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Apple II, II+, IIe, IIc, IIc+, IIgs.
Witless computers. Yesterday's
technology. Junk.
The companies, if they still breathe, want these systems dead. They
hurt the sales of shiny, new "real" computers. Shoot them in their 8-bit
heads and dump them in a landfill. They deserve only our pity.
But despite the computer makers' shortsightedness, despite their
greed and rush to relegate old models to obsolescence, these
computers survive as martyrs. And though they age, though their
processors and tape drives and keyboards collapse from heat damage
and turn into the rotted fruit of a bygone era, they live. They live
because of hardware and software folks who tinker and repair and write
emulators to preserve fantastic old software.
Why do they live? What can they do in today's TCP/IP stacked, 30-
Meg word processor world? Why would anyone dare admit to blowing
the dust off these
electronic simpletons?
"It's a rebellion," says Tom Carlson of the Obsolete Computer
Museum. "People like to hang on to their old computers for memories,
or they feel they're being pushed into buying new systems when their
old ones do just fine."
Frequently, computer companies yank support just when imaginative
programmers and hardware hackers start to work magic on their
computer systems. Now that most of the '80s companies are dead,
those
programmers and hackers do whatever they want to keep their old
systems alive.
Come. Witness the renaissance of
forgotten systems.
Many Apple fans still taste that sour deal. But when you have some
of the best fruit of the '80s, you don't let it rot. You sow new seeds. You
attach hard drives and
Zip drives; scanners and modems; networks and accelerators and
Internet shell accounts. You construct public FTP sites to archive old
software and you become
a licensed copier of system software.
You prepare
for the day when 800-SOS-APPL finally says, "An Apple II what?"
And you get desperate sometimes: "I've seen a 64mHz IIgs that a
friend accelerated. It ran for about two minutes before things started to
overheat and catch fire. It's one of those times I wished I had a
camera," says Leithen.
But most of all, you realize there's little these wunderkind computers
can't do, even almost 20 years after the first Apple II.
Atari 8-bit computers are Frankenstein monsters, ripped and sewn
and pieced together to help them cope with today's world. Many Atari
800 owners run BBSs and a few users work SLIP connections. Full Web
capability is not far behind. Third-party developers make RAM boards,
write
OS upgrades and manufacture faster processors.
In other words, Atarians strap their computers to a wooden plank,
hoist them to the roof, aim lightning at them and scream, "Atari's ALIVE!
It's ALIVE!"
All this to use their old word processors and play their old games. But
most of all, to prove to the rest of the computing world that they can.
Since Commodore was hardly ever there for its seaworthy machines,
its captains took control, ripping out innards in favor of more efficient
steering. The C64 could always do word processing and graphics. But
today, Commodore users turn their lazy sailboats into swift battleships.
You'll excuse the techno-jargon example of Rear Admiral Jim Brains who
reports, "A fully configured machine comes with 16MB of RAM, a 4-Gig
SCSI hard drive, a 230kbps UART, can do 33.6kbps modem and fax,
connects to an HP color laser, runs at 20MHz and can do six or more
channels of sound." He also reports through the FAQs on his Web site
that some barnacled souls are experimenting with TCP/IP stacks and
multitasking kernels. Multitasking? On a 64? Sounds like a fish story to
me. But it's true, and they're succeeding.
For you landlubbers, this means that the Commodore can still battle
the best of today's computers at nearly any task. Run a business. Play a
huge game. Word process. Make music. And if you're one of the smart,
unlucky or doomed people who traded your sea legs for solid ground
and gave up your Commodore, the C64 is the most emulated computer
on the Internet.
Damian Burke, who's enamored of the color version of the Sinclair,
the Spectrum (or Speccy), lauds its games and programming ease. "It
was cheaper than other computers and had faster and more reliable
tape loading," he says. "A lot of current programmers learned the trade
on their 8-bit machines."
Just like the rest of these so-called
"obsolete computers," the Sinclair is pulled in unnatural directions, but
by international hands. Russians put hard drives and filing systems on
the Spectrum. Polish factories make replacements for the Sinclair's
membrane keyboards. Users around the world type and distribute the
old manuals. There's much fondness for these computers in the tiny
cases, and users get a gleam in their eyes at the mention of old
programmers.
Of course, there's only one reason to
perform the backflips that keep a
Sinclair alive: games. "Forget Mario and Sonic, try Head Over Heels or
Spindizzy,"
says Baylis. So Sinclair and Spectrum
fans write programs that transfer software from the Internet to their
Sinclairs, and emulators give other computer users the chance to
experience Sinclair ecstasy--which is said to be darn close to multiple
orgasms.
Sir Clive Sinclair, the company's founder, is off creating new
industries, his interest in computers just about extinguished. But his
robust computers survive. This tall tale from Baylis proves it: "Drop a
Sinclair out of a
window, it will bounce and still work. Drop
a Commodore 64 from the same window
and count the pieces. I wonder if it is
bulletproof?"
The Coleco Adam, the child of the ColecoVision, lives on at AdamCon
and through essays titled, "The Future of
The Adam" (www.csclub.uwaterloo.ca/u/dmwick/adam.html). A lot of work for a computer that's about dead.
The games and multi-DOS systerms of the TRS-80 and CoCos also
live on. And, of course, Radio Shack bashing never ends.
www.sfn.saskatoon.sk.ca/~ab594/coco.html
Speak their names with great respect.
When we contacted psychologists to ask why people are interested in
old technologies we were told, "I'm sorry. The doctor is playing Quake
right now. Care to leave a message?"
So, we'll talk to James Hague, an
8-bit doctor. Hague knows that behind those systems
and software were
brilliant pioneers who made '80s computers magic, unlike the
conformist systems of today. Over the last few years, Hague
has tracked down those old 8-bit
magicians and interviewed them. He will
hang up his findings for all to see in his
new electronic book, Halcyon Days.
"These days you don't hear much about individuals, unless they're CEOs
or industry analysts," he says. "But little worlds have
sprung up around old machines, and the names have meaning again. If
you wrote
an article or a decent program, people
knew you."
Worlds have indeed sprung up around these systems, fabulous
planets with fire in the hearts of their inhabitants. These planets revolve
around a star--a favorite old computer system. The inhabitants travel
into the star and strike hot its dormant energies, building new rockets
and ships to hurtle through the cold space of obsolescence. All this to
prove they can rejoin modern computing. All this to prove their love of
computers.
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