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Apple II enthusiasts Conference, or, How to create an IT worker through Violence.
The year was 1980. It was year 7, I was 12 years old. It was the first time I used a computer.
I'd had a particularly disruptive period in school, following a dispute with a teacher who thought that they way to treat primary school children was with violence rather than reason.
To say the least, the teacher was a brute. If a student would get a question wrong, he'd rap them over the head with his knuckles. If a student answered him back, he'd do the same. If you spoke too quietly, if you spoke too loudly, the result was always the same. Usually with the assurance that the recipient's employment prospects consisted "You'll be hanging off the back of a garbo truck".
A ghoulish little man with absolutely no redeeming features.
I think it was on the third time I received his rather unimaginative punishment that I stood up, picked up my schoolbag, and walked out.
Frantic negotiations followed. Always a stubborn character, I simply refused to go to school regardless of the pleas of my carers, who were busy dealing with the school and the teacher in question. In those days corporeal punishment wasn't just acceptable back then, it was virtually mandatory - it was a religious school after all. And I was bucking the system.
After a week, I finally relented. I hoped the teacher would have learned his lesson. As I walked into for the first lesson of the day, there were some indications of a quiet respect for my actions among my classmates.
But of course, the petty little teacher couldn't wait to get his revenge. The first lesson of the day was maths, and the lesson was a test on something that had been learned the previous week whilst I was away - division of fractions. Easy if you know how (invert the divisor and convert the division into a multiplication). Very difficult if you don't.
So for the better part of the entire class period he stood over me, watching with glee as I struggled through the test. It was frustrating, but I intuitively developed a method which consisted of a great deal of supplementary equations. Despite not knowing the simpler shortcuts to the answers I still managed to complete the test.
The teacher took the opportunity to drag me to the front of the class and explain my method on the blackboard. It was really quite logical. When faced with a fractional division problem, such as 2/3 divided by 1/2, the question is asking how many times does 1/2 go into 2/3? Well obviously it goes in once because 1/2 is smaller than 2/3. What's left over? 1/6. How much is one 1/6 divided by 1/2? A third. So the answer is 1 and 1/3.
In showing the simple method (change 2/3 divided by 1/2 into 2/3 multiplied by 2/1) and with his gloating mocking tone, the teacher remarked on my amazing mathematical skills and how no doubt in the future I should go to University and perhaps one day even receive a Nobel Prize for my knowledge of science.
The class, not knowing any better, broke up into uproarious laughter. I felt flush, moisture welled in my eyes, but I stood my ground and as the laughter died, I hissed back at him, piercing through the last remaining chuckles: "But every single one of my answers is correct".
The following day I was taken to the Senior High School (whoa!, years 10, 11 and 12! big scary adults!) and introduced to the computer lab. They had three just-released Apple II's. They had a game called "Lemonade" where you battled prevailing weather conditions and fluctuations in sugar and lemon prices to make a couple of dollars a day. There were commands called DOS which the computer would faithfully carry out. And there was this language called BASIC where you could even program the computer. Very heady stuff in those days, believe me.
I spent quite some time in the Senior High School computer labs in Year 7. Not as much as I would have liked and sadly, not at all during Years 8 and 9, when I was at the Junior High School which was some distance away.
I remember many things about 1980. I remember being a fan of Freida (solo from Abba!), John Lennon (who was assassinated that year) and the Plastmatics simultaneously (a raucous punk band that featured live sex shows as part of their act - tsk wasn't I was too young for that?). I remember the Solidarity trade union movement in Poland, the Olympics in Moscow... and I especially remember my introduction to computers, the most magnificent Apple II.
The practical upshot of this little story is that the Apple II is still going, and an enthusiasts conference is being held. (http://kfest.org/). Now with TCP/IP, Ethernet and PCMIA RAM cards, along with hundreds of sites providing software and emulators there seems to be no end of the desire to keep this li'll machine running forever (indeed, the Apple II history (http://apple2history.org) site proclaims the slogan.. "Nostalgia About The Past... Anticipation of the Future!").
Funny thing you know... I can't remember the name of that teacher.
I'd had a particularly disruptive period in school, following a dispute with a teacher who thought that they way to treat primary school children was with violence rather than reason.
To say the least, the teacher was a brute. If a student would get a question wrong, he'd rap them over the head with his knuckles. If a student answered him back, he'd do the same. If you spoke too quietly, if you spoke too loudly, the result was always the same. Usually with the assurance that the recipient's employment prospects consisted "You'll be hanging off the back of a garbo truck".
A ghoulish little man with absolutely no redeeming features.
I think it was on the third time I received his rather unimaginative punishment that I stood up, picked up my schoolbag, and walked out.
Frantic negotiations followed. Always a stubborn character, I simply refused to go to school regardless of the pleas of my carers, who were busy dealing with the school and the teacher in question. In those days corporeal punishment wasn't just acceptable back then, it was virtually mandatory - it was a religious school after all. And I was bucking the system.
After a week, I finally relented. I hoped the teacher would have learned his lesson. As I walked into for the first lesson of the day, there were some indications of a quiet respect for my actions among my classmates.
But of course, the petty little teacher couldn't wait to get his revenge. The first lesson of the day was maths, and the lesson was a test on something that had been learned the previous week whilst I was away - division of fractions. Easy if you know how (invert the divisor and convert the division into a multiplication). Very difficult if you don't.
So for the better part of the entire class period he stood over me, watching with glee as I struggled through the test. It was frustrating, but I intuitively developed a method which consisted of a great deal of supplementary equations. Despite not knowing the simpler shortcuts to the answers I still managed to complete the test.
The teacher took the opportunity to drag me to the front of the class and explain my method on the blackboard. It was really quite logical. When faced with a fractional division problem, such as 2/3 divided by 1/2, the question is asking how many times does 1/2 go into 2/3? Well obviously it goes in once because 1/2 is smaller than 2/3. What's left over? 1/6. How much is one 1/6 divided by 1/2? A third. So the answer is 1 and 1/3.
In showing the simple method (change 2/3 divided by 1/2 into 2/3 multiplied by 2/1) and with his gloating mocking tone, the teacher remarked on my amazing mathematical skills and how no doubt in the future I should go to University and perhaps one day even receive a Nobel Prize for my knowledge of science.
The class, not knowing any better, broke up into uproarious laughter. I felt flush, moisture welled in my eyes, but I stood my ground and as the laughter died, I hissed back at him, piercing through the last remaining chuckles: "But every single one of my answers is correct".
The following day I was taken to the Senior High School (whoa!, years 10, 11 and 12! big scary adults!) and introduced to the computer lab. They had three just-released Apple II's. They had a game called "Lemonade" where you battled prevailing weather conditions and fluctuations in sugar and lemon prices to make a couple of dollars a day. There were commands called DOS which the computer would faithfully carry out. And there was this language called BASIC where you could even program the computer. Very heady stuff in those days, believe me.
I spent quite some time in the Senior High School computer labs in Year 7. Not as much as I would have liked and sadly, not at all during Years 8 and 9, when I was at the Junior High School which was some distance away.
I remember many things about 1980. I remember being a fan of Freida (solo from Abba!), John Lennon (who was assassinated that year) and the Plastmatics simultaneously (a raucous punk band that featured live sex shows as part of their act - tsk wasn't I was too young for that?). I remember the Solidarity trade union movement in Poland, the Olympics in Moscow... and I especially remember my introduction to computers, the most magnificent Apple II.
The practical upshot of this little story is that the Apple II is still going, and an enthusiasts conference is being held. (http://kfest.org/). Now with TCP/IP, Ethernet and PCMIA RAM cards, along with hundreds of sites providing software and emulators there seems to be no end of the desire to keep this li'll machine running forever (indeed, the Apple II history (http://apple2history.org) site proclaims the slogan.. "Nostalgia About The Past... Anticipation of the Future!").
Funny thing you know... I can't remember the name of that teacher.
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Actually, by digging around the corners of my mind I have remembered his name. Clem Bishop.
I wonder if a google search with the right parameters reveals anything... Nope, nothing.. How about that, eh?
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I am, believe me... I thinking a dedication might be in order.
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YEAH!! *punches the air in delight* you go! YOU GO! :)