IEEE Spectrum

University at BuffaloSargur “Hari” SrihariPioneer of computational forensicsLife Fellow, 72; died 8 MarchSrihari helped create an artificial intelligence system in 1991 that enabled machines to read handwritten letters. The U.S. Postal Service still uses the system to sort mail. Srihari was a pioneer in the field of computational forensics who in 2002 developed CEDAR-FOX, a software system that identifies people through their handwriting.He was a professor of computer science and engineering for more than 40 years. He taught at the State University of New York as well as the University of Buffalo, where he founded its Center of Excellence for Document Analysis and Recognition. The faculty and students use the CEDAR research lab to work on technologies involving pattern recognition, machine learning, data mining, information retrieval, and computational linguistics.It was at CEDAR where Srihari helped develop the AI system. The U.S. Postal Service provided the program with more than US $60 million in funding during the project’s 25 years.In 2002 Srihari created CEDAR-FOX, which has been updated to allow the system to identify people through their fingerprints and shoe prints.Srihari held seven U.S. patents.Because of his expertise, Srihari was asked in 2007 to serve on the U.S. National Academy of Sciences’ committee on identifying the needs of the forensic science community, the only computer scientist on the body. It produced a report in 2009 about how the U.S. criminal justice system could strengthen its use of forensic science.Srihari received bachelor’s degrees in physics and mathematics in 1967 from Bangalore University in India. He also earned a bachelor’s degree in electrical communication engineering in 1970 from the Indian Institute of Science, in Bangalore. Srihari went on to earn a Ph.D. in computer and information science in 1976 from Ohio State University, in Columbus.Charles H. GagerFormer head of Mitre’s space surveillance systemsMember, 91; died 24 MarchGager joined the research and engineering division of AIL, in St. James, N.Y., in 1951. There he conducted research in radar techniques and helped develop technologies such as moving-target identification equipment, monopulse radar, and high-resolution radar.He left the company in 1979 to join The Mitre Corp. in McLean, Va., where he helped develop surveillance sensors and technology for electronic warfare and tactical defense measures. He was promoted in 1984 to head the company’s space surveillance systems department.After he retired, he and his wife moved to Norwell, Mass., and he became an active IEEE volunteer. He also taught a course about the history and evolution of U.S. intelligence operations for Harvard’s Institute for Learning in Retirement.Gager received a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering in 1950 from the Polytechnic Institute of Brooklyn (now the New York University Tandon School of Engineering).Thomas K. IshiiFounder of the IEEE Microwave Theory and Techniques Society’s Milwaukee SectionLife member, 94; died 27 DecemberIshii was an active IEEE volunteer who established the IEEE Microwave Theory and Techniques Society Milwaukee Section. He served as an associate editor of IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems from 1989 to 1991.He served as a consultant for several companies including Wisconsin Electric Power, Honeywell, and Johnson Controls, as well as a number of law firms.Ishii received a bachelor’s degree and a Ph.D. in engineering from Nihon University, in Tokyo. He stayed on as an electrical engineering professor after graduating in 1950. He left six years later to pursue a second master’s degree and a doctorate at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He graduated in 1959 and joined Marquette University, in Milwaukee, as a professor. He retired in 1998 and was named professor emeritus.He held two U.S. patents and three Japanese patents for microwave devices.Ishii was honored with several awards including the 2000 IEEE Millennium Medal, the 1984 IEEE Centennial Medal, and the 1969 T.C. Burnum IEEE Milwaukee Section Memorial Award.Leland Ross MegargelElectrical engineerLife member, 93; died 13 NovemberMegargel worked as an electrical engineer for several companies including General Electric, Valley Forge, and International Signal and Control.After graduating in 1945 from Lake Ariel Consolidated School, in Pennsylvania, he enlisted in the U.S. Army. He was stationed in Japan and helped with the country’s reconstruction projects following World War II. He was honorably discharged in 1947.He was granted several U.S. patents.Megargel received a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering in 1951 from Pennsylvania State University.Mirela Sechi Moretti Annoni NotareEditorial advisory board member of The InstituteSenior member, 53; died 14 April 2021Notare was a professor at the Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina, in Florianópolis, Brazil.She was an active IEEE member for 25 years, serving on several boards and committees including The Institute’s editorial advisory board. She was a member of the Region 9 NoticIEEEro newsletter committee and was on the editorial staff of IEEE Latin America Transactions.

In 1979, three years after Alan Kay had wanted to throw away the Altos “like Kleenex,” the Dorado, a machine 10 times more powerful, finally saw the light of day.“It was supposed to be built by one of the development organizations because they were going to use it in some of their products,” recalled Severo Ornstein, one of the designers of the Dorado and now chairman of Computer Professionals for Social Responsibility in Palo Alto. “But they decided not to do that, so if our lab was going to have it, we were going to have to build it ourselves. We went through a long agonizing period in which none of us who were going to have to do the work really wanted to do it.“Taylor was running the lab by that time,” Ornstein said. “The whole thing was handled extremely dexterously. He never twisted anyone’s arm really directly; he presided over it and kept order in the process, but he really allowed the lab to figure out that that was what it had to do. It was really a good thing, too, because it was very hard to bring the Dorado to life. A lot of blood was shed.”At first, Ornstein recalled, the designers made a false start by using a new circuit-board technology-so-called multiwire technology, in which individual wires are bonded to a board to make connections. But the Dorado boards were too complex for multiwire technology. When the first Dorado ran, there was a question in many people’s minds whether there would ever be a second.“There Butler Lampson’s faith was important,” Ornstein said. “He was the only one who believed that it could be produced in quantity.In fact, even after the Dorado was redesigned using printed-circuit boards instead of multiwire and Dorados began to be built in quantity, they were still rare. “We never had enough budget to populate the whole community with Dorados,” recalled one former PARC manager. “They dribbled out each year, so that in 1984 still not everybody had a Dorado.”Those who did were envied. “I had a Dorado of my very own,” said John Warnock. “Chuck Geschke was a manager; he didn’t get one.”“In the early days...I got to take my Alto home. But the evolution of machines at Xerox went in the opposite direction from making it easy to take the stuff home.—Dan Ingalls“I got a crusty old Alto and a sheet of paper,” Geschke said. The advent of the Dorado allowed researchers whose projects were too big for the Alto to make use of bit-mapped displays and all the other advantages of personal computers. ‘‘We had tried to put Lisp on the Alto, and it was a disaster,” recalled Teitelman. “When we got the Dorado, we spent eight or nine months dis­ cussing what we would want to see in a programming environ­ment that would combine the best of Mesa, Lisp, and Small­ talk.” The result was Cedar, now commonly acknowledged to be one of the best programming environments anywhere.“Cedar put some of the good features of Lisp into Mesa, like garbage collection and run-time type-checking,’’ said Mitchell of Acorn. Garbage collection is a process by which memory space that is no longer being used by a program can be reclaimed; run­ time type-checking allows a program to determine the types of its arguments—whether integers, character strings, or floating-point numbers—and choose the operations it performs on them accordingly.Interlisp, the language Teitelman had nurtured for 15 years, also was transported to the Dorado, where it was the basis for a research effort that has now grown into the Intelligent Systems Laboratory at PARC.PARC’s Smalltalk group, who had gotten used to their Altos and then built the Notetaker, another small computer, had some trouble dealing with the Dorados.“In the early days, we had Smalltalk running on an Alto, and I got to take my Alto home,” recalled Ingalls. “But the evolution of machines at Xerox went in the opposite direction from making it easy to take the stuff home. The next machine, the Dolphin, was less transportable, and the Dorado is out of the question—it’s a fire-breathing dragon.”

While some of PARC’s pioneers were getting restless by the mid-1970s, others were just beginning to find uses for the marvelous tools of the office of the future. One was Lynn Conway, who used the Alto, networks, and laser printers to develop a new method of designing integrated circuits and disseminate the method to hundreds of engineers at several dozen institutions around the country.When Bert Sutherland came in as manager of the Systems Science Laboratory in 1975, he brought Carver Mead, a professor at the California Institute of Technology in Pasadena, to PARC “to wander in and create some havoc.” Mead was an expert in semi­ conductor design who had invented the MESFET in the late 1960s.Sutherland had worked on the application of computer graphics to integrated-circuit layout, Conway recalled, so it was natural for him to think about applying an advanced personal computer like the Alto to the problem of IC design. Conway herself was drawn to integrated-circuit design by the frustration of the OCR-Fax project, in which she had conceived an elegant architecture that could only be realized as racks and racks of equipment. But those racks might become a few chips if only they could be designed by someone who knew what they should do and how they should fit together.“Carver Mead came up and gave a one-week course at PARC on integrated-circuit design,” Fairbairn recalled. “Lynn Conway and I were the ones that really got excited about it and really wanted to do something.”“Then a whole bunch of things really clicked,” said Conway. “While Carver and I were cross-educating each other on what was going on in computing and in devices, he was able to explain some of the basic MOS design methods that had been evolving within Intel. And we began to see ways to generalize the struc­tures that [those designers] had generated.’’ Instead of working only on computer tools for design, Conway explained, she and Mead worked to make the design methods simpler and to build tools for the refined methods.“Between mid-’75 and mid-’77, things went from a fragmentary little thing—one of a number of projects Bert wanted to get going—to the point where we had it all in hand, with examples, and it was time to write.”In a little less than two years, [Carver] Mead and [Lynn] Conway had developed the concepts of scalable design rules, repetitive structures, and the rest of what is now known as structured VLSI designIn a little less than two years, Mead and Conway had developed the concepts of scalable design rules, repetitive structures, and the rest of what is now known as structured VLSI design—to the point where they could teach it in a single semester.Today structured VLSI design is taught at more than 100 universities, and thousands of different chips have been built with it. But in the summer of 1977, the Mead-Conway technique was untested—n fact belittled. How could they get it accepted?“The amazing thing about the PARC environment in 1976-77 was the feeling of power; all of a sudden you could create things and make lots of them. Not just one sheet, but whole books,” said Conway.And that is exactly what she and her cohorts did. “We just self-published the thing [Introduction to VLSI Systems],” said Conway, “and put it in a form that if you didn’t look twice, you might think this was a completely sound, proven thing.”It looked like a book, and Addison-Wesley agreed to publish it as a book. Conway insisted it couldn’t have happened without the Altos. “Knowledge would have gotten out in bits and pieces, always muddied and clouded-we couldn’t have generated such a pure form and generated it so quickly.’’The one tool Conway used most in the final stages of the VLSI project was networks: not only the Ethernet within PARC, but the ARPAnet that connected PARC to dozens of research sites across the country. “The one thing I am clear of in retrospect,” said Conway, “is the sense of having powerful invisible weapons that people couldn’t understand we had. The environment at PARC gave us the power to outfox and outmaneuver people who would think we were crazy or try to stop us; otherwise we would never have had the nerve to go out with it the way we did.”

Essentially, the PARC researchers worked in an ivory tower for the first five years; while projects were in their infancy, there was little time for much else. But by 1976, with an Alto on every desk and electronic mail a way of life at the center, re­ searchers yearned to see their creations used by friends and neighbors.At that point, Kay recalled, about 200 Altos were in use at PARC and other Xerox divisions; PARC proposed that Xerox market a mass-production version of the Alto: the Alto III.“On Aug. 18, 1976, Xerox turned down the Alto III,” Kay said.So the researchers, rather than turning their project over to a manufacturing division, continued working with the Alto.“That was the reason for our downfall,” said Kay. “We didn’t get rid of the Altos. Xerox management had been told early on that Altos at PARC were like Kleenex; they would be used up in three years and we would need a new set of things 10 times faster. But when this fateful period came along, there was no capital.“We had a meeting at Pajaro Dunes [Calif.] called ‘Let’s burn our disk packs.’ We could sense the second derivative of progress going negative for us,” Kay related. “I really should have gone and grenaded everybody’s disks.”Instead of starting entirely new research thrusts, the PARC employees focused on getting the fruits of their past research projects out the door as products.Every few years the Xerox Corp. has a meeting of all its managers from divisions around the world to discuss where the company may be going. At the 1977 meeting, held in Boca Raton, Fla., the big event was a demonstration by PARC researchers of the systems they had built.The PARC workers assigned to the Boca Raton presentation put their hearts, souls, and many Xerox dollars into the effort. Sets were designed and built, rehearsals were held on a Holly­ wood sound stage, and Altos and Dovers were shipped between Hollywood and Palo Alto with abandon. It took an entire day to set up the exhibit in an auditorium in Boca Raton, and a special air-conditioning truck had to be rented from the local airport to keep the machines cool. But for much of the Xerox corporate staff, this was the first encounter with the “eggheads” from PARC.“PARC was a very strange place to the rest of the company... It was thought of as weird computer people who had beards, who didn’t bathe or wear shoes, who spent long hours deep into the night staring at their terminals...and who basically were antisocial egg­ heads. Frankly, some of us fed that impression."—Richard Shoup“PARC was a very strange place to the rest of the company,” Shoup said. “It was not only California, but it was nerds. It was thought of as weird computer people who had beards, who didn’t bathe or wear shoes, who spent long hours deep into the night staring at their terminals, who had no relationships with any other human beings, and who basically were antisocial egg­ heads. Frankly, some of us fed that impression, as if we were above the rest of the company.”There was some difficulty in getting the rest of Xerox to take PARC researchers and their work seriously.“The presentation went over very well, and the battle was won, but the patient died,” Goldman said. Not only had Xerox executives seen the Alto, the Ethernet, and the laser printer, they had even been shown a Japanese-language word processor. “But the company couldn’t bring them to market!” Goldman said. (By 1983, the company did market a Japanese version of its Star computer.)One reason that Xerox had such trouble bringing PARC’s advances to market was that, until 1976, there was no development organization to take research prototypes from PARC and turn them into products. “At the beginning, the way in which the technology would be transferred was not explicit,” Teitelman said. “We took something of a detached view and assumed that someone was going to pick it up. It wasn’t until later on that this issue got really focused.”

While PARC may have had more than its share of successes, like any organization it couldn’t escape some failures. The one most frequently cited by former PARC researchers is Polos.Polos was an alternate approach to distributed computing. While Thacker and McCreight were designing the Alto, another group at PARC was working with a cluster of 12 Data General Novas, attempting to distribute functions among the machines so that one machine would handle editing, one would handle input and output, another would handle filing.“With Altos,” Sutherland said, “everything each person needed was put in each machine on a small scale. Polos was an attempt to slice the pie in a different way-to split up offices functionally.”By the time Polos was working, the Alto computers were proliferating throughout PARC, so Polos was shut down. But it had an afterlife: Sutherland distributed the 12 Novas among other Xerox divisions, where they served a£ the first remote gateways onto PARC’s Alto network, and the Polos displays were used as terminals within PARC until they were junked in 1977. Another major PARC project that failed was a combination optical character reader and facsimile machine. The idea was to develop a system that could take printed pages of mixed text and graphics, recognize the text as such and transmit the characters in their ASCII code, then send the rest of the material using the less-efficient facsimile coding method.“It was fabulously complicated and fairly crazy,” said Charles Simonyi, now manager of application development at Microsoft Corp. ‘‘On this project they had this incredible piece of hardware that was the equivalent of a 10,000-line Fortran program.” Un­fortunately, the equivalent of tens of thousands of lines of Fortran in those days meant tens of thousands of individual integrated circuits.“While we made substantial progress at the algorithmic and architecture level,’’ said Conway, who worked on the OCR project, “it became clear that with the circuit technology at that time it wouldn’t be anywhere near an economically viable thing.” The project was dropped in 1975.

The same kinds of simplification that made for the modeless editor were also applied to programming languages and environments at PARC. Seeking a language that children could use, Kay could regularly be seen testing his work with kindergarten and elementary-school pupils.What Kay aimed for was the Dynabook: a simple, portable personal computer that would cater to a person’s information needs and provide an outlet for creativity-writing, drawing, and music composition. Smalltalk was to be the language of the Dynabook. It was based on the concepts of classes pioneered in the programming language Simula, and on the idea of interacting objects communicating by means of messages requesting actions, rather than by programs performing operations directly on data. The first version of Smalltalk was written as the result of a chance conversation between Kay, Ingalls, and Ted Kaehler, another PARC researcher. Ingalls and Kaehler were thinking about writing a language, and Kay said, “You can do one on just one page.”What Kay aimed for was the Dynabook: a simple, portable personal computer.He explained, “If you look at a Lisp interpreter written in itself, the kernel of these things is incredibly small. Smalltalk could be even smaller than Lisp.”The problem with this approach, Kay recalled, is that “Smalltalk is doubly recursive: you’re in the function before you ever do anything with the arguments.” In Smalltalk-72, the first version of the language, control was passed to the object as soon as possible. Thus writing a concise definition of Smalltalk-in Small­ talk-was very difficult.“It took about two weeks to write 10 lines of code,” Kay said, “and it was very hard to see whether those 10 lines of code would work.’’Kay spent the two weeks thinking from 4:00 to 8:00 a.m. each day and then discussing his ideas with Ingalls. When Kay was done, Ingalls coded the first Smalltalk in Basic on the Nova 800, because that was the only language available at the time with decent debugging facilities.“Smalltalk was of a scale that you could go out and have a pitcher of beer or two and come back, and then two people would egg each other on and do an entire system in an afternoon."—Alan KayBecause the language was so small and simple, developing programs and even entire systems was also quite fast. “Smalltalk was of a scale that you could go out and have a pitcher of beer or two and come back, and then two people would egg each other on and do an entire system in an afternoon,” Kay said. From one of those afternoon sessions came overlapping windows.The concept of windows had originated in Sketchpad, an interactive graphics program developed by Ivan Sutherland at MIT in the early 1960s; the Evans & Sutherland Corp. had implemented multiple windows on a graphics machine in the mid-1960s. But the first multiple overlapping windows were implemented on the Alto by PARC’s Diana Merry in 1973.“All of us thought that the Alto display was incredibly small,” said Kay, “and it’s clear that you’ve got to have overlapping windows if you don’t have a large display.”After windows came the concept of Bitblt—block transfers of data from one portion of memory to another, with no restrictions about alignment on word boundaries. Thacker, the main designer of the Alto computer, had implemented a function called CharacterOp to write characters to the Alto’s bit-mapped screen, and Ingalls extended that work to make a general graphic utility. Bitblt made overlapping windows much simpler, and it also made possible all kinds of graphics and animation tricks.“I gave a demo in early 1975 to all of PARC of the Smalltalk system using Bitblt for menus and overlapping windows and things,” Ingalls recalled. “A bunch of people came to me after­ wards, saying ‘How do you do all these things? Can I get the code for Bitblt?’ and within two months those things were being used throughout PARC.”Flashy and impressive as it was, Smalltalk-72 “was a dead end,” Tesler said. “It was ambiguous. You could read a piece of code and not be able to tell which were the nouns and which were the verbs. You couldn’t make it fast, and it couldn’t be compiled.”The first compiled version of Smalltalk, written in 1976, marked the end of the emphasis on a language that children could use. The language was now “a mature programming environment,” Ingalls said. “We got interested in exporting it and making it widely available.”“It’s terrible that Smalltalk-80 can’t be used by children, since that’s who Smalltalk was intended for. It fell back into data-structure-type programming instead of simulation-type programming.”—Alan KayThe next major revision of Smalltalk was Smalltalk-8O. Kay was no longer on the scene to argue that any language should be simple enough for a child to use. Smalltalk-8O, says Tesler, went too far in the opposite direction from the earliest versions of Smalltalk: “It went to such an extreme to make it compilable, uniform, and readable, that it actually became hard to read, and you definitely wouldn’t want to teach it to children.”

By today’s standards the Alto was not a particularly powerful computer. But if several Altos are linked, along with file servers and printers, the result looks suspiciously like the office of the future.The idea of a local computer network had been discussed before PARC was founded-in 1966, at Stanford University. Larry Tesler, now manager of object-oriented systems at Apple, who had graduated from Stanford, was still hanging around the campus when the university was considering buying an IBM 360 timesharing system.“One of the guys and I proposed that instead they buy 100 PDP-ls and link them together in a network,” Tesler said. “Some of the advisors thought that was a great idea; a consultant from Yale, Alan Perlis, told them that was what they ought to do, but the IBM-oriented people at Stanford thought it would be safer to buy the timesharing system. They missed the opportunity to invent local networking.” So PARC ended up with another first. At the same time that the Alto was being built, Thacker conceived of the Ethernet, a coaxial cable that would link machines in the simplest possible fashion. It was based in part on the Alohanet, a packet radio network developed at the University of Hawaii in the late 1960s.‘‘Thacker made the remark that coaxial cable is nothing but captive ether,” said Kay. “So that part of it was already set before Robert Metcalfe and David Boggs came on board-that it would be packet-switching and that it would be a collision-type network. But then Metcalfe and Boggs sweated for a year to figure out how to do the damn thing.” (Metcalfe later founded 3Com Corp., Mountain View, Calif.; Boggs is now with DEC Western Research in Los Altos, Calif. The two of them hold the basic patents on the Ethernet.)“I’ve always thought the fact that [David] Boggs was a ham radio operator was important.... [He] knew that you could communicate reliably through an unreliable medium. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t had that background.”—Bert Sutherland“I’ve always thought the fact that Boggs was a ham radio operator was important,” Sutherland said. “It had a great impact on the way the Ethernet was designed, because the Ethernet fundamentally doesn’t work reliably. It’s like citizens’ band radio, or any of the other kinds of radio communication, which are fundamentally not reliable in the way that we think of the telephone. Because you know it basically doesn’t work, you do all the defensive programming—the ‘say again, you were garbled’ protocols that were worked out for radio communication. And that makes the resulting network function extremely reliably.“Boggs was a ham and knew that you could communicate reliably through an unreliable medium. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t had that background,” Sutherland added.Once the Ethernet was built, using it was fairly simple: a computer that wanted to send a message would wait and see whether the cable was clear. If it was, the machine would send the information in a packet prefaced with the address of its recipient. If two messages collided, the machines that sent them would each wait for a random interval before trying again.One innovative use for the network had nothing to do with people sending messages to one another; it involved communication solely between machines. Because the dynamic memory chips were so unreliable in those days, the Alto also ran a memory check when it wasn’t doing anything else. Its response to finding a bad chip was remarkable: “It would send a message telling which Alto was bad, which slot had the bad board, and which row and column had the bad chips,” Thornburg said. “The reason I found out about this was that one day the repairman showed up and said, ‘Any time you’re ready to power down, I need to fix your Alto,’ and I didn’t even know anything was wrong.”

In 1979, three years after Alan Kay had wanted to throw away the Altos “like Kleenex,” the Dorado, a machine 10 times more powerful, finally saw the light of day.“It was supposed to be built by one of the development organizations because they were going to use it in some of their products,” recalled Severo Ornstein, one of the designers of the Dorado and now chairman of Computer Professionals for Social Responsibility in Palo Alto. “But they decided not to do that, so if our lab was going to have it, we were going to have to build it ourselves. We went through a long agonizing period in which none of us who were going to have to do the work really wanted to do it.“Taylor was running the lab by that time,” Ornstein said. “The whole thing was handled extremely dexterously. He never twisted anyone’s arm really directly; he presided over it and kept order in the process, but he really allowed the lab to figure out that that was what it had to do. It was really a good thing, too, because it was very hard to bring the Dorado to life. A lot of blood was shed.”At first, Ornstein recalled, the designers made a false start by using a new circuit-board technology-so-called multiwire technology, in which individual wires are bonded to a board to make connections. But the Dorado boards were too complex for multiwire technology. When the first Dorado ran, there was a question in many people’s minds whether there would ever be a second.“There Butler Lampson’s faith was important,” Ornstein said. “He was the only one who believed that it could be produced in quantity.In fact, even after the Dorado was redesigned using printed-circuit boards instead of multiwire and Dorados began to be built in quantity, they were still rare. “We never had enough budget to populate the whole community with Dorados,” recalled one former PARC manager. “They dribbled out each year, so that in 1984 still not everybody had a Dorado.”Those who did were envied. “I had a Dorado of my very own,” said John Warnock. “Chuck Geschke was a manager; he didn’t get one.”“In the early days...I got to take my Alto home. But the evolution of machines at Xerox went in the opposite direction from making it easy to take the stuff home.—Dan Ingalls“I got a crusty old Alto and a sheet of paper,” Geschke said. The advent of the Dorado allowed researchers whose projects were too big for the Alto to make use of bit-mapped displays and all the other advantages of personal computers. ‘‘We had tried to put Lisp on the Alto, and it was a disaster,” recalled Teitelman. “When we got the Dorado, we spent eight or nine months dis­ cussing what we would want to see in a programming environ­ment that would combine the best of Mesa, Lisp, and Small­ talk.” The result was Cedar, now commonly acknowledged to be one of the best programming environments anywhere.“Cedar put some of the good features of Lisp into Mesa, like garbage collection and run-time type-checking,’’ said Mitchell of Acorn. Garbage collection is a process by which memory space that is no longer being used by a program can be reclaimed; run­ time type-checking allows a program to determine the types of its arguments—whether integers, character strings, or floating-point numbers—and choose the operations it performs on them accordingly.Interlisp, the language Teitelman had nurtured for 15 years, also was transported to the Dorado, where it was the basis for a research effort that has now grown into the Intelligent Systems Laboratory at PARC.PARC’s Smalltalk group, who had gotten used to their Altos and then built the Notetaker, another small computer, had some trouble dealing with the Dorados.“In the early days, we had Smalltalk running on an Alto, and I got to take my Alto home,” recalled Ingalls. “But the evolution of machines at Xerox went in the opposite direction from making it easy to take the stuff home. The next machine, the Dolphin, was less transportable, and the Dorado is out of the question—it’s a fire-breathing dragon.”

While some of PARC’s pioneers were getting restless by the mid-1970s, others were just beginning to find uses for the marvelous tools of the office of the future. One was Lynn Conway, who used the Alto, networks, and laser printers to develop a new method of designing integrated circuits and disseminate the method to hundreds of engineers at several dozen institutions around the country.When Bert Sutherland came in as manager of the Systems Science Laboratory in 1975, he brought Carver Mead, a professor at the California Institute of Technology in Pasadena, to PARC “to wander in and create some havoc.” Mead was an expert in semi­ conductor design who had invented the MESFET in the late 1960s.Sutherland had worked on the application of computer graphics to integrated-circuit layout, Conway recalled, so it was natural for him to think about applying an advanced personal computer like the Alto to the problem of IC design. Conway herself was drawn to integrated-circuit design by the frustration of the OCR-Fax project, in which she had conceived an elegant architecture that could only be realized as racks and racks of equipment. But those racks might become a few chips if only they could be designed by someone who knew what they should do and how they should fit together.“Carver Mead came up and gave a one-week course at PARC on integrated-circuit design,” Fairbairn recalled. “Lynn Conway and I were the ones that really got excited about it and really wanted to do something.”“Then a whole bunch of things really clicked,” said Conway. “While Carver and I were cross-educating each other on what was going on in computing and in devices, he was able to explain some of the basic MOS design methods that had been evolving within Intel. And we began to see ways to generalize the struc­tures that [those designers] had generated.’’ Instead of working only on computer tools for design, Conway explained, she and Mead worked to make the design methods simpler and to build tools for the refined methods.“Between mid-’75 and mid-’77, things went from a fragmentary little thing—one of a number of projects Bert wanted to get going—to the point where we had it all in hand, with examples, and it was time to write.”In a little less than two years, [Carver] Mead and [Lynn] Conway had developed the concepts of scalable design rules, repetitive structures, and the rest of what is now known as structured VLSI designIn a little less than two years, Mead and Conway had developed the concepts of scalable design rules, repetitive structures, and the rest of what is now known as structured VLSI design—to the point where they could teach it in a single semester.Today structured VLSI design is taught at more than 100 universities, and thousands of different chips have been built with it. But in the summer of 1977, the Mead-Conway technique was untested—n fact belittled. How could they get it accepted?“The amazing thing about the PARC environment in 1976-77 was the feeling of power; all of a sudden you could create things and make lots of them. Not just one sheet, but whole books,” said Conway.And that is exactly what she and her cohorts did. “We just self-published the thing [Introduction to VLSI Systems],” said Conway, “and put it in a form that if you didn’t look twice, you might think this was a completely sound, proven thing.”It looked like a book, and Addison-Wesley agreed to publish it as a book. Conway insisted it couldn’t have happened without the Altos. “Knowledge would have gotten out in bits and pieces, always muddied and clouded-we couldn’t have generated such a pure form and generated it so quickly.’’The one tool Conway used most in the final stages of the VLSI project was networks: not only the Ethernet within PARC, but the ARPAnet that connected PARC to dozens of research sites across the country. “The one thing I am clear of in retrospect,” said Conway, “is the sense of having powerful invisible weapons that people couldn’t understand we had. The environment at PARC gave us the power to outfox and outmaneuver people who would think we were crazy or try to stop us; otherwise we would never have had the nerve to go out with it the way we did.”

Essentially, the PARC researchers worked in an ivory tower for the first five years; while projects were in their infancy, there was little time for much else. But by 1976, with an Alto on every desk and electronic mail a way of life at the center, re­ searchers yearned to see their creations used by friends and neighbors.At that point, Kay recalled, about 200 Altos were in use at PARC and other Xerox divisions; PARC proposed that Xerox market a mass-production version of the Alto: the Alto III.“On Aug. 18, 1976, Xerox turned down the Alto III,” Kay said.So the researchers, rather than turning their project over to a manufacturing division, continued working with the Alto.“That was the reason for our downfall,” said Kay. “We didn’t get rid of the Altos. Xerox management had been told early on that Altos at PARC were like Kleenex; they would be used up in three years and we would need a new set of things 10 times faster. But when this fateful period came along, there was no capital.“We had a meeting at Pajaro Dunes [Calif.] called ‘Let’s burn our disk packs.’ We could sense the second derivative of progress going negative for us,” Kay related. “I really should have gone and grenaded everybody’s disks.”Instead of starting entirely new research thrusts, the PARC employees focused on getting the fruits of their past research projects out the door as products.Every few years the Xerox Corp. has a meeting of all its managers from divisions around the world to discuss where the company may be going. At the 1977 meeting, held in Boca Raton, Fla., the big event was a demonstration by PARC researchers of the systems they had built.The PARC workers assigned to the Boca Raton presentation put their hearts, souls, and many Xerox dollars into the effort. Sets were designed and built, rehearsals were held on a Holly­ wood sound stage, and Altos and Dovers were shipped between Hollywood and Palo Alto with abandon. It took an entire day to set up the exhibit in an auditorium in Boca Raton, and a special air-conditioning truck had to be rented from the local airport to keep the machines cool. But for much of the Xerox corporate staff, this was the first encounter with the “eggheads” from PARC.“PARC was a very strange place to the rest of the company... It was thought of as weird computer people who had beards, who didn’t bathe or wear shoes, who spent long hours deep into the night staring at their terminals...and who basically were antisocial egg­ heads. Frankly, some of us fed that impression."—Richard Shoup“PARC was a very strange place to the rest of the company,” Shoup said. “It was not only California, but it was nerds. It was thought of as weird computer people who had beards, who didn’t bathe or wear shoes, who spent long hours deep into the night staring at their terminals, who had no relationships with any other human beings, and who basically were antisocial egg­ heads. Frankly, some of us fed that impression, as if we were above the rest of the company.”There was some difficulty in getting the rest of Xerox to take PARC researchers and their work seriously.“The presentation went over very well, and the battle was won, but the patient died,” Goldman said. Not only had Xerox executives seen the Alto, the Ethernet, and the laser printer, they had even been shown a Japanese-language word processor. “But the company couldn’t bring them to market!” Goldman said. (By 1983, the company did market a Japanese version of its Star computer.)One reason that Xerox had such trouble bringing PARC’s advances to market was that, until 1976, there was no development organization to take research prototypes from PARC and turn them into products. “At the beginning, the way in which the technology would be transferred was not explicit,” Teitelman said. “We took something of a detached view and assumed that someone was going to pick it up. It wasn’t until later on that this issue got really focused.”

While PARC may have had more than its share of successes, like any organization it couldn’t escape some failures. The one most frequently cited by former PARC researchers is Polos.Polos was an alternate approach to distributed computing. While Thacker and McCreight were designing the Alto, another group at PARC was working with a cluster of 12 Data General Novas, attempting to distribute functions among the machines so that one machine would handle editing, one would handle input and output, another would handle filing.“With Altos,” Sutherland said, “everything each person needed was put in each machine on a small scale. Polos was an attempt to slice the pie in a different way-to split up offices functionally.”By the time Polos was working, the Alto computers were proliferating throughout PARC, so Polos was shut down. But it had an afterlife: Sutherland distributed the 12 Novas among other Xerox divisions, where they served a£ the first remote gateways onto PARC’s Alto network, and the Polos displays were used as terminals within PARC until they were junked in 1977. Another major PARC project that failed was a combination optical character reader and facsimile machine. The idea was to develop a system that could take printed pages of mixed text and graphics, recognize the text as such and transmit the characters in their ASCII code, then send the rest of the material using the less-efficient facsimile coding method.“It was fabulously complicated and fairly crazy,” said Charles Simonyi, now manager of application development at Microsoft Corp. ‘‘On this project they had this incredible piece of hardware that was the equivalent of a 10,000-line Fortran program.” Un­fortunately, the equivalent of tens of thousands of lines of Fortran in those days meant tens of thousands of individual integrated circuits.“While we made substantial progress at the algorithmic and architecture level,’’ said Conway, who worked on the OCR project, “it became clear that with the circuit technology at that time it wouldn’t be anywhere near an economically viable thing.” The project was dropped in 1975.