In other words, not true.
On Sat, Oct 19, 2019, 3:29 PM Clem Cole <clemc(a)ccc.com> wrote:
An old Usenet Apocrypha message. IIRC this show up
after the great
automated crash in 1987 and was being used an example of why the IBM
monoculture led to the melt down of the markets.
On Fri, Oct 18, 2019 at 9:16 PM Dave Horsfall <dave(a)horsfall.org> wrote:
A little off-topic, but quite amusing...
-- Dave
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Time to post this classic; I don't recall who wrote it. Note that the
references are pretty obscure now...
-----
VAXen, my children, just don't belong some places. In my business, I am
frequently called by small sites and startups having VAX problems. So
when a
friend of mine in an Extremely Large Financial Institution (ELFI) called
me one
day to ask for help, I was intrigued because this outfit is a really
major VAX
user - they have several large herds of VAXen - and plenty of sharp
VAXherds to
take care of them.
So I went to see what sort of an ELFI mess they had gotten into. It
seems they
had shoved a small 750 with two RA60s running a single application, PC
style,
into a data center with two IBM 3090s and just about all the rest of the
disk
drives in the world. The computer room was so big it had three street
addresses. The operators had only IBM experience and, to quote my
friend, they
were having "a little trouble adjusting to the VAX", were a bit hostile
towards
it and probably needed some help with system management. Hmmm,
hostility...
Sigh.
Well, I thought it was pretty ridiculous for an outfit with all that VAX
muscle
elsewhere to isolate a dinky old 750 in their Big Blue Country, and said
so
bluntly. But my friend patiently explained that although small, it was
an
"extremely sensitive and confidential application." It seems that the
750 had
originally been properly clustered with the rest of a herd and in the
care of
one of their best VAXherds. But the trouble started when the Chief User
went
to visit his computer and its VAXherd.
He came away visibly disturbed and immediately complained to the ELFI's
Director of Data Processing that, "There are some very strange people in
there
with the computers." Now since this user person was the Comptroller of
this
Extremely Large Financial Institution, the 750 had been promptly hustled
over
to the IBM data center which the Comptroller said, "was a more suitable
place."
The people there wore shirts and ties and didn't wear head bands or
cowboy
hats.
So my friend introduced me to the Comptroller, who turned out to be five
feet
tall, 85 and a former gnome of Zurich. He had a young apprentice gnome
who was
about 65. The two gnomes interviewed me in whispers for about an hour
before
they decided my modes of dress and speech were suitable for managing
their
system and I got the assignment.
There was some confusion, understandably, when I explained that I would
immediately establish a procedure for nightly backups. The senior gnome
seemed
to think I was going to put the computer in reverse, but the apprentice's
son
had an IBM PC and he quickly whispered that "backup" meant making a copy
of a
program borrowed from a friend and why was I doing that? Sigh.
I was shortly introduced to the manager of the IBM data center, who
greeted me
with joy and anything but hostility. And the operators really weren't
hostile
- it just seemed that way. It's like the driver of a Mack 18 wheeler,
with a
condo behind the cab, who was doing 75 when he ran over a moped doing its
best
to get away at 45. He explained sadly, "I really warn't mad at mopeds
but to
keep from runnin' over that'n, I'da had to slow down or change
lanes!"
Now the only operation they had figured out how to do on the 750 was
reboot it.
This was their universal cure for any and all problems. After all it
works on a
PC, why not a VAX? Was there a difference? Sigh.
But I smiled and said, "No sweat, I'll train you. The first command you
learn
is HELP" and proceeded to type it in on the console terminal. So the
data
center manager, the shift supervisor and the eight day-operators watched
the
LA100 buzz out the usual introductory text. When it finished they turned
to me
with expectant faces and I said in an avuncular manner, "This is your
most
important command!"
The shift supervisor stepped forward and studied the text for about a
minute.
He then turned with a very puzzled expression on his face and asked,
"What do
you use it for?" Sigh.
Well, I tried everything. I trained and I put the doc set on shelves by
the
750 and I wrote a special 40 page doc set and then a four page doc set.
I
designed all kinds of command files to make complex operations into
simple
foreign commands and I taped a list of these simplified commands to the
top of
the VAX. The most successful move was adding my home phone number.
The cheat sheets taped on the top of the CPU cabinet needed continual
maintenance, however. It seems the VAX was in the quietest part of the
data
center, over behind the scratch tape racks. The operators ate lunch on
the CPU
cabinet and the sheets quickly became coated with pizza drippings, etc.
But still the most used solution to hangups was a reboot and I gradually
got
things organized so that during the day when the gnomes were using the
system,
the operators didn't have to touch it. This smoothed things out a lot.
Meanwhile, the data center was getting new TV security cameras, a halon
gas
fire extinguisher system and an immortal power source. The data center
manager
apologized because the VAX had not been foreseen in the plan and so could
not
be connected to immortal power. The VAX and I felt a little rejected but
I
made sure that booting on power recovery was working right. At least it
would
get going again quickly when power came back.
Anyway, as a consolation prize, the data center manager said he would
have one
of the security cameras adjusted to cover the VAX. I thought to myself,
"Great, now we can have 24 hour video tapes of the operators eating
Chinese
takeout on the CPU." I resolved to get a piece of plastic to cover the
cheat
sheets.
One day, the apprentice gnome called to whisper that the senior was going
to
give an extremely important demonstration. Now I must explain that what
the
750 was really doing was holding our National Debt. The Reagan
administration
had decided to privatize it and had quietly put it out for bid. My
Extreme
Large Financial Institution had won the bid for it and was, as ELFIs are
wont
to do, making an absolute bundle on the float.
On Monday the Comptroller was going to demonstrate to the board of
directors
how he could move a trillion dollars from Switzerland to the Bahamas.
The
apprentice whispered, "Would you please look in on our computer? I'm
sure
everything will be fine, sir, but we will feel better if you are
present. I'm
sure you understand?" I did.
Monday morning, I got there about five hours before the scheduled demo to
check
things over. Everything was cool. I was chatting with the shift
supervisor
and about to go upstairs to the Comptroller's office. Suddenly there was
a
power failure.
The emergency lighting came on and the immortal power system took over
the load
of the IBM 3090s. They continued smoothly, but of course the VAX, still
on
city power, died. Everyone smiled and the dead 750 was no big deal
because it
was 7 AM and gnomes don't work before 10 AM. I began worrying about
whether I
could beg some immortal power from the data center manager in case this
was a
long outage.
Immortal power in this system comes from storage batteries for the first
five
minutes of an outage. Promptly at one minute into the outage we hear the
gas
turbine powered generator in the sub-basement under us automatically
start up
getting ready to take the load on the fifth minute. We all beam at each
other.
At two minutes into the outage we hear the whine of the backup gas
turbine
generator starting. The 3090s and all those disk drives are doing just
fine.
Business as usual. The VAX is dead as a door nail but what the hell.
At precisely five minutes into the outage, just as the gas turbine is
taking
the load, city power comes back on and the immortal power source commits
suicide. Actually it was a double murder and suicide because it took
both
3090s with it.
So now the whole data center was dead, sort of. The fire alarm system
had its
own battery backup and was still alive. The lead acid storage batteries
of the
immortal power system had been discharging at a furious rate keeping all
those
big blue boxes running and there was a significant amount of sulfuric
acid
vapor. Nothing actually caught fire but the smoke detectors were
convinced it
had.
The fire alarm klaxon went off and the siren warning of imminent halon
gas
release was screaming. We started to panic but the data center manager
shouted
over the din, "Don't worry, the halon system failed its acceptance test
last
week. It's disabled and nothing will happen."
He was half right, the primary halon system indeed failed to discharge.
But the
secondary halon system observed that the primary had conked and instantly
did
its duty, which was to deal with Dire Disasters. It had twice the
capacity and
six times the discharge rate.
Now the ear splitting gas discharge under the raised floor was so massive
and
fast, it blew about half of the floor tiles up out of their framework. It
came
up through the floor into a communications rack and blew the cover panels
off,
decking an operator. Looking out across that vast computer room, we
could see
the air shimmering as the halon mixed with it.
We stampeded for exits to the dying whine of 175 IBM disks. As I was
escaping
I glanced back at the VAX, on city power, and noticed the usual
flickering of
the unit select light on its system disk indicating it was happily
rebooting.
Twelve firemen with air tanks and axes invaded. There were frantic phone
calls
to the local IBM Field Service office because both the live and backup
3090s
were down. About twenty minutes later, seventeen IBM CEs arrived with
dozens
of boxes and, so help me, a barrel. It seems they knew what to expect
when an
immortal power source commits murder.
In the midst of absolute pandemonium, I crept off to the gnome office and
logged on. After extensive checking it was clear that everything was
just fine
with the VAX and I began to calm down. I called the data center
manager's
office to tell him the good news. His secretary answered with, "He isn't
expected to be available for some time. May I take a message?" I left a
slightly smug note to the effect that, unlike some other computers, the
VAX was
intact and functioning normally.
Several hours later, the gnome was whispering his way into a
demonstration of
how to flick a trillion dollars from country 2 to country 5. He was just
coming to the tricky part, where the money had been withdrawn from
Switzerland
but not yet deposited in the Bahamas. He was proceeding very slowly and
the
directors were spellbound. I decided I had better check up on the data
center.
Most of the floor tiles were back in place. IBM had resurrected one of
the
3090s and was running tests. What looked like a bucket brigade was
working on
the other one. The communication rack was still naked and a fireman was
standing guard over the immortal power corpse. Life was returning to
normal,
but the Big Blue Country crew was still pretty shaky.
Smiling proudly, I headed back toward the triumphant VAX behind the tape
racks
where one of the operators was eating a plump jelly bun on the 750 CPU.
He saw
me coming, turned pale and screamed to the shift supervisor, "Oh my God,
we
forgot about the VAX!" Then, before I could open my mouth, he rebooted
it. It
was Monday, 19-Oct-1987. VAXen, my children, just don't belong some
places.
-- Dave