| 2 |
3 | 4 |
5 | 6 |
7 | 8 |
a crate was removed from a moving van, someone raised a question:
Would, umm, ugh, er . . . the IMP fit into the elevator? The computer
was unpacked. It was roughly the size of a refrigerator. Into the
elevator car it went -- barely. On the third floor, the freight
movers wheeled the machine down the hall to its new home in Room
3400. There the Sigma-7 hummed, oblivious to the massive disturbance
that was about to invade its privacy. "It was a little like seeing
your parents invite to dinner someone you've never met," Crocker
recalls. "You don't pay much attention until you discover they intend
to marry you off to this stranger."
IMP was powered up and began running its internal diagnostics. Next,
Mike Wingfield attached his "gorgeous" interface. "Everyone was
ready to point the finger at the other fellow if things went wrong,"
Kleinrock remembers. To the group's great delight and relief, the
Sigma-7 was communicating with the Interface Message Processor.
after the first IMP was installed at UCLA, IMP No. 2 arrived at
Stanford Research Institute. Of all the milestones that had been
passed so far, the installation of IMP No. 2 was the one that would
lead to attaining the goal Kleinrock and so many others had set
out to accomplish in the first place: Connect two disparate computers
and get them talking to each other.
moment to test the ARPANET had arrived. The first order of business
was to make the connection, which meant sitting down at a teletypewriter
at UCLA and typing L-O-G. This honor fell to Charlie Kline '70,
M.S. '71, Ph.D. '80, a UCLA undergraduate. Kline picked up the telephone
in L.A. and pressed a button that rang a bell on the IMP in Palo
Alto. A researcher at the Stanford Research Institute answered the
call. The quality of the connection was not very good, and both
men were sitting in noisy computer rooms, which didn't help matters
shouted into the phone: "I'm going to type an ‘L.'" He did so. "Did
you get the ‘L'?" he asked.