- •Bill Gates Nathon Myhrvold Peter Rinearson
- •Foreword
- •1 A revolution begins
- •1968: Bill Gates (Standing) and Paul Allen working at the computer terminal at Lakeside School.
- •1972: Intel’s 8088 microprocessor
- •January 1975 issue of Popular Electronics
- •2 The beginning of the information age
- •1946: A view inside a part of the eniac computer
- •Intel microprocessors have doubled in transister count approximately every eighteen months, in accordance with Moore’s Law.
- •3 Lessons from the computer industry
- •1981: The ibm personal computer
- •1984: Character user interface in an early version of Microsoft Word for dos
- •1995: Graphical user interface in Microsoft Word for Windows
- •1984: The Apple macintosh computer
- •4 Applications and appliances
- •1995: A personal‑computer based interactive media server
- •Prototype of a television set‑top box
- •1995: Multimedia notebook computer by Digital Equipment Corporation
- •Prototype of a wallet pc
- •5 Paths to the highway
- •1995: U.S. Library of Congress home page on the World Wide Web, showing hyperlinks
- •6 The content revolution
- •1995: Screen from Microsoft Encarta electronic multimedia encyclopedia
- •Implications for business
- •8 Friction‑free capitalism
- •9 Education: the best investment
- •1995: World Wide Web home page from Arbor Heights Elementary School
- •1995: World Wide Web home page from the University of Connecticut, featuring archeological resources drawn from many sources
- •10 Plugged in at home
- •Computer rendering of the Gateses’ future home, showing the view from the northwest across Lake Washington
- •Computer rendering of the Gateses’ future home, showing the staircase and formal dining room
- •Prototype of a home control console
- •11 Race for the gold
- •12 Critical issues
- •Afterword
1 A revolution begins
I wrote my first software program when I was thirteen years old. It was for playing tic‑tac‑toe. The computer I was using was huge and cumbersome and slow and absolutely compelling.
Letting a bunch of teenagers loose on a computer was the idea of the Mothers’ Club at Lakeside, the private school I attended. The mothers decided that the proceeds from a rummage sale should be used to install a terminal and buy computer time for students. Letting students use a computer in the late 1960s was a pretty amazing choice at the time in Seattle–and one I’ll always be grateful for.
This computer terminal didn’t have a screen. To play, we typed in our moves on a typewriter‑style keyboard and then sat around until the results came chug‑chugging out of a loud printing device on paper. Then we’d rush over to take a look and see who’d won or decide our next move. A game of tic‑tac‑toe, which would take thirty seconds with a pencil and paper, might consume most of a lunch period. But who cared? There was just something neat about the machine.
I realized later part of the appeal was that here was an enormous, expensive, grown‑up machine and we, the kids, could control it. We were too young to drive or to do any of the other fun‑seeming adult activities, but we could give this big machine orders and it would always obey. Computers are great because when you’re working with them you get immediate results that let you know if your program works. It’s feedback you don’t get from many other things. That was the beginning of my fascination with software. The feedback from simple programs is particularly unambiguous. And to this day it still thrills me to know that if I can get the program right it will always work perfectly, every time, just the way I told it to.
As my friends and I gained confidence, we began to mess around with the computer, speeding things up when we could or making the games more difficult. A friend at Lakeside developed a program in BASIC that simulated the play of Monopoly. BASIC (Beginner’sAll‑purposeSymbolicInstructionCode) is, as its name suggests, a relatively easy‑to‑learn programming language we used to develop increasingly complex programs. He figured out how to make the computer play hundreds of games really fast. We fed it instructions to test out various methods of play. We wanted to discover what strategies won most. And–chug‑a‑chug, chug‑a‑chug–the computer told us.
Like all kids, we not only fooled around with our toys, we changed them. If you’ve ever watched a child with a cardboard carton and a box of crayons create a spaceship with cool control panels, or listened to their improvised rules, such as “Red cars can jump all others,” then you know that this impulse to make a toy do more is at the heart of innovative childhood play. It is also the essence of creativity.
Of course, in those days we were just goofing around, or so we thought. But the toy we had–well, it turned out to be some toy. A few of us at Lakeside refused to quit playing with it. In the minds of a lot of people at school we became linked with the computer, and it with us. I was asked by a teacher to help teach computer programming, and that seemed to be OK With everyone. But when I got the lead in the school play, Black Comedy, some students were heard muttering, “Why did they pick the computer guy?” That’s still the way I sometimes get identified.