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Distributed Christmas 1976 (remember that 1976 is the year we were sold to NCR):
Twas the week before Christmas and all through the plant
Everyone was working to ship Foster Grant.
The terminals were assembled in a row with care
In hopes that by Friday, they'd be in the air.
The assemblers were busy soldering seams
While visions of shutdown haunted their dreams.
I, per my usual, was rushing around
Trying to get my boss out of town.
All of a sudden there rose such a clatter
I sprang from my office to see what was the matter.
I dashed up the hall to mahogany row
And rounded the corner in time for the show.
There in his office, so staunch and astute
Was our chairman of the board in a red jogging suit.
His eyes were on fire, his fists - they were clenched
As he stormed 'round the office, everyone flinched.
I leaned toward the door - the room was ablaze
With four-letter words and useless cliches.
"Now C.J, now E.J, now D.J., and Frieberg
On Hanley, on Henry, on Miller, and Youngberg.
"Let's bring this company back up to par
We're selling this place to NCR!"
And they proceeded ahead, despite all the peril
Wrapped it, and sold it - lock, stock, and barrel.
And I heard him exclaim when the countdown was zero
"Merry Christmas to all from your millionaire hero!"
Submitted by Russ Walker for the October '77 Sales and Systems Newsletter. It doesn't rhyme but it is pure poetry. After all a lot of Walt Whitman's stuff didn't rhyme either.
It is with eager anticipation and devoted diligence that I patiently await the arrival of my monthly Systems and Sales Newsletter. Marking the days off my calendar and counting the remainder has become a ritual, over coffee each morning. On the "big day", as I cautiously reach for the mail, my hand trembles slightly and my heart beat quickens. For I know that if by some twist of fate, it's not there, the rest of the evening will be a total loss. I'll sit in the dark moping, as thoughts of better times and subdued revenge intermingle and flitter through my mind.
But alas! It's here! "Out of my way! Don't bother me, I need quiet!" As the dust settles, I try to ignore the idle threats of "if you don't come to dinner now, I'm gonna throw it out." I sit back, take a deep breath, and begin to read. Then it happens. The pace, for no apparent reason, quickens. By the end of the first page, it's brutal, by the end of the second maddening!
Faster-faster! Read-read! On I go through DPI Character Set, through Thumbnail Sketches, slowing only for an instant as my eye catches something about kazoos, thumpers and insomniacs. Turn dummy, turn the page! New Products is next. On and on I go, cringing at the characters. Go-go! Only one more page. The words begin to blur. Does that say "For Your Reading Pleasure" or "Preasure"? What difference--faster! Will I make it or will my mind disintegrate. Then suddenly, LEVIS! ! - LEVIS? Oh my God, I've gone crazy. I'm reading my zipper. Stop! Stop I shout, as the beads of sweat sting my eyes. I've got to stop! My subconscious takes over and the Newsletter flies out of my hands as though by some mystical force...
A11 is calm. I sit there quietly, trying to regain my sanity. I see illusions of four-footed MIT Controllers, dancing across my chest with frogs wearing party hats--seems quite normal.
The door opens slightly, my wife looks in, then cautiously enters. "Did It again," she says, "What happened this time?" I look down at the wrinkled, damp mass which used to be my Newsletter. I try to make my eyes focus. As I drift from a subconscious state into sleep, I mutter, "I - I...My - my mind has ... has intentionally been left blank."
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Open Mouth, Insert Food Dept.
A Regional Systems Engineer |
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From Larry Baron Software Development, 1967
How many Bytes |
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The following was passed around during Christmas week 1977
Happy Christmas to all!!
For your holiday entertainment, complete on the following
page is the second (the first and the last) performance of:
Written by:
Phrog, Ink.
Choreographer: Sister Boogie Woman
Suggestive poses for the reindeer: BoPeep
The following seasonal drama is not true. Any resemblance
to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Once upon a time, there was a young applications programmer who had worked for the company only a few months. It was Christmas, and her mean old Project Leader was making her work until her system was written (while he went off to London to chase bits).
Suddenly, the room was loaded with AIDE bugs. The applications programmer was so frightened and confused, she fell on her assembler. She was struggling desperately with the program when, out of nowhere, came a Special Projects Person, the Bytecracker Nut. The applications programmer and the Bytecracker Nut battled with the AIDE bugs until all but one (who had a particularly nasty FUBAR* routine) were resolved.
Luckily, they were fighting next to a data stream and a friendly terminalpoll sitting on a numeric pad executed the bug with its two-wire line. The Bytecracker Nut and the applications programmer were very grateful to the terminalpoll and patted him on the I/0 channel as they went down the data path.
Now, the Bytecracker Nut knew of a very special hold buffer owned by a wise old used peripheral salesman, Don Coreloni. He took the applications programmer to the Don where they sat on a fencepost to chat. Don Coreloni showed the programmer his Staff of Specialists (INSERT KAZOOBAND PLAYING "The Bytecracker Sweat" HERE) who performed for them by eating core, dumping disk and becoming transparent.
The applications programmer cried out as her head hit the desk and she woke up. Damn! She'd fallen asleep over another AIDE listing. She glanced at her pocket 102 and noted from the distinctive time display that it was only 22:45! A quick day-of-the-month Inquiry told her it was still 12/24! She hadn't missed Christmas and the football games after all! Joyfully, she gathered her things to go home, silently thanking the Bytecracker Nut for draining the swamp.
Copyright 1977,
Shirley Stough
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Jan. 18, 1977
Happy Birthday to DPI Don
On this eighteenth day of January, I'd like to make a referral
To the birthday of a treasured soul -- our own dear Mr. Peripheral
He's always there with answers
He knows his tapes from dums
And whenever there's a party,
You know he always comes!
Yes, if there is a gathering
He'll be there if he's able
And if you don't keep track of him
He'll drink you under the table.
Don is such a clever man
Your problems -- he will fix
And every October, if he can
You'll find him out at APICS
And when he's old and wrinkled
And known for his longevity
He can sit back and smile, for his life has been
A continuous successful activity!
A Special Tribute to the
Bicentennial-Plus-One Boogie-Down Bash
July 5, 1977 (sung to the tune of "The Midnight Ride of Paul
Revere")
(Bill: How Sister Boogie Woman got her name)
Listen my friends, I shall tell you all
Of the Bicentennial Boogie Ball
'Twas the week of the 200th birthday-plus-one
They gathered in L.A. to have them some fun.
From the whole west coast region of DPI they came
To the County of Orange to play in the game.
S.E.'s and C.E.'s and headquarters types
To celebrate the birth of the stars-and-the-stripes.
One was a buffet, two was the bash
The brunch hit 17 hours in a flash.
From Rancho de Lopez to the Meat & Makin Abode
They laughed, ate and drank til they were totally snowed.
From Hot-L Walker to Holi-Day Estates
They drank all the bottles and ate all the plates.
They boogied and shifts and drank all the while
And had them a party, DPI-style.
By the 4th of July, they all had dispersed
Some for the better; most for the worst.
They crawled, flew or drove from whence they had come
Some still were tired; but most were quite numb.
The talk now is brewing of "Hot August Nite"
Or another July 4th might do us just right.
Now that I've ended my historical tale
Will someone please get us all out of jail?
On your trek out to the patch
We hope you haven't met your match
Sunnyvale will be glad to hear your goodbyes
So we can ship the software as it lies.
Massey awaits you with open arms
To baby-sit their stall alarms.
And no one knows--but who can tell
You might get sent to Carl Bell!
Though we've never heard your druthers
You'll love to help out Dickie Brothers.
The Polish Eagle is anxious, too
To install at NCR Waterloo.
And though we'll really miss you so
We offer one thought before you go:
We hope this is a good decision you've made
To work with the programs you QA'd!
Lord Mick Snider February 17, 1978
'Way down South there is a tale
About a big, magnificent male.
Stands six foot one; his wit is quick
At two hundred plus, you don't mess with Mick.
He'll down a pitcher in a second flat
Then pull down the brim of his ten gallon hat
He'll thunk his giant boots on the table
He swears like a trooper, so goes the fable.
Now Mick went to London to everyone's amaze
And didn't come back for many many days
Rumors flew about the British and Mick
What would they do with this Texan hick?
When Mick returned it was a surprise to all
To hear his British accent with a Texas drawl
With the English way of life, Mick wasn't really phased
But now he downs his pitchers with his little finger raised.
His friends all gathered from miles around
When Lord Mick Snider, Esquire, rolled back into town.
We raise a toast, Lord Snider, to your esteemed birthday
May you regain your old familiar habits someday!