FidoNet came together literally in one instant -- after months or¨
years of accumulated thoughts and ideas, many or most other¨
peoples'.

Unless you use one of these damn things regularly, it's hard to¨
understand, not because anyone is stupid, but because there's a¨
number of assumptions that you have to make or understand before¨
you get what ``network'' really means. 

A ``network'' is what you and all your friends are -- even before¨
it became New-Agey to say so. You're all interconnected, in the¨
sense that ``messages'' or whatever from one person to another,¨
get delivered or heard. Usually, you simply talk to them, in¨
person or on the phone. Less important news, who's doing what¨
these days, etc, just sorta filters around, until everyone¨
(usually) hears about it. People sometimes add, subtract, or¨
modify information, or simply tell fun stories.

Well -- the ``network'' part is the {\it how}, the connections.¨
It's usually indulgent to talk about informal human networks. But¨
for computers, they are so stupid you have to lead them to water,¨
and tell them where their mouths are. And to put water in it.

OK, so what does a computer ``network''? Why, whatever you tell¨
them to, of course.

I will not attempt to explain to you how a computer stores text.¨
You've seen it done, and if you haven't, you'll simply have to¨
take it on faith. In one sentence: each graphical symbol (letter,¨
puctuation marks, etc) are encoded numerically, and the computer¨
stores {\it that}. OK, so now you know you can store ``text''.

The trick to a computer network -- interconnected computers with¨
the ability to do with ``text'' what you do with your personal¨
messages (lose them, pretend you didn't hear, tell the wrong¨
person, etc) is to somehow wire the machines together. Computers¨
are electrical devices, and so they need wires to connect them¨
together. (Keep comments about radio etc to yourself.)

Stringing wires to and from every computer you might want to¨
``network'' to is obviously not practical. But, there just so¨
happens (probably\dots) to be a wire in your house that {\it¨
does} run to everyone elses house -- the telephone system.

To cut short a hundred years of boring technological development¨
-- there's a thing that, you put electrical signals into one end,¨
and it makes sound signals out the other end, so that it can¨
essentially talk in rigid mathemetical tones. It can listen to¨
this crap too. ``Talk'' here means simply transcribe, computer¨
says ``1'', device talks ``high tone''\dots device hears ``high¨
tone'', and talks ``1''. The thing is called a modem. You buy¨
them in a store for \$75 or more.

So what you do is get one for every computer. One end connects to¨
the computer, the other to the telephone line. Your second¨
telephone line, dedicated to this thing, because I can tell you¨
you don't want to share the phone with a machine this stupid.

What happens when you do this? Absolutely nothing.

YOu can stare at, threaten and bang upon your computer all day¨
long, but it still ain't gonna let you write a letter until you¨
run the word processor program. What if it was 1971, and there¨
were no word processor programs? You'd be shit out of luck,¨
that's what!

And this brings us back to the present dwelling upon the past --¨
FidoNet. There were ``computer networks'' at the time I wrote¨
FidoNet, but none that a mere mortal could have. (And I was told¨
in no uncertain terms that it was (variously) impossible to do on¨
a personal computer, or already done, why bother.)

Digression once again. 

About 1979 or so I had a decent (for the time) CP/M computer, for¨
it's time the equivelant to a PC clone 286. I could run most any¨
commercial program, and I wrote my own. I bought what was a bit¨
of exotica from a surplus store -- an accoustic modem, which is a¨
modem that literally made screaming tones, with what looked like¨
ear muffs into which you jammed the telephone handset after¨
dialing what you hoped was a computer on the other end. I used a¨
barbaric program that simply sent every keyboard character to the¨
modem, and took whatever data appeared form the modem, to the¨
local console screen. Lo, you could type to and from the remote¨
computer.

What the remote computer ran was a program called a Bulletin¨
Board System, or BBS, which were invented by Ward Christensen and¨
Randy Suess, in Chicago, in 1977 or so. It was simply another¨
decent-sized computer, with a slightly more sophisticated modem¨
that could tell when the phone was ringing, and answer it¨
automatically (it connected directly to the phone wires, instead¨
of my primitive ear muffs).

What was unique was that Ward'n'Randy had written a program that¨
emulated the social structure (if you will) of a supermarket¨
bulletin board. There were about 200 slots for text messages.¨
After calling in, you could post messages (type them in by hand),¨
read existing messages (after specifying which one, by number),¨
and you could do things that you couldn't do on a supermarket¨
bulletin board -- concepts like the ``next'' or ``previous''¨
message (the one posted after or before the one you just read),¨
search for a word within messages, and so on. (These additional¨
things or functions are called ``features'' and like in a movie¨
theatre, patrons (users) sit and wait to see what's next. It can¨
lead to a disease peculiar to computer programmers called¨
``creeping featuritis''.)

Ever listen to ham radio? Boooring. Unless you are into it -- in¨
which case drawn out detailed conversations on antenna¨
particulars, including number of elements, where bought, 
bad-weather and bird-shit tall tales, so'n'so's fell down, how¨
those screws you sold me got rusty, and so on are excruciatingly¨
interesting.

Which they were to me, and a fe thousand others, at that time.¨
Mainly it was programmers talking about programmer junk. I can't¨
recall a single thing.

In Boston in 1980 there were maybe a dozen? BBS's total. There¨
were two I called regularly; NECS, the New England COmputer¨
Society BBS (I was a member for a while) and the cnode, based¨
upon a software system I never really did understand very well,¨
run by a totally cool guy whose name escapes my now, in Andover¨
MA. ANyways, (I am getting back to FidoNet here, hold on) on the¨
cnode someone proposed a ``east coast -- west coast computer¨
network'', with the incomplete idea of interconnecting a zillion¨
computers, enough so that there'd be one in every local-dialing¨
area, so you could get a message from one computer to another by¨
hopping across each local-call area. Ugh. A mind-boggling¨
prospect.\footnote*{And ten years later, it has almost happened¨
-- the FidoNet has gotten so dense in the Eastern metrosprawl¨
that most mail I think from DE to DC to NJ is sent this way. It¨
is alleged to involve incomprehensibly complex routing.}

So I read that, along with many other people, and many other¨
messages on many other subjects. I never forgot it though. And I¨
never remembered the author, who persisted in his folly for quite¨
some time. (Silly person.)

I worked for Phoenix Software, for Neil¨
Colvin\footnote\dag{Though we frequently got on each others'¨
nerves, Neil is probably the best person I've ever worked for,¨
and the most honest and least cheapskate, and occasionally¨
downright generous. Once for no reason other than they were¨
totally cool, he bought a half-dozen of the then-extreme-tech 
HP-16C programmers calculators, just to give to his employees.¨
Now that's hardcore techie! And I still absolutely relish mine;¨
nine years later, I positively love using it, unlike {\it any}¨
other techie tool I have.}, at home, on my Multibuss-based¨
computer I got for implementing CP/M on it for the manufacturer¨
(Comark Inc). Since we all worked at home, 40 miles or more¨
apart, delivering programs and such was a drag; or worse, after¨
driving from West Medford to North Easton, finding out I forgot¨
some damn file or other. So we had modems (by this time almost¨
useful; Hayes Smartmodem 1200's, direct-connect no more ear¨
muffs), and the same barbaric software, and we would call each¨
other up and say ``OK, I have the program for you. Hang up, and¨
the next call will be my modem calling'' then I would issue the¨
appropriate dial commands to my modem, and Neil would wait for¨
the phone to ring, then command his modem to answer the phone,¨
and if we were lucky (someone else didn't call, all 10,000 of the¨
critical parameters were set properly, etc) you got the {\tt¨
CONNECT 1200} message on your screen. You could then proceed to¨
type at each other (about as useful as calling on the telephone,¨
then putting a rag over your your mouth, and mumbling) and then,¨
the magic: transmitting a program or text file from one computer¨
to another. (I'm skipping the arcane history and development of¨
what is known as ``file transfer protocols'', or 
``error-correcting protocols'', how the computers actually¨
transmit computer files from one computer to another, phone lines¨
or not. Explaining them now would only make things worse.)

It was better than driving back the 40 or so miles, to say the¨
least, even though the whole thing just sucked. Never mind the¨
phone bills.

Right before I moved to San Francisco, December `83, I even had a¨
simple program that would make my modem answer the phone, make me¨
enter a password, and if I got it right, I could operate my¨
computer remotely! 

January 1984 was when the telephone company ``break-up'' (sic)¨
was to happen, and I took advantage of it to get a free modem¨
from Ma Bell. I was having trouble to get any modem to work at¨
high speed over my phone line. The same modems would work on any¨
other line, but not mine. It was obviously the phone line, but¨
just try to convince the telco about that. They said, and¨
rightly, that they only guarenteed voice quality, and it sounded¨
fine. So, I ordered an AT\&T modem, and had {\it them} install¨
it, knowing it would fail too. And it did. When the repair guy¨
would come over, he would shit bricks when he saw the AT\&T¨
modem. The third repair guy was cool though, and interested in¨
modems and such. So he order a frequency-spectrum analysis done,¨
and found a ``bad spot'' that suppressed certain frequencies. But¨
nope, there was nothing they could do about it.

So when I moved I swiped it. I refused to pay the bill (\$250¨
installation, \$40/month, in 1984!) since it never worked, and¨
called from SF to disconnect my service. ``And where is the¨
equipment?'' the telco drone asks. ``Right here'' said I. But¨
then, it was New England Bell who installed AT\&T equipment, and¨
they were trapped in bureaucratic deadlock, because they ewre now¨
all ``separate''! . I never heard from them again.

So I'm in San Francisco, and I have an extra computer (an Otrona¨
Attach\'e 8:16), and now, an extra modem. I've got all this¨
techie files'n'stuff, and not much to do. BBS technology had of¨
course expanded


