Timothy Allan Johnston
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                                                         Computer Renovations


Draft one of this notebook was written in my office at Barnett House. I employed the familiar and time-tested instruments at my disposal, a pen and a pad of lined yellow paper, the basic tools of my trade for the past 11 years.

The final version of my editorial was produced in what was once a bedroom in my house, a room that deserves some comment. It was once used by my son as a bedroom, poster gallery, drop-in centre and laundry hamper. He recently opted for more spacious quarters in the basement.

Contemplating the vacated room, I wondered if I was up to the challenge of restoring it to habitable condition. But after applying three tubes of hole filler and spending several hours sanding, painting and wallpapering, I was pleased with the result. The room was ready for a new tenant.

The arrival of the star boarder was cause for great excitement. It came in several boxes marked Handle With Care and was cradled gently inside by blocks of Styrofoam and layers of plastic padding. Once opened, the boxes revealed a tower computer, a color monitor, a laser printer and assorted bits and pieces. Once assembled, the new tenant cast its glassy visage approvingly over its new home.

The machine has had a profound influence on my family. Everyone uses it, including several of my son’s friends. Once of his friends, a young man in first-year education at the University of Alberta, is my lifeline between the world as I have known it and the magical world of the computer. I have always recognized that a computer can do phenomenal things, but until I possessed my own, I didn’t comprehend how captivating it could be, and at the same time, how liberating.

And frightening. The phone number of my son’s friend occupies a speed dial button on the telephone in the computer room (as the former bedroom has now become known). When I’m in over my head, and the computer decides to do what it thinks best, I phone my young tutor. He advises “just turn it off, and start over again in a few minutes.” This seems to be a reliable solution to many of my dilemmas. “And don’t wipe the screen with your hand,” allows me to press the letter a on the keyboard and actually create the same letter on the screen. I’m learning.

Writing on the computer is a joy. I now find myself tucking bits of correspondence into my briefcase during the day so that I can compose the return letters at home, high-tech style. Within the year, I will likely have a computer installed in my office, and all of this will become routine. For now, however, I feel like I’m stealing a march on technology, living on the cutting edge of the medium.

Other opportunities to use the computer in my work have presented themselves. I work with teacher welfare staff officers whenever bargaining new contracts gets close to a threat of a strike. It used to be that these charming people would phone me late at night requesting an immediate news release on the state of contract negotiations. This meant writing out by hand a release that would be telephoned back to our bargainer. Afterwards, hours were spent phoning newsrooms in the futile hope that someone would be available, at three in the morning, to write down the release as I read it. After many years of this, I have concluded that news gathering is not the forte of midnight-to-six disc jockeys.


Such antics are now a thing of the past. Our bargainers still feel compelled to be in touch with me at outlandish hours, but now I write the releases on the computer, laser print them on news release paper and with one command send the message to all concerned through the portable fax machine. And then I return to bed, knowing that the gospel has been spread.


I’m still very much a computer novice, but I have the feeling that I’m swooping up the learning curve. No longer resigned to the fate of a born-again Luddite, I seek out new programs and accessories for my techno-toy with missionary zeal.

All of this has been great fun, and if the rest of the house gets repainted to match the splendor of my son’s former lodging, so much the better.