I read those 1979 stories all last week, and it put me in a nostalgic mood, so wanted to offer my own memory to add to the collection.

In 1979, Microsoft had 13 employees, most of whom appear in that famous picture that provides indisputable proof that your average computer geek from the late 1970s was not exactly on the cutting edge of fashion. We started the year by moving from Albuquerque back to Bellevue, just across the lake from Seattle. By the end of the year we'd doubled in size to 28 employees. Even though we were doing pretty well, I was still kind of terrified by the rapid pace of hiring and worried that the bottom could fall out at any time.

What made me feel a little more confident was that 1979 was the year we began to sense that BASIC was right on the verge of becoming the standard language for microcomputers. We knew this could be the catalyst that would unlock the potential of the PC to democratize computing and create the right conditions for an explosion in programs and applications that would lead to really rapid growth of the PC market.

By the middle of 1979, BASIC was running on more than 200,000 Z-80 and 8080 machines and we were just releasing a new version for the 8086 16-bit microprocessor. As the numbers grew, we were starting to think beyond programming languages, too, and about the possibility of creating applications that would have real mass appeal to consumers. That led to the creation of the Consumer Products Division in 1979. One of our first consumer products was called Microsoft Adventure, which was a home version of the first mainframe adventure game. It didn't have all the bells and whistles of, say, Halo, but it was pretty interesting for its time.

Back in the 1970s, there was a publication called the International Computer Programs Directory that handed out what was known as the ICP Million Dollar Award for applications that had more than $1 million in annual sales. In the late 1970s the list included more than 100 different products, but they were all for mainframes. In April, the 8080 version of BASIC became the first software product built to run on microprocessors to win an ICP Million Dollar Award. That was a pretty good sign that a significant shift was underway.

Today, I would be surprised if the number of million-dollar applications isn't in the millions itself, and they range from apps and games created by a single developer working at home that you can download to your cell phone to massive solutions built by huge development teams that run the operations of huge corporations.

More important, of course, is the fact that more than a billion people around the world use computers and digital technology as an integral part of their day-to-day lives. That's something that really started to take shape in 1979.

Thanks for the memories, Bill—please keep us posted on that new beer keg of yours!

Microsoft Adventure shot found on YOIS

The Lego bricks were invented a lot earlier, but 1979 was the year of Legoland Space, Legoland Town, and Legoland Castle. Those three are the Lego universes that started it all. They were first introduced in 1978—except for the Galaxy Explorer—but it wasn't until 1979 and the few following years when they really took off. More importantly for me: It wasn't until 1979 when I actually build them.

During 1978, 1979, and the beginning of the 80s, Lego had its Golden Age. For sure, now they sell more than ever and they have a huge army of followers. But that was the true Golden Age, with the very best sets ever developed by the Danish company.

Many great ones came later, but I was lucky enough to play with all those original sets back in 1979, when I was a little kid.

Here you have my favorites, straight from the official show room on top of their secret vault, in the original Lego factory.

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Pretty much every gadget then-from typewriters to phones to music playback devices-was an electro-mechanic artifact of the industrial age. But beginning in the 80s all those tools began their ascent to the digital. Basically, we'd wind up doing everything differently.

Within a couple of years, the music cassettes we listened to turned would become CDs.

The typewriters would become word processors.

The cassette-based telephone answering machines would become digital playback devices.

Our television choices-four or five channels VHF and maybe four or five more UHF-would be bolstered by hundreds of cable channels. We'd get VCR's. And tape our own videos. All of that in early 1980's. Then would come the ubiquity of personal computers. And then the Internet. And cell phones. Are you getting the idea?

It was not just a change in our gadgetry, but also a change in our thinking.

That's why Gizmodo's decision to dive to 1979 was so interesting. Except for those hard at work making the stuff that was about to rock everyone else's world, people lived unaware of the revolution to come. It was a technological equivalent of the denial between the Wars. I was among those clueless; my own sudden and total conversion wouldn't come until 1981, when I embarked on a story about the subculture of computer hackers. I did read about those nutty kids who started Apple, and was vaguely aware that all of that stuff was coming. But I never put the pieces together. In my defense, hardly anyone did, and even the ones on top of things grossly underestimated how crazy things would get.

There's no reason to get nostalgic about 1979-in retrospect, it was terrible not having email, Google, iPods, word processing, Twitter, WOW, Amazon, GPS, Google and websites devoted to unnecessary quotation marks. (Also, the Phillies had never won a world series-how awful was that?) Maybe all these new tools have trashed the minds and attention spans of young people growing. But the minds of baby boomers like me were probably ruined much more by unlimited access to the stupid-making television programming of the early sixties.

After 1979, the bit was flipped, big-time. Thank God.

Steven Levy is a senior writer for Wired, most recently writing about Google's ad business and the secret of the CIA sculpture. He's written six books, including Hackers, Artificial Life and The Perfect Thing, about the iPod. In 1979, he had just left his first real job, at a regional magazine called New Jersey Monthly, to become a freelance writer, and had yet to touch a computer.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

First of all, a laser is going to burn up whatever it touches, so, like, do you listen to it once and then throw it away? That sounds like a great idea if you're one of those guys who made us buy 8 tracks and now want us to repurchase all our favorite songs on cassettes again. I'm not even going to get started on the potential fire hazard here. And last time I checked (the movies) lasers shoot out, they don't shoot back in, so its not like a laser is a good replacement for a record needle. Sure, it wouldn't wear out these magic laser records like vinyl and physical needles do, but that's because said disc would be make believe. And if even real, be on fire.

Sheesh. Nice try, rumor fakers. Never going to fool an expert gadget blogger. [25th anniversary of the CD]

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Click for full size

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Name: Cray-1
Year created: 1976
Creator: Cray Research, Inc.
Cost: $5 million to $10 million
Memory: 4MW semiconductor
Speed: 160 MFLOPS

Building supercomputers was a dream, an aspiration, and a life's pursuit for Seymour Cray, and his work on the computers that bore his name was the culmination of work he had done for the U.S. Navy, for CDC [Control Data Corporation], and finally for his namesake company. When Cray left CDC in 1972, after his work on the 6600, 7600, and minimally the 8600, he took much of the supercomputer fire with him.

While Cray's departure from CDC wasn't overly dramatic, his impact on supercomputing was. Cray artfully designed computers so that each part worked to efficiently speed up the whole, and he usually didn't rely on the newest experimental components, preferring instead to tweak existing technologies for maximum performance. For instance, the Cray-1 was the first Cray machine to use integrated circuits, despite their having been on the market for about a decade. At 160 MFLOPS, the Cray-1 was the fastest machine at the time, and despite what seemed like only a niche market for expensive superfast machines, Cray Research sold more than a hundred of them.

Form and size were always concerns for Cray, as far back as his days developing the CDC 160, which was built into an ordinary desk. There was also a big concern with the heat that could be generated by so many parts being packaged so tightly together, so Cray's designs typically involved unique cooling solutions, whether it be Freon on the Cray-1, or Fluorinert, in which Cray-2's circuit boards were immersed.

Core Memory is a photographic exploration of the Computer History Museum's collection, highlighting some of the most interesting pieces in the history of computers. These excerpts were used with permission of the publisher. Special thanks to Fiona!

The photos in the book were taken by Mark Richards, whose work has appeared in The New York Times Sunday Magazine, Fortune, Smithsonian, Life and BusinessWeek. The eye-candy is accompanied by descriptions of each artifact to cover the characteristics and background of each object, written by John Alderman who has covered the culture of high-tech lifestyle since 1993, notably for Mondo 2000, HotWired and Wired News. A foreword is provided by the Computer History Museum's Senior Curator Dag Spicer.

Or go see the real things at the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, Calif.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

John Shoch and Jon Hupp at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center discovered the computer "worm," a short program that searches a network for idle processors. Initially designed to provide more efficient use of computers and for testing, the worm had the unintended effect of invading networked computers, creating a security threat.

Shoch took the term "worm" from the book "The Shockwave Rider," by John Brunner, in which an omnipotent "tapeworm" program runs loose through a network of computers. Brunner wrote: "No, Mr. Sullivan, we can´t stop it! There´s never been a worm with that tough a head or that long a tail! It´s building itself, don´t you understand? Already it´s passed a billion bits and it´s still growing. It´s the exact inverse of a phage - whatever it takes in, it adds to itself instead of wiping... Yes, sir! I´m quite aware that a worm of that type is theoretically impossible! But the fact stands, he´s done it, and now it´s so goddamn comprehensive that it can´t be killed. Not short of demolishing the net!" (247, Ballantine Books, 1975).

USENET established. USENET was invented as a means for providing mail and file transfers using a communications standard known as UUCP. It was developed as a joint project by Duke University and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill by graduate students Tom Truscott, Jim Ellis, and Steve Bellovin. USENET enabled its users to post messages and files that could be accessed and archived. It would go on to become one of the main areas for large-scale interaction for interest groups through the 1990s.

The first Multi-User Domain (or Dungeon), MUD1, is goes on-line. Richard Bartle and Roy Trubshaw, two students at the University of Essex, write a program that allows many people to play against each other on-line. MUDs become popular with college students as a means of adventure gaming and for socializing. By 1984, there are more than 100 active MUDs and variants around the world.

Dag Spicer is CHM's "Chief Content Officer," and is responsible for creating the intellectual frameworks and interpretive schema of the Museum's various programs and exhibitions. He also leads the Museum's strategic direction relating to its collection of computer artifacts, films, documents, software and ephemera—the largest collection of computers and related materials in the world.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

The Concorde, first launched in 1977, was a joint British-French governmental venture to create a commercial, passenger supersonic jet. It ran over budget (six times over, actually) and was banned in various spots around the world (including New York City, temporarily) due to concerns over safety and the thundering sonic booms that resulted from the jet's breaking of the sound barrier. It lost a tremendous amount of money for both England and France and ran its final flight in 2003, at that point a bit outdated—the cockpit, while impressively techy in 1979, was full of analog dials and displays that looked silly in the 21st century. Only 20 Concordes were made, and there was no real motivation to update them, due both to a lack of competition and a distinct lack of profitability. Yet it was also an iconic, incredible achievement, capable of flying New York City to Paris in 3.5 hours, and still current holder of a ton of speed records.

Nothing we have now can touch it. A flight from NYC to Paris today takes over seven hours, compared to the 3.5 it took the Concorde. Plane travel has, for better or for worse, become more about economy than luxury, speed, and style. Sure, a cross-country flight on Southwest will only run you $150, but there's no thrill, no sense of the cutting-edge. The Concorde had those qualities in spades.

While researching the Concorde, I found a lot of interesting sidenotes to the story. For one, many of the same design team that created the Concorde went on to engineer the Airbus, the populist economy plane of our modern, boring times. But funniest to me is the continual hatred the British have of the French, and how it manifested in the forced alliance between the two countries to build the Concorde.

In response to a "perceived slight" by the French President Charles de Gaulle, British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan pulled what I now think of as a Bushian move: He changed the spelling of "Concorde" to the more "English" Concord. Even funnier, when the British Minister for Technology, Tony Benn, later changed the spelling back, there was mass nationalistic outrage in England. To diffuse it, Benn had to specify that the reconstituted E on the end of the word stood for "Excellence, England, Europe and Entente (Cordiale)." Yeah, right, Benn. I'm sure the E stood for England. Unbelievably, this quelled the Francophobe anger, though Benn would later mutter about how ridiculous the whole mess was in his memoirs.

We'll take our iPhones over 1979's Walkmans, and thank god for internet porn. But just one time, we'd like to break the sound barrier while crossing the Atlantic.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

TRS-80 Model 1 (and Model 100)
Year created: 1977
Creator: Tandy Corporation
Cost: $399 ($599 with monitor)
Memory: 4KB ROM
Processor: Z-80

Despite Apple's marketing message of personal empowerment and freedom, they weren't giving away those Apple IIs. A computer—especially one with a price tag of $1,300 or more—was beyond the comfort range of most people in the country, and few parents considered such a thing necessary to child development. As far as business went, it would be a while before a "killer app"—a must-have application—would be developed for machines available at an affordable price.

The TRS-80 was in part an antidote to this. If parents were convinced of a computer's necessity, but their pocketbooks couldn't support an Apple, then $399, or even $99, was worth considering. For a business that wanted to experiment with computing, that was a reasonable asking price.

The system was developed by the Tandy buyer Don French and Homebrew Computer Club leader Steve Leininger, who was quoted by Creative Computing magazine at the time as saying he had rejected a company plan to sell a computer kit because "too many people can't solder." This was an interesting admission from the company that owned Radio Shack, famous at that time for selling electronics parts to hobbyists. Nevertheless, the TRS-80 was actually rather sophisticated. Four kilobytes of RAM were matched with 4K of ROM holding Radio Shack's proprietary version of BASIC. The silver-and-black color scheme—even more than a beige box—evoked a kind of futuristic proletarian chic. Like other, similar systems, the TRS-80 used a cassette tape player as a storage device.

The early portable TRS-80 Model 100, designed by Kyocera and released in 1983, was evidence that, by that time, beige was winning the color war. Rugged and able to start up immediately, the Model 100 as utilitarian and much-beloved by traveling reporters.

Core Memory is a photographic exploration of the Computer History Museum's collection, highlighting some of the most interesting pieces in the history of computers. These excerpts were used with permission of the publisher. Special thanks to Fiona!

The above photographs were taken by Mark Richards, whose work has appeared in The New York Times Sunday Magazine, Fortune, Smithsonian, Life and BusinessWeek. The eye-candy is accompanied by descriptions of each artifact to cover the characteristics and background of each object, written by John Alderman who has covered the culture of high-tech lifestyle since 1993, notably for Mondo 2000, HotWired and Wired News. A foreword is provided by the Computer History Museum's Senior Curator Dag Spicer.

Or go see the real things at the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, Calif.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Click for full size

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

A: The Commodore Pet

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Following the original 8086, it cost $100 when it was released in June 1979, which is about $300, adjusted for inflation. Today, $300 will buy you a Core i7 processor with 731 million transistors. How much more powerful is that than the 8088?

Immeasurably. Even Intel couldn't tell us. Meaning if you took a Core i7 back in time to 1979, and Miles Bennett Dyson was an Intel employee, he would fuck the human race in ways you can't even imagine. Or, you know, we just would've had Xbox in 1983.

With the ascendance of Windows, the x86-based PC would eventually take over the world in its own way.

[Intel, Top image: Wikipedia, Thanks to Intel for their help!]

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Click for full size

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

In other words, feel free to use our new comments system to add photos of any oversized retro gadgets you have access to.

In the '70s and early '80s, it was trendy to offset tiny, crappy screens with enormous and ornate wooden consoles. My family had one of these when I was a kid—looking back on it, I understand why my father chose to put it on the lowest level of our house. It would have seriously compromised the structural integrity of any floor it was sitting on. [TV History]
This is what passed for a widescreen television in 1978. However, the GE Widescreen 1000 really wasn't widescreen at all. In reality this absurdly huge cabinet housed a small CRT screen that used "a vertical deflection reversing switch to invert and laterally reverse the image, and a three element lens within a light-proof projection chamber to re-invert, magnify and project the image onto a forward projection type reflective screen." In other words, the image was artificially enlarged through projection. Oh, and that beastly monstrosity sitting next to it is an early VHS recorder. Back in the day, video players like this one could weigh 30 pounds or more. [Flickr and RetroThing]
Surely you are familiar with the DynaTAC 8000X—the first commercially available mobile phone. Seriously, is Dr Martin Cooper making a call to his wife or calling in an air strike? [Puremobile]
The Walkman portable cassette player made its debut in 1979, but if you wanted a more feature rich portable player, you risked a dislocated shoulder picking up one of these ghetto blasters. ['80s Rewind]
Today we have camcorders built into our tiny cellphones. In the '70s and early '80s you had to deal with beasts like the Sony SL-F1 Betamax camera. Before the advent of the Betamovie BMC-100P personal camcorder in 1983, the camera and the portable recorder were not integrated into a single unit. [Wikipedia]
The JVC HR-4100 was the first ever "portable" VHS recorder, but this woman appears to be in over her head. This is definitely a "team lift" situation. [Rewind Museum]
We bitch about gas guzzling SUV's now, but get a load of this '73 Thunderbird. Seriously, there is enough metal between the cabin and the grill to take on a locomotive. [Corral.net]
Microwaves in the '70s were big enough to crawl into. According to the owner, this particular model weighed around 80 pounds. [Forty Two]
Bonus: Glasses are not really a gadget, but honestly, what the hell was going on in the '70s? I have to admit though, Wonder Woman still looks great with those telescopes attached to her face. Anyway, thank God for contacts and Lasik. [Blurbomat]

How did you shift from entertainment products to personal computers? Did you seek them out or were you pulled in? And were there others besides Apple? Was there a chance you might have ended up sharing your Snow White design language with some other company, turning a competitor of Apple into the iconic "cool computer" maker of the day?

My second client in 1970 was the German company CTM, an offspring of Nixdorf, back then a leader in making data processing affordable and usable to mid-size companies. They were quite successful and together we created the first ergonomic desktop terminal with a tilting display and detached keyboard in 1978 which won international acclaim.

Apple's "Snow White" design language was the result of a very close relationship and collaboration with Apple, and ultimately expressed the very specific values and aspirations of Apple. The key was that Steve Jobs wanted "the very best design, not only in the computer industry but the entire World". This allowed us to create a totally new design paradigm for "digital-convergent products" without historic precedence.

How have product considerations evolved in the same time? What was the 1979 equivalent of hardware vs. software? Or physical button vs. touch surface?

Let's take Sony as an example: as of 1976, we were working on remote controls for multiple sources from TV to Audio-Systems and "Home-Control" with software screens, activated both by buttons and direct-touch. Even as the key problem – aside of cost - was slow processing power and LCD screens with little contrast. Our objective was to simplify usage and some products went into the market in Japan. So to your answer: we already had it in 1979.

What design trends were hot in the late 1970s that are coming back around now? Which trends from the 1970s will NEVER come back?

The late 1970s were very much defined by the shock of the oil crisis and the subsequent recession especially here in the United States. In Europe and Japan, there was a wider acceptance of energy-saving and ecologically responsible product strategies. The hot design trends were "personalization and miniaturization" – SONY's Walkman being the best manifestation – and with the Japanese domination of electronic consumer electronics making professional-grade technology – e.g. cameras - accessible and affordable to millions. This also was a time, when the United States lost out big time in this field. The late 1970s also were the "Golden Age" of product design – and this trend will return for product experiences and hyper-convergence – which means to design how people feel.

Isn't part of design envisioning products that use technology that doesn't yet exist? What were the sorts of things you envisioned in the 1970s that are commonplace today but didn't yet exist? What are you envisioning now (or what have you envisioned lately) that will take some time for technology to catch up?

This may sound a bit arrogant, but in 1968 I proposed an "Atomic-Time Radio-Wristwatch" for a watch competition. People laughed at it, but in 1986 frog designed exactly such a product for the German Junghans company.

Sometimes, technology surpasses human speed: today we are using mobile phones with more computing power then could be imagined 20 years ago – and even science fiction authors like William Gibson or Arthur C. Clarke didn't even anticipate them – but the user interfaces are split into "old-phone-physical" and "agnostic-digital" (Apple's iPhone succeeds because it is the first product to bridge this idiotic chasm).

Looking a the future, I think that technology and our body will grow closer together – a couple of years ago, we designed "Dattoos", the vision of a protein-based computer "living" on human skin. Closer to reality are concepts of enhancing brain activities by electro-magnetic impulses. Already, design is expanding from "bits and atoms" to "neurons and genes" – one could call it BANG-Design.

Were there times when companies were afraid to go as far as you wanted them to? Are there any examples of companies that refused to make design improvements—perhaps because of cost—and paid a larger price for that?

Strategic design is not about "going as far as possible" but about "going the best way together". As said above with the Apple Snow White example, the interactive relationship between client and designer is a vital element for success or failure. So, even as I may push for more advanced solutions, the client may have many reasons not to follow. At the end of a day, each jointly achieved result shall be a healthy compromise, motivated by achieving the best for the user and/or consumer. Naturally, there are some negative examples where I couldn't convince clients, which I also describe in my book: Polaroid which stuck too long to chemical image creation, Maytag which refused to innovate in a strategic way and Motorola which missed the opportunity to create the iPhone long before Apple did.

Dr. Hartmut Esslinger, founder of Frog Design, just published a great book entitled A Fine Line, on the lessons he's learned in his career and on the future of business informed by design. We encourage you to check it out.

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Sony was supposed to win this. The company made magnetic tape out of like paper and mud back in the 1940s, turned out a "pocketable" transistor radio in the 1950s, and invented the "portable" television by 1960. They had their first video tape recorder by 1963. They weren't the only ones, but they were among the first and best.

The so-called VTR business had a rocky start. The things were hulking bastards, with huge price tags and poor recording capability.

A company called Ampex put out the first "home entertainment" VTR in 1963, only it cost $30,000 in the Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog, and was nicknamed Grant's Tomb because the product manager who thought it up was going to be shoved inside by the company's accountants. (He would have fit, too, the thing was so big.) Sony comes along in the middle of that decade and puts out a $1,200 "portable" VTR that came with a leatherette case and its own TV. It still weighed 65 pounds.

The worst part about these 1960s VTRs was that they were basically reel-to-reel—you had to thread your own 1-inch videotape through spools and stuff, and by the end of the decade, a one-hour spool of tape was like 8 inches in diameter. Can you imagine your TiVo needing 180 spools of videotape to get the job done?

As Sony toiled on the videotape problem, Matsushita—who we now call Panasonic—and its independent subsidiary JVC weren't really standing out in the VTR business. Let's say this: Nobody would have guessed they'd be able to overthrow Sony and kick mecha ass within the decade.

However, these guys were among the biggest manufacturers, dwarfing Sony many times over. Matsushita, known for efficiency, not innovation, tended to focus on big boring appliances—TVs, refrigerators, air conditioners—with a smaller team, branded Technics, devoted to dominating the hi-fi realm. JVC was all about TVs and audio gear, and had decent video know-how.

It was Sony who solved the reel-to-reel problem with—ta daaa!—a video cassette. It was called U-Matic, and at 3/4" thick, it was smaller than the earlier formats, but still a bit of a chunkster. Since video was a bit of a Wild West, Sony felt like it needed partners to firmly establish a format, and to avoid a format war. It asked Matsushita and JVC, who said "yes" as long as Sony adopted some changes. They key here: The partnership included a deal where everybody shared all the patents. Turns out, probably not the smartest move by Sony.

Sony was right to form a posse, though. Every single electronics maker in Japan, Europe and America was trying to build a video recorder. Some American firms were obsessed with lasers (though ironically it would later be the Dutch and Japanese firms who actually put lasers to good use); other American firms were jazzed about microfilm...for video. None of them had success. Before we get on with the story, here's a list of totally failed video players and recorders:

• Matsushita VX-100 and VX-2000
• Matsushita AutoVision
• Toshiba/Sanyo V-Cord
• Ampex InstaVision
• MCA DiscoVision/Magnavox Magnavision
• CBS Electronic Video Recording
• RCA HoloTape
• Sears/Cartridge Television Cartrivision

See what I mean? A friggin' mess it was.

Part of the problem was the message. Nobody knew what the hell this was all about. Sony wasn't just a pioneer in the technology, they thought hard about how to explain why you totally desperately want something bad. At one point, Sony hired Bela Lugosi to dress up one last time as Dracula, and explain that, since he worked nights, he needed to catch up on primetime shows when he got home. Get it? Vampires—they're out killing people when Barney Miller is playing! It was a good bit, and there were a lot more like it. Little by little, the public caught on to what VCRs were for.

Anyway, U-Matic, launched in 1971, wasn't a runaway success, either, but it was the bestselling video recorder to date, and the first successful VCR. In the realm of pro video, it was hot. Sony cashed in by steering from the home market to the businesses but JVC, who kept trying to pitch it for home use, got hosed. Like villains in some Shakespearean play, Matsushita and JVC kinda lurked in the background, planning for the next round when they might one-up that little charmer, Sony. The name of their plot? Video Home System, which you and I call VHS.

Sony was naive. Like, crazy naive. In 1974, it asked Matsushita and JVC to partner up again, this time on a fully baked format called Betamax. They weren't asking for intellectual collaboration, just a deal to make and sell the things. It was a nice system, with really small tapes, but the problem was, the tapes only recorded for an hour. Sony was like, "That's not a problem," but everyone else was like, "Yes, it is." The would-be partners dragged their heels suspiciously, not signing any deals. Sony kinda thought that was weird, but went ahead and launched the one-hour Betamax box in 1975.

Big mistake.

Not long after Sony went into wide release with the one-hour Betamax, JVC pulled a two-hour VHS out of its butt. And in time for Christmas 1976 no less. Sony had another flash of naivete when it pressed on with the one-hour system for a while, even though it had a two-hour system in the works. In that gap, JVC and its big poppa Matsushita scored sales and recognition.

Some people say Betamax was "better" but that depends on many factors, and could very well be an urban myth. The technologies were so close Sony's own chairman called VHS a copy of Betamax. What may have looked good in one system with certain settings might not look as good on another with different settings. And by some accounts, Betamax's more moving parts meant they were more expensive to manufacture and more costly to maintain and repair. It's not an open-and-shut case of quantity vs. quality. Either way you look at it, there are compromises.

By this point, it wasn't just some anything-goes contest with a million formats. By 1976, all those above had died or were dying. In Japan, there were just two choices. The Japanese government told everyone to sort it out. Hitachi, Mitsubishi and Sharp joined Team VHS, but didn't really move forward.

In February 1977, Sony grabbed Toshiba and Sanyo, and then signed the American powerhouse brand Zenith up for an order of Sony-made Betamaxes with the Zenith name on them. Was it going to happen for Betamax after all? Seemed like they'd finally drawn at least a few good cards from the deck.

Sony might not have been totally screwed at that moment, but there were two American powerhouses, and the other one, RCA, was undecided. Ironically, the fate of the Japanese VCR industry relied on how well it could handle the most American of sports: Football. In other words, now that both players could manage two hours of recording time, what RCA wanted was enough recording time to capture a game—three hours would do.

What transpired next is unclear. Even though, at the time, both technologies were limited to two-hour capacity, Matsushita pledged to make RCA tape machines that could record for four hours.

Was this a lie? Was it vaporware? Whatever the deal, JVC engineers pulled off a four-hour capacity six weeks later, and RCA agreed to buy 55,000 machines that year, and up to a million more in the next three years. Better yet, RCA's SelectaVision VHS decks would cost $300 less than the two-hour Betamaxes, at $1000 a pop.

Although Betamax hung on for a bit longer, that, boys and girls, was the end of the competition. In 1979, Sony market share tilted downward, and by 1980, the jig was up for those poor bastards.

Note: I recognize that there are other issues that might have come into play here, including Universal's lawsuit of Sony, which lead to today's Supreme Court definition of fair-use copyright law, and the fact that some studios, including Warner, began squeezing movies onto videotape early, with varying degrees of success. However, I contend that none of that changed the outcome—the war above was fought between Sony and Matsushita, and Matsushita won.

SOURCES:
Fast Forward: Hollywood, The Japanese, and the VCR Wars - James Lardner (Special thanks to you, Jim, for chatting me through some of this)
Sony - John Nathan
The History of Television - Albert Abramson
Sony History - Sony Global Website
Made in Japan - Akio Morita
Quest for Prosperity - Konosuke Matsushita
[PDF] Case Report on Betamax - Verardi et al
"Why VHS was better than Betamax" - Guardian UK - Jack Schofield

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

The 2-inch screened set took 10 years to develop and was $395. [Modernmechanix via retrothing]

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.

Basically, you could get word packs to pop in the back, bringing new games and new vocab to your kid so they wouldn't hassle you to teach them words when you're just trying to watch Monday Night Football. It used a speech synthesizer to say the words out loud so the kids knew the correct, if a bit robotic, pronunciation.

Here's an ad, from the early 80s:

And of course you can't forget the ridiculous circuit bending that hackers have done with these things in the years since, making them way more fun and entertaining. Just check this shit out:

Gizmodo '79 is a week-long celebration of gadgets and geekdom 30 years ago, as the analog age gave way to the digital, and most of our favorite toys were just being born.