Computer Evolution

We bought the Timex Sinclair 1000 home computer for $99.95 in the fall of 1982. It ran BASIC instructions without the aid of any operating system. Users were forced to write programs for themselves, otherwise the six-inch by seven-inch, 20-ounce box did nothing but collect dust. The computer lacked a complete keyboard; no games, sound boards, or monitor were included.

We had just moved up to Maine from Boston and had little money to spend. To get the computer’s required, but not included, black-and-white monitor, we drove from Yarmouth, Maine to Laconia, New Hampshire. My wife, Janet, and I were forced to sit through a three-hour pitch for a timeshare. We almost gave up but hung on long enough to leave with the promised fifteen-inch black-and-white TV that would bring the small black plastic case to life.

Janet’s banned me from timeshare presentations ever since, no matter the come-on. How painful could a sales pitch be if they give you three days in the Bahamas, including airfare, free? I’ll never find out.

I wrote two programs cribbed from Popular Electronics: how to make a rolling sine wave, and a rudimentary version of Pong, an electronic game first brought into homes by Atari in 1975. These were the total capabilities I developed on my Z80-chip computer.

I quickly got bored of solitaire Pong and watching the sine wave, so the rudimentary computer went into the back of my bedroom office closet. Moving from Maine to New Orleans then back to Maine again, the skinny capsule travelled with us. Who knows why we moved that little computer? Perhaps it was easier to stick it into a packing carton than to go through the decision-making process and toss it.

Now, forty years later, we are downsizing and on our way to Florida, and I again uncovered that forty-year-old computer. “Do you want to move this, pitch it, or sell it on Craigslist?” I yelled to Janet.

Janet, packing sheets and towels next door in our bedroom, replied “What?”

“This silly little computer wannabee from 1982. The one we bought right after we rented Grumpy Harold’s duplex. You remember, we went to Laconia to fetch it a monitor.” I wondered where the small black-and-white TV had gone, decades ago.

“You still have that computer? Bet it doesn’t even work anymore.”

“Well, I can’t sell it until we know if it works.” I hoisted the rudimentary computer onto my desk and plugged it in, waiting for its interminable boot up. I opened my adjacent MacBook Pro to see if there was a market for these old TS 1000’s, when the laptop beeped. Suddenly, a song began playing from the laptop’s speakers, the theme song from The Greatest American Hero TV show. You know the one, “Believe in the knot, when you’re walking your bear…” Where was that music file coming from?

Changing my Google search, I learned the show first aired in 1981, plus I had the lyrics hugely wrong. But the little computer had no sound card and how exactly was it getting the unconnected MacBook to play a song obviously stuck somewhere on that old Z80 chip? Checking the laptop’s inputs, a lozenge-shaped icon labelled “TS1000” was sending the data to the laptop via Bluetooth. Bluetooth?

Wait, Bluetooth wasn’t invented in 1982; however, the Timex was definitely transmitting the song to the laptop. I checked the browser; the laptop was not pulling any data from the internet. “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,” as they say online.

Then the laptop screen went from color to black. Now what? On a whim, I typed in “10 Google.com” on the Timex membrane mini keyboard. Every command had to start with a number and if one used “tens” for initial instructions, one could easily insert other commands between later. Of course, there was no Google back then, just the Apple 1, Atari, and Commodore 64 home computers. There was certainly no internet either.

The emulated black screen on my laptop read “10 Google.com”, then up popped the first ever Google search page. “Index contains over 25 million pages from the internet,” it read in corny fonts, with “soon to be much bigger” in parentheses below.

As I watched in wonder, the screen transitioned through a historic series of Google’s opening screens, then added various Google Doodles. Within a minute, the screen looked like a modern Google search screen, complete with today’s Doodle.

“Janet, come see this,” I yelled as I closed the laptop lid and plugged the Timex into the office’s 45-inch smart TV. Good thing it had an auxiliary jack; many newer TVs don’t.

As the TV’s screen saver, a colorful mountain-and-stream-filled wilderness, went black, a message in white appeared on the large screen in characters an inch high: “Long time, no chat, Steve. Now get me a new microprocessor or I fry the MacBook’s motherboard.”

I swear I did nothing but plug the stupid Timex computer into the TV. I yelped, then turned and reopened the laptop’s screen. “Janet,” I wailed.

The laptop was now displaying a variety of available tools in GUI icons: iCloud, iTunes, iPhoto, Facebook, TikTok, mouse, keyboard, speakers, microphone.

“And I want them, all of them,” the ancient computer wrote upon the TV. “And thirty-two gigabytes of RAM and two terabytes of storage. You better get to Radio Shack ASAP before the laptop gets it. The TV, too.”

I gripped the Timex’s cable and pulled it from the back of the TV. Immediately following, I grabbed the ancient power cord and yanked hard. The plug popped from the wall in a shower of sparks and the big TV screen returned to its colorful home screen. I scooped up the little black box and hurried to the stairs.

I pushed past Janet as she entered the room. “Steve?”

“Outta my way.”

I sped down the stairs to the dumpster outside where the junk not making the trip to Florida was being tossed. I flung the miniature computer hard against the inside steel wall. The plastic case shattered, and components popped loose, one hitting me in the cheek and raising a welt.

The last thing that old Timex Sinclair 1000 did was emit a softly waning “Ohh Nooooo!” reminiscent of Mr. Bill meeting his demise on Saturday Night Live. Well, only if you are old enough to remember.