[ATARI] Dadhacker, The Atari ST (parte 1)

[Jesus Cea]

http://www.dadhacker.com/blog/?p=995

Adjunto transcripción, en beneficio de los archivos de la lista. No
incluyo los comentarios, que también son interesantes.

"""
The Atari ST (part 1)
Posted on March 12, 2008 by landon	

One friday afternoon in July, 1984 the rumor floated through the halls:
Jack Tramiel had bought Atari, and we were all going to be killed. Or
laid-off. Or something. My office-mate had worked at Commodore a few
years earlier (where Jack had been CEO) and said “If this is true, I’m
quitting. I’m not working for Jack again; he’s a monster.” I didn’t know
anything about Jack, but this wasn’t a good sign.

On Monday the rumor turned out to be true. Like all important happenings
at Atari — layoffs, major management shake-ups, bad financial news and
so on — we found out through the San Jose Mercury News rather than an
official internal announcement. The paper said that Jack Tramiel had
bought Atari from Warner Communications, and he and his people were on
the way to San Jose to take the company apart and kill us. Or lay us
off. Or something. The Merc didn’t exactly say that Jack was a monster,
but that he had a hard, no-nonsense management style. This wasn’t a good
sign.

I remember spending a crazy couple of days trying to concentrate on my
current project; I sure didn’t feel like doing much (I was working on a
computerized Trivial Pursuit game, something we’d code-named “Trivial
Compute,” and was learning a lot about data compression algorithms, but
my heart just wasn’t in it). The hallways were buzzing with rumors of
entire buildings-full of people who had been nuked.

It took a little while for them to get to us. On Wednesday two of Jack’s
“lieutenants” arrived at our building (we consumer games folks had been
co-located with the coin-op division to save money). Someone had phoned
ahead and said that the Tramiels were coming over and that news spread
like wildfire. When they showed up, someone said, “I see them! They’re
walking in the front door!”. I dialed-up the building’s intercom system
and announced:

“Imperial storm troopers have entered the base! Imperial storm troopers
have — Urk!”

then hung up abruptly. (Later, one of the two said that the timing
couldn’t have been more perfect; my announcement happened as they had
begun marching down the main hallway on the way to meet with the people
they were going to lay off…).

There were interviews. Fast interviews that might better be described as
grillings. We each had about five minutes to talk with Leonard Tramiel
(Jack’s son) and John Feagans (a long-time Commodore employee, and
someone that the Tramiels trusted). They asked questions like: Do you
have any experience writing operating systems? I told them that I’d read
Lion’s notes on Unix, and about my CS coursework at Maryland and the
tools work that I liked to do. Did I want to work on a new computer?
Sure, that sounded kind of exciting. I might have mentioned Soul of a
New Machine and stuff about compilers. My memory of this is rather
vague; I recall having a private conversation with the two of them, but
others have said that we were interviewed in groups of five or six. It
might have been both.

A couple hours later we were told to meet in a common area. There were
about sixty of us. “Do you want the news individually, or all at once?”
We took a vote, and most of us (veterans of many, many layoffs) just
wanted to get things over with quickly. Leonard read two lists of names.
Those on the longer list, about two thirds of the people there, were the
ones getting a package. Those on the shorter list would be working for
the Tramiels, at least for a while. My name was on the shorter list.

It was unclear if it would be better to be laid-off or to work for these
people; they were tight-lipped and nearly complete ciphers. Who were the
lucky ones? There was no way to tell. I helped my now-ex-cow-orkers pack
their offices and load boxes into their cars. Out of the cluster of six
programmers and an artist, people who I’d worked with and survived
layoffs with for years, I was the only one left.

There was a lot of stuff left behind, and a bunch of VAXes that I could
mess around with nearly all by myself. It wasn’t all that much fun.

– – – –

All of us programmers got VP desks.

The Tramiels had bought a lot of stuff — by contract they could have
anything they wanted of the Warner Atari’s assets — and we needed to set
up our offices in the new building that engineering was being
consolidated in. We were moving from the coin-op building (since Jack
hadn’t purchased the coin-op business, the doors to that part of the
building, now a separate company, had been locked) to a building in
Sunnyvale that had belonged to Corporate Research. Most of the people in
Research had been let go; Lisp Machines and Vaxes were humming away
without anyone to use them. Jack wasn’t interested in academics.

It turned out that we could have nearly anything from the old Atari that
we wanted, since it didn’t cost anything extra. While the Tramiels were
selling the more expensive items (like the Vaxes and Symbolics Lisp
Machines that the researchers had been using), more mundane stuff could
be had for the asking. You could have just about anything you wanted,
and as long as Jack didn’t have to write a check for it (and was
something that he couldn’t sell to make quick cash), he didn’t care.

Anything?

“Well,” said somebody, “There’s this warehouse full of stuff in Santa
Clara…”

So we went over there. Remember the last scene in the movie Raiders of
the Lost Ark where they wheel the boxed-up Ark into a gigantic warehouse
with acres of huge boxes and whatnot? This was like that, but for real.
This warehouse (and others like it) was where the office equipment from
all of the now-empty Atari buildings had gone; maybe fifty or sixty
buildings’ worth.

I think that Jim Eisenstein, one of our graphics guys, started it. “I’ll
take that one, there,” he said to one of the warehouse workers. Jim
pointed at a really nice, large desk. “Okay,” said the fellow with the
forklift, and he got it down. No argument. Pretty soon we had all chosen
really nice, large desks (and some nice chairs) and tagged them for
delivery. The guys running the forklifts didn’t care.

Dave Getreu and I shared an office for over a year (he was the guy whose
version of Centipede I had bettered, but he was pretty decent about
that). Our two desks barely fit, but it seemed worth it; a symbolic
finger in the eye of the old, crappy Warner-Atari management. I don’t
know who had used my desk before me, but it was sure nicer than anything
I’d had, and my guess was that for every dollar that my efforts had
earned the company that the former owner had blown at least two bucks
down the toilet in bad deals and clueless management.

Rule of thumb: If your company has more VPs than it does bathrooms,
you’re in trouble.

– – – –

The Tramiels had bought Atari with a plan to make a little money
immediately by quickly selling off assets, and more intermediate-term
money by making minor updates to the existing Atari product lines (the
400/800/1200 series of 8-bit computers), but the biggest effort was
going to be a completely new line of cheap computers. There were some
other products in various stages of development (the Atari 7800, whose
major engineering work had actually been done outside Atari, at a small
company named General Computer, a new sound chip code-named Amy, and
some others) that the Tramiels kept lightly staffed.

The new computer was going to be based on a 16-bit or 32-bit processor.
The Tramiels were initially pretty closed-mouthed about things; they had
brought some folks from Commodore with them, and I got the impression
that they didn’t trust us that much, and in addition there was a legal
fight going on with Commodore over trade secrets. During the next month
or two the design of the new system solidified. It was going to be based
on a 32-bit processor, have a 16-bit bus (thus ST, for “Sixteen,
Thirty-two”), have 256K of RAM and 128K of ROM. It was going to have a
mouse and a graphical interface of some kind. At first the National
32000 series processor was a serious possibility, but in the end the
Motorola 68000 won out. [In retrospect this was a good choice; National
chips looked great on paper and had a nice, clean instruction set, like
itty bitty Vaxes, but in reality they were very buggy and quite slow].

There were a number of candidates for the ST operating system. Leonard
Tramiel gave us some GEOS documents to evaluate, as well as some specs
on something called Crystal (from Digital Research Inc), and there were
one or two other contenders. Frankly, none of the choices seemed all
that great. Ultimately the Tramiels signed a contract with DRI to port
CP/M-68K and the still-being-developed GEM user interface to our
still-being-developed hardware.

The schedule for the ST was very aggressive; we were starting in August,
more or less, and working systems needed to be ready for the Consumer
Electronics Show in January. With lead-time for the custom chips
measured in many weeks (I don’t remember exactly, perhaps 6 to 8 ), this
didn’t leave much time for development. So while the hardware guys were
spending 20 hour days frantically designing chips and wire-wrapping
prototypes, the software guys were spending a lot of time at the beach.

No, really. The software team temporarily relocated to Monterey, 70
miles south of Silly Valley and on the California coast, which was where
Digital Research was located. Initially we stayed in hotel rooms a short
walk from the DRI campus, but after a few weeks Atari rented some houses
for us in Carmel, just a few blocks from the world-class beaches there.
I used to leave work around 5, watch the sunset over the ocean (because
it would have been a shame to waste those), then go back and work really
late.

Our first meeting with the folks from DRI did not go very well. One of
their engineers tried to give us a chalkboard introduction to C (which
I’d been using for five or six years at that point), and his “this is a
for loop, this is a struct” talk didn’t go over very well (you can’t
effectively teach a language in an hour like this anyway). Another
engineer attempted a tutorial on assembly language (to video game
programmers, ha). This attitude colored the whole Atari-DRI engineering
relationship; in addition to the project’s incredibly short schedule,
which put everyone under a lot of pressure, there was an uneasy division
of turf: DRI got to call the shots on their code and architecture, while
Atari had to make it work. Things didn’t always go smoothly; when we
found bugs or design problems, egos sometimes got in the way and there
was an occasional temper flare-up.

Stress: A number of us learned how to juggle. One of the DRI people had
a nervous tick in the form of a “quacking” sound, and this spread
through the group (a year later some of us were still doing it a
little). The word “fine” became a pejorative: “Don’t worry, everthing
will work out just fine.” How are you feeling? Fine, okay?

Getting access to working hardware was a problem. There was a wire-wrap
prototype of the hardware in Sunnyvale, but it was flaky as hell and
certainly not transportable. You could run something, have it crash,
then wiggle a board slightly and have the code work just fine. There
were attempts to get the software engineers hardware earlier, but they
were always unreliable (e.g., big, expensive machine-wire-wrapped boards
that almost worked, but that turned out to be just too dodgy to trust).

Wire-wrap: Imagine a board, say two feet by three feet, crammed with
chips. On the flip side of the board are thousands of half-inch metal
pins. Now, the pins have to wired-up to each other in order for the
chips to talk, and the way you do this is to wrap a fine wire tightly
around a one pin, run the wire up and about, then wrap it around the
other pin and cut the wire. Hilarity ensues. There are thousands of
wires to keep track of, and only so many colors of wire available.
Little bits of wire will flake off, get buried and short out contacts.
Wires will work themselves loose. Wires carrying signals at high speed
will interfere with each other and cause ghost signals. Wires will break
internally and invisibly, become unwrapped, mysteriously stop conducting
electricity (sometimes), and this is all behavior that doesn’t include
the simple boneheaded mistake of somebody mis-wiring two pins out of
those thousands because they were short on sleep.

The nasty thing about wire-wrap prototypes was, if your code didn’t
work, you could just shake the boards (there were three or four of them
you could do this to), and if everything settled down right your code
might actually run.  Or bomb in a different, exciting way.  Software
progress was slow.  There were attempts to get us more stable
prototypes, but they never really worked that well.

Sometime in December we started getting chips from the fabs and the real
hardware began to come to life. We booted the ST for the first time (it
was exhilarating to see the floppy disk spin and seek under OS control —
this is something that you take for utterly for granted until you have
to make it work yourself).

The original budget of 128K of ROM was blown pretty early on, and we
targeted 192K. Initially this was so that the machine could incorporate
a built-in BASIC interpreter. Up until this point it was virtually
unthinkable that you could ship a consumer computer without BASIC in ROM
(the Apple II, the Commodore line, and all of the Atari computers had
built-in BASIC).

DRI had a version of BASIC available, and one of our engineers (someone
the Tramiels knew) was hired and given the task of porting it. I don’t
remember precisely what went wrong, but it just didn’t happen. It’s
possible that the DRI BASIC wasn’t very good, or was too full of
platform-specific garbage to easily port, and it’s also possible that
the engineer given the job just wasn’t up to it. Regardless, we started
to realize that just the operating system alone was going to use up the
entire 192K (and in fact, blew past it and had to be pared down during a
2-3 week crunching period just before we shipped the ROMs), and BASIC
simply would not fit.

The other thing that was clear was that the software was going to be
late; the ROM version wasn’t going to make it in time for CES. We had
disk-based versions of the OS (called TOS, for “The Operating System” —
catchy) booting, and that’s what we showed.  The hardware guys doubled
the amount of RAM in the system so the OS could live in RAM with room
left over for applications.

Jack didn’t pay for all of the engineers to fly to Las Vegas, but he was
willing to put us up in a hotel and get us CES badges if we arranged our
own transportation, so a few of us did a road-trip. The show was fun;
there was a lot of excitement and speculation about Atari’s new
products. What people didn’t know is that there were only about five
working ST systems in existence, and they kept dying on the show floor
(possibly due to heat problems, bad connections, or barely-working
custom chips going south) and had to be resurrected from time to time in
a back room where techs were hidden away with soldering irons, a limited
number of spare chips, and a liberal supply of invective.

We’d shown the ST to the public. Now we had to make it work.
"""

-- 
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"El amor es poner tu felicidad en la felicidad de otro" - Leibniz

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