FidoNet came together literally in one instant -- after months or¨ years of accumulated thoughts and ideas, many or most other¨ peoples'. Unless you use one of these damn things regularly, it's hard to¨ understand, not because anyone is stupid, but because there's a¨ number of assumptions that you have to make or understand before¨ you get what ``network'' really means. A ``network'' is what you and all your friends are -- even before¨ it became New-Agey to say so. You're all interconnected, in the¨ sense that ``messages'' or whatever from one person to another,¨ get delivered or heard. Usually, you simply talk to them, in¨ person or on the phone. Less important news, who's doing what¨ these days, etc, just sorta filters around, until everyone¨ (usually) hears about it. People sometimes add, subtract, or¨ modify information, or simply tell fun stories. Well -- the ``network'' part is the {\it how}, the connections.¨ It's usually indulgent to talk about informal human networks. But¨ for computers, they are so stupid you have to lead them to water,¨ and tell them where their mouths are. And to put water in it. OK, so what does a computer ``network''? Why, whatever you tell¨ them to, of course. I will not attempt to explain to you how a computer stores text.¨ You've seen it done, and if you haven't, you'll simply have to¨ take it on faith. In one sentence: each graphical symbol (letter,¨ puctuation marks, etc) are encoded numerically, and the computer¨ stores {\it that}. OK, so now you know you can store ``text''. The trick to a computer network -- interconnected computers with¨ the ability to do with ``text'' what you do with your personal¨ messages (lose them, pretend you didn't hear, tell the wrong¨ person, etc) is to somehow wire the machines together. Computers¨ are electrical devices, and so they need wires to connect them¨ together. (Keep comments about radio etc to yourself.) Stringing wires to and from every computer you might want to¨ ``network'' to is obviously not practical. But, there just so¨ happens (probably\dots) to be a wire in your house that {\it¨ does} run to everyone elses house -- the telephone system. To cut short a hundred years of boring technological development¨ -- there's a thing that, you put electrical signals into one end,¨ and it makes sound signals out the other end, so that it can¨ essentially talk in rigid mathemetical tones. It can listen to¨ this crap too. ``Talk'' here means simply transcribe, computer¨ says ``1'', device talks ``high tone''\dots device hears ``high¨ tone'', and talks ``1''. The thing is called a modem. You buy¨ them in a store for \$75 or more. So what you do is get one for every computer. One end connects to¨ the computer, the other to the telephone line. Your second¨ telephone line, dedicated to this thing, because I can tell you¨ you don't want to share the phone with a machine this stupid. What happens when you do this? Absolutely nothing. YOu can stare at, threaten and bang upon your computer all day¨ long, but it still ain't gonna let you write a letter until you¨ run the word processor program. What if it was 1971, and there¨ were no word processor programs? You'd be shit out of luck,¨ that's what! And this brings us back to the present dwelling upon the past --¨ FidoNet. There were ``computer networks'' at the time I wrote¨ FidoNet, but none that a mere mortal could have. (And I was told¨ in no uncertain terms that it was (variously) impossible to do on¨ a personal computer, or already done, why bother.) Digression once again. About 1979 or so I had a decent (for the time) CP/M computer, for¨ it's time the equivelant to a PC clone 286. I could run most any¨ commercial program, and I wrote my own. I bought what was a bit¨ of exotica from a surplus store -- an accoustic modem, which is a¨ modem that literally made screaming tones, with what looked like¨ ear muffs into which you jammed the telephone handset after¨ dialing what you hoped was a computer on the other end. I used a¨ barbaric program that simply sent every keyboard character to the¨ modem, and took whatever data appeared form the modem, to the¨ local console screen. Lo, you could type to and from the remote¨ computer. What the remote computer ran was a program called a Bulletin¨ Board System, or BBS, which were invented by Ward Christensen and¨ Randy Suess, in Chicago, in 1977 or so. It was simply another¨ decent-sized computer, with a slightly more sophisticated modem¨ that could tell when the phone was ringing, and answer it¨ automatically (it connected directly to the phone wires, instead¨ of my primitive ear muffs). What was unique was that Ward'n'Randy had written a program that¨ emulated the social structure (if you will) of a supermarket¨ bulletin board. There were about 200 slots for text messages.¨ After calling in, you could post messages (type them in by hand),¨ read existing messages (after specifying which one, by number),¨ and you could do things that you couldn't do on a supermarket¨ bulletin board -- concepts like the ``next'' or ``previous''¨ message (the one posted after or before the one you just read),¨ search for a word within messages, and so on. (These additional¨ things or functions are called ``features'' and like in a movie¨ theatre, patrons (users) sit and wait to see what's next. It can¨ lead to a disease peculiar to computer programmers called¨ ``creeping featuritis''.) Ever listen to ham radio? Boooring. Unless you are into it -- in¨ which case drawn out detailed conversations on antenna¨ particulars, including number of elements, where bought, bad-weather and bird-shit tall tales, so'n'so's fell down, how¨ those screws you sold me got rusty, and so on are excruciatingly¨ interesting. Which they were to me, and a fe thousand others, at that time.¨ Mainly it was programmers talking about programmer junk. I can't¨ recall a single thing. In Boston in 1980 there were maybe a dozen? BBS's total. There¨ were two I called regularly; NECS, the New England COmputer¨ Society BBS (I was a member for a while) and the cnode, based¨ upon a software system I never really did understand very well,¨ run by a totally cool guy whose name escapes my now, in Andover¨ MA. ANyways, (I am getting back to FidoNet here, hold on) on the¨ cnode someone proposed a ``east coast -- west coast computer¨ network'', with the incomplete idea of interconnecting a zillion¨ computers, enough so that there'd be one in every local-dialing¨ area, so you could get a message from one computer to another by¨ hopping across each local-call area. Ugh. A mind-boggling¨ prospect.\footnote*{And ten years later, it has almost happened¨ -- the FidoNet has gotten so dense in the Eastern metrosprawl¨ that most mail I think from DE to DC to NJ is sent this way. It¨ is alleged to involve incomprehensibly complex routing.} So I read that, along with many other people, and many other¨ messages on many other subjects. I never forgot it though. And I¨ never remembered the author, who persisted in his folly for quite¨ some time. (Silly person.) I worked for Phoenix Software, for Neil¨ Colvin\footnote\dag{Though we frequently got on each others'¨ nerves, Neil is probably the best person I've ever worked for,¨ and the most honest and least cheapskate, and occasionally¨ downright generous. Once for no reason other than they were¨ totally cool, he bought a half-dozen of the then-extreme-tech HP-16C programmers calculators, just to give to his employees.¨ Now that's hardcore techie! And I still absolutely relish mine;¨ nine years later, I positively love using it, unlike {\it any}¨ other techie tool I have.}, at home, on my Multibuss-based¨ computer I got for implementing CP/M on it for the manufacturer¨ (Comark Inc). Since we all worked at home, 40 miles or more¨ apart, delivering programs and such was a drag; or worse, after¨ driving from West Medford to North Easton, finding out I forgot¨ some damn file or other. So we had modems (by this time almost¨ useful; Hayes Smartmodem 1200's, direct-connect no more ear¨ muffs), and the same barbaric software, and we would call each¨ other up and say ``OK, I have the program for you. Hang up, and¨ the next call will be my modem calling'' then I would issue the¨ appropriate dial commands to my modem, and Neil would wait for¨ the phone to ring, then command his modem to answer the phone,¨ and if we were lucky (someone else didn't call, all 10,000 of the¨ critical parameters were set properly, etc) you got the {\tt¨ CONNECT 1200} message on your screen. You could then proceed to¨ type at each other (about as useful as calling on the telephone,¨ then putting a rag over your your mouth, and mumbling) and then,¨ the magic: transmitting a program or text file from one computer¨ to another. (I'm skipping the arcane history and development of¨ what is known as ``file transfer protocols'', or ``error-correcting protocols'', how the computers actually¨ transmit computer files from one computer to another, phone lines¨ or not. Explaining them now would only make things worse.) It was better than driving back the 40 or so miles, to say the¨ least, even though the whole thing just sucked. Never mind the¨ phone bills. Right before I moved to San Francisco, December `83, I even had a¨ simple program that would make my modem answer the phone, make me¨ enter a password, and if I got it right, I could operate my¨ computer remotely! January 1984 was when the telephone company ``break-up'' (sic)¨ was to happen, and I took advantage of it to get a free modem¨ from Ma Bell. I was having trouble to get any modem to work at¨ high speed over my phone line. The same modems would work on any¨ other line, but not mine. It was obviously the phone line, but¨ just try to convince the telco about that. They said, and¨ rightly, that they only guarenteed voice quality, and it sounded¨ fine. So, I ordered an AT\&T modem, and had {\it them} install¨ it, knowing it would fail too. And it did. When the repair guy¨ would come over, he would shit bricks when he saw the AT\&T¨ modem. The third repair guy was cool though, and interested in¨ modems and such. So he order a frequency-spectrum analysis done,¨ and found a ``bad spot'' that suppressed certain frequencies. But¨ nope, there was nothing they could do about it. So when I moved I swiped it. I refused to pay the bill (\$250¨ installation, \$40/month, in 1984!) since it never worked, and¨ called from SF to disconnect my service. ``And where is the¨ equipment?'' the telco drone asks. ``Right here'' said I. But¨ then, it was New England Bell who installed AT\&T equipment, and¨ they were trapped in bureaucratic deadlock, because they ewre now¨ all ``separate''! . I never heard from them again. So I'm in San Francisco, and I have an extra computer (an Otrona¨ Attach\'e 8:16), and now, an extra modem. I've got all this¨ techie files'n'stuff, and not much to do. BBS technology had of¨ course expanded