East of Silicon Valley

Prologue

I have a story to tell. Some of it is drawn from my experience. Other parts come from reading others' stories and following current events. While the story may seem a little odd, I fear it is based on events that occur daily throughout the West.

Chapter 1

Walking from the parking lot to the building where I teach, I pulled my overnight case full of textbooks, notes and electronic devices. It was a cold and windy evening in the middle of another northern Nevada winter. The community college is situated on the top of a hill and the wind funnels past it with intensity, blowing snow and pellets of ice that stung my face as I weaved through the stream of students trying to park as close as they could to the buildings where the classes are held.

The icy wind made me wonder for the hundredth time what I was doing there. I knew the answer – I needed the money – but still it is a long way from where I had been. Until recently, teaching had been a hobby for me; a break from my career as a software engineer. After I lost my job to the offshore body shops, I had to move to Reno from the Bay Area. It is just too expensive in Cupertino for a recently divorced guy who is out of work.

As part of the divorce settlement, I had received title to a condo at Lake Tahoe, which had been used as a vacation home before the divorce. My ex-wife got the mortgage-free home in Silicon Valley. I sold the condo, paid off the remaining mortgage on it and was using the proceeds to live on while searching for another job in Reno.

In my mid 50’s with a career in computer software development, I was worried that I was no longer employable. All my experience, going back to the days of the mainframes, seemed to be unmarketable. I recalled the hours I spent reinventing my skills so that I could design and build websites and program for the internet. These all seemed wasted now. All I could find was a part-time instructor job at the local community college. It didn't pay much, but it provided medical benefits at a cut rate. It also opened the door for me to teach some math courses -- something I had always wanted to do.

One of the classes I was teaching was an entry-level class in Information Technology, a required course for business and IT majors. Most of the students enroll in the course to complete a requirement for their majors and are not really very interested in computers – and even less interested in the history of the computer, which is what the syllabus called for me to teach. I was not looking forward to the yawns and bored looks of disinterest. The only thing that held promise for an otherwise dreadful evening was a student named Kevin.

Kevin always arrived early and in a cheerful frame of mind, striking up conversations with me as I set up for the class. He was interested in my experiences as a software engineer. Better still, he did not insert the word ‘like’ in every sentence and did adopt the “Val Speak” patois of southern California that has invaded northern Nevada in recent years (which is “totally way cool for him to be all understanding about the whole deal.” -- gag!)

There were a few students waiting outside the door of the classroom when I arrived. They crowded past me as soon as I unlocked the door. Kevin hung back and held the door for me as I juggled the cup of vending machine coffee along with my roll-along bag of tricks.

As I began booting up the instructor’s PC and plugging in my USB drive, Kevin said that he was especially looking forward to the class this evening. Just a little suspiciously because it seemed like yet another ploy to get on the good side of the instructor, I asked why. He said, “I am fascinated with the history of computing. My experience has only been with PC’s and the Internet, but I realize that a lot went on prior to 1980 when IBM introduced the PC. I would like to understand how we got to where are today.”

He may have been just kissing up, but this boosted my spirits -- just what I needed to motivate me for the lecture.

As the remainder of the class filtered in, I noted those present on my attendance sheet, which is displayed on the projection screen at the front of the classroom. The projection screen displayed the image generated by the instructor’s PC. By now, I have learned the faces and the names that go with them. Allowing them to see me mark them present is an incentive to show up on time, and an acknowledgment that I had learned their names.

I used PowerPoint to display the slides containing the talking points for my lectures. When the time for the class to start arrived, I began with announcements and a brief review of the previous week’s topic. I then began with the lecture, having learned earlier that stragglers will be arriving over the next 15 minutes and sometimes later, so there is no point in waiting. I tried to not be annoyed by late arrivals, but it has taken some time to get used to the distractions.

The late-comers were not the only distractions. The class was taught in a computer lab environment, with each student sitting in front of a computer monitor and keyboard. It was common to look out during the lecture and see most students surfing the net. At first, I refused to lecture while the students surfed, but saying this repeatedly takes too much time from the class, so I just tried to ignore the discourtesy, knowing that the ones who paid attention get the better grades.

I began describing how the computer evolved from the minds of Countess Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage in the early 1800’s to the compact, affordable PC that we know today. To me, this is a fascinating story. The individuals involved were true independent thinkers, with a common thread – the vision of an electromechanical device that could emulate our thought processes. Or, if not quite capable of thought, could serve as an efficient and valuable assistant, augmenting our thought with powers of computation and recall that enhance all we do.

I was up to the 1940’s and Alan Turing when Chad asked “Is this stuff going to be on the midterm?” While I encouraged questions at any time, just blurting out comments or questions during the lecture seemed rude to me. I am probably far too stuffy, but it showed a lack of respect for me and the rest of the class. I have asked the class on previous occasions to raise a hand if they have something to say or ask.

More than the way the question was asked, but the question itself raised my temperature. It is clear that what I was saying was of no interest to Chad (and probably more than a few others). After all, most were only in the class to complete the requirement, and what seemed fascinating to me could have been boring to them. I tried to take this into consideration when I answered, “Yes, there may be a question or two on the midterm about the history of computers. However, the questions will not be difficult if you can bear with me for the next few minutes.”

Chad looked back at his computer screen, as if I hadn’t said anything, and went back to surfing the web. The irony of his disinterest in what I was saying, while at the same time amusing himself by using the tool I was trying to get him to appreciate, was not lost on Kevin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile and shake his head. At least one member of the class was listening.

I proceeded to describe how the behemoth machines of the 1950’s morphed into smaller and smaller mainframes until the late 1970’s when the personal computer was conceived and prototypes of it were built by a homebrew club in Palo Alto that included the likes of Jobs and Wozniak. Most of the class had been born since the PC was developed and introduced to the world by IBM. Their horizon of experience did not extend to a time when the computer was something that cost millions of dollars and sat in a glass room, pampered with air conditioning and filters to keep out the dust and attended to by high priests called “programmers”. In fact, many of the students had a hard time remembering times when the Internet and the web were not as commonplace as the cell phone.

After the class, Kevin waited for the rest of the students to rush from the room as though they were fleeing the plague, and approached the podium to say, “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I enjoyed hearing about how computers got to be the way they are. Sorry about Chad. Sometimes these guys are just too much.”

By this time my temperature was back to normal, so I just smiled and said, “I appreciate the courtesy, Kevin, but please call me Jon. Thanks for your interest in the topic. I guess I shouldn’t expect the things that interest me to interest everyone else.”

Chapter 2

Kevin is an interesting guy. He dresses in a way that I consider to be normal; no droopy drawers, no pity-me poor boy grunge and no cap with bill pointing backwards or out to the side. Instead, he wears clean khakis that are neatly pressed and dress shirts with open collars. I’ve never seen him with a cell phone, even when walking from the classroom to his car.

As I continued to pack up, I noticed that he wore a bracelet with a small medallion in the shape of a crescent. It stands out against the darkness of his skin. I wondered for the first time about his ethnicity. His skin is dark enough that he could be middle-Eastern, or he could also be the product of a marriage where the races have been blended, or he could just spend a lot of time outdoors in the blazing Nevada sun. I planned to ask him about that at a later time, perhaps when I had gotten to know him better, but at that moment all I could think of was getting back to my apartment and having a drink.

The snow began as I drove down North Virginia Street into Reno. By the time I reached my apartment in the “old southwest” section of town, I could barely see the lane markings on the street.

I was lucky to find an apartment that so fit my needs and my budget. It is in a neighborhood that is mostly single family, lower middle-class homes. Many of the houses have pickup trucks parked in the driveway, some with the logo of a construction or yard maintenance company. The trees are very mature in this section of town, dating the houses to the late 1940’s or early 1950’s. The trees were all bare, but in the summer they provide a leafy refuge from the torrid heat.

My apartment was really a small house that sits at the end of a long driveway. There are 3 other similar houses with garages and small stoops that face the same driveway, but my house is separated by about 50 yards from the nearest neighbor. My guess is that it was originally built as a “mother-in-law” apartment and the rest of the property sub-divided and developed over a period of several years. The apartment/house was more than I could afford, but I hung on to it as long as I could. I really enjoyed the privacy and the quiet that being so far from the street provided. Even the teenagers were afraid to come back there on Halloween.

Usually I am envious of my neighbors who have their own homes and families, but that night I was grateful not to have to worry about shoveling snow or listening to any of the problems that children save for their dads in the evening. The way the snow was coming down, there was sure to be some serious shoveling going on in the morning. However, my lease included snow removal, so it was not my problem.

By 11:00 I was feeling a little tired. Teaching does not come naturally to me. Each class feels like a stage performance. I open the cupboard and pull out the bottle of Glen Fiddich that had been given to me as a present a couple of years ago. I poured out half a glass and sat down in front of my parabolic space heater. As I sipped the scotch, a warm glow spread from my stomach to the outer extremities and I started to think about how things had unraveled for me over the past few years.

I was working at a startup in Cupertino and teaching classes in the evening at UCSC Extension in Santa Clara when I first noticed how many of my students were from India. Talking with the students during breaks, I began to realize that most of the students were in the U.S. under an H1B visa or were the spouse of an H1B visa worker.

The H1B visa requires a corporate sponsor. As long as the sponsor vouches for him or her, the worker is allowed to continue to stay in the U.S. However, if the sponsorship is withdrawn, the worker must return to his home country. Many companies use this power to produce a kind of indentured servitude, paying the worker a wage that is only a fraction of what his American counterpart is paid.

One evening I was talking with a student named Bomi who was taking my Oracle Database Management class. I asked Bomi where he worked. Looking a little uneasy he responded, “I work for Silicon Valley IT.”

“I don’t believe I have heard of that company”, I said. “What does it do?”

Bomi looked even more uneasy, but said, “They really aren’t producing anything directly. They provide us as workers to other companies. In fact, the reason I am taking this class is to be qualified for the assignment they have given me.”

Trying to be friendly without being too nosy, I asked, “Do they pay well?”

“The company that I work for pays very well, but I only get a small percentage of that”, Bomi said.

This made me very curioius. Why would a qualified worker only be paid a percentage of what he had earned?

“Bomi, “ I said with a grin, “I hope I am not making you uneasy with my questions. I have no plans to discuss our conversation with anyone. I am just very puzzled about the situation you describe. Why would you only receive part of what you have earned?”

“The remainder of my salary goes to my sponsor, Silicon Valley IT. After all, they helped me immigrate to the U.S. and they put me in contact with my employer. Besides, even with the portion of the salary I get to keep, my wife and I can live much better than we lived in India.”

“But how does that benefit the company where you work?” I asked. “Are they not paying you a salary comparable to what U.S. citizens get for the same job?”

Bomi shifted nervously, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping on our conversation. Satisfied that there was no one nearby, he said, “I am not supposed to know about this, but my friend who works in payroll told me: Silicon Valley IT gives some of its commission back to the employer so it looks like the employer is paying a competitive wage when, in fact, they are getting my services at less than 50 percent of the going rate.”

I thought about this for a few seconds. This “sponsor” was nothing more than a clearinghouse for sweatshops, that paid what was, in effect, sub-standard wages, while preventing American workers from having jobs that they had spent years training for. The cynicism fit well with my perception of the way corporate America was getting fat off the policies of the big corporations and, especially, with the incumbent president. It made me both angry and resentful about the direction I saw the country going.

I said goodnight to Bomi and wished him well with his studies and his job.

The next day I was reading one of the weekly trade journals and became very irritated when I read that the wages being paid to H1B employees was comparable to wages being paid to American workers. There was no mention of the kickback that the H1B employees had to make to their sponsors or the kickback that their sponsors gave to the employer.

A few days later I was sitting in my cube at Cohesion, the startup where I worked, when my long-time friend and colleague, Dave dropped by. Dave and I had worked together at IBM before leaving to come to work for Cohesion. We had worked together on bringing the first relational database management product out of Research and into the development division.

Dave said, “Well, I guess that’s it. I’ll be seeing you later, I hope.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

He said, “I’ve been laid off. One of the H1B workers has taken my job. They gave me 3 months severance and a pat on the back for all the hard work I’ve done.”

I was amazed. Dave was one of the best contributors to the company. He worked hard and brought a wealth of knowledge about database with him. Of course I felt bad for Dave. He is a good guy. But I also felt uneasy about my own prospects. Dave was a much more highly regarded worker than me, so what did the message about his being laid off send to me?

Sure enough, a week later I was called into the general manager’s office and given my pink slip. When I asked for a reason, the manager just smiled and said that my services were no longer needed. I found out later that one of my students (yes, an H1B visa worker) had been given my job. Ironically, it was what I had taught him at Extension that qualified him for the job.

I sat back in my well-worn chair and heaved a sigh. The memory of losing my job at Cohesion still makes my blood boil. What ungrateful turds corporate America has become, I thought. The greedy bastards deserved what they got when the dot-com bubble burst. Maybe they did me a favor by giving me a head-start in finding another job, but the injustice of it all still rankled.

Chapter 3

Driving in Reno during the winter can be a real adventure. The city fathers have decided that it is not cost effective to have sufficient snow removal equipment for the heavier snows. Instead, they contract with local agents to supplement the equipment they do have. Some of these agents are individuals who have invested in the equipment on their own and others work for larger companies who keep the equipment on hand for these situations.

As a result, the streets are cleared in a hap-hazard fashion, with some streets covered in ice and snow for weeks after the snowfall. You have to know which streets to avoid or run the risk of sliding into a parked car or getting bogged down in a snow bank.

That morning was a “discovery period” for me. I drove my Geo Tracker slowly along the main streets, looking down the side-streets to see which ones had been cleared.

Buying the Tracker when I was still employed at Games, Inc. was one of the smarter things I have done. The Tracker is a Suzuki Sidekick in disguise. It has 4-wheel drive and gets 25 miles to the gallon. It is not flashy, but somewhat like its owner – plodding, patient and persistent.

I noted the streets that were navigable for future reference and ended up at my favorite coffee shop where I was warmly greeted by the owner, Mark and his wife, May. Mark also owns a local roastery and serves coffee made from the beans he has imported and roasted. Mark commented about the first snow of the season and speculated that we still have four more heavy storms to go. This is the local wisdom about Reno weather; five heavy storms a year is par for the course. The other local wisdom, which seems to be very accurate, is that you should not plant anything in the spring as long as there is snow on Peavine, one of the local mountains that hover over North Reno, just above the University.

After enjoying a really good cup of coffee and the company of Mark and May, I returned home and checked my email. Several students had completed their assignments and had sent them to me. I checked them over, offered a few suggestions and entered the assignments in the spreadsheet that I use to record grades. The scholarship of the students is, for the most part, lacking. There are a lot of grammatical errors, misspellings and fragmented thoughts. It makes me wonder what kind of high schools would turn out students like this.

I didn’t have to teach that night, so after finishing with my email I decided to go for a walk. The snow had been cleared from the sidewalks for the most part, and it was a crisp cold day. I walked towards town along the river. As I reached the bridge that connects Idlewild with Riverfront, I see a familiar figure ahead. As I got closer, I could see that it was Kevin standing on the bridge staring down at the river. The Truckee was high and wild, racing along carrying debris from the higher elevations.

“Hey, don’t jump!” I said to Kevin.

Kevin turned and smiled, “I wasn’t thinking of jumping just now, although there are days… What are you doing here?”

“Just out for a walk,” I said. “I live nearby.”

“Me, too -- say, you know, I was standing here thinking about what you told us in class last night. It occurs to me that you didn’t mention anything about yourself. I am guessing that you must have some interesting things to say about your days as a programmer.”

“Well, there were some interesting times, but I don’t think the class would be interested in hearing me go on about that. They didn’t seem all that interested in what the giants in the field have contributed, so I am guessing that they would be even less interested in my involvement.”

“I don’t know about them,” Kevin says, “but I certainly am interested. How about walking over to First Street for a cup of coffee?”

I hesitate for a second. Seeing a student outside the classroom is probably against one of the multitude of rules in my instructor’s guide. However, the offer is too tempting, so I say, “Great, but only if it is my treat.”

“You’re on,” Kevin says as we start off along Riverside Drive. The Truckee River is on our right and the day has turned bright, reflecting off the snow piled up along the banks. I’m glad I remembered my sunglasses.

After we ordered cups of steaming, fragrant coffee and settled into a table in the corner, Kevin said “Wow, you really are fit. I guess all the walking keeps you that way.”

“Thanks, the walking is great, but I think the hours on the tennis courts probably has more to do with it.”

“You play tennis? That is my sport, too.”

“Too bad the courts are covered in snow,” I said.

“Yes, that is the worst thing about living in Reno,” Kevin says, “but I work out with a group of hard-core tennis nuts over at the municipal courts on Plumas. Why don’t you join us? The tennis center director, Paul, and his staff get out there with snow-blowers as soon as the storm is over and the courts are good to go in a few hours.”

“Thanks, I will take your advice on that. I get really restless when there is no tennis for a long time,” I said. “It was good of you to mention it.”

“Ok, enough about tennis. Tell me about how you got started in programming. My guess is that it was while you were still in college.”

“It really is not that interesting.” I say. “I was working as a computer operator at IBM while going to school nights, majoring in math. My manager noticed this while signing a tuition request form and asked me if I would like to get involved in programming. In those days most programmers were either mathematicians or electrical engineers.”

“So, tell me about your first programming assignment and what kind of equipment you were using,” Kevin says.

“Working in a scientific programming center, there were several projects to choose from. Most of them required more math than I possessed at that time, but one of them was a purely data processing chore. One of the Center’s clients was the Human Factors Research department. They were conducting comparative studies on a variety of keyboards. The keyboards were connected to a magnetic tape device that recorded the keystrokes and the intervals between keystrokes. The project was called Miranda.”

“My job was to read the tape and produce a statistical summary of the keystrokes and intervals. The equipment we were using was an IBM 650 – one of the first general purpose computers built by IBM. The software was even more primitive: an assembly language called SOAP (Symbolic Optimizer Assembly Program.) I wrote the code in assembly language and SOAP optimized it so that it would run more quickly. The 650 had a magnetic drum memory, and if branches in the program were not optimized, a full rotation of the drum could occur before the target of the branch was reached.”

“Wow,” said Kevin “this is a lot more than I can understand, but I get the picture. How long did it take you to complete the project?”

“I worked very hard on it. In those days I could concentrate for 18 hours or more at a stretch. I finished the job in two months. The Center manager was very impressed and gave me more work to do. In less than a year, I was promoted from computer operator to Junior Associate Programmer.”

“That is fascinating,” Kevin says. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to work with such primitive equipment and software.”

“The highlight of that period was the visit to IBM by the Russian Premier, Nikita Khrushchev. He came to the computer lab where I was working and got a big kick out of our standing joke. We had placed a hermetically sealed abacus on top the 650 with a sign saying ‘Break glass in case of emergency.’ He also gave us worker’s medals that he had brought with him from the Soviet Union. I still have the one he gave me.”

Kevin said, “You should bring it to class one evening. I know I would love to see it, and I’m guessing at least a couple of the other students would, too.”

“Ok, I’ll see if I can find it and bring it in, but I doubt that there are any others who have even heard of Khrushchev.”

After a few more minutes I say, “Well, I could go on about my very excellent computer adventures all day, but I had better get home and prepare the lesson for the next class,”

“It was really good talking with you,” Kevin said. “I hope we can get together again for more ‘very excellent adventure stories’ or maybe some tennis. Come over to the courts any Tuesday or Thursday evening, weather permitting, and we can get in some hitting.”

“Thanks, Kevin. I enjoyed talking with you, too – and I will take you up on the tennis offer. I used to play so much more in the Bay Area. I’m having withdrawal symptoms already and the winter has just started.”

“See you in class,” Kevin said as we walked in separate directions after leaving the coffee shop.

As I walk back along the river, I am thinking that Kevin is a very different student than most of the ones I have met. He is thoughtful and very outgoing, not full of himself as so many young people seem to be today. His language is very formal, almost as if he had been trained in English as a second language, although his pronunciation and diction are flawless.

Chapter 4

Because he is left-handed, I hit a strong slice serve to Kevin’s backhand. This is usually an easy and effective serve to hit when serving to a southpaw who is receiving on the deuce court.

Kevin surprised me with his return. He cracked the backhand sharply cross-court and I was left standing with my mouth open. All I could do was salute the shot.

Kevin grinned and said, “Every right-hander tries that on their first serve, so I have had to learn to be ready for it.”

We played out several points and I was impressed with his ability and savvy. I have often felt that I can tell everything I need to know about a person by playing tennis with him. Kevin proved to be a real player. His line calls were more than fair without being condescending. He praised my good shots and didn’t get upset when he made a mistake.

After the first set, we took a break to drink water and catch our breath. Kevin said, “Well, I can tell you have played a lot of tennis. Your strokes are classic, but you mix in some things I haven’t seen before. Where did you learn to hit that drop shot?”

I said “I learned to play on clay. I’m sure you know what an effective shot it is on that surface. I have even seen the backspin bite so hard that the ball jumps back over the net on its own.”

“What can your opponent do when that happens?”

“The rules say that he can lean over the net and hit the ball before it bounces again, but that is pretty hard to do without touching the net. If he touches the net, he loses the point.” I explain, noticing that Kevin is nodding half-way through the explanation. I can tell he knows this already but is too polite to interrupt.

Kevin looks around to make sure no one is near enough to hear and then asks, “How do you manage to keep calm when you play? I have noticed that you often seem to be struggling with your temper.”

Shocked that my efforts to maintain control were so noticeable, I was at a loss for a few seconds.

“I didn’t know that it showed.” I said “Is it really that obvious?”

“Probably not to the casual observer,” he said with a trace of a smile, “but I have had some training in observational techniques. It is very useful at times. However, I notice that while you are playing, there are no signs of inner tension. You seem relaxed and in control, even when you miss a shot.”

“You are right.” I said “That is probably why I like tennis so much. I can focus on the game and put aside all the emotional baggage I usually carry around.”

I wondered to myself where and why he had training in “observational techniques.” I also began to wonder how old Kevin is. Maybe his clean-cut looks had fooled me about his age. He seemed much more mature than the 20-something I had guessed.

"By the way," Kevin said. "Maybe you would like to meet with some friends of mine. We are all interested in computing and want to know more about its history. It would be great to hear from someone who lived through so much of it."

"I don't know," I said. "It is flattering of you to ask, but I was always a 'down-in-the-trenches' guy, not a visionary or anything like that."

"But didn't you say that you were a senior programmer at IBM?" Kevin asked.

"Yes, me and about 1,000 others. It wasn't all that special." I said.

"Well, it sounds pretty special to me," Kevin said. "What do you think? We meet every Friday evening around 7:00 at the pub called The Grad School over by UNR."

"I suppose," I said. "Just don't raise expectations too much, and feel free to shut me up if I start rambling too much."

"Great," said Kevin. "See you then."

Chapter 5

“I would like you to meet a friend of mine,” Kevin said. “This is Ali. Ali is the top person in our local organization.”

Feeling a little uneasy, I asked, “Exactly what organization is that, Kevin?”

Kevin flashed his confident smile and turned to Ali. “Would you like to explain?”

Ali sat down and, with an open-palmed gesture, gave an invitation for me to do so as well.

I sat down in the chair across the table from him while he signaled to the waiter to bring some drinks.

Ali said, “Jon, from what Khalid has told me, we share a common outlook towards your government. I thought it would be a good time to discuss our common goals and needs to see if we might combine our efforts.”

“First of all,” I said “who is Khalid?”

Ali said, “Khalid is Kevin’s Islamic name. I thought he had explained his conversion to you. Sorry for the confusion.”

The waiter arrived with the drinks. They were amber and in sweating tumblers, so I assumed that they were some type of beer.

Ali took a sip and said, “In answer to your question, our ‘organization’ is hardly that formal.”

“We are a group of Islamic students who live near the university. We are studying cybernetics and computer science. I guess you might say that we also are very disaffected with the direction being taken by the present government.”

I was starting to feel suspicious. “Did you send Kevin – I mean Khalid – to recruit me for your little non-organization?” I asked.

“The word, ‘recruit’, is a little strong, Jon,” Ali said. “I think you flatter yourself a little. We heard from Khalid that you have a lot of experience with computers, going back several years, and thought you would be an interesting person to have come talk to us.”

“What direction is it that you think our government is taking that is so wrong?” I asked.

Shifting into a more comfortable position and sipping from his tumbler, Ali said: “I think you already know, Jon. It is the direction that makes you feel the rage, the direction that the rest of the world so abhors, the direction of American corporate greed that currently rules the world’s economy, that supports the dictators of the world, making slaves of so many of the people who are unfortunate enough to live in third world countries.”
I became a little uneasy. He was touching a responsive chord and it alarmed me a little to have him put names to the things that bothered me so much. Also, how did he know about how I felt? I had never discussed matters of this type with Kevin, but he was right on the money about how I felt.

I had grown increasingly disenchanted with the current administration as well as with the opposing political party. I often found myself wondering if the government had become a single voice with no real opposition or, worse yet, no alternative approaches to positioning the U.S. in the rapidly evolving globalization that is taking place.

Our continued dependency on oil, with no change in policy in view, seemed to me to be the obvious cause of the terrorist activity taking place everywhere. Bin Laden has made his case pretty clearly to the West: get out of Muslim nations or the terrorism will not only continue, it will escalate. Yet we remain there because of our “interests”, namely the oil supplies provided by these countries.

Each day as I drove to work surrounded by Escalades and Suburban behemoths, I shook my head in wonder at the complacency and greed of the society in which I found myself. Doesn’t anyone believe that we are living on borrowed time? That the rest of the world will continue to support our gross appetites for energy forever?

Ali, noticing my discomfort, said to Khalid with a smile, “I think I have pressed some buttons on our friend. Maybe he would like to give us his thoughts on how the world is going.”

“Well, maybe I do agree at some level with what you say, but that doesn’t mean I am ready to join an Al Qaeda cell. After all, I am an American and have loyalty to my country.” I said.

At the mention of Al Qaeda, Ali stopped smiling and glanced with some concern at Khalid.

“So, ‘my country right or wrong’ – is that the position you take? By the way, it is more than a little dangerous to mention terrorist organizations in a public place today. I’m sure you are aware of that.” Ali responded.

Khalid joined in with, “In this country, at this time we do not have the freedoms that you have grown up with. Just the mention of such organizations is enough to have your name placed on a watch-list. Believe me; you don’t want that to happen.”

“Well,” I said, “can we use the word ‘terrorist’ or is that a no-no, too? Because it sounds to me that that is what your non-organization is about.”

Ali said, “Jon, what exactly is a terrorist? Is it someone who believes the government is on the wrong track? If that is the case, more then half the population in the U.S. are terrorists according to the polls.”

“You know very well what I mean,” I said. “Terrorists are groups of people who resort to violence to get what they want.”

“And are these groups part of some formal government agency? And do they create violence against military groups or individuals who are non-combatants?” Ali asked.

I started to get a little uncomfortable because I did not have a formal definition for terrorism. Ali’s questions were driving this point home.

“What difference does it make?” I asked. “These are groups that go around killing people to make a point, like they did during the 9/11 attacks.”

Kevin chimed in, “It makes a big difference if you are being accused of being a terrorist,” he said. “Were the folks who conducted the Boston Tea Party terrorists or patriots?” he asked.

“You see, Jon,” Ali said, “Your terrorist could well be my freedom fighter.”

“So, it is ok to be a terrorist? Is that what you are saying?” I asked.

“Terrorism sometimes grows out of the need to express your feelings in a way that the government cannot just ignore while they conduct business as usual,” Ali said. “In this country, which is founded on freedom of religion and the separation of church and state, it is now dangerous to be a Muslim. This is true in part because of 9/11, but it is also true because a large contingent of very conservative Christians have gained control of the government and are dictating policy to the President.”

I was beginning to grow weary of this conversation. I had no intention of becoming either a terrorist or a Muslim.

“What, exactly, is it that you want from me?” I asked.

“Just what we said before,” Ali replied as he took another sip of his drink, “we would just like to hear about the work you are doing and have done with computers. We are enthusiastic and fascinated with computers. Khalid said you have had a rich career with computers and we are interested – nothing more than that.”

I had not touched my drink and now I was uncomfortable enough that I didn’t dare drink anything that might get my temper going.

“I will be glad to chat about computers with you,” I said, “but I will tell you up front that I am not about to get involved with terrorism and have no interest in any religion, Muslim, Christian or whatever.”

Ali sat up a little more straightly in his chair and Kevin, I mean Khalid, leaned forward in his. “When can you spend an hour or so with us?” Khalid asked. “We are a group of about 15 that meet each Friday evening. I don’t think you teach on Fridays, do you?”

“No, none of my classes are on a Friday,” I said, wondering to myself why I was agreeing to do this. “I can give you an hour next Friday if you wish.”

“That will be great!” Ali said. “Come at 6:00 and we will provide dinner. After that, you can describe your career and answer questions from the group.”

Chapter 6

On the following Friday, I returned to The Grad School and was met at the door by Kevin. As he led me to the meeting room at the back of the pub, I asked him, "Shall I call you Kevin or Khalid?"

He said, "It's probably better to stick with 'Kevin', since that is how I'm enrolled at school."

The meeting room was really just a section of the pub separated by a folding screen. As I entered the room, I noticed it was already full, with about 12 students sitting quietly on folding chairs. The students were mostly male, and two of the three females wore head coverings. The third female student was a stunning Chinese woman. She was a few years older than the rest and carried herself very proudly with a straight back down which her long black, shiny hair was on display.

Ali, greeted me and gave me a quick introduction to the students. It went so fast that I could not remember the names, but each student smiled and thanked me for coming.

"So, what shall I tell you about my career in computing?" I asked.

The Chinese student said, "I will repeat my name because Ali went so fast that no one could remember them all." She stole a quick, sharp glance at Ali, who just smiled and shrugged. "My western name is Suzy, and I would like to know how you were able to get anything done working without the Internet or even computer terminals."

It was a good question, because I wondered myself at how any of us had the patience to complete projects with the primitive tools we had.

"Well," I said. "We had to do a lot of careful planning, design and desk-checking. Usually, we worked in teams of two. One day I would be the designer and my partner would be the checker. The next day we switched roles."

Suzy smiled and said, "That sounds similar to how we work in Taiwan today. Of course, we are working on circuit board fabrication instead of software, but the process sounds very much the same in terms of patience and the need to do a lot of checking."

I was confused. My knowledge of Asia was pretty sketchy and I wasn't sure how Taiwan and China were related. The confusion must have shown in my face because Suzy said, "I can fill you in on the geopolitics later. Please go on; I didn't mean to interrupt you."

I continued to describe how we used punched cards, the process for creating the cards and verifying their accuracy; the way we submitted the cards through a third-party computer operator who read our instructions to mount magnetic tapes, register the time used on the computer and return the results to us.

Kevin asked, "But didn't the operating system keep track of a lot of the usage details?"

"Operating system?" I asked. "There was no operating system in those days. The operating system was the computer operator."

"You mean only one job was run at a time?" Ali asked.

"That's right. It wasn't until several years later that multi-job, multi-tasking operating systems became available." I said.

"Wow!" Suzy said. "You guys really did have a primitive environment. What if your program didn't compile or had an error?"

"Yes," I said. "that was a problem since we had at most 3 shots a day to make corrections, and of course we were working under very tight deadlines."

"What were some of the types of projects you were working on?" asked Kevin

"Probably the most important one was solving the Reynold's Equations required in the design of the first flying read/write head for the magnetic disk, which IBM was in the process of inventing at that time. I wasn't directly involved in this project, except to assist the mathematicians in the Engineering and Scientific Services lab."

"Are you saying that you were there when the mag disk was invented?" Suzy asked.

"I'm afraid so," I said. "I know it dates me right there with the brontosaurus, but it is true."

"Unbelievable!" said Ali "What were you more directly involved with?"

"I was working in the Research division at that time in a group called Computational Linguistics. We were doing research in automatic indexing of documents. The main question being asked was 'how can we say, with any degree of certainty, what a document is about?' This is a question that is still being studied at places like Google."

The questions kept coming and it was fun for me to recall those days and provide answers wherever I could. Before I realized it, a lot of time had gone by. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was just past midnight. No one seemed tired or bored, but I was starting to fade.

"Sorry folks," I said. "I'm afraid it is past my bedtime. It was fun talking with you and I hope you got what you were expecting."

Ali said, "Jon, thank you very much for a very enjoyable evening. I hope you will consider joining us again sometime in the future."

"It was my pleasure. I guess we can communicate through Kevin since I see him every week at school."

On my way to the door, I felt a tug at my sleeve. It was Suzy. She said, "I want to thank you personally for answering our questions in such an open and friendly way. I wonder if you would like to have coffee with me when you have time? I have more questions, but didn't want to monopolize the conversation. Here's a card with my number on it."

I was a little surprised, but said, "Sure. What days are you free?"

She said, "Almost any days except Mondays and Wednesdays. I have classes all day on those days."

I said, "Well, tomorrow is Saturday. Would you like to meet then?"

She smiled and said, "That would be fine. How about late morning, say 11:30 at the Starbucks on Arlington and Plumb?"

"OK, " I said. "See you then."

I drove home puzzled. Suzy was a beautiful woman and considerably younger than me. I came to the conclusion that it must be her interest in computing folklore and nothing about me personally, so I put it out of my mind.

Chapter 7

The next day I got up early and went to the tennis courts for a session with Paul. After working on volleys and overheads for a while, we played a few games. Paul is a few levels above me and won most of the games, but it was a good workout and I enjoyed the challenge of playing against a better player.

After showering and changing into some casual clothes, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was a few minutes after 11:00. I remembered my meeting with Suzy, so I quickly drove the two miles to Starbucks.

I arrived about 5 minutes early, but Suzy was already standing outside the coffee shop waiting. She smiled as I walked up to greet her. She said, "A punctual man -- how refreshing!"

I said, "Well, you are more than punctual yourself. Shall we go inside?"

We found a table near the door. Suzy said, "Why don't you sit down and tell what you would like. This is my treat."

"You don't have to do that," I said. "Why don't we go Dutch?"

She laughed and said, "Getting you out on a Saturday morning to help me with my research certainly deserves a reward. Now what are you drinking, mister?"

"OK," I said. "I give up. I'd like a small cup (whatever that's called here these days) of regular black coffee."

"Coming up," she said. "You are very easy to please."

I smiled, "Wait until you know me better before you say that."

She blushed and looked a little uncomfortable. "I hope I do get to know you better," she said. "But I hadn't taken it for granted."

"That was stupid of me," I said. "Don't know what I was thinking; you asked for a little help with your research, not an ongoing thing. I understand."

"I'll get the coffee," she said, and turned quickly away.

Later I found out that this was a pivotal point in our relationship. Somehow, I had caused her to be flustered, and that was an unusual experience for her.

Suzy returned with the coffee after a few minutes. She had completely regained her composure, although the color in her cheeks was heightened.

"Now," she said. "Tell me more about the projects you worked on back in the day. Maybe you could start with the one that was most interesting to you."

She was easy to talk to, as well as easy on the eyes. I have had several Asian friends in the past and have learned to appreciate their special style and attractiveness. Suzy had long black hair that she wore down her back, reaching almost to her waist. Her eyes were especially attractive, with the outer corners tilted up dramatically. Combined with high cheek bones and perfect teeth, she was very beautiful.

Her English was not flawless, but very understandable. She had a way of switching from a very formal style of conversation to a style that was somewhere between humorous and flirtatious. I wasn't sure if the flirtatious part was intentional or just accidental. In spite of the age difference, I found myself becoming attracted to her, and I'm sure she was aware of this.

We discussed several projects that I had worked on and the environment in which I had worked in the 1960's at IBM. I had rarely talked about those days because I felt it would bore most people and because it directed attention to my age. However, telling Suzy about it seemed very natural and her interest seemed genuine.

After we had talked for an hour or so, Suzy suddenly glanced at her watch and said, "Oh, no! I'm so sorry; I have kept you far too long."

I wasn't sure if she was really concerned about taking my time or if this was just a way for her to end the interview gracefully so she could get on with the rest of her day.

I said, "I'm really not that busy today, but if you need to get to another appointment, that's ok."

Her face colored briefly before she said, "I want you to understand something about me. It's probably not that important, but I want to say it. I don't pretend things. If I say I'm sorry for taking too much of your time, then that's the truth. I really dislike those who say one thing but mean another."

"Sorry again, Suzy" I said. "I didn't mean to imply anything. I have enjoyed our conversation and wouldn't mind spending more time with you, either now or on another occasion. We have only talked about me and my projects; I haven't had a chance to ask you any questions."

She relaxed and said, "That is very kind of you. I enjoyed our conversation as well. Perhaps we can meet here again next weekend? I will be happy to answer all your questions, but there is not much to tell about myself."

"Sure," I said. "Same place, same time. I will be looking forward to it. But can I ask just one question now?"

"You just did." she said, smiling in a teasing kind of way. "Go ahead. Ask your question."

"You were with a group of students who all appeared to be Muslim. Are you Muslim as well?"

"I'm not sure why that is important to you, but the answer is 'no'. We are first a group of students interested in computers and computer history. It just happens that most of the group is Muslim."

"Thanks," I said. "It is not important to me. It is just my overactive curiosity kicking in."

"Well, good then. See you next Saturday?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "And I will be sure to have my questions better thought out."

Suzy laughed a tinkling laugh and shook my hand as she prepared to leave.

"Thank you again for your time and good company," she said as she turned to leave.

Chapter 8

As the following progressed, I found myself thinking about the group from the university and, especially, Suzy. There seemed to be something a little off about their interest in computer history. In my experience, university students preferred to think that computers and the Internet were invented simultaneously and cared little about what went on before the personal computer came on the scene.

On Wednesday evening, I met Kevin as I was coming into the classroom for the Introduction to Information Technology course.

He said, "Good evening, Mr. Hawkins. How are you doing?"

"Nice of you to call me Mr. Hawkins in the classroom, but you don't need to be so formal. You can call me Jon."

"It is a matter of showing proper respect," he said. "Can you spare a minute to answer a question at the end of class tonight?"

"Of course," I said. "You know I am always willing to stay over to answer questions."

"Thanks. Some of the other instructors don't do that. They say something like, "see me during my office hours."

"Well, that's not my style," I said. "But right now I need to get set up for this evenings lecture."

"Sure. I understand," Kevin said. "See you at the end of class."

The class went according to plan. First, I answered questions from the previous homework. Then I presented the new material. This evening it was about different kinds of storage media and their properties. I then opened up the class for discussion and then gave the homework assignment, allowing some time for the students to get started on it.

As I was packing up, Kevin approached me. He said, "Is this a good time to talk?"

"Sure," I said. "What's up?"

"Well, I was talking with Suzy and she mentioned your meeting with her last weekend. It sounded like she got a lot of good information for her research project, and I was wondering if you would be willing to share it with the rest of us this Friday."

My antenna was up. What was really going on here? Students could not be that interested in my war stories about the old days. I also picked up something from Kevin when he mentioned Suzy.

"Are you and Suzy dating?" I blurted out.

"I wouldn't say 'dating'," Kevin said. "but we have gone out a couple of times for coffee. This isn't a jealousy thing, if that's what you are getting at."

"Jealous?", I said, "Why would I think that? Suzy is young enough to be my daughter."

"But she is not your daughter, is she?" Kevin asked.

"Well, if it is not jealousy, then what is this really about?" I asked.

Kevin seemed thrown off a bit. He seemed hesitant and a little flustered.

"OK," he said. "Ali has something he wants to discuss with you. It really isn't about computers, although some of us would like to hear more about your work on computational linguistics. It seemed very relevant to what's going on with search engines today."