Wretchard defines the passing of an era thusly:
The fabled cigarette lighter and ashtray were first described to me in the living room of a Raytheon engineer, who spoke of the “big leather chairs” and “finely finished situation displays” of SAGE with the kind of wistfulness that goes beyond nostalgia. He was talking about the terminals in the way one might describe a vanished way of life; in the way an Australian aborigine might describe the Dreamtime. It wasn’t that engineer wanted the past back; it was simply that he knew where the past was and was looking back at it in the way a sailor looks out on the wake.
programmer also looks back somewhat dreamily:
In the Dreamtime, programmers were rock stars. I received a call (in a long ago time) one afternoon from the program manager of a site made somewhat famous by a Star Trek movie where Chekov is looking for “nuclear wessels”. They had a system crash and wanted me there ASAP. I caught a redeye flight from where I was to where I needed to be, picked up my rental car at the airport and headed for the base. I was traveling light and fast, so did not have time to stop by the office on the way out and grab my credential package. When I arrived at the gate guarded by two young Marines, I told them my name and who I was there to see. They had not been advised by base security to expect me. I did not have my usual pass, so they told me to turn around and leave. I became irate, they put their hands on their 45s and started to spread out. I rapidly calmed down, turned around and left, all the time under their calm, watchful eye.
I went to the nearest public phone (this was before cell phones), called the program manager and told him where I was, that I was going to wait exactly 15 minutes, then go to the airport and go home. He sputtered a moment, then said “Wait right there, I will send a car.” Ten minutes later, the base commander’s limousine pulled up with the base commander and the program manager in the back seat. We had no trouble getting on base. I fixed the problem, received profuse thanks from the base commander and profuse apologies from the head of base security with promises that in the future I would most assuredly be recognized by the gate guards (which I never had to test), and was escorted, once again in the commander’s limousine to the airport.
Today, if I have to fix a problem, I am given 15 minutes to fix it or lose the project to any of the many other programmers competing for work (around the world). I am not as rational as Wretchard’s engineer. I miss the Dreamtime.
