For me, a workstation is the portal into a person's "Augmented Knowledge Workshop" -- the place in which he finds the data and tools with which he does his knowledge work, and through which he collaborates with similarly equipped workers. And further, I consider that the large system of concepts, skills, knowledge, methods, etc. on the human side of the workstation has to be taken into account, in a balanced way, when pursuing increased human effectiveness. So, my workstation-history story embraces a rather large sphere.
The task of writing an historical piece is unfamiliar enough to cause me difficulty by itself, but the associated stirring of old records and old memories has added near overwhelming burden -- dreams, events, people, stresses, pleasures, disappointments, the firsts and the failures. Now, what from all of this -- and how to organize it -- will make an appropriate "history" paper?
I could provide a solid measure of objective reporting -- events and dates, etc. Regarding the general environment that is relevant to the workstation topic, I have been an involved observer of related computer history since 1951. I watched and experienced the supportive hardware, languages and architecture evolve, witnessed the people and efforts that brought timesharing into being, and was even more closely involved with the emergence of computer networks. Through all of this, I was wholly focused on what these things could do for people at workstations. And then there was office automation and personal computers: you don't have to be an old guy to have watched these emerge, but I'm sure they looked different to me than to most.
I could also provide lots of objective reporting about the events and dates associated with the things I have caused or had a direct hand in. There seems to be a lot there that is quite relevant to this "history of the workstation" theme. It was dusty, laborious work, this process of brainstorming for candidates, culling and ordering and trying to describe them in some reasonable sequence and context.
But what I came to realize is that there is one, clearly dominant factor that underlies essentially every cause for any uniqueness that I might list for historical record. It isn't a technology, it isn't a science, and it isn't a marketing or business model. And I am going to give it dominant coverage in this paper.
As explained below, it is what I call my "Framework." It is based upon an intuitive conviction, emplanted in my head (apparently permanently) over thirty years ago, that the gains in human knowledge-work capability which we will achieve by properly harnessing this new technology will be very large. Metaphorically, I see the augmented organization or institution of the future as changing, not as an organism merely to be a bigger and faster snail, but to achieve such new levels of sensory capability, speed, power and coordination as to become a new species -- a cat.
I was several years out of school, possessing a B.S. in EE and two years' experience during WWII (halfway through college) as an electronic technician. I was doing odd-job electrical engineering work at Ames Research Laboratory in Mountain View, California, with the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA, forerunner of NASA). For several months I had been devoting most of my spare time to searching for professional goals; for some reason I wanted to invest the rest of my heretofore aimless career toward making the most difference in improving the lot of the human race.
Crusades have many strikes against them at the outset. E.g.: they don't connect to a normal source of government or business revenue; they don't have nice organizational frameworks -- you can't go out on the streets and expect to find financial, production, or marketing vice presidents; even if you accomplished the sweeping change that was the ultimate objective, chances are that in this very complex world, the side effects might be bad enough to make you wish you hadn't; etc.
Well, the imagery of FLASH-3 evolved within a few days to include mixed text and graphic portrayals on the CRT, and on to extensions of the symbology and methodology that we humans could employ to do our heavy thinking; and also, images of other people at consoles attached to the same computer complex, simultaneously working in a collaboration mode that would be much closer and more effective than we had ever been able to accomplish.
Within weeks I had committed my career to "augmenting the human intellect." In a few months, I left the NACA and enrolled as a graduate student at UC Berkeley, where Professor Paul Morton had started a computer science activity (although it would be many years before universities began calling it that), and was several years along in developing the CALDIC.
Within a few years I had to accept the fact that research on any kind of interactive computer applications just wouldn't provide me with a program acceptable to the university community for PhD and later faculty pursuit. So, I settled for something else, got my PhD and went to Stanford Research Institute (SRI) where I hoped ultimately to promote support for an augmentation program.
It was a remarkably slow and sweaty work: I first tried to find close relevance within established disciplines. For a while I thought that the emergent AI field might provide me with an overlap of mutual interest. But in each case I found that the people I would talk with would immediately translate my admittedly strange (for the times) statements of purpose and possibility into their own discipline's framework -- and when re-phrased and discussed from those other perceptions, the "augmentation" pictures were remarkably pallid and limited compared to the images that were driving me.
For example, I gave a paper in 1960 at the annual meeting of the American Documentation Institute, outlining the probable effects of future personal-support use of computers, and how this would change the role of their future systems and also provide valuable possibilities for a more effective role for the documentation and information specialists <Pub-60-SpecCons>.
No response at all at the meeting; one reviewer gave a very ho-hum description as ... the discussion of a (yet another) personal retrieval system. Later, at lunch during a visit to a high-caliber research outfit, an information-retrieval researcher got very hot under the collar because I wouldn't accept his perception that all that the personal-use augmentation support I was projecting amounted to, pure and simple, was a matter of information retrieval -- and why didn't I just join their forefront problem pursuits and stop setting myself apart.
Then I discovered a great little RAND report written by Kennedy and Putt <Ref-A> which described my situation marvelously and recommended a solution. Their thesis was that when launching a project of inter- or new-discipline nature, the researcher would encounter consistent problems in approaching people in established disciplines -- they wouldn't perceive your formulations and goals as relevant, they would become disputative on the apparent basis that your positions were contrary to "accepted" knowledge or methods, etc.
The trouble, said these authors, was that each established discipline has its own "conceptual framework." The enculturation of young professionals with their discipline's framework begins in their first year of professional school. Without such a framework, tailored for the goals, values and general environment of its respective discipline, there could be no effective, collaborative work. Furthermore, if such a conceptual framework did not already exist for a new type of research, then before effective research should be attempted, an appropriate, unique framework needs to be created. They called this framework-creation process the "Search Phase".
So, I realized that I had to develop an appropriate conceptual framework for the augmentation pursuit that I was hooked on. That search phase was not only very sweaty, but very lonely. In 1962, I published an SRI Report entitled, "Augmenting Human Intellect: A Conceptual Framework," <Rpt-62J>. With the considerable help of Rowena Swanson, this was condensed into a chapter of a book published in 1963 <Pub-63-Frame>
Four high-quality civilian experts had been enlisted by one agency as a site-visit team; brain researcher, psychologist, computer expert -- and for me it was a very enjoyable day's dialog. But the later letter from the agency informed me regretfully that [paraphrased] "... since your interesting research would require exceptionally advanced programming support, and since your Palo Alto area is so far from the centers of computer expertise, we don't think that you could staff your project adequately ...".
When J. C. R. Licklider came from Cambridge to take over ARPA's newly formed Information Processing Techniques Office in late 1962, I was figuratively standing at the door with the Conceptual Framework report and a proposal. There the unlucky fellow was, having advertised that "man computer symbiosis," computer time-sharing, man-computer interface etc. were the new directions -- how could he in reasonable consistency turn this down, even if it was way out there in Menlo Park.
Lick moved very swiftly; by early '63 we had a project. But whereas I had proposed using a local computer and building an interactive workstation, Lick asked us instead to connect a display to the System Development Corporation's (SDC's) AN/FSQ32 computer, on site in Santa Monica, to do our experimenting under the Q32's projected new time-sharing system. (Converting the Q32 to be a time-shared machine was SDC's IPTO project.)
Later that year, our project was modified to include an online data link from Menlo Park to Santa Monica, with a CDC 160A mini-computer at our end for a communication manager, supporting our small-display workstation. For various reasons, not uncommon in pioneering ventures, that first year was very unproductive relative to the purposes and plan of our project. Lick was willing to put some more support into the direct goal (more or less as originally proposed), but the support level he could offer wasn't enough to pay for both a small research staff and some interactive computer support.
Mind you, the CDC 160A, which was the only commercially suitable mini-computer that we knew of, even though having only 8K of 12-bit words, and running at about 6 microseconds per instruction, cost well over $100K (1963 dollars). Paper tape in and out; if the system crashed, you had to load the application program from paper tape, and the most recent dump of your working file (paper tape), before you could continue. A crude, industry-standard Flexowriter (online typewriter) could be driven; otherwise it was paper-tape in and out.
What saved my program from extinction then was arrival of an out-of-the-blue support offer from Bob Taylor who at that time was a psychologist working at NASA Headquarters (then in Washington, D.C.). I had visited him months before, leaving copies of the Framework report and our proposal, and I had been unaware that meanwhile he had been seeking funds and a contracting channel to provide some support. The combined ARPA and NASA support enabled us to equip ourselves and begin developing Version 1 of what evolved into the NLS and AUGMENT systems.
Paul Fuhrmeister, and later Eugene Gribble of NASA's Langley Research Center, had to stick out their necks as successive heads of Langley's large computational division to support the direction and supervise NASA's support for our program, which continued several years after Taylor left NASA to join ARPA's IPTO office.
Our ARPA support grew and was fostered by Lick's successors -- Ivan Sutherland, Bob Taylor and Larry Roberts. Meanwhile, the Air Force's Rome Air Development Center, at Rome, New York, began to supply supporting funds. By 1967, it was recognized that the respective contributions from ARPA, NASA and RADC represented significant parts of a coordinated program, and the other agencies began funneling their funds through RADC, which served for many years both with monitoring and managing our contracts, and providing their own significant share of support funds. Duane Stone and John McNamara provided strong support and contract liaison from RADC.
NASA support ended by 1969, and ARPA and RADC provided significant support until 1977, although from 1974 the support became ever more for supporting applications and developments for other organizations for targets formulated by others (e.g. the National Software Works) -- and the continuing pursuit of augmentation along my strategic vector virtually stopped.