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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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