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In the service of science

by Reuven Minhayam
Hi, Amit and Michal

Nowadays it may seem unconceivable, but in prehistoric times - roughly between the extermination of the last Neanderthalers and the Gulf War - the great majority of of the species called 'homo sapiens' or simply 'humans' were able to survive without the aid of any kind of computers, personal or unpersonal. Actually, even humans with - for those times - relatively high developed brains regarded these devices as something out of at least the eighth dimension and revered the few individuals capable of just switching on one of those mysterious, incomprehensible machines as with supernatural forces endowed genii. In America, once the first excitement had cooled off, they mockingly called them 'Nerds', but that was just to conceal their envy. About the computer the ordinary mortals only knew that they contained all the secrets past, present or future of the universe and deferentially called them 'electronic brains'. These days you call your PC 'moron', when he gives you the hateful 'fatal error - closing down ' message, because he feels offended for one of his silly reasons. In any case, the pioneers of the founder generation knew, aided only by the most primitive tools (the awkward program languages of those times) to gain entry into the innermost guts of those awesome devices and there to extract important scientific information. Thanks to their selfless labor, today every selfrespecting household is adorned with this enjoyable gamebox and many a grownup has started to grasp the detailed explanations of his children or grandchildren and may even surf the Internet.
So give thanks to those pioneers!
And I was one of them!
So permit me to narrate in all due modesty about those trailblasting days:

I'm standing in my living room. On the floor a large empty carton and on the table...
a computer!! I own a computer! I AM THE OWNER OF A COMPUTER!!!
Looking at me, you will agree that my behavior has not changed an iota: I still set great emphasis on modest and reserved bearing, but the atmosphere in my flat has changed remarkably. If up till now it gave the impression of the dull meaningless living place of a divorced bachelor, you now perceive the nimbus of a scientific institute, and I feel that things happen inside my brain, which are incomprehensible to the mere mortal. For the moment actually, also to me. I feel an urge to phone my son. Mainly of course, to enquire after the general health and other aspects of family life, which as father always interest me deeply. Sometimes near the end of the conversation I shall mention something about my new purchase.
My daughter-in-law answers.
"I've bought a computer!"
"Oh, how exciting ! Alon, your daddy has bought a computer!"
My direct descendant takes the other end of the line. "What you need this for?" He asks irreverently.
"What for! Well, if you don't understand about these things..." I put the receiver down angrily. My own flesh and blood and such an ignorant question! Every partly educated person knows, that such a device is an indispensable tool of our epoch. It elevates its owner high above the level of the average citizen. With its help you can carry out any kind of the most complicated calculations, for instance you can...do any calculations.
After having been at sea for many months, I've got a long vacation ahead of me, and I will use it to get to know this awesome product of science through and through, up to its innermost intestines. The crew on my next ship is going to regard me at least as a demigod. Of course, I am not going to tell them straightaway about my new status, but during conversations you can always mention 'according to my calculations on the computer...'
People admire modesty. I know that in my town, people regard computers as something very mystifying. 'The electronic brain'. Any man who is able to handle such an awesome fixture must surely possess a brain of Einsteinian proportions.
The man who delivered the apparatus, after having connected everything, asked me, what I was intending to use it for mainly "Programming , word processing ,games...?"
Games! Who does he think I am! I answered one of the other things:"Programming!"
"What languages do you program in?"
It couldn't hurt to make a real impression."Mostly Chinese," I told him, nonchalantly.
He looked at me with a surprised expression. Hah, that floored him!
"Haha, great sense of humor! " He recovered, "but if you program in Basic, it comes with the computer. Any other language you'll have to purchase separately."
I felt slightly uncomfortable. This was going too fast.
"Basic is okey," I told him.
He wrote a few words on the keyboard, said, "here you have it!" and left me alone with the awesome device. Momentarily overwhelmed, I tried to collect myself with said phone call.
Not having acquired a great amount of encouragement by this, I have to face reality.
Fascinated I stare at the screen. It has changed: On top is written 'GWBASIC' and some other words and numbers. Below it I read:
60300 BYTES FREE
OK
Under this a dash is blinking on and off. I stare at it reverently. Here now at last, I have before me the key to all the secrets of the universe. I have only to ask, and the computer will answer. That is called programming. I am now going to write my first program. Lets start with something easy. I write: 'Had the Japanese calculated correctly, when they attacked Pearl Harbor?'
I wait. This question seems, after all, difficult for the computer, after five minutes it still has not answered me. Now, come to think of it, it has to check the economical and military condition of those times, the overall strategic picture and all those small details, like that Sgt. Helpman suffering from diarrhea at this date and so on; this should take some time. After two hours I decide - just to be on the safe side - to phone the store.
No reason to show any ignorance. Better to phrase your questions like a real computer expert:
"How long is the response time of my computer?" Fabulously expressed!
"Well, tell you the truth. You took a 386er. They are a little slow for today's standard."
"That's what I realized!" Good, good! That's a real expert talking.
"So, if you work through windows, in some programs you may get a delay of up to three seconds."
Three seconds! What's he talking about!
"Well, you see I have written a real involved program and there is no respond up till now!"
"You must have made an error somewhere on the way. You sure, you pushed 'Enter'? Hahaha, that was a joke. Well, try again. If you are sure something is wrong, I'll come over." So that's it! Now I see the big key on the right side 'ENTER'. This is the key to all the answers. I push it. At once a short sentence appears below my formula:
SYNTAX ERROR
OK
An indescribable euphoria overwhelms me (that's why I don't describe it): The computer has responded! The answer may seem somewhat short to the unscholarly, but we scientists know to interpret the language: The Japanese made some kind of error, when they started the war! There had always been the general opinion that that was so, but now I have proven it scientifically. What a sensation that is going to create: 'COMPUTER SCIENTIST PROVES JAPANESE FOLLY!'
Let's go on! Now we'll see how you build an atom bomb! Old Albert has explained this thoroughly in his formula E = mc2. Now I just have to find out what this means. So:
"What means E = mc2?" Enter.
SYNTAX ERROR
OK
Can you believe it! The great Einstein had erred! And he had based all his knowledge on this formula! So there is no atom bomb. Here is the proof. What a sensation this will cause:
"Computerscientist (here my full name) proves theory of reality wrong!"
On the staircase I hear Eran, son of the neighbors, twelve years old, a rascal, but very intelligent. The kids are having their summer vacation. I'll demonstrate my newfound mind power to him, he'll know to appreciate my new status. Also, it is the duty of the older generation to teach youth, just like Socrates. At this age he has, of course no inkling what this machine is all about, so I'll have to introduce him step by step.
"Eran," I say, "this is a Computer 386. Sit here and I shall explain to you, what it means."
His lower lip goes down in a contemptuous sneer. "386!" he says, "why didn't you take a 486, like everybody else? Next year you can get this one for three boxtops of corn flakes! How much RAM you got? Your hard disk should be at least 400 Mega!"
What's this nonsense he's chattering? Oh well, he's just twelve years old, his mind still full of the language of children stories.
I smile paternally, "don't change the subject! You know what things you can calculate with this?"
"What?"
Heavens above, you shouldn't believe how dim this fellow is!
"For example, how much fuel you need, to fly to Mars!"
"Oh, fine! Go on, calculate!"
I type the following scientific formula: 'How much fuel to Mars' With the casual gesture of an experienced programmer I press "ENTER'.
SYNTAX ERROR
OK
Hey, something's wrong! It still has the answer of the atom bomb inside inside! I hit 'ENTER' several times.
"It seems you didn't put the question right!"
I get nervous. "Don't teach me how to handle the computer!"
I type 'Fuel from Earth to Mars, please!' (Maybe it helps, to be polite) 'ENTER'.
SYNTAX ERROR
OK
I am getting upset. "He makes errors and is happy about it! What does he mean 'OK'? I'll call the store!" I lift the receiver and explain to the man that this computer is full of errors.
"We'll try something," he says, "lets see...you got Windows 3.11," I look at my windows, they are aluminium framed. So that's called '3.11'. Strange what that has to do with the computer.
"Open them!" He orders.
"Open what?"
"The Windows!"
I open them, "I did," I inform him.
"Good, now look for the program manager!"
"How shall I recognize him?"
"Look for the sign 'Program Manager', don't you know it?"
Now that's what I call service: They have a program manager in every residential area. I look around. On the street are some neighbors, several people I don't know, but no one carrying any sign.
"I see nothing," I inform the man.
"Now, how could that be! Very peculiar! I'll be right over!"
When he arrives, I explain the problem to him. He gets red in the face and seems to breathe with difficulty. Of course, he should be ashamed, to sell such merchandise. "Before you decide that the computer isn't working, "he finally recovers his language, "you should get some basic knowledge about it, instead of having me come running! Come to my store and choose some books for beginners!"
I seethe inwardly. All this in front of Eran!
At the store he offers me some choice of books. "Just the thing for you!" I look at the titles:
'COMPUTERS FOR IDIOTS', 'VISUAL BASIC FOR DUMMIES'.
I glare at him. The nerve of that guy! In the end I settle for 'BASIC FOR BEGINNERS'.
"I hope it won't be Chinese for you!" he smirks. I leave the place with a haughty mien.

Back home I start leafing through the book. It says 'on most computers you can start BASIC by just typing 'BASICA" or "GWBASIC" at the DOS prompt. Although the file is usually situated in the DOS directory, the path has been declared in the AUTOEXEC BATCH FILE during booting.'
Why can't they just use a simple language, like Sanskrit? Anyway, it says to type 'BASICA'. Let's try it.
It's getting worse and worse. Now it says
'Bad command or file name
OK '
What does he mean 'bad'? In the book they say to use it, and he says 'bad' but it's OK.
Let's try the other one. And behold! I am back at the now familiar GWBASIC screen. My confidence is growing! I am getting the hang of it!
Now what? Who can read the whole book from the beginning. Let's do something advanced. Here on page 8, I see an example program, which looks interesting. I copy it onto the screen:
10 PRINT "IBM COMPUTER;"
20 GOTO 10
Well, I have pressed 'ENTER' at each line just as it says and nothing happens.
Ah, here it says "Write 'RUN' or press F2 to run program. I decide for F2, hit it quickly and jump back, just to be on the safe side.
A line appears with incredible speed:
IBM COMPUTER IBM COMPUTER IBM COMPUTER IBM COMPUTER IBM COMPUTE
A miracle! The screen fills rapidly with line after line. It must have taken but a second, to reach the bottom. Just as there seems to be no more place to continue, all the lines jump upwards, the top one disappearing, who knows where, and another line forming at the bottom, the performance continuing endlessly. I watch fascinated, as battalions of IBM COMPUTERs march past, while for some reason the rousing music of 'Bolero' by Ravel starts to resound in my head. Imposing sounds increase and decrease in force, always varying, but in endless repetition and the batallions keep coming. When will it stop? The record inside my has come to an end, but the march on the screen continues. Then the 'Bolero' starts from the beginning. Somehow I have to stop this! I type 'STOP' on the keyboard, but the columns of IBM COMPUTERS let nothing else appear on the screen.
I have lost control of the computer!
A science fiction nightmare has become reality! I get panic-stricken. Whom do you call in such an emergency? The fire brigade? Maybe there is a computer emergency brigade? The music rises to an intolerable crescendo.
"Eran," I shout in the directions of the neighbors' flat, "come quickly!"
I don't know, what I expect from this rogue, but there are situation were the brain doesn't function properly any more.
"Look," I scream hysterically, "what he is doing!"
Eran regards me incredulous. " He couldn't have done this by himself!"
"Always these needless discussions. He has to be stopped before..."
"Before what?"
Yes, what actually? Now, this contraption could, for instance fill up inside with IBM COMPUTERs and start to overflow. Horrible, to imagine a sea of letters rising unstoppable, flooding villages...
Eran has meanwhile checked the apparatus and found the switch.
It's off! Quiet! The Bolero stops! The world has been saved! Exhausted I sit down on my couch.
Silence! Peace!
Peace?
"What happens, when we switch it on again?"
Before I can prevent him, he has pressed the button. Trembling I await the result. Words pass by, disappear at the top. At long last it stops. Thank God, it's not the IBM COMPUTER, just the funny C>:
The rascal cannot desist from departing with an arrogant remark:" With a little thinking you can fix anything."
I gnash my teeth. He will eat his words, when he sees me perform miracles on the gadget.

Next morning I am in complete mastery of the programming language. For the twentieth time I have typed in and run the program, and switched off each time the IBM COMPUTER lines became too self-confident, when Eran comes in with his friend.
"Doodoo here has brought his best games. I suppose you don't have any. We are going to copy them on your hard disk. We also brought a joystick. No computer can function without one!"
"I'm just writing a program," I declare with dignity.
"So you will get stuck like yesterday?" He nudges Doodoo with his elbow. This one grins.
I feel myself blushing. Now it's going to be spread all over the neighborhood. My newly acquired scientific aura is in danger!
Doodoo turns to the computer with the confidence of an expert. He puts a tiny disk into a slot, types some words, the screen starts to flicker and some colored letters appear, which finally give way to moving pictures. Two strong men are fighting each other with fists and kicks and jumps and whatever. I watch spellbound, how the boy handles the joystick with much skill. After some time I understand that he is handling the fighter in the green kimono. The red one receives kick after kick. The green fighter goes down only rarely. Doodoo's points increase rapidly. The picture changes. They explain to me that he has reached a higher level. But some levels later his luck runs out.
"It's my turn," says Eran.
"One moment," I interfere. I have meanwhile grasped the principle of the game and also the weakness of the player. With correct manipulation it is possible to reach much higher results.
"You don't react fast enough," I explain, "the ball of your thumb should press harder on the base of the joy-stick, thus you can turn it with a brisk motion. Watch!" I say.
They watch intently, only too willing to improve their dexterity. A few skilled moments of my thumb and forefinger and the fighter goes down. "You see," I say nonchalantly.
" It is yours, who went down!" They shout in unison.
Actually, I see now, it is the green one.
"That's just, what I wanted to point out. This happens when you don't concentrate. Now watch this!" I concentrate so strongly, I start sweating, and see! It works. The red feller has to work hard for five seconds till he's lucky again. "Number two!" the two fiends holler. I throw them a contemptuous look and my man is down again!
"Number three and you are out!"
"Well this was just for warming up," I explain, "Now wait and see!"
"You can show us, when it's your turn again!"
That's allright. Fair behavior is the basic factor, if you wish to be an example to youth.
It takes quite some time, till it's my turn again. Doodoo, for instance, goes through all twelve scenes and starts again with the first one. But after playing the whole game three times through, he again makes some typical mistakes and is out. The same happens with Eran.
At last it is my turn, and, having had ample time, to study the different forms of attack, I prepare to give my two students a thorough lecture. But I don't want to bore the reader.
Anyways, these games are childish and senseless and their mastery doesn't prove anything. I'll let them play today. Tomorrow I will start my programming sessions in earnest!

My doorbell rings at 6.45 am. Sleepily I gaze at Eran and Doodoo. In the background Eran's sister waits bashfully.
"What do you want in the middle of the night?"
"We just wanted to show Lilach the computer!"
"Now there is going to be a recess! In two weeks you can pass by again!"
The little girl starts to sob.
Okey, half an hour I can spare.
At 1 p.m. the gang asks to be excused. Their mothers expect them for lunch.
I'm deeply engaged in the next fascinating program of the lesson, when the mob returns with satisfied stomachs. Lilach has brought her friend Lisa, who regards me with a timid, heartbreaking look. The heart reacts as the sneaky brat intended and we have a new member.
You have to give kids a chance to have their fling. After all I'm the only person around, who can offer them some change from their humdrum life. I couldn't concentrate on my computer programs, if I'd see in my imagination their yearning faces before me. Besides, I know some psychology: Anything you do for a prolonged time, you get fed up with. And really! Their exhaustion shows in their faces, when the parents phone at 10 p.m. They are now fed up with those monotonous finger movements and long for real games, like basketball or soccer or whatever kids play. In any case the field belongs to me.
From tomorrow science takes over!

Shortly after midnight, exactly at seven in the morning, singing starts in front of the door of my flat. The moment I open the door and before I can admonish the originators of the noise, my hands are full of self picked flower-like plants, original miniatures dedicated personally to me from the artists and loveletters pronouncing the writers' gratitude for my generousness. Five unknown children await patiently the end of the ceremony.
I invite the visitors for a short snack, excusing myself for having only biscuits to offer, not being prepared for the surprise. For the seven additional guests in the after-lunch session there are no seating facilities. But the new members solve this little problem, by disappearing for a short time and returning with orange crates. This induces the members with seniority to rule that any new members will be required, from now on to supply their own seats. I find this very sensible, and when I discover that they have brought a crate for me too, I am touched by their consideration. I put it in the bathroom, there being no other vacant place. Soon I have figured out an arrangement, by which late at night I may put the stuff together in such a way, that I can move quite freely.
There are some complaints, that the waiting time for turns is getting longer with each new member. This problem is soon solved, when, according to suggestions from the members, I purchase one SEGA and one NINTENDO set, small tables included. Truth is, we are getting a little cramped, but here again the collective intellect of my charges finds a way out. Part of the furniture has to go. The kids even know a man, who handles these things. He comes, takes a look at the three perfect good pieces and proposes "Four hundred". Crazy! That's one tenth of what I paid for it, not too long ago.
"Not under one thousand!" I shout. "Okey, okey", he says.
Proudly I look at my members. How is that for tough talk?!
Only after he has loaded the stuff on his truck, do I find out, that he had spoken about the amount he was to receive for taking the stuff away.

Three weeks later. The walls of the flat are covered with original paintings, and I'm forced to ask the talented artists to try to find another outlet for their creations. At some moments I feel closed in. There is not much left for me to do, besides reading, trying to disregard the chattering around me while sitting on my crate in the bathroom, waiting for my legal turn at the computer, which somehow always turns out to be much shorter than that of the other members.
Margalith hasn't been around for three weeks. Once she phoned, but hung up instantly, grumbling "Aha, I still hear the yowling in the background!" None of my friends come to see me. I don't understand, what's happening. I am cut off from my former world.
But I've got something which compensates for everything: I am the manager of my own club!
And how the little ones love me!
"I'm going to long for you terribly, when you are away at sea " says a charming little blond. Words like these touch me deeply. If a grown-up talks like this, you never know the real meaning, but children have no need to tell you falsehoods.
"When do you sail again?" She asks. I must turn my face around, to wipe off a tear. For the poor dear, the idea that I have to leave again, is a trauma.
"Don't worry about it now," I comfort her, "I'll be here a long time to come!"
"Pity, it's such fun to long for somebody."
Of course an intelligent adult doesn't pay any attention to the blabbering of those brats.

One week later. I think, it's about time to get some order into the club. There are still quarrels, about whose turn it is. Nobody notes down the highest results and many other things. I realize it is upon myself to get things organized. After all, I'm leader and example. At the same time I can teach them a lesson about the democratic system.
"Listen everybody," I shout. Usually I get immediate attention by those, who sit with me in the bathroom, awaiting their turn, as they cannot see any of the screens, and welcome any diversion, till it is their turn to progress into the rooms. But this time I am going to get general attention.
"What is the meaning of this?" howls the mob, when I have taken out the main fuse.
"There will be no electricity till after the elections !"
"What elections?"
"Today we are going to elect a commission, whose duty it will be to draw up statutes and rules. Afterwards their recommendations will have to be accepted by a majority of members."
My proposal arouses interest. I organize the polls and soon a commission of five has been chosen. Between them they opt for the redheaded Gershon as chairman.
"I've got some questions to our manager, before we withdraw for consultations," the chairman turns to me.
Of course, he needs the advice of an experienced adult, and I am a willing tutor. Due to my experiences around the world, there is no situation, which could baffle me.
"May we draw up any new rule ?"
"As long as it doesn't oppose the law of the state or the community or threaten body or possession of any person. Beside this it must be accepted by the majority of the members".
Thus I have secured myself with two sentences in all directions, like an experienced lawyer.
"And if any one acts against the accepted statutes or rules?"
"He will be expelled and may never enter the premises again!"
"Are you a member?"
"Yes! I am the manager but also a member and have the same rights and obligations as any member."

The commission withdraws into my bedroom, which has been cleared for the occasion. I am surprised at the silence that prevails in there. No quarrels, no shouts! My guiding lines have made a strong impression on the bunch!
In the astonishing short time of fifteen minutes, the commission is back with their propositions. The chairman clears his throat ceremoniously and expectant quite settles over the assembly.
Thus is proclaimed: "Article 1: The club will be called heretofore : 'The Scientific Computer Circle.'"
The chairman looks questingly at me.
"Very good," I applaud, "vote!"
All hands raise. "Unanimous, go on!"
"Article 2: "Persons of any age are eligible to be members."
Unanimous!
"Amendment to article 2: Owing to circumstances, the number of persons admitted above
the age of fourteen will be limited to one."
That's quite allright, I think , what do I need grownup competition in here.
"Article 3: Members will pay a weekly fee, so the total amount will cover expenses for refreshments, new games etcetera. The individual requirements to be discussed at a later opportunity."
Unanimous! Very good! We are going to have a club with refreshments and all the works and they understand that each has to add his share.
"Amendment to article 3: Exceptions are persons without fixed income. Thus the total expenses are to be distributed evenly between persons earning a fixed salary."
Before I have time to think, I have voted for.
"One moment," I bellow a second later, suddenly comprehending the implications "I refuse to recognize this article!"
Short consultation at the commission's table.
"Accepted!" declares the chairman, "The member is permitted to withdraw his vote, but he has to accept the decision of the majority. Amendment to article 3 accepted!"
My head spins. I try to calculate the cost of the candy and soft drink consumption of a club of this size. Not to mention the new games!
"Article 4. The club thanks the present manager for his efforts and achievements, but deems it preferable to permit a younger member with a better knowledge of computers to prove his expertise."
Accepted ! With only one vote against!
The chairman raises : " I hereby declare all proposed articles as accepted! The election of a new manager will be carried out after lunch." The mob storms to the stairs.
Slowly I start to comprehend in its fullness the horror which has just been perpetrated. I've not only been degraded to an unimportant member of the club, I have to cover all its expenses! Soon they are going to throw me out of my own flat !
NO! I've reached the limit of my patience! Nobody can force me to hand over my flat to that riffraff. I'm not going to permit them entry to my living space. If necessary, I'm going to take the best lawyer. Oh, will they be surprised!
It rings! With two long strides I'm at the door, fling it open: " Beat it, you..."
Outside are about twenty ladies, some with flowers in their hands. One of them, seemingly the mother of the chairman, starts to speak: "We got together, to thank you, what you have done for our kids! We are so happy to know, they are under the care of such a high intellectual as you! And we parents have such a peaceful vacation this year. The kids not at home from early morning till late at night. My husband and me can enjoy ourselves the first time in years."
General applause.
"And how they love to learn ! My son has so much changed, since he visits your lectures.
Formerly he only thought of games and playing. Now he only talks computers. And the scientific names, he throws about! 'Zork, Boink, Blitzer, Tetris' .You'll see, he's going to be a professor! We have decided to write a letter to the mayor, so he will arrange that kids from farther away will be able to visit your institute, too. But we don't want to hold you up, I hear your class returning. You pay good attention, what the professor teaches you," she admonishes the onrushing hordes, "but," she winks at me, "I think there is no need to tell them !" And they all return to their peaceful homes, leaving me standing with hands full of flowers.

There is a solution for everything. I have rent a one-room flat, not far away from the one I own. About ten minutes by bus. I also bought a computer. Got it very cheap. It's antique, but it works. Somebody told me, the originals were made of stone. I have a simple bed. That's all I need. Not necessary to return home after my studies. Twice a week I go to my flat, to fill up the fridge.
The kids are very friendly. The ones, waiting on the staircase didn't want to let me through, at first, said everybody had to await his turn, but after I promised not to play, they let me in with a guard. The new manager informs me, that dues will be raised. What with inflation and the many new non-paying members.
My doorbell rings. Outside stands a couple. She holds a plate with a piece of cake in her hand.
"Hello, we are your neighbors. Just thought we would pass by to let you taste a piece of my cake.'"
I invite them in. After such a long time it is nice to talk to grownups again. They seem to be a nice couple.
"Oh," she says, noticing my computer, "I see, you are a scientist !"
Such a perceptive woman!
She scrutinizes the screen onto which I have copied a complicated program from the book.
10 m = 200000
20 print "the moon is more than ";m ; " miles distant from earth"
"Oh, " I say modestly, " I'm doing some astronomical calculations."
They are awe-struck. I haven't felt so elated for a long time.
"This gives me an idea. You see, we have five children ," says the woman proudly, "wonderful, smart children. All they dream about is a computer, but we can't afford one. I thought , that maybe, they could sometimes come by and you would teach...What happened, for heavens sake?!... Benny quick, call an ambulance!"

The end

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