a seat on the plane and just wheel him in on a wheelchair," Kingham says, laughing.

The special chair constructed for transporting Jeremy Bentham's auto-icon
UCL Culture

Luke Syson, the co-curator of "Like Life," says it was touching to watch the stick and hat emerge from their travel boxes, even if the auto-icon's special chair did look a bit "like how you would transport a lunatic around 1910—or indeed 1830."

Reached by phone just after he had finished installing the auto-icon, Syson says he wanted to include the item as part of the show's emphasis on works of art made to persuade the viewer that life is present. "This piece really sums up so many of the themes that the rest of the show looks at, so the use of wax, for example, as a substitute for flesh, the employment of real clothes … And then, above all of course, the use of body parts." And the auto-icon isn't the only item in the show to include human remains—when we spoke to Syson, he was looking at the auto-icon, Marc Quinn's "Self" (a self-portrait in frozen blood), and a medieval reliquary head made for a fragment of Saint Juliana's skull, all of which are installed in the same corner of the museum.

Syson says he was initially worried the auto-icon might not "read" as a piece of art—worries that were dispelled as soon as he installed the wax head. "The modeling of the face is so fine," he says. "The observation and expression, the sense of changing personality … there's a lovely jowliness underneath his chin, the wrinkles around his eyes are really speaking, and the kind of quizzical eyebrows, and so on, all make him really amazingly present."

And unlike at UCL, where the auto-icon sits in a case, viewers at the Met are able to see him on three sides, including his back. "He sort of springs to attention on his chair, he's not sort of slumped, which you couldn't see in the box [at UCL]."

Those who have worked with Bentham's auto-icon say it encourages a kind of intimacy. Taking the auto-icon apart, Kingham says, "you really do feel a closeness to Jeremy Bentham, because you looked in such detail at his clothes, and his bones, and his skeleton." The wax head, she says, is particularly lifelike. "People who knew him have said that it's a very, very good realistic likeness of him," she notes, which made it both eerie and special to handle so closely.

"This is both the representation and the person," Syson says. "We've been calling him 'Jeremy' these last few months, and he's sort of here, and it's not just that something's here, he's here. So that's an amazing thing."

Nearly 200 years later and across an ocean, Jeremy Bentham's auto-icon has arrived to serve another public good: delighting a whole new set of fans.

Jyrki Kymäläinen, Flickr // CC BY-ND 2.0
National WWII Museum Launches a European Tour Tracing the 'Band of Brothers' Path
Jyrki Kymäläinen, Flickr // CC BY-ND 2.0
Jyrki Kymäläinen, Flickr // CC BY-ND 2.0

Thanks to Stephen E. Ambrose's book Band of Brothers and the HBO miniseries of the same name, the story of "Easy" Company of the United States Army is among the most famous to come out of the Second World War. Now WWII buffs have a whole new way to experience that chapter in history: The National WWII Museum in New Orleans is offering a 13-day European excursion that traces the company's footsteps from Britain to Nazi Germany.

Easy Company suffered from one of the highest casualty rates of any U.S. company during World War II. They landed on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day, fought in the Siege of Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge, and captured Hitler's infamous Eagle's Nest in Berchtesgaden, Germany.

All of those highlights are covered in the WWII Museum's tour called "Easy Company: England to the Eagle's Nest." The museum was founded by Ambrose, and the new tour gives guests an intimate look at the sites mentioned in his book. During the excursion, tour members will be treated to commentary from museum historians and guest appearances from the actors who portrayed Easy Company soldiers in the miniseries. Admission to historical sites at each stop, as well as meals, transportation, and accommodations, is included in the price.

The next available tour starts September 9, with tickets costing $8490 for single guests and $6495 for each guest traveling as a couple. And if you're looking for another book-related escape for your next vacation, Rail Europe's literary tour of the continent may suit your tastes.


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