chapter 11, but subject to court approval, would be bought by a Swedish

company—and even if the sale doesn’t go through, there would be 100,000 Victor owners, enough to guarantee a market for replacement-part manufacturers. IBM might have the brand name. But the Victor right now was best for _my_ needs. Footnote 97: A former Victor employee tells me that charging dealers for promotional material isn’t that uncommon a practice. I realize that some dealers may waste literature, but I still think the practice is dumb. “When’s a safe time to get here before anyone else gets the Victor?” I asked the sales rep. “We open at nine o’clock,” he said. “Won’t do me any good to come several hours earlier?” I asked out of curiosity—I’d show up regardless of the answer. He shook his head. That night I called Steve, just to overcome last-minute doubts. The better the bargain, the more suspicious I should be. “You think I should go ahead?” “Why not? The biggest problem you’ll have is selling your present Victor.” I’d paid $1,750 for it new, through the mail. It, too, had been a risk. I’d taken out a maintenance agreement with a local company in case the new arrival turned out to be a lemon. It hadn’t been. But could I recover the money selling a supposedly “has-been” machine? Monday, I arose at five in the morning. If the Victor was still there and if I got to it before anyone else did, I’d save more than $4,000 off the normal price. For four hours of waiting? I’d have to be a regular on all the best-seller lists for my time to be worth $1,000 an hour. When I pulled into the shopping center, I saw no one else there except for a police car passing through. An old van wheezed into the parking lot a few minutes later. A bearded man and a boy of perhaps ten got out and set up a canvas chair; veteran auction goers? They’d have advice on the best way to fight the crowd and claim my prize. The man, however, just gestured and grunted. The boy couldn’t speak, either. They were apparently deaf mutes. I pulled out pen and paper and learned they were after Atari-games software. Maybe an hour later a few others straggled in, one of them a psychologist, with whom I began discussing the great issues of the day. “You’re not interested in the Victor, are you?” I asked. “I’m looking for Osborne software,” said the psychologist. “What about detachable keyboards and monitors?” I asked, remembering my nightmare over the criteria for laying claim to a machine. We decided that proper auction etiquette required you to defer to the person who carried away the main part of the computer to the counter; an auctioneer later agreed. Miraculously, a small, orderly line was forming even now, with fifty people in front of the store by eight. Over the next hour a mob came, some in old jalopies like the van, others in Cadillacs and BMWs. There was both excitement and desperation. Many people, like me, simply would forego buying a new computer if someone else beat them to a suitably priced machine. Should I lose out on the Victor, I’d just spend another year or so juggling floppy disks around. Others, however, might have been hoping to be able to afford a serious business computer, period. No, it wasn’t like the Depression, but I couldn’t help thinking of the dance marathons of the 1930s where the hardiest carried off the prizes. I was the first in line—of all the hundreds of people—but I certainly didn’t boast the strongest back. Just a few feet down the line I saw ... T-shirt. An auction staffer picked up a bullhorn. He said only fifty people could come into the store at once. I heard sighs. Relatively few people, however, left that line. Maybe, just maybe, the others wouldn’t appreciate the merits of the bargain machines that they themselves wanted. I hoped that to most in the crowd the new Victor would be just another dead fish of a micro. Finally, it was nine. The salespeople—as if at a fire—urged the crowd to stay calm. If the mob lost discipline, the other early comers and I might be crushed against the glass. As the doors opened, I glanced back at T-shirt. If he was worried about me, he wasn’t letting on. At a pace between a jog and a sprint I entered the store; I tried momentarily to excise the image of T-shirt from my mind. Oh, look! A friendly sales assistant. I’d offered him advice on electronic mail and— “Do you think you could help me with the Victor?” I asked. Suppose he couldn’t. His job might be at stake if he did even a small favor in this every-man-for-himself struggle. “Sure,” he said. And I’d like to think this was another demonstration of the value of befriending others in The Jungle and sharing knowledge, user to user. With the sales assistant watching guard over the main machine, I picked up the monitor and pushed through the crowd to the counter. I still couldn’t believe the Victor would soon be mine. What if the sales assistant had suddenly developed a fondness for Victors and had himself decided to claim the main machine? T-shirt all this time may have been in the other part of the room; perhaps he was a gracious, mannerly fellow who, having seen me first in line, was decent enough to relinquish the new Victor to me. I don’t know how T-shirt fared at the auction but hope that his own patience was rewarded through the acquisition of the used Victor. Within half an hour after taking the new Victor home, I had WordStar running on it. There was some tinkering to do with the software so the computer would start up without my having to stick a floppy disk in it, but otherwise it was a perfect machine, save for a little crack in the front of the case, which I discovered after I peeled away the price tape. For $40 or so I could buy a replacement front. The hard disk, at any rate, has been just as handy as I expected for editing this book. My old Victor is in the hands of Gabriel Heilig, an aspiring screenwriter, who saw my want ad and bought the machine for $1,750, exactly what I’d paid. Gabe is no dummy; indeed, he used to sell cars—Mercedes—and he insisted that his purchase price include plenty of advice and several hours of instruction in WordStar, my favorite word processor. And then what does Gabe do? He goes out and buys a copy of Word Perfect, a new program that he swears is easier to use. I say, “Great if it helps you do your work.” It must. Gabe tells me that the Victor helps him revise five times as fast as he can on his electronic typewriter. “You constantly have a fresh copy in front of you,” he says, “whereas if you’re using a typewriter, you must retype the whole page even if you change just once sentence.” A producer is interested in a proposal for a TV series, and Gabe says: “I did it in three days—it would have taken two weeks with a typewriter.” Having sold the old Victor to Gabe for $550 more than the price tag on the hard-disk one, I invested $230 in a 1,200-baud modem. I remain a computer communications junky. A draft of this afterword, in fact, reached my technical editor up in New York via the phone lines. ■ ■ ■ My afterword could cover a number of topics, but I’ll resist. Still, you might be interested to learn that the Great Modeming continues between the United States and Sri Lanka. Because of problems with the Sri Lankan phone service, the link over the past year hasn’t been 100 percent reliable—monsoons can wreak havoc on cables between Arthur Clarke and the satellite station. But Steve Jongeward, who is now an assistant both to Clarke and Peter Hyams, the _2010_ director-writer, reports that the struggles have been worthwhile. The movie will be out in December 1984 (remember: I’m writing this in November 1984), and if a reporter has questions for Clarke in Sri Lanka, Steve will just type them out on the Kaypro in California, and the novelist will typically respond within a day or so. Sometimes the reporters even visit the office with the Kaypro and interview Clarke via modem and get instant replies. ■ ■ ■ The Great Modeming has produced a wonderful outgrowth: an attempt to start an Electronic Peace Corps (EPC) to pipe U.S. technical savvy into the Third World via computers links. (See Backup XIII, “Why Not An Electronic Peace Corps?”) The idea—in the form of an agency working within or alongside the existing Peace Corps—has won support from people ranging from Clarke to William F. Buckley, Jr., and Chicago _Sun-Times_ editorial writers. Two established foreign-aid groups, Partnership for Productivity and Volunteers in Technical Assistance (VITA), hope to develop an informal EPC-style project with the Sri Lankans.[98] If successful, it could complement an existing VITA plan for an earth satellite to relay electronic mail to and from the Third World. Ideally, a permanent EPC would develop. Then it could recruit volunteers, help fund projects like the satellite and the Clarke Centre, and otherwise encourage computer communications in vital fields such as public health and agriculture. —Alexandria, Va. Nov. 15, 1984 Footnote 98: Kaypro has donated five machines for the project and expects to send five more. Special thanks here to David Kay and Tom Peifer, a Kaypro staffer in charge of the company’s Third World donations program. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ BACKUP: More Tips and Tales from the Jungle BACKUP I ❑ Twenty-Six Questions to Ask at (and About) the Computer Store The _very worst_ computer stores are like amusement-park arcades. Expect to be clipped. Just aim for the bull’s-eye and keep your losses low. Better still, go to the good stores. Reading my list of twenty-six before-you-buy questions, please remember that the quality of computer stores can vary tremendously. The proportion of lemons to good ones is higher than in the case of ordinary retailers. That’s because of the complexity of the product. In fact, there’s an old joke about the difference between a car salesman and a computer one: the former knows when he’s lying.[99] Footnote 99: The salesman joke is from _InfoWorld_, October 22, 1984, p. 27. One of the main tricks of the crooked computer hustlers is nothing more than the retail-store version of leaving town ahead of the sheriff. “The average computer salesman has a half-life of two months,” said my friend the systems analyst. “Then he loses his credibility with his supposed ‘clients’ and goes back to selling shoes or automobiles. If you’re relying on any salesman for expert knowledge, you might be in for a rude awakening. That’s why users groups formed. People got ticked off with this world of hucksterism and created their own little world.” One of the problems is that many good, honest sales reps will soon leave for more lucrative work as consultants or for manufacturers or others. Of course, the customer himself may be as impossible as some of the sales reps. He might expect a quick, accurate, lucid answer to his question from a rep working for little more than a department-store clerk’s earnings. Computer stores can be full of ignorance on both sides of the counter. Moreover, even if the sales rep knows his subject forward and backward, many computer problems just defy easy answers. Imagine the frustration of a sales rep working on commission. He can ill afford time to educate complete novices. So do your homework or at least make an appointment when the sales rep isn’t going to be jammed up with lunchtime traffic. That’s the nature of the Silicon Jungle, not simply a series of ripoffs. Cherish the good sales reps. Perhaps the ultimate bad customer is a middle-aged Missouri man accused of the first-degree murder of a computer-store owner with whom he disputed a $180 bill. Neither men nor machines “interfaced” well here. Although the customer had bought a printer elsewhere, he was under the impression that no one would charge him for making it compatible with a computer purchased from the store. The owner wouldn’t yield. Allegedly—I didn’t know the verdict at the time of this writing—the man then fired two .38-caliber slugs.[100] Footnote 100: _InfoWorld_, June 20, 1983, p. 1, reported the shooting incident. Short of killing the store owner, how do you protect yourself? Start by realizing that even at honest stores, your interests and the firms’ won’t be the same. I know of a Washington store that planned to drop the Kaypro. Despite the computer’s generally good technical reputation, the store seems to have been stuck with more than its share of lemons with disk-drive problems. But that wasn’t the real reason, apparently. “We’re moving out of the lower-priced equipment into systems where we can make a bigger profit,” explained a store employee. “We’re not in this for charity. We’ve got to make a living.” Understandable. But don’t count on a store like that to sell you the least expensive machine for your needs. You can also protect yourself by considering the right questions—_some_ of which appear below: ONE Do you need a computer? Are you prepared to fire the humans the machine might replace? Remember, a computer can’t make coffee or lie about your whereabouts when _you_ may face an angry customer. Of course, your business may be expanding so that this isn’t an issue. TWO Do you have the temperament for the device? A willingness to struggle with mechanical and human frailty—including your own? THREE Are you prepared to do your homework? You can’t avoid some preparation. It’s dangerous to dump the whole chore in the lap of a consultant who, however good, doesn’t know your business as well as you do. Use a consultant if need be. But help him and yourself by knowing what’s going on. If you don’t have time, at least be certain that a trusted employee does—ideally, someone on whom you can bestow a fat raise if computerization goes smoothly. FOUR What magazines and reading material should you buy at the computer store and elsewhere? _The Silicon Jungle_ is just a start. Neither it nor other books can keep you informed about new products as quickly as a weekly magazine like _InfoWorld_ can. I’ve written for _InfoWorld_ and may be prejudiced, but I think it covers the industry well. Some micro magazines, especially those oriented toward specific brands, are namby-pamby in their coverage of the industry or their pet machines. A good general book is fine for acquiring broad perspective; but now move on to a guide focused on computers for your kind of business. Shop for magazines and books as carefully as you would for the machines. See if the magazines’ articles are as up to date as their ads; I know of one that reviewed the Osborne more than a year after its introduction. Timeliness isn’t as important with books if they discuss principles as well as specific products. Whatever you read, make sure it’s in English, not gibberish. FIVE How do you want to buy your computer and the trimmings? At a store or through the mail? Unless you have a consultant or otherwise enjoy plenty of technical backup, you should buy your entire system locally, at one store. Many manufacturers discourage mail-order sales. That’s partly because of price cutting but also because they need local stores to guide customers who are new to computers. But if advice _is_ available to you from a consultant or friend? Then mail-order software might be a terrific buy, especially since most computer stores can’t supply much software expertise, anyway. SIX Do you want an independent store or a chain store? My own preference is an independent that has been in business several years. Computer sales reps may come and go. The owner, however, should still be in the store and in town when your warranty expires! If you insist on buying from a chain, well, fine. But learn how long the manager has been around—and how long he intends to stay. He may lie through his teeth. But at least you’re trying. Also, ask the manager how long his predecessors lasted? How fast does the revolving door spin? SEVEN Are the sales reps knowledgeable and understandable? One of the best ways to find out is for them to demonstrate a program of the kind that you want. Ideally, sales reps or consultants won’t just know a lot about computers. They’ll also know—or learn—something about your business. Above all, the sales rep should give you accurate information in language you understand. If you’re a businessman shopping for a word-processing computer, a good salesman can tell you how many double-spaced pages each of your floppy disks will be able to hold. Of course, ideally, you’ll walk into the store knowing the basics of computers. But there are bound to be gaps in your knowledge somewhere along the line; even writers for computer magazines argue with each other over some supposedly clear-cut technical matters. EIGHT Can anyone go with you to the store, especially on the day when you want to firm up the purchase? You may at least enjoy a psychological advantage over the sales rep if there are two of you asking well-coordinated questions. Who should accompany you? Perhaps the person in your office who would use the machine the most; what better source of questions for the sales rep? Obviously, too, it’s good labor relations. Employees who helped choose a machine will be less likely to complain about screens or keyboards. NINE What programs will do the jobs you need done? Don’t just consider costs of the programs; consider their costs versus the cost of _not_ owning particular ones. I don’t regret spending $250 for a word-processing program to replace the cumbersome software with which my machine came. With the “free” program it would have taken perhaps 40 percent longer to write this book. TEN How easy are the programs to learn? How easy are they to use? Some of the easiest to learn are the hardest to _use_. ELEVEN Do the programs include good instruction manuals? You still may want them if they don’t—as long as you can buy readable books about them. TWELVE What machines will run those programs? And how well will they run them? Take WordStar. Many machines can run this popular word-processing program; but not all will let you use the cursor keys—the arrowlike ones—to move from place to place on your screen. With some computers you must simultaneously tap on two keys, not just one, to move the arrow. You could have WordStar customized for your machine; but why not instead buy a computer that works well with it from the start? You also want to consider the operating system that a machine uses. By now, the most widely used operating system is MS-DOS, which has become a de facto standard because of IBM’s endorsement of it. It has supplanted CP/M. Rival machines may not run _every_ program that the IBM computers can. Some, like the Compaq portable, come close. But if a computer exactly duplicated all the IBM’s functions, Big Blue’s legal staff would crush the maker. The widely used Apples have their own operating systems—one for the Apple II series and another for the Macintosh. There’s also UNIX. Ma Bell developed it originally, AT&T Information Systems now supports it, and Microsoft sells a microcomputer version called XENIX. The gurus say UNIX could be the operation system of the future. With it programmers can more easily write software for machines of different brands and sizes and “port” their programs from one computer to another. UNIX may also be good for micros with many people using them at once. The negative is that the nonexperts sometimes have more trouble using UNIX than they do good ole CP/M and MS-DOS. So much for the mainstream and soon-to-be-mainstream formats. What, however, if the program you need comes only in an oddball one? Think hard. Do you need this software—hence, this computer—immediately? Or can you wait until the wonderful program or an equivalent is available for other machines? By the way, the word “format” doesn’t refer just to the general style like CP/M or MS-DOS. It can also mean specific machines within CP/M and so on. Different makes of CP/M-style computers, for instance, may not read each other’s disks because their exact formats are different. THIRTEEN Is the machine 8 bits or 16 bits; and how big is the random-access memory? Remember, 8 bits may be fine for word processing and light-duty accounting, but 16 bits might be better for complicated spreadsheets and is a definite advantage in data-base applications. At the very least in the business world, you want 64K of RAM for word processing and 256K or even more for intimidating calculations. You may find that a micro just isn’t powerful enough to handle a mailing list in the tens of thousands or process the payroll of Exxon. They’d be uses fit for a mainframe or at least a mini. FOURTEEN What about =mass storage=—in other words, devices like disk drives? Can they hold enough information for your business? If you need to juggle around great masses of material in a hurry, you may want a hard disk, which is more expensive than the floppies. Remember—one character equals one byte and you can squeeze most numbers into one or two bytes. Estimate your needs by calculating how many pages by how many bytes per page, etc., then double your result to allow for growth and the unforeseen. Don’t just consider storage capacity. Think about the ease of making electronic copies of information you squeeze into your computer. A hard disk capable of holding the equivalent of five thousand typewriter pages is nice. But you still must contend with floppies for backup if the hard disk fails. You must either make backup copies as you go along or else, every so often, hold a long, tedious copying session. Fortunately, the price of hard disks is dropping quickly enough that in the future you might be able to afford a second hard disk to back up the one in the machine. Some micros can back up on a standard videocassette recorder—a good four-hour tape will hold 100 megabytes. Besides, there’ll eventually be cheap, reliable, roomy memories without any moving parts. Even then, however, you’ll still want copies of some kind, especially if failures would zap thousands of pages of hard-won information. FIFTEEN Must your computer system accommodate more than one user? Will it work well with people tapping into it from different terminals—those machines with the keyboard and screens but little or no computing power of their own? Computer makers ballyhoo many micro systems as being “multiuser,” but often there are hitches. These machines may let one person do accounting and the other do word processing at once but might not allow two people to run the accounting program simultaneously. And what about data bases and electronic file cabinets? Can more than one person simultaneously update inventory records, for instance? And will the computer slow down much if too many people use it at once? Still, properly chosen, a multiuser system is a great way to share information with many people and not have to jockey floppy disks around all the time. Then there’s the cost. A multiuser system for twenty or thirty persons may cost less than half of what individual desktop computers _might_. Instead of a multiuser system, however, you might still go with full-blown computers—but _network_ them. Networking is basically what it sounds: tying together machines to help them share letters, reports, data bases, and other electronic files. (See Chapter 13, “Net Gain$,” for a fuller explanation.) SIXTEEN Can you expand your computer system without difficulty, adding more storage, for instance, or devices like a modem to help you communicate over the phone lines? SEVENTEEN Will the sales rep show you that the computer will work well with the printer or other accessories you have in mind? He or she might not be able to demonstrate this compatibility, simply because he doesn’t have the peripherals in stock; but you should at least obtain a clear written promise saying that everything will work _well_ together. Be sure that his obligation to make it work is clear _before_ you sign the check. The same idea naturally applies to software. EIGHTEEN How clear is the computer’s instruction manual? In computerese, you want “good documentation”—something that’s “user friendly.” If the manual doesn’t include it, then does a book from an outside publisher? Ideally, the book won’t focus just on the machine but also on the software that comes with it. NINETEEN How long has the manufacturer been in business? How prosperous is the company? Buy from a new company if the technology looks far enough ahead of the pack. But be careful. You don’t want to buy from a computer maker likely to perish soon in the silicon jungle—not when you’ll need spare parts and technical assistance. TWENTY Are any users groups around—organizations of people owning the machine? Ask your dealer or call the manufacturer for the name of the group near you. If there isn’t such a group, that’s a blow against the machine then and there. You still might buy it, but you’ll have less technical advice than you might otherwise get. Another beauty of good user groups is that they work closely with dealers and manufacturers without compromising their own independence. With fellow owners just a quick phone call away, you’ll be less at the mercy of know-nothing hucksters. Obviously, too, before buying the machine, you’ll find that the user groups can be just the ticket for learning the quirks of the dealers and the machines. Ask discreet questions after the meetings. Which machines and dealers are winners? Which are gobblers? Don’t forget, of course, that the owners would like to think of themselves as having spent their thousands of dollars the right way. I try to remember that when a computer shopper at a Kaypro meeting asks me about my machine,I say I like it. Then I go out of my way to tick off the Kaypro’s flaws so I won’t have it on my conscience that I offered a bum steer. TWENTY-ONE What about maintenance? You can solve many of your repair problems ahead of time by buying a computer easy to service. That’s one reason I got the Kaypro rather than the Osborne. You also want to find out how often the machines break down. Try—whether it’s a computer or a printer—to get an MTBF figure. That stands for “mean time between failures.” _Failures?_ That sounds fatalistic. But face it. Neither people nor machines go on forever. MTBF figures are like political polls and deodorant-commercial statistics—subject to gross manipulation. But they’re a start. Also, consider if you want to pay for regular maintenance, which, in one year, might cost more than a tenth the price of the computer? Or should you gamble without a maintenance contract? Here’s a rule of thumb. Don’t gamble if (a) your system is large and complicated or (b) you’ll be up the creek without a paddle if the computer is out of service too long. The second condition is particularly true if one or more of these conditions prevail: a. If you own just one machine. b. If it’s an oddball machine—not a commodity like an IBM or Kaypro. c. If your business grinds to a halt without it. I gambled for a while and seemed to be losing. During the first year I spent perhaps $150 on replacing a printed circuit board in the Kaypro and $300 on printer repairs. Considering the Kaypro’s dramatic effect on my output, I won’t gripe too loudly. Nevertheless, I appreciated the need for a service contract for even a well-made computer in constant use. And within a few weeks it paid off. A disk drive failed, and the computer shop didn’t charge me a cent for several hundred dollars in repairs. The man worked while I waited at the public library down the street. The shop had promised, before I forked over my $250 yearly payment, that it would at least try to fix up my machine within twenty-four hours. If possible, negotiate for financial penalties if repairmen don’t do their job—at your location or theirs—within a certain amount of time. The contract might be with anyone from a national service organization to a good, honest man operating out of a garage who’s been in business a while and has convincing references—and substitutes for the times he’s on vacation. (See Chapter 8, “People,” for rules to consider in avoiding turkeys.) Count on spending 1–1½ percent per month of the hardware costs if you’re dealing with a national service organization. Of course you _might_ be better off without a service contract. Just make sure you can limp along briefly without a computer, which, alas, I can’t. If you do try to wing it without a maintenance contract, you’d better be prepared to know as soon as possible if you’ve bought a lemon. That’s not such a bad idea even _with_ a contract. Theoretically, you should smell the juice within the first few months before the warranty expires. But that’s not how it always works—or doesn’t work. As a novice, you may not be putting the machine through all its paces. So why not invite a more advanced computer owner or a consultant—someone you trust—to tinker around with the computer in ways that you’ll eventually be doing? The sooner the “test drive,” the better. Your tester should do basics like copying disks, transferring electronic files from one disk to another, erasing files, and renaming files. See if there’s a program available to test the disk drives and related circuitry. Often those parts are the ones that fail first, since (a) the drives are mechanical as well as electronic and (b) they get some of the heaviest workouts during the computer’s operation. As soon as you get your machine, you might leave it running twenty-four hours a day for a week or two. Any component that will fail from heat buildup, for instance, will probably quit then—while your warranty is still fresh. Power consumption is typically no more than a light bulb’s. Whether you have a maintenance contract or not, remember a basic rule: It isn’t the shop’s diagnostic tests that count. It’s how your newly repaired machine will run _your_ programs. After I took my computer into a shop for disk-drive work, the repairman said the drives just needed a little cleaning and were now testing fine. The computer, however, flubbed when I tried one of my regular programs. Result: I forced the repairman to install the new disk drive that my machine needed. Moral: always keep on hand some _good_ backup copies of important programs that you can take with you to the repair shop to make certain that the people there have done the job right. ■ ■ ■ Rothman’s Law of Computer Trouble-Shooting (Cribbed From an Old Rule for Fliers)